"We're in a fix, and that's the solemn truth," said Godfrey.
They were, indeed, in a most awkward predicament. By the time the tide was high again it would be midnight, and they certainly could not see to row in the dark. There was every prospect that they would have to spend the night on the shoal, without tea or supper, or extra wraps.
They waited for perhaps an hour and a half, while the sandbank grew to quite a respectable island. There were woods on either hand, so it was most unlikely that their plight would be noticed from the shore; their only chance of relief was from a passing boat—a faint hope, for as a rule there were very few craft on the river.
"I begin to understand how a shipwrecked mariner feels when he's waiting for a sail!" said Aldred.
"I believe I'd trade my watch for a plateful of bread and butter," said Francis.
Godfrey suddenly stood up in the stern and waved his hat.
"A boat! A boat!" he cried eagerly. "Hallo, there! Hi!"
Francis and Piers immediately joined him in making such a noise that nobody but a deaf person could have ignored it. The fisherman who was rowing in their direction evidently realized the situation; he signed to his mate to stay in the channel, then, clambering overboard, came wading in his tall boots on to the island.
"Why, it's Sam Ball, who sings in the choir!" exclaimed Godfrey.
Their rescuer regarded them with a rueful grin.