“Don’t think so, sir.—Now.—Ah!”
“What—what is it, boy?”
“Can’t see anything, sir; they’ve rowed right into the smoke.”
My hands which held the telescope were quite wet now with the excitement of the scene I had tried to describe to my superior officer, and I thrust the glass under my left arm, and rubbed them quickly on my handkerchief, as I gazed at the distant smoke, and listened to the crackle of musketry alone, for the guns had now ceased from fire.
This I felt must be on account of the boats coming to closer quarters, and then to the men boarding. But I could see nothing but the smoke, and I raised the glass to my eye again.
Still nothing but smoke. I fancied, though, that the firing was different—quicker and sharper—as if our men must have begun too.
“Well, Mr Herrick?” now came from below. “Surely you can see how the fight is going on?”
“No, sir, nothing but smoke,—Yes,” I cried excitedly, “it’s lifting now, and floating away to the left. I can see close up to the junks. Yes; now the decks. Our right boat is empty, and there is a great fight going on upon the junk.”
“And the other?”
“There are two boats close up, and our men are firing. There is black smoke coming out of one boat. Now the men are climbing up, and—now, the smoke is too thick there.”