“Better man the guns and make ready for ’em,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said Hornblower. He hesitated. “We won’t have ’em under fire for long. They’ll be shallow draught. They can hug the point over there closer than Renown could.”
“But it won’t take much to sink ’em, either,” said Bush. “Oh, I see what you’re after.”
“Red‑hot shot might make all the difference, sir,” said Hornblower.
“Repay ’em in their own coin,” said Bush, with a grin of satisfaction. Yesterday the Renown had endured the hellish fire of red‑hot shot. To Bush the thought of roasting a few Dagoes was quite charming.
“That’s right, sir,” said Hornblower.
He was not grinning like Bush. There was a frown on his face; he was oppressed with the thought that the privateers might escape to continue their depredations elsewhere, and any means to reduce their chances should be used.
“But can you do it?” asked Bush suddenly. “D’ye know how to heat shot?”
“I’ll find out, sir.”
“I’ll wager no man of ours knows how.”
Shot could only be heated in a battery on land; a seagoing ship, constructed of inflammable material, could not run the risk of going into action with a flaming furnace inside her. The French, in the early days of the Revolutionary War, had made some disastrous experiments in the hope of finding a means of countering England’s naval superiority, but after a few ships had set themselves on fire they had given up the attempt. Seagoing men now left the use of the heated weapon to shore‑based garrison artillery.
“I’ll try and find out for myself, sir,” said Hornblower. “There’s the furnace down there and all the gear.”
Hornblower stood in the sunshine, already far too hot to be comfortable. His face was pale, dirty and bearded, and in his expression eagerness and weariness were oddly at war.
“Have you had any breakfast yet?” asked Bush.
“No, sir.” Hornblower looked straight at him. “Neither have you, sir.”
“No,” grinned Bush.
He had not been able to spare a moment for anything like that, with the whole defence of the fort to be organised. But he could bear fatigue and hunger and thirst, and he doubted if Hornblower could.
“I’ll get a drink of water at the well, sir,” said Hornblower.
As he said the words, and the full import came to him, a change in his expression was quite obvious. He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips; Bush could see that the lips were cracked and parched and that the tongue could do nothing to relieve them. The man had drunk nothing since he had landed twelve hours ago — twelve hours of desperate exertion in a tropical climate.
“See that you do, Mr Hornblower,” said Bush. “That’s an order.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Bush found the telescope leaving his hand and passing into Hornblower’s.
“May I have another look, sir, before I go down? By George, I thought as much. That two‑master’s warping out, sir. Less than an hour before she’s within range. I’ll get the guns manned, sir. Take a look for yourself, sir.”
He went darting down the stone stairs of the tower, having given back the telescope, but half way down he paused.
“Don’t forget your breakfast, sir,” he said, his face upturned to Bush. “You’ve plenty of time for that.”
Bush’s glance through the telescope confirmed what Hornblower had said. At least one of the vessels up the bay was beginning to move. He turned and swept the rest of the land and water with a precautionary glance before handing the telescope to Abbott, who during all this conversation had been standing by, silent in the presence of his betters.
“Keep a sharp lookout,” said Bush.
Down in the body of the fort Hornblower was already issuing rapid orders, and the men, roused to activity, were on the move. On the gun platform they were casting loose the remaining guns, and as Bush descended from the platform he saw Hornblower organising other working parties, snapping out orders with quick gestures. At the sight of Bush he turned guiltily and walked over to the well. A marine was winding up the bucket, and Hornblower seized it. He raised the bucket to his lips, leaning back to balance the weight; and he drank and drank, water slopping in quantities over his chest as he drank, water pouring over his face, until the bucket was empty, and then he put it down with a grin at Bush, his face still dripping water. The very sight of him was enough to make Bush, who had already had one drink from the well, feel consumed with thirst all over again.