The shrill voice of a midshipman answered to the hail.
“What do you make within the Hook, sir?”
“Nothing visible. Our barge is pulling along the land, and the launch appears to be lying off the inlet; aye—here is the yawl, resting on its oars without the Romar; but we can find nothing which looks like the cutter, in the range of Coney.”
“Take another sweep of the glass more westward, and look well into the mouth of the Raritan,—mark you anything in that quarter?”
“Ha!—here is a speck on our lee quarter!”
“What do you make of it?”
“Unless sight deceives me greatly, sir, there is a light boat pulling in for the ship, about three cables’ length distant”
Ludlow raised his own glass, and swept the water in the direction named. After one or two unsuccessful trials, his eye caught the object; and as the moon had now some power, he was at no loss to distinguish its character. There was evidently a boat, and one that, by its movements, had a design of holding communication with the cruiser.
The eye of a seaman is acute on his element, and his mind is quick in forming opinions on all things that properly appertain to his profession. Ludlow saw instantly, by the construction, that the boat was not one of those sent from the ship; that it approached in a direction which enabled it to avoid the Coquette, by keeping in a part of the bay where the water was not sufficiently deep to admit of her passage; and that its movements were so guarded as to denote great caution, while there was an evident wish to draw as near to the cruiser as prudence might render advisable. Taking a trumpet, he hailed in the well-known and customary manner.
The answer came up faintly against the air, but it was uttered with much practice in the implement, and with an exceeding compass of voice.