“Hallo!” he exclaimed. “Eh, Mr. Almayer! Look! The water is running out. See there! We will be caught.”
“Back! back! We must go back!” cried Almayer.
“Perhaps better go on.”
“No; back! back!”
He pulled at the steering line, and ran the nose of the boat into the bank. Time was lost again in getting clear.
“Give way, men! give way!” urged the mate, anxiously.
The men pulled with set lips and dilated nostrils, breathing hard.
“Too late,” said the mate, suddenly. “The oars touch the bottom already. We are done.”
The boat stuck. The men laid in the oars, and sat, panting, with crossed arms.
“Yes, we are caught,” said Almayer, composedly. “That is unlucky!”