as 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."

"What did you say?"

"I was thinking, my son, that 'tis lucky you have somebody to look
after you."

Tristram sought for his father's hand and pressed it. "I am not
ungrateful, as you think."

"Why should I think so? You will have more yet to thank me for, I
hope."

The boat at this moment swung to the left, around a sandy promontory
that hid the jets of firearms behind them; but waves of light still
flickered across the black sky and the shouting still went on, though
growing fainter as they hurried forward. By one of the flashes, more
vivid than the rest and accompanied by the crackle of a whole volley,
Tristram saw that the boat was now being propelled down a narrow
channel, both shores of which he could just perceive across the
gloom.

Captain Salt suddenly raised both hands to his mouth, and hollowing
the palms, uttered three mournful cries, long and loud, like the
wailing of a gull.

Within half a minute the sound was echoed back from the darkness on
the right shore, for which the boat immediately headed. After thirty
strokes Tristram felt the sand rub beneath the keel, and they came to
a stand.

"Show the light!" his father called, jumping out into the water that
hard