The marine, his cap pulled down over his eyes, contented himself with watching the door of the cuddy with the idea that no mischief could be done while we remained below, and consequently he failed, to note that the outlines of the ship, so indistinct in the fog, were rapidly melting away, until finally nothing could be seen save that gray wall of vapor. From the deck of the Britisher I question if at any time since the fog had shut in, our sloop could be seen because of lying so low on the water and being such a small object, therefore were the chances much in our favor that the sentries on the frigate were unaware of what was taking place. In the cuddy below I could hear some one moving about softly, and understood that Abel Grant was coming back from the forepeak, his work having been done, and done successfully. An instant later he thrust his head out the hatchway by the side of mine, asking in a sleepy tone: “Are there any signs of this smother thinnin’ up, lad?” “It’s growin’ thicker than ever,” I replied. “How is the wind?” “A little west of south, I reckon, what there is of it, an’ comin’ from that point you can’t expect fair weather yet a while. Say, this is a little the toughest I’ve ever struck on the Long Island shore, an’ I’m hopin’ I shan’t see the like agin’.” While Abel was speaking I heard Abraham moving softly around just below me, and a moment later felt some hard object against my back as Abel Grant apparently reached out his hand and seized it. For a moment I was at a loss to understand what it might be, and then came the thought that our “admiral” was making ready to take care of the marine in the stern-sheets, if peradventure the thick-headed Britisher came to suspect that all was not exactly as it should be. Abraham had passed him the musket, but whether it was loaded or not I could not say. The chances were that my comrades had not stopped to so far make their preparations. Then Abel pulled at my jacket from behind, looking into my face in a meaning way, and I, understanding that he desired me to give way for him, stepped back into the cuddy, saying as I did so: “If you find any sport standin’ out there in the fog, you may soak yourself, for all I care. I’ll take my trick in your bunk.” Abraham was standing in the center of the cabin with a spare tiller in his hand, and again I understood all the plan without need of words. Abel Grant had sent me below in order that he might not be hampered in his movements if it became necessary to suddenly spring upon the marine, and Abraham with his oaken club was ready to follow at the first signal, which would not be given until there was evidence that the Britishers had discovered the trick.