“Yes, sir,” said Bush.
The decision could only lie with Buckland; no one else could share the responsibility. But it was terribly hard for a man to have to admit defeat in his very first command. Buckland looked as if for inspiration round the bay, where the redandgold flags of Spain flew above the bankedup powder smoke of the batteries—no inspiration could be found there.
“We can only get out with the land breeze,” said Buckland. “Yes, sir.”
There was almost no longer for the land breeze to blow, either, thought Bush; Buckland knew it as well as he did. A shot from the fort on the hill struck into the main chains at that moment, with a jarring crash and a shower of splinters. They heard the call for the fire party, and with that Buckland reached the bitter decision.
“Heave in on the spring cable,” he ordered. “Get her round head to sea.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Retreat—defeat; that was what that order meant. But defeat had to be faced; even with that order given there was much that had to be done to work the ship out of the imminent danger in which she lay. Bush turned to give the orders.
“’Vast heaving at the capstan, there!”
The clanking ceased and the Renown rode free in the muddy, churnedup waters of the bay. To retreat she would have to turn tail, reverse herself in that confined space, and work her way out to sea. Fortunately the means were immediately available: by heaving in on the bow cable which had so far lain idle between hawsehole and anchor the ship could be brought short round.
“Cast off the stern cable messenger!”