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Updated: June 10, 2025
This buoy shone under the rays of the sun as if it had been made of plates of silver. Commander Blomsberry, J. T. Maston, and the delegates of the Gun Club were mounted on the bridge, examining this object straying at random on the waves. All looked with feverish anxiety, but in silence. None dared give expression to the thoughts which came to the minds of all.
The ship's course was then changed so as to reach this exact point. At forty-seven minutes past twelve they reached the buoy; it was in perfect condition, and must have shifted but little. "At last!" exclaimed J. T. Maston. "Shall we begin?" asked Captain Blomsberry. "Without losing a second." Every precaution was taken to keep the corvette almost completely motionless.
After casting anchor, Captain Blomsberry and Lieutenant Bronsfield entered an eight-pared cutter, which soon brought them to land. They jumped on to the quay. "The telegraph?" they asked, without answering one of the thousand questions addressed to them. The officer of the port conducted them to the telegraph office through a concourse of spectators.
By putting all steam on, the Susquehanna, in less than two days, could reach the port of San Francisco. She must, therefore, start at once. The fires were heaped up, and they could set sail immediately. Two thousand fathoms of sounding still remained in the water. Captain Blomsberry would not lose precious time in hauling it in, and resolved to cut the line.
The New World seems to have made up its mind to live in peace; and our bellicose Tribune predicts some approaching catastrophes arising out of this scandalous increase of population." "Nevertheless," replied Colonel Blomsberry, "they are always struggling in Europe to maintain the principle of nationalities." "Well?"
Among these was the brisk Bilsby, Tom Hunter, Colonel Blomsberry, Major Elphinstone, General Morgan, and the rest of the lot to whom the casting of the Columbiad was a matter of personal interest. J. T. Maston became their cicerone.
The ecstasy of J. T. Maston knew no bounds, and he narrowly escaped a frightful fall while staring down the tube. But for the strong hand of Colonel Blomsberry, the worthy secretary, like a modern Erostratus, would have found his death in the depths of the Columbiad. The cannon was then finished; there was no possible doubt as to its perfect completion.
At the sight of this vessel of the national navy arriving with all speed on, her bowsprit gone, and her mainmast propped up, public curiosity was singularly excited. A compact crowd was soon assembled on the quays awaiting the landing. After weighing anchor Captain Blomsberry and Lieutenant Bronsfield got down into an eight-oared boat which carried them rapidly to the land.
He would not abandon the place without having at least found the tomb of his friends. But Captain Blomsberry could not stay on obstinately, and notwithstanding the opposition of the worthy secretary, he was obliged to give orders to set sail. On the 29th of December, at 9 a.m., the Susquehanna, heading north-east, began to return to the bay of San Francisco. It was 10 a.m.
The buoy fastened on to the sounding-line had not yet been seen. At noon Captain Blomsberry, helped by his officers, who controlled the observation, made his point in presence of the delegates of the Gun Club. That was an anxious moment. The Susquehanna was found to be at some minutes west of the very spot where the projectile had disappeared under the waves.
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