By half-past two, P. M., everything was ready for getting the brigantine under way.  Her fore-topsail—­or foretawsail as Spike called it—­was loose, the fasts were singled, and a spring had been carried to a post in the wharf, that was well forward of the starboard bow, and the brig’s head turned to the southwest, or down the stream, and consequently facing the young flood.  Nothing seemed to connect the vessel with the land but a broad gangway plank, to which Mulford had attached life-lines, with more care than it is usual to meet with on board of vessels employed in short voyages.  The men stood about the decks with their arms thrust into the bosoms of their shirts, and the whole picture was one of silent, and possibly of somewhat uneasy expectation.  Nothing was said, however; Mulford walking the quarter-deck alone, occasionally looking up the still little tenanted streets of that quarter of the suburbs, as if to search for a carriage.  As for the revenue-steamer, she had long before gone through the southern passage of Blackwell’s, steering for the Gate.

“Dat’s dem, Mr. Mulford,” Josh at length cried, from the look-out he had taken in a stern-port, where he could see over the low bulwarks of the vessel.  “Yes, dat’s dem, sir.  I know dat old gray horse dat carries his head so low and sorrowful like, as a horse has a right to do dat has to drag a cab about this big town.  My eye! what a horse it is, sir!”

Josh was right, not only as to the gray horse that carried his head “sorrowful like,” but as to the cab and its contents.  The vehicle was soon on the wharf, and in its door soon appeared the short, sturdy figure of Capt.  Spike, backing out, much as a bear descends a tree.  On top of the vehicle were several light articles of female appliances, in the shape of bandboxes, bags, &c., the trunks having previously arrived in a cart.  Well might that over-driven gray horse appear sorrowful, and travel with a lowered head.  The cab, when it gave up its contents, discovered a load of no less than four persons besides the driver, all of weight, and of dimensions in proportion, with the exception of the pretty and youthful Rose Budd.  Even she was plump, and of a well-rounded person; though still light and slender.  But her aunt was a fair picture of a ship-master’s widow; solid, comfortable and buxom.  Neither was she old, nor ugly.  On the contrary, her years did not exceed forty, and being well preserved, in consequence of never having been a mother, she might even have passed for thirty-five.  The great objection to her appearance was the somewhat indefinite character of her shape, which seemed to blend too many of its charms into one.  The fourth person, in the fare, was Biddy Noon, the Irish servant and factotum of Mrs. Budd, who was a pock-marked, red-faced, and red-armed single woman, about her mistress’s own age and weight, though less stout to the eye.