All that day I could think of nothing but Calhoun, and how he must be a slippery villain, such as novels and plays describe very plainly, and always destroy in the end to everyone's satisfaction. So I went on to imagining Ben Cree standing by to distinguish himself, as a fellow of his age should, according to the story books, where there is apt to be such a one, remarkably young, with his pockets full of virtue and talent, and missing his destiny unless he can find a rascal to surprise with his virtue and talent. The only trouble was that Ben Cree was a numskull. I had gotten so far in the plot as to see without doubt that Calhoun was a disguised Confederate. The _Octarara_ passed Cape Henlopen about noon, and drew in to the low, sandy shore. By and by Gerry showed me where the Maryland dividing line came down. The great moon rose--out of the sea it seemed to rise--and it was as if a path of bright metals were laid for it, supposing it wished to step down to the _Octarara_ with dignity. The air on deck was cold, but not bitterly so, the wind lessening, and the topsails and jibs spread full. A man or two was on the fore-deck, looking landward. I heard Tobin saying, “What's he drawin' in for, Jimmie?” “I do' know.” And then Dan Morgan aft called for Simpson. More men came on deck. Simpson went aft and returned. “Goin' to come to,” he growled. “Says he's expectin' orders. Durn likely he'll get 'em next month. What's my business? That ain't.” Simpson went below growling in his throat. “Sec'et orders,” said Gerry soothingly, and followed him. But it was not until late, and the moon high in the air, that the anchor was dropped, with great bustle, in the midst of that strange quiet and brilliance of the night. The shore could be made out now dimly under the moon, and the soft moan of beach waves be heard, so near it was. Looking aft as we went below I could see the cabin lights all lit and shining up the companionway. Gerry and Still stayed up on watch. I lay long awake in my narrow bunk, not able to sleep for foolishness, and acting out the plots of three or four mixed stories. One snore was added to another till the whole was a rumble like the bass of an organ. The smoky lantern hanging near the scuttle hardly swayed, for the sea was very still. After a long time, it might have been an hour, I sat up and wondered if I dared go on deck. It took me some time to decide, what with imagining Simpson waking up and coming at me roaring.