“Why, it must have been that last volley!”
“Yes,” said the lieutenant; “that was too much for them. They stopped, though, to carry off all their wounded.”
This last was said as they stood gazing out of the windows at the six great junks gliding slowly up against the current with all sail set, but no remark was made about the way in which the broad river was dotted with ghastly-looking objects floating away with the stream and, fortunately for those at the hong, fast growing more distant; but all knew how busy the defeated enemy must have been plunging those who had fallen into the river before they sailed away.
“Now let us go down, sir, and see if Mr Blunt is well enough to hear the news.”
“Yes; he ought to have been told before.”
“We left him half-asleep,” said the lieutenant meaningly. “I wouldn’t wake a wounded man, sir, even to give him the best of news.”
“Perhaps it would be best to wait,” said Stan wearily, and looking as if all the spirit in him before had completely gone.
“Feel done up, sir?”
“Yes, horribly,” replied Stan as they reached the head of the stairs, and both glanced round and then looked in each other’s eyes.
“What were you looking round for?” said Stan.