Both took glasses, and devoted several minutes to this duty.  A careful examination of the margin of the sea, from the coast of New-Jersey to that of Long-Island, gave them reason to believe that nothing of any size was lying without the cape.  The sky was more free from clouds to the eastward than under the land and it was not difficult to make certain of this important fact.  It gave them the assurance that the Water-Witch had not escaped by the secret passage, during the time lost in their own preparations.

“This is still well;” continued Ludlow.  “Now he cannot avoid us—­show the triangle.”

Three lights, disposed in the form just named were then hoisted at the gaff-end of the Coquette.  It was an order for the boats in the Cove to proceed.  The signal was quickly answered from the launch, and then a small rocket was seen sailing over the trees and shrubbery of the shore.  All on board the Coquette listened intently, to catch some sound that should denote the tumult of an assault.  Once Ludlow and Trysail thought the cheers of seamen came on the thick air of the night; and once, again, either fancy or their senses told them they heard the menacing hail which commanded the outlaws to submit.  Many minutes of intense anxiety succeeded.  The whole of the hammock-cloths on the side of the ship nearest to the land were lined with curious faces, though respect left Ludlow to the sole occupation of the short and light deck which covered the accommodations; whither he had ascended, to command a more perfect view of the horizon.

“’Tis time to hear their musketry, or to see the signal of success!” said the young man to himself, so intently occupied by his interest in the undertaking, as to be unconscious of having spoken.

“Have you forgotten to provide a signal for failure?” said one at his elbow.

“Ha!  Master Seadrift;—­I would have spared you this spectacle.”

“’Tis one too often witnessed, to be singular.  A life passed on the ocean has not left me ignorant of the effect of night, with a view seaward, a dark coast, and a back-ground of mountain!”

“You have confidence in him left in charge of your brigantine!  I shall have faith in your sea-green lady, myself, if he escape my boats, this time.”

“See!—­there is a token of her fortune;” returned the other, pointing towards three lanterns that were shown at the inlet’s mouth, and over which many lights were burnt in rapid succession.

“’Tis of failure!  Let the ship fall-of, and square away the yards!  Round in, men, round in.  We will run down to the entrance of the bay, Mr. Trysail.  The knaves have been aided by their lucky star!”

Ludlow spoke with deep vexation in his tones, but always with the authority of a superior and the promptitude of a seaman.  The motionless being, near him, maintained a profound silence.  No exclamation of triumph escaped him, nor did he open his lips either in pleasure or in surprise.  It appeared as if confidence in his vessel rendered him as much superior to exultation as to apprehension.