eleven o'clock had passed, when we heard the rattle of an oar in a
boat from the direction of the Ghost. We hauled up our own skiff,
tossed in a few sacks, and rowed over. There we found all the
skiffs assembling, it being the intention to raid the beds in a
body.

To my surprise, I found barely a foot of water where we had dropped
anchor in ten feet. It was the big June run-out of the full moon,
and as the ebb had yet an hour and a half to run, I knew that our
anchorage would be dry ground before slack water.

Mr. Taft's beds were three miles away, and for a long time we rowed
silently in the wake of the other boats, once in a while grounding
and our oar blades constantly striking bottom. At last we came
upon soft mud covered with not more than two inches of water--not
enough to float the boats. But the pirates at once were over the
side, and by pushing and pulling on the flat-bottomed skiffs, we
moved steadily along.

The full moon was partly obscured by high-flying clouds, but the
pirates went their way with the familiarity born of long practice.
After half a mile of the mud, we came upon a deep channel, up which
we rowed, with dead oyster shoals looming high and dry on either
side. At last we reached the picking grounds. Two men, on one of
the shoals, hailed us and warned us off. But the Centipede, the
Porpoise, Barchi, and Skilling took the lead, and followed by the
rest of us, at least thirty men in half as many boats, rowed right
up to the watchmen.

"You'd better slide outa this here," Barchi said threateningly, "or