We rowed with all our strength, but it was slow going with so many
boats in tow. A pistol cracked from the shoal, a second, and a
third; then a regular fusillade began. The bullets spat and spat
all about us; but thick clouds had covered the moon, and in the dim
darkness it was no more than random firing. It was only by chance
that we could be hit.

"Wish we had a little steam launch," I panted.

"I'd just as soon the moon stayed hidden," Nicholas panted back.

It was slow work, but every stroke carried us farther away from the
shoal and nearer the shore, till at last the shooting died down,
and when the moon did come out we were too far away to be in
danger. Not long afterward we answered a shoreward hail, and two
Whitehall boats, each pulled by three pairs of oars, darted up to
us. Charley's welcome face bent over to us, and he gripped us by
the hands while he cried, "Oh, you joys! You joys! Both of you!"

When the flotilla had been landed, Nicholas and I and a watchman
rowed out in one of the Whitehalls, with Charley in the stern-
sheets. Two other Whitehalls followed us, and as the moon now
shone brightly, we easily made out the oyster pirates on their
lonely shoal. As we drew closer, they fired a rattling volley from
their revolvers, and we promptly retreated beyond range.

"Lot of time," Charley said. "The flood is setting in fast, and by
the time it's up to their necks there won't be any fight left in
them."