"
The enemy had approached within three miles by the time the piece
was ready for action. Under Mr. Gibney's instructions Captain
Scraggs held the fuse setter in case it should be necessary to
adjust with shrapnel. Mr. Gibney inserted his sights and took a
preliminary squint. "A little different from gun-pointin' in the
navy, but about the same principle," he declared. "In the army I
believe they call this kind o' shootin' direct fire, because you
sight direct on the target." He scratched his ingenious head and
examined the ammunition. "Not a high explosive shell in the lot,"
he mourned. "I'll have to use percussion fire to get the range;
then I'll drop back a little an' spray her with shrapnel. Seems a
pity to smash up a fine schooner like that one with percussion
fire. I'd rather tickle 'em up a bit with shrapnel an' scare 'em
into runnin' away."
He got out the lanyard, slipped a cartridge in the breech,
paused, and scratched his head again. His calm deliberation was
driving Scraggs crazy. He reminded Mr. Gibney with some asperity
that they were not attending a strawberry festival and for the
love of heaven to get busy.
"I'm estimatin' the range, you snipe," Gibney retorted.
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