“Make out the boats?” came from the deck.
“No, sir; they’re close under the bank.” Yes, I caught a glimpse of the marines’ bayonets just then.
“How far are they away from the junks, do you think?”
“I can’t tell, sir; about a quarter of a mile, I think.”
Mr Reardon was silent while I gazed intently at a patch of open water just beyond a curve of the bank, hoping to see the boats there, though I felt that as soon as they reached that spot, if the enemy had not seen them before, they would be certain to then, for beyond that the junks lay clearly to be seen from where I sat.
“Well? See the boats?” came from the deck.
“No, sir, not yet.”
I glanced down to answer, and could see that every one who possessed a glass was gazing anxiously aft, the only face directed up to me being the first lieutenant’s. Then my eye was at the glass again.
“More smoke from the junks, sir,” I cried; but there was no sign of fire, and I felt that Mr Reardon must be right, for if they had set a light to the inflammable wood of the vessels, they would have blazed up directly.
“Can’t you see the boats yet?” cried the first lieutenant impatiently, and his voice sounded as if he were blaming me.