“Go on, boy; go on,” shouted the first lieutenant, stamping about, while the captain stood perfectly still, gazing at the rising smoke, from the bridge.
“They seem to be fighting very hard, sir,” I said, trembling now like a leaf. “I can see quite a crowd, and that some of the people are in white.”
“But who is getting the best of it?”
“I can’t see, sir,” I said sadly.
“Then for goodness’ sake come down, and let some one else come up,” roared Mr Reardon.
“Yes, sir.”
“No, no; stay where you are, boy. But use your glass—use your glass.”
I tried my best, but I could only make out a blurred mass of men on board both junks. They seemed to be swaying to and fro, and the smoke, instead of passing off, once more grew thicker, and in place of being white and steamy, it now looked to be of a dirty inky black, completely enveloping the vessels and our boats.
This I reported.
“They surely cannot have set them on fire?” said Mr Reardon.