On went the boat with increased rapidity, the Lully Prig and Long Bob plying the oars with strength and skill. Then, when they were wearied, the Resurrection Man and the Buffer took their turns. Occasionally Tidkins handed round his flask, which he had taken good care to have replenished with rum at Woolwich; and at intervals the Buffer or the Lully Prig cheered their labours with a song. In this manner Erith was reached and passed:—Greenhithe and Ingress Abbey, the front of which splendid mansion is built with the stones of old London Bridge, were in due course left behind;—and soon the antique windmill and the tall tower of Gravesend greeted the eyes of the river-pirates. At the two piers of the town were numerous steam-packets;—there were large merchant-vessels riding at anchor in the middle of the river;—and, on the opposite side, Tilbury Fort commanded the expanse of water with its cannon. "Since we're to meet Swot at the _Lobster Tavern_," said the Resurrection Man, "we may as well run down to that place at once." "So we will," returned the Buffer. The boat continued its course; and in a short time it was made fast to the little jetty which affords a convenient means of landing at the point mentioned. The _Lobster Tavern_ is a small isolated place of entertainment, upon the bank of the Thames, and is chiefly frequented by those good folks who, in fine weather, indulge in a trip on Sundays from London to Gravesend. There are sheds, with seats, built in front of the tavern; and on a calm summer's evening, the site and view are pleasant enough. The four pirates entered the establishment, and called for refreshments. They thus passed away the time until ten o'clock, when Mossop's foreman joined them. In another half-hour they were all five seated in the boat; and, in the darkness of the night, they bent their way towards the plague-ship. They kept close along the Kentish shore; and when Swot imagined that they must be within half-a-mile of the place where the _Lady Anne_ was stranded, the oars were muffled. The sky was covered with dense black clouds: no moon and not a star appeared. The water seemed as dark as ink. But the foreman knew every inlet and every jutting point which marked the course of the Thames; and, with the tiller in his hand, he navigated the boat with consummate skill. Not a word was spoken; and the faint murmurs of the oars were drowned in the whistling of the breeze which now swept over the river. At length the foreman said in a low whisper, "There is the light of the police-boat." At a distance of about a quarter of a mile that light appeared, like a solitary star upon the waters. Sometimes it moved—then stopped, as the quarantine officers rowed, or rested on their oars. "We must now be within a few yards of the _Lady Anne_," whispered Swot, after another long pause: "take to your arms."