Miller helped me along the passage and made me stoop down when we passed a window, because the shutters had been thrown back and men were standing at them firing out, and sometimes bullets were coming in.
"Pretty middlin’, sir. We’ve only had about three killed and two or three wounded, and we can keep the skunks out of it when we can see them, which we can’t always do on account of this ’ere blessed fog."
He helped me up some steps, and then up a short ladder. Someone hauled me out of a small square opening, and I saw that there was nothing but fog all round drifting slowly past. I heard Mr. Ching’s voice: "Can you take in Morse? I’ve forgotten it, and my signalman is dead—shot half an hour ago;" and he pointed to a huddled-up figure beside him. "They’ve been trying to signal through the fog ever since I fired that rocket, and he got one or two words, but it’s been too thick till now. They’re just starting again."
I did my best to pull myself together, and asked him where the _Vigilant_ was, and followed his finger, pointing through the mist, and suddenly saw a very faint searchlight beam sticking straight up.
"Don’t stand up; kneel down," he whispered. "They are firing at us." So I knelt down very quickly. Just seeing that beam made me buck up, and I watched it very steadily. I had only just knelt down in time, for a bullet came flying past, and made me crouch still lower.
Then the beam began to wag very slowly—long sweeps down to the ground for "longs", and short ones only half-way for "shorts".
"Get your knife and scratch ’longs’ and ’shorts’ on a tile as I sing them out," I told Miller, and heard him do it.
This is what I took in: "... rst ... tenant to Lieutenant Ching (full stop). Captain landed with one hundred and fifty men two hours ago (full stop). Afraid dense fog has de——" Then the beam disappeared as a thicker bank of fog rolled across; but it was grand news, and I wanted to cheer for joy, and kept my eye fixed on the same spot, and presently the beam showed again, and I spelt out: "rocket if Midshipman Ford, Armourer’s Mate Miller, Private of Marines Martin is with you."
"They want another rocket fired, sir," I told him.
"I haven’t any more rockets," Mr. Ching said. "We only brought one; the others were left in the boats by accident."