Closer! said Bush.
Another puff, and simultaneously a crash from the waist told where the shot had struck.
Two men down at number four gun, said Bush, stooping to look forward under the gangway, and then, eyeing the distance between the two ships: Christ! Its going to be a near thing.
It was a situation which Hornblower had visualised several times in his solitary walks on the quarterdeck. He took a last glance up at the weathervane, and at the topsails on the point of shivering as the ship tossed on the heaving sea.
Stand by, Mr. Rayner. Fire as your guns bear, he called. Rayner was in command of the starboard side maindeck battery. Then, from the corner of his mouth to the men at the wheelPut
your helm a-weather. Catch her! Hold her so!
The Lydia spun round and shot down the lee side of the Natividad and her starboard side guns went off almost simultaneously in a rolling crash that shook the ship to her keel. The billow of smoke that enveloped her momentarily was blown away instantly by the gale. Every shot crashed into the Natividad s side; the wind brought to their ears the screams of the wounded. So unexpected had the manoeuvre been that only one single shot was fired from the Natividad, and that did no damageher lower deck ports on this, her lee side, were closed because of the high sea.
Grand! Oh, grand! said Bush. He sniffed at the bitter powder smoke eddying round him as if it had been sweet incense.
Stand by to go about, rasped Hornblower.
A well-drilled crew, trained in months of storms under Bushs eagle eye, was ready at sheets and braces. The Lydia tacked about, turning like a machine, before Natividad could offer any counter to this unexpected attack, and Gerard fired his battery into her helpless stern. The ships boys were cheering aimlessly in high piping trebles as they came running up from below with new charges for the guns. On the starboard side the guns were already loaded; on the port side the guns crews were thrusting wet swabs down the bore to extinguish any residual fragments of smouldering cartridge, ramming in the charges and shot, and heaving the guns up into firing position again. Hornblower stared across the tossing water at the Natividad. He could see Crespo up on her poop; the fellow actually had the insolence to wave his hand to him, airily, while in the midst of bellowing orders at his unhandy crew.
The Lydia had wrung the utmost advantage out of her manoeuvre; she had fired her two broadsides at close range and had only received a single shot in reply, but now she had to pay for it. By her possession of the weather gauge the Natividad could force close action for a space if resolutely handled. Hornblower could just see her rudder from where he stood. He saw it kick over, and next moment the two-decker had swung round and was hurtling down upon them. Gerard stood in the midst of his battery gazing with narrowed eyes into the wind at the impressive bulk close overside. His swarthy beauty was accentuated by the tenseness of the moment and the fierce concentration of his expression, but for once he was quite unconscious of his good looks.
Cock your locks! he ordered. Take your aim! Fire!
The roar of the broadside coincided exactly with that of the Natividad s. The ship was enveloped in smoke, through which could be heard the rattling of splinters, the sound of cut rigging tumbling to the deck, and through it all Gerards voice continuing with his drillStop your vents! The quicker the touch holes of the muzzle loaders were plugged after firing the less would be the wear caused by the rush of the acid gases through them.
The guns crews strained at the tackles as the heave of the ship bade fair to send them surging back against the ships sides. They sponged and they rammed.
Fire as you will, boys! shouted Gerard. He was up on the hammock-netting now, gazing through the smoke wreaths at the Natividad rising and swooping alongside. The next broadside crashed out raggedly, and the next more raggedly still, as the more expert gun crews got off their shots more quickly than the others; soon the sound of firing was continuous, and the Lydia was constantly a-tremble. At intervals through the roar of her cannon came the thunderous crash of the Natividads broadsideCrespo evidently could not trust his crew to fire independently with efficiency, and was working them to the word of command. He was doing it well, too; at intervals as the sea permitted, her lower deck ports were opening like clockwork and the big twenty-four pounders were vomiting flame and smoke.
Hot work, this, sir, said Bush.
The iron hail was sweeping the Lydias decks. There were dead men piled round the masts, whither they had been hastily dragged so as not to encumber the guns crews. Wounded men were being dragged along the deck and down the hatchways to where the horrors of the cockpit awaited them. As Hornblower looked he saw a powder boy flung across the deck, dissolved into a red inhuman mass as a twenty-four pounder ball hit him.