Close at hand lay innumerable little hills and ravines thrown in sharp shade and shine that trended away on all sides to the long line of lakes over whose purpling levels a fine veil of vapour was rising softly, swiftly.
Truly a dream-picture, unreal in its absolute beauty, its perfect peace.
"That's the Agamemnon, I expect," said one pointing with his cigar to a big vessel that, rounding the promontory to the south, began to cross the bay, leaving a great trail of smoke behind her. "I wonder if she is coming in?"
"Looks like it," said another, "only they weren't sure. Anyhow, we've company to-night. Look down there by the second wharf. There's another trail--some steamer is making fast!"
All eyes turned to where a thin column of smoke showed, rising high then drifting westwards over the town.
"Burning bad coal whatever," assented Mac. "Why, it's getting bigger!"
Marmaduke, watching intently, suddenly started up.
"By George, it is odd! I believe--by heavens, gentlemen, it is a fire!"
They all followed his example. And now there could be no doubt. With amazing rapidity the cloud darkened, deepened, then in the departing daylight showed dusky red. And there--flashing up suddenly came a great fork of flame. Marmaduke looked round on the others.
"The town is tinder," he said briefly, "and the magazines---- We had best be off!"