Then we tried another scheme to lay the gun for a certain spot on the cliff opposite us, with a very small charge of powder behind the shell. A man at the edge signalled whenever the _Hong Lu_ in her circling came towards it. Mr. Gibbins stood by with the firing lanyard and fired directly he could see the top of her fore-mast in line with that spot on the cliff—the top of her fore-mast being the only thing he could see from the sighting-platform, and then only when she happened to be right on the far side of the harbour. Well, we never did hit her, nor any of the others either. They never gave us a chance; tumbled to our plan directly and stopped their engines. Then, when the blue-jackets had struggled with the gun and trained her in a different direction, the _Hong Lu_ would be out of it again. They evidently had people signalling the movements of the gun from the cliff above them. If we could only have made certain of our powder charge it would have been more easy; but even with, say, only one bag and a half of powder, the shells would never drop in the same place twice running, though, whether it was due to the powder being old and bad, or the gun too worn-out, I do not know. It was frightfully disappointing, and even the Commander showed signs of irritation. Mr. Gibbins and his sweating gun’s crew were simply furious. The poor old gun was by this time simply white with bullet splashes, and looked quite helpless as it wobbled from side to side and puffed out its erratic shells. The marines, too, had constantly to be shifting away from Mr. Saunderson’s breast-works so that it could fire over them, and this annoyed them. * * * * * Now that the rain had ceased, the bushes began to burn quite furiously, fanned by the wind, and the cloud of smoke stretched right across our front, rolling down towards the town. The fire had left a clear space of blackened twigs and half-burnt grass for nearly sixty yards in front of Mr. Saunderson’s breast-works, and it was lucky enough for us that it had done so. There had been a complete lull of firing, and I had gone across to yarn with Mr. Collins, to whom I had not yet spoken. He was in the Maxim redoubt at the corner, strengthening it with sods of turf, and he winked at me as I came near him. "Having a good time, Glover?" "Ra-ther," I said. "Wouldn’t Mr. Parker like to be here too?" "He’s a splendid chap," said Mr. Collins. "Never thinks of himself, and sent me up here without my asking. Do you know, he had every mortal thing ready—except the oil-drums, of course. The men even had their leather gear on, and water-bottles filled, before he got the Commander’s signal. He thought he might want reinforcements." "I rather expected to see Jones come ashore," I said.