so that she might not pass the
Koreans; and both fleets were gradually edging closer and still closer
together. As they did so, the volleys of musketry became ever fiercer
and fiercer, until the air fairly vibrated with the sound, threaded with
the shrieks and groans of the wounded and dying.

Scattered everywhere about the decks could be seen the forms of men who
had been struck down; and the splintered, chipped decks were already
deeply stained with blood. And although the action was general
throughout the two fleets, it appeared as though the hottest part of the
fire was being directed against the particular boat in which the young
Englishman lay a prisoner.

Frobisher soon found that, at such close range, his position under the
lee of the low bulwark was anything but secure, since the
nickel-jacketed bullets which the rebels were using were already
drilling holes clean through the thick planking and passing out through
the opposite bulwark. He therefore again painfully removed himself,
taking up a new position with his back against the stout mast of the
barge, with it between himself and the point from which the volleys were
coming. From this new position he made a fresh survey of his
surroundings, and assured himself that if matters went on like this much
longer, there would be none left alive on board to defend the craft, and
her capture would be certain. He rubbed his hands with satisfaction at
the thought that, perhaps, another hour might see him safely aboard the
rebel squadron.

But where, meanwhile, he wondered, was Ling? If he were really sincere
in his desire to show his gratitude, the time was at hand for him to do
so. The number of able-bodied men on board was growing less every
moment; and if Ling could only be persuaded to bring the Englishman his
two revolvers, loaded, he and the Korean might be able to obtain
possession of the craft, and steer her over to the shelter of the other
squadron. But alas! Frobisher had not far to look in order to discover
the whereabouts of the man he was thinking of.

Ling was close at hand, reclining in a half-sitting posture with his
back against the bulwark. His hands were spread open on the deck, his
musket having fallen from the nerveless fingers; his head was tilted
back until his high, conical hat had fallen off; and there, plainly
visible in the moonshine, was a great patch of coagulating blood on his
throat, showing where a bullet had drilled him cl