one hand supporting his cheek, while the elbow rested against the drum, and the body was without motion.  Ludlow regarded him a moment, and then lifting a lighted battle-lantern to his face, he saw that he slept.  Without disturbing the delinquent, the captain replaced the lantern and passed forward.  In the gangway there stood a marine, with his musket shouldered, in an attitude of attention.  As Ludlow brushed within a few inches of his eyes, it was easy to be seen that they opened and shut involuntarily, and without consciousness of what lay before them.  On the top-gallant-forecastle was a short, square, and well-balanced figure, that stood without support of any kind, with both arms thrust into the bosom of a jacket, and a head that turned slowly to the west and south, as if it were examining the ocean in those directions.

Stepping lightly up the ladder, Ludlow saw that it was the veteran seaman who was rated as the captain of the forecastle.

“I am glad, at last, to find one pair of eyes open, in my ship,” said the captain.  “Of the whole watch, you alone are alert.”

“I have doubled cape fifty, your Honor, and the seaman who has made that voyage, rarely wants the second call of the boatswain.  Young heads have young eyes, and sleep is next to food, after a heavy drag at gun-tackles and lanyards.”

“And what draws your attention so steadily in that quarter?  There is nothing visible but the haze of the sea.”

“’Tis the direction of the Frenchmen, Sir—­does your Honor hear nothing?”

“Nothing;” said Ludlow, after intently listening for half a minute.  “Nothing, unless it be the wash of the surf on the beach.”

“It may be only fancy, but there came a sound like the fall of an oar-blade on a thwart, and ’tis but natural, your Honor, to expect the mounsheer will be out, in this smooth water, to see what has become of us.—­There went the flash of a light, or my name is not Bob Cleet!”

Ludlow was silent.  A light was certainly visible in the quarter where the enemy was known to be anchored, and it came and disappeared like a moving lantern.  At length it was seen to descend slowly, and vanish as if it were extinguished in the water.

“That lantern went into a boat, Captain Ludlow, though a lubber carried it!” said the positive old forecastle-man, shaking his head and beginning to pace across the deck, with the air of a man who needed no further confirmation of his suspicions.

Ludlow returned towards the quarter-deck, thoughtful but calm.  He passed among his sleeping crew, without awaking a man, and even forbearing to touch the still motionless midshipman, he entered his cabin without speaking.

The commander of the Coquette was absent but a few minutes.  When he again appeared on deck, there was more of decision and of preparation in his manner.

“’Tis time to call the watch, Mr. Reef;” he whispered at the elbow of the drowsy officer of the deck, without betraying his consciousness of the youth’s forgetfulness of duty.  “The glass is out.”