Chapter Sixteen.
Escape.
Three more shots were fired at intervals, as the brig kept making short tack after tack, and with each report the flash appeared to be brighter, indicative of the increasing darkness, while now a pale lambent light seemed to be dawning at times and making the shape of the brig stand out more clearly at intervals, but only to fade away again quickly, while there were moments when the vessel quite disappeared.
“Why is that, uncle?” asked Rodd quickly, as he looked vainly now in search of the flying craft. “Ah, there she is again! I began to think she had gone down. Why is she seen so dimly sometimes?”
“Hidden by the flying spray, I think,” said Uncle Paul.
“Oh yes, of course,” cried the boy. “Ah, there she is, quite clear now, and still going on nearer and nearer to the harbour mouth. No—now it’s getting darker than ever.—There, now she’s coming into sight again quite clearly.”
“Yes, she’s getting out where the harbour lights are full upon her,” said Uncle Paul.
As he spoke there were two more reports, almost simultaneous, and Rodd felt a peculiar sense of pain attacking him, for at one moment when the two guns flashed, the brig could be plainly seen; the next, as the boy strained his eyes, all was black darkness, and he caught at his uncle’s arm with his hands trembling and an intense longing upon him to speak; but no words would come.