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
we'll fill you so full of holes you wouldn't float in molasses."
The watchmen wisely retreated before so overwhelming a force, and
rowed their boat along the channel toward where the shore should
be. Besides, it was in the plan for them to retreat.
We hauled the noses of the boats up on the shore side of a big
shoal, and all hands, with sacks, spread out and began picking.
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