He went hurrying off to take his stand by the lefthand gun, which presumably was the one which had been incorrectly laid previously.
“Take your aim carefully,” he called from his new position. “Fire when you’re sure.”
Bush saw him squat behind the lefthand gun, but he himself applied his attention to observing the results of the shooting.
The cycle repeated itself; the guns roared, the men came running with fresh charges, the redhot shot were brought up. The guns were fired again before Hornblower came back to Bush’s side.
“You’re hitting, I think,” said Bush. He turned back to look again through his glass. “I think—by God, yes! Smoke! Smoke!”
A faint black cloud was just visible between the schooner’s masts. It thinned again, and Bush could not be perfectly sure. The nearest gun bellowed out, and a chance flaw of wind blew the powder smoke about them as they stood together, blotting out their view of the schooner.
“Confound it all!” said Bush, moving about restlessly in search of a better viewpoint.
The other guns went off almost simultaneously and added to the smoke.
“Bring up fresh charges!” yelled Hornblower, with the smoke eddying round him. “See that you swab those guns out properly.”
The smoke eddied away, revealing the schooner, apparently unharmed, still creeping along the bay, and Bush cursed in his disappointment.