But the darkness had no terrors for the little party in the _Surveyor_. Rather they welcomed it. The darkness would allow them to creep the closer to their victims. Once they were near at hand, the powerful little searchlight of the _Surveyor_ would dispel the darkness. Fog alone could cloak its beams. They would hope that fog would not form. If it did, they could only trust to luck. On went the little fleet. Already the sub chasers were lost to sight, though the roar of their motors was still audible. In close formation the boats of the Collector’s squadron pushed on down the Bay. On their right the flaming torch of Liberty flashed high above the murky waters. Far on the western horizon myriads of twinkling lights shone along the Jersey shore. Behind them rose the dream city of Manhattan. From a million windows, reaching from the ground seemingly into the clouds themselves, flashed countless electric lights. Nowhere else in all the world was there a sight like it. Willie almost forgot himself and the adventure on which he was bound, as he gazed at the glowing towers of New York. When he swept his eyes farther around the circle, he saw the lights along the Brooklyn shore, reaching far behind and stretching far ahead of the little fleet. The great Bay, miles in diameter, was like an ebony bowl rimmed with glittering lights. Steadily the little fleet pushed forward, tossed by the waving waters. The air was rent by the shrieking whistles of many vessels. All about them ships were moving. Behind them ferryboats were shuttling back and forth from Jersey to the Manhattan shore. From Staten Island to the Battery, six miles as the crow flies, the huge municipal ferries were plowing the waves. Broad belts of light shone from their illumined decks, carpeting the waters with gold as the full moon might have done on a fair night. Coastwise steamers for New England ports were rounding the end of Manhattan, for their nightly run up the East River and the Sound. Tugs were bustling busily about, some with strings of barges atow, some side by side with huge lighters. In that broad arm of the Bay between Robbin’s Reef Light and the torch of Liberty were moored numbers of tramp steamers, each with its lights aloft. While toward Brooklyn and the Bush terminal, sailing ships rode at anchor, their lanterns swaying aloft as the boats rocked gently with the waves.