Another hour must have passed, during which we made out that the country on either side was flat and marshy, but we could see no sign of human habitation. As far as could be made out, the river was about three hundred yards broad, and about this time we became aware that it must be very nearly low tide, for the stream which passed us was growing more and more sluggish, till at last it ceased ebbing, and the Teaser began to swing slowly round, a sufficient indication that the tide had turned.
We had swung to our anchor till we were right across the stream, when from higher up a shot was fired, and, as if caused by the report, a dazzling flash cut right across the heavens, lighting up the river with its muddy sides, and there, not five hundred yards away, we made out two large junks that had come down with the tide, which had now failed them, just as they were close to the mouth.
All had been perfectly silent so far, but as the intense darkness succeeded the brilliant flash, there was a loud gabbling and shouting from the direction of the junks, then came the splashing of great oars, followed by their regular beating, and, as we swung further round with the men hurrying to their quarters, the boat came alongside, and was hoisted.
“Well, Mr Brooke?”
“Two large junks, sir; come down with the tide; they’ve put about, sir, and are going back.”
“Sure?”
“Yes, sir, certain. Hark!”
The hissing sound of the tide had recommenced, and above it we could hear the splash, splash of great sweeps, sounding hurried and irregular, as if the men at them were making all the haste they could. Every now and then, too, came a curious creaking sound, as wood was strained against wood.
“Tide’s setting in very hard, sir,” said Mr Brooke.
“Yes,” said the captain. “Come on board; ha!”