"There! and don't ye fire till I say so!" Thus made welcome, Rudolph crawled toward a chink among the bags, ran the muzzle of his gun into place, and lay ready for whatever might come out of the quaking lights and darknesses beyond.
Nothing came, however, except a swollen continuity of sound, a rolling cloud of noises, thick and sullen as the smell of burnt gunpowder.

It was strange, thought Rudolph, how nothing happened from moment to moment.

No yellow bodies came charging out of the hubbub.

He himself lay there unhurt; his fellows joked, grumbled, shifted their legs on the platform.

At times the heavier, duller sound, which had been the signal for the whole disorder,--one ponderous beat, as on a huge and very slack bass-drum,--told that the Black Dog from Rotterdam was not far off.