Soon they would be under a sharp crossfire. He hoped they would not be subjected to it for too long. He could hear orders being shouted on deck, and the masts creaked as the yards came round; they were working the Renown round the bend.
“The fort’s opened fire, sir,” reported the master’s mate in charge of the forward guns on the starboard side.
“Very well, Mr. Purvis.” He crossed over and looked out. “Did you see where the shot fell?”
“No, sir.”
“They’re firing on this side, too, sir,” reported Hornblower.
“Very well.”
Bush saw the fort spurting white cannon smoke. Then straight in the line between his eye and the fort, fifty yards from the side of the ship, a pillar of water rose up from the golden surface, and within the same instant of time something crashed into the side of the ship just above Bush’s head. A ricochet had bounded from the surface and had lodged somewhere in the eighteen inches of oak that constituted the ship’s side. Then followed a devil’s tattoo of crashes; a wellaimed salvo was striking home.
“I might just reach the battery on this side now, sir,” said Hornblower.
“Then try what you can do.”
Now here was Buckland himself, hailing fretfully down the hatchway.