Dick stood watching the Charles as she followed them down the treacherous creek. She must have a pilot who knows the place, he thought, for she still gained on them.
At last, when they were within five hundred yards of the shore, Habakkuk gave a short exclamation.
“We’re stuck,” he cried.
“What?” Dick sprang round on his heel.
Habakkuk grinned foolishly.
“Little tiny channel’s silted up, I reckon,” he said. “We’re aground.”
Dick struck him off his feet with an oath.
“Out with your knives,” he shouted.
It was beginning to get dusk and the Charles bore down upon the Anny like a great gray tower; nearer she came and nearer until they could plainly hear the voices of the men on her deck.
And then it happened. In his excitement the man at her tiller let it swerve a little, a very little, but enough; there was a soft swishing sound, and the Charles’s nose cut deep into the soft cheesy mud—she also was aground.