“Boat out from the smoke, rowing after the other one, sir. They’ve got it. Yes, I can see. They’re throwing something out that smokes—now something more.”
“Bah! stink-pots!” roared Mr Reardon. “Now then, quick!—quick! Don’t, go to sleep, sir. What next?”
“I’ll shy the spyglass at you directly,” I muttered; and then aloud, “Fire, sir; both junks blazing.”
“Hurrah!” came from the deck as the rest of the crew set up a tremendous cheer, for the smoke had suddenly grown less dense; and the junks gradually grew visible as it floated away; while even in the bright sunlight the flames were visible, and I could now make out that they were two floating furnaces with the great tongues of fire licking the broad matting-sails: and, best news of all, there, quite plainly, were our four boats, with the men just visible above their sides.
I reported this, and cheer after cheer rose again. After which there was dead silence once more, so that my reports could be heard.
“Now, Mr Herrick, what now?” cried Mr Reardon.
“Two boats lying in mid-stream, sir; the others are rowing to the side.”
“To pick up the men who were sent ashore, I suppose. Good.”
“Junks burning very fast, sir; and they’re floating across to the other side. The wind’s taking them straight, for the smoke floats that way.”
“Very likely,” said Mr Reardon; and there was a long pause.