Another spit of white flame from the beach, another, and another. Still
they were unhit, and every moment the distance was increasing. They had
got beyond the low beach, and were under the cliffs to the southward.
'We may do it yet,' muttered Ken. 'They can't see us in this light. And
there are not more than two chaps firing.'
There was a moment's pause in the firing. Ken's spirits rose. He
thought--hoped that the Turks had given it up as a bad job. Then, just as
it seemed as though they were really out of range, there rang out a
regular volley, and all around them the water splashed in little jets of
pale foam. There came a thud, the boat quivered slightly, and white
splinters flew near Ken's feet, one cutting him slightly on the shin.
'Hit?' panted Roy, as he saw Ken wince.
'Nothing. It's the boat,' answered Ken briefly, as he bent to examine the
damage.
A few seconds later, and they had rounded the projecting point of rock on
which stands the old lighthouse. The firing ceased.
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