"It's work, that's what it is," said Luke, running the perspiration from his begrimed forehead with his finger. "Ain't no child's play about it!"
"And dangerous work at that," added Larry. He gave a look toward the enemy's ships. "I declare, Luke, I believe they are running back to Port Arthur harbor!"
"I think the same, lad," responded the Yankee gunner. "Reckon they are findin' it is goin' to cost too much to get away. As soon as they get away from them land batteries we can pound 'em for keeps and they know it."
"And get away from the mines. That's the worst with fighting around here—you don't know how soon you'll hit a mine and be blown up."
"Oh, I reckon our captain is watching out fer them pesky things."
Larry was interested in watching the sharpshooters and range-finders in the tops, and he walked across the deck to get a better look at them. Luke followed, and as he did so, one of the nearest of the Russian ships sent out a roaring broadside at the Shohirika which raked her fore and aft and sent another hole through her side, but this time above the water line where it did scant damage.
"Gee Christopher!" began Luke, when he chanced to glance upward. "Larry, look out!" he screamed. "The top's coming down on ye!"
Luke was right. One of the shots from the enemy had struck the foremast, above the fighting top, and it was crashing down, carrying a portion of the ship's flag with it. One end struck the gun turret, and then the wreckage hit Larry on the shoulder, hurling him on his back.
The foremast was heavy and had it struck the youth before landing on the turret and the surrounding works it might have killed the young gunner's mate on the spot. As it was, Larry lay like a log where he had fallen and when Luke raised him up the old tar found him unconscious.
"If he ain't got his shoulder broke then I miss my guess," muttered the Yankee gunner. "Larry! Larry! Can't ye speak to me?"