The brig was already responding. Her starboard quarter bumped the Santa Barbara in the waist, and then bumped clear.
'Midships!' shouted Foster.
At a distance of only two or three yards the fire ship passed on down the Santa Barbara 's side; an anxious group ran along her gangways keeping up with her as she did so. On the quarterdeck another group stood by with a spar to boom the fire ship off; Hornblower saw them out of the tail of his eye as they went by. Now they were clear.
'There's the Dauntless on the port bow,' said Foster. 'Keep her clear.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
The din of the fire was tremendous; it could hardly be believed that on this little area of deck it was still possible to breathe and live. Hornblower felt the appalling heat on his hands and face. Both masts were immense pyramids of flame.
'Starboard a point,' said Foster. 'We'll lay her aground on the shoal by the Neutral Ground.'
'Starboard a point,' responded Hornblower.
He was being borne along on a wave of the highest exaltation; the roar of the fire was intoxicating, and he knew not a moment's fear. Then the whole deck only a yard or two forward of the wheel opened up in flame. Fire spouted out of the gaping seams and the heat was utterly unbearable, and the fire moved rapidly aft as the seams gaped progressively backward.
Hornblower felt for the loopline to lash the wheel, but before he could do so the wheel spun idly under his hand, presumably as the tiller ropes below him were burned away, and at the same time the deck under his feet heaved and warped in the fire. He staggered back to the taffrail. Foster was there.