“Now you name her, sir, I believe there was—­ay, ay, sir, the gentleman did say, if the steamer fetched up to the westward of the fort, that he should overhaul her without difficulty, on this flood.

“That’ll do, Jack; that’ll do, my honest fellow.  Go below, and tell Josh to take you into the cabin again, as steward’s mate.  You’re rather too Dutch built, in your old age, to do much aloft.”

One can hardly say whether Jack received this remark as complimentary, or not.  He looked a little glum, for a man may be as round as a barrel, and wish to be thought genteel and slender; but he went below, in quest of Josh, without making any reply.

The succeeding movements of Spike appeared to be much influenced by what he had just heard.  He kept the brig under short canvas for near two hours, sheering about in the same place, taking care to tell everything which spoke him that he had lost a man overboard.  In this way, not only the tide, but the day itself, was nearly spent.  About the time the former began to lose its strength, however, the fore-course and the main-sail were got on the brigantine, with the intention of working her up toward Whitestone, where the tides meet, and near which the revenue-steamer was known to be anchored.  We say near, though it was, in fact, a mile or two more to the eastward, and close to the extremity of the Point.

Notwithstanding these demonstrations of a wish to work to windward, Spike was really in no hurry.  He had made up his mind to pass the steamer in the dark, if possible, and the night promised to favour him; but, in order to do this, it might be necessary not to come in sight of her at all; or, at least, not until the obscurity should in some measure conceal his rig and character.  In consequence of this plan, the Swash made no great progress, even after she had got sail on her, on her old course.  The wind lessened, too, after the sun went down, though it still hung to the eastward, or nearly ahead.  As the tide gradually lost its force, moreover, the set to windward became less and less, until it finally disappeared altogether.

There is necessarily a short reach in this passage, where it is always slack water, so far as current is concerned.  This is precisely where the tides meet, or, as has been intimated, at Whitestone, which is somewhat more than a mile to the westward of Throgmorton’s Neck, near the point of which stands Fort Schuyler, one of the works recently erected for the defence of New York.  Off the pitch of the point, nearly mid-channel, had the steamer anchored, a fact of which Spike had made certain, by going aloft himself, and reconnoitering her over the land, before it had got to be too dark to do so.  He entertained no manner of doubt that this vessel was in waiting for him, and he well knew there was good reason for it; but he would not return and attempt the passage to sea by way of Sandy Hook.  His manner of regarding the whole matter was cool and judicious.  The distance to the Hook was too great to be made in such short nights ere the return of day, and he had no manner of doubt he was watched for in that direction, as well as in this.  Then he was particularly unwilling to show his craft at all in front of the town, even in the night.  Moreover, he had ways of his own for effecting his purposes, and this was the very spot and time to put them in execution.