So we lay on our oars and waited for the tide to do its work. This
was the predicament of the pirates: because of the big run-out,
the tide was now rushing back like a mill-race, and it was
impossible for the strongest swimmer in the world to make against
it the three miles to the sloops. Between the pirates and the
shore were we, precluding escape in that direction. On the other
hand, the water was rising rapidly over the shoals, and it was only
a question of a few hours when it would be over their heads.
It was beautifully calm, and in the brilliant white moonlight we watched them through our night glasses and told Charley of the voyage of the Coal Tar Maggie. One o'clock came, and two o'clock, and the pirates were clustering on the highest shoal, waist-deep in water.
