The boat was still moving with unabated
speed, and the dark, choppy water stretched all round them.
Through the murky night the ships' lanterns still shone steadily
enough, but farther off than before, and at a sharp angle behind his
right shoulder.
"It seems we are not steering very straight for the fleet," he could
not help remarking.
"We are not steering for the fleet," said his father.
"But I thought--"
He broke off as a series of sharp flashes danced out in the distance,
followed by the rattle of musketry and a dull, confused shouting.
"You perceive," Captain Salt remarked, "that the squadron is not the
safest means of reaching Harwich."
"What are they doing out there?"
"They are killing each other."
"That sounds very unpleasant."
"And as the night is too dark to distinguish faces with any
certainty, I thought you would prefer to go home by another way."
"A longer way?"
"It is certainly a trifle longer; but then, as it won't expose you to
the risk of being killed--"
"That's true. I won't grudge the time."
The explosions of musketry, meanwhile, had been following each other
faster and faster, and at length became incessant.
"Bravo!" muttered Captain Salt to himself; "this will take some time
to quell.
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