The little vessel continued to beat its way seaward, and the
ironclads receded slowly towards the coast, which was hidden still by
a marbled bank of vapour, part steam, part black gas, eddying and
combining in the strangest way.  The fleet of refugees was scattering
to the northeast; several smacks were sailing between the ironclads
and the steamboat.  After a time, and before they reached the sinking
cloud bank, the warships turned northward, and then abruptly went
about and passed into the thickening haze of evening southward.  The
coast grew faint, and at last indistinguishable amid the low banks of
clouds that were gathering about the sinking sun.