The naval guns and the guns of the city forts answered one another furiously. What a clangor and turmoil—what a smother of hot smoke from the cannon muzzles and the bursting shells! Solid shot thudded in, too. They ripped across the parapet, cutting gashes and sending the sand-bags flying. They bounded into the trench, and lay there spinning, ugly and black. It was hard to tell whether they were really solid or were going to burst. Horrors! One of the men passing ammunition had lost his head! A solid shot skimming through the same slot out of which a cannon muzzle pointed had taken the man's head off; he crumpled like a sack, and Jerry felt sick at the red sight.
When he opened his eyes and had to look again, shuddering, the body was gone; another sailor—a live one—stood in the place, and the guns were booming as before.
All the guns of the city forts on this side seemed to be firing at the naval battery. Several sailors had been wounded; a young officer was down and bleeding. The wounded were staggering to the rear; one stopped and sank beside Jerry. He had an arm dangling and crimsoned, and a bloody head.
"Ship ahoy, matie," he gasped. Jerry recognized him as his first friend of the night preceding. "You're here again, are you? D' you know where the sick bay is?"
"No, sir," said Jerry.
"It's aft some'ers down this bloomin' trench. Lend me a tow, will you? I've got a spar nigh shot off and a bit o' shell in my figgerhead. Hard for me to keep a course, d' you see?"
