Arab's eyes are more used to darkness than a European's, so with their twinkling lights, that the Zanzibarees had not even taken the precaution to put out, each ship in the anchored fleet could be correctly positioned. Apart from this, the lightning that flickered and flashed ghost-like about their hulls would have given the clue to the enemy.
This great flagship now began to vomit forth fire and shot and shell, and the rattle of her belching guns was louder far than the loudest thunder.
But in the inky night there was now no visible target, for the burning ship had soon blown up. They might as well have fired in the empty air.
Then flashlights were turned upon her by the enemy, lighting her up fitfully, and for a moment or two only.
For the time being, the streams of electric light were only necessary to guide the midgets towards her.
Five of these latter surrounded her, and a hellish legion of fierce cutlass-armed fighting Arabs swarmed on board of her.
There had been a sudden lull in the storm, the thunder had also ceased to rattle, though the seas still lashed in fury. It was as if Nature appalled, held her breath to witness the horrors of the fight that was now raging on the battle decks of the Sultan's flagship.
The cries, the yells, the wild appeals for mercy, could be distinctly heard at the Consul's window, and added to the horror of this terrible night.
But it was soon over. The crew had all been slain, or leapt overboard in wild panic, and those who remained alive were rushed below and imprisoned, The Sultan was not found.
The flagship's fires had been found banked, and soon after her capture, with every light extinguished, she was steaming out to sea.