Stan did not stop to enter into any discussion, but the moment he had seen the manager take his place with his followers he threw himself upon the rough couch so lately vacated, and dropped asleep at once.
The next minute he was awake again, or so it seemed to him, to find Blunt’s hand upon his arm.
“Up with you,” he said, “and help to rouse the rest. Every man is to go to his station without a sound.”
“Are the enemy upon us, then?”
“No,” said Blunt shortly. “You said it was misty, and that has gone on, till the river is covered by a white fog so dense that it looks as if you could cut it. You can see nothing half-a-dozen yards away, and I was wondering whether it would disperse when the sun rose, when Wing came close up behind me. ‘See, misteh?’ he whispered, and he pointed down the river into the thick white fog. ‘No,’ I said. ‘What is it?’ He pointed again down-stream, and at that moment the mist, which floated like smoke on the surface of the water, lifted a little. Lynn, I felt stunned, for there were six junks in sight.”
“So close?” whispered Stan.
“Yes; and the next minute the mist shut in again and they were gone as silently as they had come.”
“But they had seen the hong?”
“No, I think not, or they would have set to and used their sweeps. We must wait now till they begin to come back, unless we are so lucky that they run aground on the other side. Quick! I’m going back to the wharf.”
Stan made no reply, but hurried to where Uncle Jeff was sleeping soundly. He sprang up at a touch.