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.

"Now this illustrates the value of imagination," Charley was
saying. "Taft has been trying for years to get them, but he went
at it with bull strength and failed. Now we used our heads . . ."

Just then I heard a scarcely audible gurgle of water, and holding
up my hand for silence, I turned and pointed to a ripple slowly
widening out in a growing circle. It was not more than fifty feet
from us. We kept perfectly quiet and waited. After a minute the
water broke six feet away, and a black head and white shoulder
showed in the moonlight. With a snort of surprise and of suddenly
expelled breath, the head and shoulder went down.

We pulled ahead several strokes and drifted with the current. Four
pairs of eyes searched the surface of the water, but never another
ripple showed, and never another glimpse did we catch of the black