He swung the heavy and cumbrous canvas into position as if it were a dust cloth.

He emerged from the gloom of the driven cloud red-eyed but triumphant.
Instantly the vapor on the ledge lessened, and they could breathe, even talk.

Overhead and in front the smoke swept in ever-increasing density, but once again the sailor had outwitted the Dyaks' manoeuvres.
"We have won the first rubber," he whispered to Iris.
Above, beneath, beyond, they could see nothing.

The air they breathed was hot and foetid.

It was like being immured in a foul tunnel and almost as dark.