We made ready the canvas for hoisting; examined the oars in the skiff critically, for a defect in one might cost the lives of all, and, at Seth’s suggestion, wound the row-locks with rope that we might be able to pull the more silently. The wind held steady, with promise of freshening after sunset, for already were fleecy clouds coming up out of the west, not in sufficient force to shut out the light of the stars, but yet enough to tell that the little Swiftsure would have a fair chance to show what she was able to do in the way of sailing. “So far everythin’ is in our favor, an’ if Barney Nelson has been able to do his share, we should succeed,” Seth said as he hove the anchor short by way of finding some work for his hands. We had cleared the deck of everything movable that might not be needed, and otherwise done all in our power to guard against accidents. When the sun set Abraham went down and made his prisoner fast in the bunk again, not heeding Luther’s pleading or promises, and as the last rays of golden light faded away in the west, we got under way, although there was no real need of our leaving the anchorage for two hours more. We stood well down off Coney Island in order to pass the time, and when it seemed as if it was near nine o’clock we turned the sloop’s bow up the bay, thus really beginning the venture. The little Swiftsure made good time, but glided over the water as silently as a shadow, as if understanding the necessity for caution, until we were come off the lights of the prison ship, perhaps three miles away due east. “I allow this is our spot, lad,” Seth Hartley said in a whisper, for so strongly were we imbued with the idea that absolute silence was essential to the success of the venture, that we had hardly taken a long breath since heading on a northerly course. Abraham, who was standing nearby, took the helm, and, throwing aside my boots, coat, hat and vest in order to be prepared for swimming if anything of the kind became necessary, I dropped into the skiff which Sam was holding alongside, the sloop’s headway having been checked. Without a word of farewell, or even a whisper to each other, we settled down to the oars, pulling steadily but cautiously, and thus made our way across the bay until it was possible to see the riding lights of the Good Hope quite distinctly. “Here’s where we’d best wait,” Seth said, speaking for the first time since we left the sloop, and at the same moment shipping his oars. It was in my mind that we might safely venture a full half-mile nearer; but he was the one who should know best, and I held my peace. In the night, however much light may be given by the stars, it is difficult to judge of distances on the water; but it seemed to me as if we were not less than a mile and a half from the Good Hope, and while we were so far away it would not be possible to lend Abel Grant any aid if he was discovered at the moment of letting himself over the ship’s side.