"That old castle sticks hout in the sea, this 'ere side," called back the voice, "and them there snipers 'ave been doin' themselves something proud."
The Orphan strained his eyes and could just distinguish, about two hundred yards away—ahead of the River Clyde—the battlemented outline of the castle walls and, farther to the right, a much more indistinct and blurred mass sticking out into the sea. This was actually the sea walls of Sedd-el-Bahr castle, jutting out on a reef.
No more shots came from there, and there was quietness everywhere for a few minutes. He began to feel sleepy, but then one or two solitary rifles rang out on the cliff side of the ship, five or six followed, thirty or forty seemed to chip in, and, almost before he knew it, a perfect pandemonium of rifle-fire burst out, making a ruddy glow against which the stern of the ship and the masts stood out quite plainly. Presently maxims started on shore, whether English or Turkish he could not know; and then, up above, from the foc's'le of the ship herself, several maxims added their voices to the din. The snipers from the sea walls did not take part in this "show". It died down after a while; a few crashes of musketry, then a few scattered shots apparently answering each other, and silence—silence which seemed absolutely extraordinary—as if it was something tangible.
What had happened, the Orphan had not the faintest idea. He could only stay where he was, and hope that Dr. O'Neill would decide something shortly.
Presently he heard the Doctor's voice in the darkness: "Steam pinnace! Steam pinnace!" and the Hun calling back "Aye, aye, sir!" "Go back to the ship and ask the Commander to send for me half an hour after the next attack ceases."
"Right, sir!" and jeering at his pal, the Hun, shoved off and disappeared back to the Achates, drawing a solitary twinkle from the sea wall of the castle and a solitary bullet which hit the ship's side, above the Orphan's head.
In a few minutes a voice called down: "You've got to make fast and come along inside 'ere—you and your crew," so he clambered up the wooden steps with his four men. Very willingly he did this, for he was anxious to be able to say that he had been aboard the River Clyde, and he felt lonely and very exposed, waiting alongside.
Inside her was absolutely pitch dark; a man who bumped against him could not be seen. The Orphan heard Dr. O'Neill's voice, and elbowed his way towards him, stumbling across something which he knew was a stretcher, but evidently not waking the man asleep on it.
"Sit down, and keep out of the gangway," Dr. O'Neill snapped, "unless you want a bullet in you. There's nothing any of us can do. There they go again, curse them!" as more rifle-firing started, just as it had done before—one or two shots, then more, then apparently a whole line blazing away as if they had millions of rounds of ammunition to spare. This time he heard hundreds of bullets pattering against the opposite side of the ship, and the glare showed him another gangway port opposite the one by which he had just entered.
"It's blocked up with boards, and you can see the light between them," someone sitting next him said; "and those blighted Turks can see a light inside here, through them, too."