Around swung the sloop, like the perfect naval machine that she was, and there quickly followed the reports of several guns at once. It was not a full broadside, but there was enough of it to have sunk the Goshawk, if the iron thrown had struck her at or near the water-line. None of it did so, but the next exclamation of Señor Zuroaga was one of utter dismay, for the foremast of the bark had been cut off at the cap and there was a vast rent in her mainsail. Down tumbled a mass of spars and rigging, forward, and the ship could no longer obey her helm.
“All hands cut away wreckage!” shouted Captain Kemp. “We’re all right. She won’t dare come any nearer. Hurrah!”
It was a deep, thunderous roar from the castle which had called out that apparently untimely hurrah. It was the voice of a 64-pounder gun from the nearest rampart, and the shot it sent fell within ten feet of the Portsmouth’s bows.
“Hullo!” exclaimed her captain, more angrily than ever. “We’ve run in almost to pointblank range of those heavy guns. About! About! Lieutenant, we must get out of this.”
“All right, sir,” was anxiously responded. “It isn’t worth while to risk any more shot of that size—not for all there’s likely to be under the hatches of that wretched bark. I think we barked her, anyhow.”
He may have meant that for a kind of small joke, but she had been worse hurt than he could know, for one 32-pounder shot had shattered her stern, barely missing her sternpost and rudder gearing, and she was no longer the trim and seaworthy vessel that she had been. One more heavy gun had sounded from the seaward battery of the castle, but her garrison had been in a genuinely Mexican condition of unreadiness, and it was several minutes before they could bring up more ammunition and make further use of their really excellent artillery. During those minutes, the Portsmouth had ample opportunity given her to swing around and sweep swiftly out of danger. She had barely escaped paying dearly for her pursuit of the Goshawk. Her satisfaction, however, consisted only in part of the damage she had done to the bark, for, in getting around, she had let drive her entire larboard broadside. It was a waste of ammunition, certainly, but no Yankee man-of-war commander would ever have forgiven himself if he had failed to make a good reply to a shot from the Castle of San Juan de Ulua. Moreover, the sloop’s gunners were ready to swear solemnly that every ball they had sent had hit the fort.
The excitement on board the Goshawk had been at fever heat, but it was now diminishing rapidly, for she did not contain a man who was not well pleased to see the Portsmouth give the matter up. All signs of mutiny disappeared, of course, for there was no more duty of a military character to be required of the men. The bark was soon set free of her wreckage, and prepared to make her way in still further, under the protection of the fort batteries. Captain Kemp was too busy for any kind of conversation, and Señor Zuroaga came aft, to where Ned was curiously studying the work of the 32-pound shot at the stern. The señor leaned over the side and did the same for a long moment before he remarked:
“We have had a narrow escape. A few feet lower, and that shot would have let the water in. Fifty feet forward, and it would have touched off the gunpowder. As it is, our voyage is ended, and I shall know, in an hour or two, whether or not I am to be shot in the morning.”