The rain still fell, though fitfully, and at times a dash of water entered the port, besprinkling gun and crew and fighting tackle, leaving great drops that glistened like dew in the waning light of the lanterns.
Alongside, white-capped waves raced with the ship.
As the gloom lightened, the horizon spread, and presently, away in the distance, a dark spot, like a smudge upon a gray background, became visible.

"Long Tommy," attached to my gun, leaned far out of the port with an exclamation of excitement.
"By George! it's another ship," he added.
"We are in a nest of the Dagoes," cried young Potter, rather wildly.

"We have run into an ambuscade." "You've got a great chance to become a dead hero," remarked the first gun captain dryly.
Word was passed from above to break out more shell, and presently the navigator slipped down the ladder and made a close inspection of the different five-inch guns.

As he went from crew to crew he gave whispered instructions to the officers in charge.
"The old man expects trouble this trip," whispered Tommy.

He coolly stripped off his shirt and stood, half-naked, the muscles of his athletic chest and arms gleaming like white marble in the uncertain light.