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.

While these things were floating in his mind, Mrs. Budd and her
handsome niece were making preparations for passing the night, aided
by Biddy Noon. The old lady was factotum, or factota, as it might be
most classical to call her, though we are entirely without
authorities on the subject, and was just as self-complacent and
ambitious of seawomanship below decks, as she had been above board.
The effect, however, gave Spike great satisfaction, since it kept
her out of sight, and left him more at liberty to carry out his own
plans. About nine, however, the good woman came on deck, intending
to take a look at the weather, like a skilful marineress as she was,
before she turned in. Not a little was she astonished at what she
then and there beheld, as she whispered to Rose and Biddy, both of