last was about two-thirds ebb. Nearly everything that was expected
on that tide, coast-wise, and by the way of the Sound, had already
arrived, and nothing could go eastward, with that light breeze and
under canvas, until the flood made. Of course it was different with
the steamers, who were paddling about like so many ducks, steering
in all directions, though mostly crossing and re-crossing at the
ferries. Just as Mulford turned away from his commander, however, a
large vessel of that class shoved her bows into the view, doubling
the Hook, and going eastward. The first glance at this vessel
sufficed to drive even Rose Budd momentarily out of the minds of
both master and mate, and to give a new current to their thoughts.
Spike had been on the point of walking up the wharf, but he now so
far changed his purpose as actually to jump on board of the brig and
spring up alongside of his mate, on the taffrail, in order to get a
better look at the steamer. Mulford, who loathed so much in his
commander, was actually glad of this, Spike's rare merit as a seaman
forming a sort of attraction that held him, as it might be against
his own will, bound to his service.

"What will they do next, Harry?" exclaimed the master, his manner
and voice actually humanized, in air and sound at least, by this
unexpected view of something new in his calling--"What will they do
next?"

"I see no wheels, sir, nor any movement in the water astern, as if
she were a propeller," returned the young man.

"She's an out-of-the-way sort of a hussy! She's a man-of-war,
too--one of Uncle Sam's new efforts."