"If that ain’t pluck, call me a coal-shovelling stoker!" cried Bolton, as the big fo’c’stle gun fired again before our Krupp had time to reload, and the shell burst just below the crest. We ducked our heads behind the sand-bags, and the fragments tore up the ground. "There’s a Englishman a-running that show, sir; none o’ your spotted Dagos, I’ll be bound." He was just a little too talkative for me, so I went away, Sergeant Haig smiling grimly as I left. "Haven’t had much to do this side yet, sir." I ran across to the rear of the big gun just as it fired again. That shot was short, and whilst they were reloading her the cruiser fired two more rounds; but our next shell struck her farther forward, bringing down her funnel and foremast and crumpling her up like match-wood. We could see them taking to their boats and pulling ashore, and the men yelled again with delight, for although her shells had done very little mischief, and had only wounded one man—a marine behind the "Log Redoubt"—the noise of their bursting shells was intensely unpleasant and disconcerting. The big Krupp was now turned on the cruisers lying to the right of the town, but these were so much closer in and right down under the land that it was still more difficult to drop shell anywhere near them. Of course we could not see anything of them from the gun itself, and had to chance more or less the direction and also the powder charge, trying first three bags of powder, which sent the shell almost over the back of the forts at the entrance, and then two bags, which did not send it far enough, but made it go ricocheting down the side of the hill before it burst near the bottom. We tried elevating the sights a little, and gradually began to drop our shells with some amount of precision. The _Hong Lu_ was, of course, the ship we were most anxious to hit, because she was the only ship which was really good for any serious fighting. I was watching the men working like demons inside the gun-pit, hauling the big shell and the bags of powder from the magazines, and training her with the clumsy tackles, when presently Dr. Richardson called me. He had found a little hollow in the side of the hill overlooking the sea, and there he had brought all the wounded men and was busy among them still, with monkey-jacket off and sleeves rolled up. He was bandaging a marine who had just been struck by a shrapnel bullet. It had struck him a slanting blow on the back of his head, and he sat there gazing stupidly in front of him, supporting himself mechanically with his hands as he swayed unsteadily. When he had finished the bandage, Dr. Richardson lowered him on his back in the grass, and injected something into his arm with a syringe which the sick-berth steward handed him. He shoved the needle right through the skin, and I thought that the man would surely yell, but he only opened his eyes for a second and then closed them again.