I had an hour or more yet before they set foot on shore.
Moreover, I would find out if landing was indeed meant, or if these were but signals for keeping channel on the outward course.
So across the level meadows of Stert I ran my best, right towards the place where I had seen the light, which was at the top, as it were, of the wedge that Stert makes between the waters of Parret and the greater Severn Sea.

There are high banks along the shore to keep out the spring tides, and under these I could watch in safety, unseen.

Three fishers' huts were there only; but these I knew would be deserted for fear of the Danes.
So I found them, and then, creeping up the bank, I stood still and peered out into the darkness.

Yet it was not so dark on the water (which gleamed a little in the tide swirls here and there beyond half a mile of mud, black as pitch in contrast) but that I could make out at last six long black ships, lying as it seemed on the edge of the ooze.

And I could hear, too, hoarse voices crying out on board of them, and now and then the rattle of anchor chains or the like, when the wind blew from them to me.
And ever those ships crept nearer to me, so that I knew they were edging up to the land as the tide rose.
That learnt, I knew what to do.