"Let go the anchor, Mr. Flint!" shouted Christy.
This was done under the direction of Mr. Camden. A fresh breeze had
sprung up from the north-west, and the Bronx came up to the cable still
headed in the direction of her former course. The carpenter reported
that the shot had passed out at the side between decks, and that he had
plugged the hole. The third lieutenant was busy rigging new wheel ropes,
which he said would be ready in half an hour. Mr. Flint, at the order
of the captain, had manned the broadside guns, and loaded them with
shrapnel, for the most perilous part of the enterprise was yet to come.
The fort was silent. It was evident now that the commander of the little
garrison had not left the barbette before till he had prepared at least
one of his guns for further service; but it had again been disabled, and
it was not known on board of the steamer whether or not he had any other
gun fit for use. It was presumed that he had not, for the Bronx was
within easy cannon shot of his works. Christy used the glass, but could
not discover any gun that appeared to be mounted.
"All ready, Mr. Flint," reported the third lieutenant, when he had
completed the repairs on the steering gear.
The first lieutenant inspected the work, and reported to the captain,
who immediately ordered him to weigh the anchor.
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