“Some time yet before she’s in range, sir,” said Hornblower. “I’ll take a look at the furnace, with your permission.”
“I’ll come too,” said Bush.
At the furnace the bellows were still being worked and the heat was tremendous — but it was far hotter when Saddler drew out the grating that carried the heated shot. Even in the sunshine they could see the glow of the spheres; as the heat rose from them the atmosphere above them wavered so that everything below was vague and distorted. It could be a scene in Hell. Saddler spat on the nearest cannon ball and the saliva leaped with an instant hiss from the smooth surface of the sphere, falling from it without contact to dance and leap on the grating under it until with a final hiss it vanished entirely. A second attempt by Saddler brought the same result.
“Hot enough, sir?” asked Saddler.
“Yes,” said Hornblower.
Bush had often enough as a midshipman taken a smoothing-iron forward to the galley to heat it when there had been particular need to iron a shirt or a neckcloth; he remembered how he had made the same test of the temperature of the iron. It was a proof that the iron was dangerously hot to use when the spittle refused to make contact with it, but the shot was far hotter than that, infinitely hotter.
Saddler thrust the grating back into the furnace and wiped his steaming face with the rags that had shielded his hands.
“Stand by, you bearer men,” said Hornblower. “You’ll be busy enough soon.”
With a glance at Bush for permission he was off again, back to the battery, hurrying with awkward galvanic strides. Bush followed more slowly; he was weary with all his exertions, and it crossed his mind as he watched Hornblower hurrying up the ramp that Hornblower had probably been more active than he and was not blessed with nearly as powerful a physique. By the time he came up to him Hornblower was watching the leading schooner again.
“Her scantling’ll be weak,” said Hornblower. “These twenty‑four‑pounders’ll go clean through her most of the time, even at long range.”
“Plunging shot,” said Bush. “Maybe they’ll go through her bottom.”
“Maybe so,” said Hornblower, and then added “sir.”
Even after all his years of service he was liable to forget that important monosyllable when he was thinking deeply.
“She’s setting sail again!” said Bush. “They’ve got her head round.”
“And the tows have cast off,” added Hornblower. “Not long now.”
He looked down the line of guns, all charged and primed, the quoins withdrawn so that they were at their highest elevation, the muzzles pointing upward as though awaiting the shot to be rolled into them. The schooner was moving perceptibly down the channel towards them. Hornblower turned and walked down the row; behind his back one hand was twisting impatiently within the other; he came back and turned again, walking jerkily down the row — he seemed incapable of standing still, but when he caught Bush’s eye on him he halted guiltily, forcing himself, with an obvious effort, to stand still like his superior officer. The schooner crept on, a full half-mile ahead of the next vessel.
“You might try a ranging shot,” said Bush at length.
“Aye aye, sir,” said Hornblower with instant agreement, like a river bursting through a broken dam. It seemed as if he had been compelling himself to wait until Bush should speak.
“Furnace there!” hailed Hornblower. “Saddler! send up one shot.”
The bearers came plodding up the ramp, carrying carefully between them the glowing cannon ball. The bright redness of it was quite obvious — even the heat that it gave off was distinctly perceptible. The wet wads were rammed down the bore of the nearest gun, the shot bearer was hoisted up level with its muzzle, and coaxed into motion with wad‑hook and rammer, the fiery shot was rolled in. There was an instant hissing and spluttering of steam as the ball came into contact with the wet wads; Bush wondered again how long it would be before the wads were burned through and the charge set off; the recoil would make it decidedly uncomfortable for anyone who happened to be aiming the gun at that moment.