"Wheel disabled, sir!" shouted the quartermaster.
"Beat to quarters, Mr. Flint!" said Christy, trying to make out what
mischief had been done by the shot; but he could only see that it had
cut the wheel ropes.
"Strike two bells, Vincent!" he called to the quartermaster.
By this time the executive officer had beat the crew to quarters, and
every man was at his station.
"Strike three bells, Vincent," continued the commander. "Mr. Flint, open
fire upon the fort with the midship gun. Have the carpenter report at
once on the damage done by that shot. Strike two bells, Vincent."
It was plain enough to all the officers and men that the commander
knew what to do in the emergency, and every one was energetic in the
discharge of his duty. Mr. Ambleton was fully alive to the peril of the
moment, and he was careful to make his aim sure with the great gun. It
had been loaded before with a solid shot, and presently the steamer was
shaken to her keel by the concussion of its discharge.
Christy was still on the bridge, and he watched with intense interest
the effect of the shot. In a moment he saw the carriage of the only gun
that seemed to be mounted on the barbette flying in pieces in every
direction. He directed the gunner to use a shell next time; but the
soldiers had hastened away from the place, bearing with them two of
their companions, doubtless wounded by the splinters.
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