And now the bullets from the matchlocks began to patter upon the bales; for the banks were growing lower and lower, and the trees more open, but not a man was hit; and after another quarter of an hour’s sharp replying we heard fresh cheering, the overshadowing trees on the banks suddenly began to grow distant. Then it became lighter still, with the stars twinkling over head and the lights of the Teaser apparently close at hand.
But the enemy, enraged at our escape, now crowded down to the bank and began to fire rapidly, while the men replied till the crack crack and ping ping of the rifles was silenced,—the men stopping as if by mutual consent. For there was a flash from the side of the Teaser right in front of us, a shell whistled over our heads and crashed in among the trees where the petty firing of the matchlocks was kept up. Then—crash! the shell sent shrieking amongst them exploded, and all was still but the steady beating of our oars.
“Are you much hurt, sir?” I said to Mr Reardon; but Ching took the inquiry to himself.
“Velly stiff; velly hungly,” he said.
“I wasn’t speaking to you,” I cried angrily; for my temper seemed to have suddenly grown painfully acid, and a titter rose from among the men.
“No, Mr Herrick, scarcely at all. The bullet struck my cap-band, just above my temple, and glanced off. I can think more clearly now. How many men are hurt in this boat?”
There was no reply; and as we at the same moment glided alongside, the question seemed to be echoed from the Teaser’s side high above our heads.
Still no reply, and the captain said sharply—
“Who is below there, Mr Reardon—Mr Brooke?”
“Ay, ay, sir,” cried the latter.