The black pilot, who was not a soldier, grew more and more bewildered, and declared that it was the channel, not his brain, which had gone wrong; the captain, a little elderly man, sat wringing his hands in the pilot-box; and the engineer appeared to be mingling his groans with those of the diseased engine.

Meanwhile I, in equal ignorance of machinery and channel, had to give orders only justified by minute acquaintance with both.

So I navigated on general principles, until they grounded us on a mud-bank, just below a wooded point, and some two miles from the bridge of our destination.

It was with a pang that I waved to Major Strong, who was on the other side of the channel in a tug, not to risk approaching us, but to steam on and finish the work, if he could.
Short was his triumph.

Gliding round the point, he found himself instantly engaged with a light battery of four or six guns, doubtless the same we had seen in the distance.