All the men not absolutely needed for duty were sent below, but they were armed with revolvers and cutlasses, ready for service at any instant.

The officers retired from the bridge, for it was folly for any one to be unnecessarily exposed to the musketry fire from the loopholes of the fort.
"Strike one bell, Vincent!" said Mr.Flint, when the captain had given him the order to go ahead.
The steamer went ahead slowly; but the steam was hissing, and she seemed to be as impatient as a fiery horse at the slow starting.
"Four bells, Mr.Flint!" added the commander when the Bronx was fairly under way.
The order went to the quartermaster, and the vessel began to dart ahead as though she fully realized what was expected of her.

There was nothing to impede her progress, for the fort was as silent as though it had ceased to exist.

A trusty hand was heaving the lead in the fore-chains, for the Bronx was not yet within musket-shot range of the island.
"Mark under water three!" shouted the leadsman, with an earnestness inspired by the occasion.
Christy planked the deck with Mr.Flint just abaft the foremast.

Both of them were as cool and self-possessed as though they had been sitting at the cabin-table; but neither of them felt that the battle had been won, for the officer in command of the fort was evidently a man of ability, who had not yet exhausted his resources.