The fort shivered to its venerable foundation.
Across the harbor ricocheted the heavy shots, dotting a path straight to Fairbanks's ship. A school of flying fish these shots might have been, moistening their fins now and then, to show that water was their element. They dropped below the surface, as seeking rest, short of their destination a hundred yards.
"Elevate the muzzles of the guns!" yelled Barcelo. "Quick! the levers. Swing them in place! Bear down! Bear down, I tell you! Bring props. Now, get to work! Load again!"
Swabbers labored with might and main. Powder carriers came stumbling through the clinging smoke. Sinewy arms strained under the iron shot.
Seizing a ramrod, with his own hands the sooty and perspiring Colonel worked shoulder to shoulder with his men.
Signal flags arose, fluttered, fell, on the Admiral's vessel. Sailors swarmed through the rigging, like flies. Sails shortened, as by magic. Under lessened speed she swung until her length paralleled the water-front.
"Up with the white flag, Colonel Barcelo! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! For God's sake, give the order!" cried Farquharson. "She's ready for a broadside."
As he spoke he ran to the flagstaff. The consuls, storming and demanding, followed him, and made as if to lower the colors.
Barcelo halted them with drawn pistol. "Stand away! you squealing rats. I'll shoot the man who touches a halyard."
The Englishman stepped back; likewise, the others.