“Some time yet before she’s in range, sir,” said Hornblower. “I’ll take a look at the furnace, with your permission.”
“I’ll come too,” said Bush.
At the furnace the bellows were still being worked and the heat was tremendous—but it was far hotter when Saddler drew out the grating that carried the heated shot. Even in the sunshine they could see the glow of the spheres; as the heat rose from them the atmosphere above them wavered so that everything below was vague and distorted. It could be a scene in Hell. Saddler spat on the nearest cannon ball and the saliva leaped with an instant hiss from the smooth surface of the sphere, falling from it without contact to dance and leap on the grating under it until with a final hiss it vanished entirely. A second attempt by Saddler brought the same result.
“Hot enough, sir?” asked Saddler.
“Yes,” said Hornblower.
Bush had often enough as a midshipman taken a smoothing-iron forward to the galley to heat it when there had been particular need to iron a shirt or a neckcloth; he remembered how he had made the same test of the temperature of the iron. It was a proof that the iron was dangerously hot to use when the spittle refused to make contact with it, but the shot was far hotter than that, infinitely hotter.
Saddler thrust the grating back into the furnace and wiped his steaming face with the rags that had shielded his hands.
“Stand by, you bearer men,” said Hornblower. “You’ll be busy enough soon.”
With a glance at Bush for permission he was off again, back to the battery, hurrying with awkward galvanic strides. Bush followed more slowly; he was weary with all his exertions, and it crossed his mind as he watched Hornblower hurrying up the ramp that Hornblower had probably been more active than he and was not blessed with nearly as powerful a physique. By the time he came up to him Hornblower was watching the leading schooner again.
“Her scantling’ll be weak,” said Hornblower. “These twentyfourpounders’ll go clean through her most of the time, even at long range.”