SIX-POUNDER TARGET PRACTICE

Graduation day drew near, bringing exultant happiness to Robert Drake. Not many more things could occur to him—the annual examinations were soon to be held, but these brought no terrors to Robert's mind. Most of the drills had been finished, and the first and second companies were now neck and neck in competition for the first place, with Blair's company slightly in the lead. The final standing now depended upon the records these respective companies made at target practice.

Annapolis was now in ribboned and brass-buttoned glory. Proudly the brigade of midshipmen marched each afternoon for dress parade, and on the walks viewing them was much fluttering loveliness. Then, after dismissal, came pleasant, even if short, strolls through the grounds, in and about the shady walks.

Robert was happy because of four years of hard work well done and well appreciated. He loved the place. Every tree on the grounds was an old friend, and every spot near and about old Annapolis called up pleasant memories.

The important things yet to occur were target practice, the first class german, graduation, and the great June ball.

Among the midshipmen there were a few, however, who were not happy at this time. Among them was Harry Blunt; in danger of failing in mathematics, disturbed by reproachful looks from his mother and sister and worried by severe letters from his father, he commenced to have an anxious appearance, and actually abandoned the gaieties that were now thrust into midshipman life in favor of much neglected books; the dreaded annual examinations were almost upon him.

Midshipman Bligh, though also in the same precarious position, seemed to lose some of the gloom he had been carrying about him and become more normal. He went into the city of Annapolis at every opportunity and always came back with a grateful heart; for Bligh had found a friend who believed in him, and this friend had rescued Bligh from the pit of despondency and terrible sadness into which he had descended.

"Say, Bob," remarked Stonewell one day, "have you noticed that fellow Bligh of late?"

"I never happen to think of him. What about him?"

"Nothing much, except that I am constantly meeting him. He never seems to look at me, but whenever I go out in town nowadays he's pretty sure to be standing at the Maryland Avenue gate; and then later, half the time I go out I meet him somewhere. This has happened so often of late that I can't help but feel he's interested in where I go."

"Lots of people are interested in where you go, Stone; every day somebody asks me why you go out so much alone. For years we have gone out together, but now you never want me."

"It's not that," replied Stonewell hurriedly,—"I've had some personal matters come up that require my attention. Look here, that Bligh is going to bilge, isn't he?"

"He is practically certain to. He is low in every study—he'll have to make bigger marks in each of them than he ever yet has made to get satisfactory in the final average. But he may do it; people have pulled out of worse holes than he is in."

"What are you reading, Bob? You seem to be giving that newspaper a good deal of your attention to-day."

"I'm reading about the boy who was kidnapped in Baltimore several days ago. First it was thought the boy was lost, but now the police believe he was kidnapped; it says here that Mr. Thompson has received word his boy will be restored to him on payment of ten thousand dollars. By George! I hope they catch the kidnappers and send them to prison for life. That's an awful crime!"

"It is indeed; and just think, Baltimore is only thirty miles away. I've been reading about that Thompson boy and I do hope he will be sent back home. Well, Bob, are you all ready for your target practice? Do you really put faith in this new sight you have invented?"

"More so every day, Stone, particularly since I've learned that practically the same sight as I have aboard the 'Nevada' has been put on many different guns throughout the navy. Anybody who sees it and works with it a little is bound to believe it is far better than the old sights. Those were simply miserable. I'm now fifteen or twenty points behind Blair, with only target practice yet to be heard from, and I'm sure to beat him. I'd beat him even if we should use the old sights. You see I have a really very well-drilled crew; they load rapidly. I'm wild to get into the practice; I've a flag at stake, you know. It will be settled before night. Hello, the bugle has busted. Let's get to formation."

On board the monitor "Nevada" they joined the other midshipmen, and soon she was under way and steaming through the buoyed channel to the free waters of Chesapeake Bay. The "Nevada" had on board the officers belonging to the Department of Ordnance and Gunnery and a number of midshipmen; there were also on board a six-pounder crew of five men from each of the twelve companies of midshipmen. In addition many midshipmen who had no duties but who were interested in seeing the target practice were allowed to be present. Soon a cry from aloft was heard.

"Sail ho!" cried the midshipman lookout on the "Nevada's" mast.

"Where away, can you make her out?" returned the midshipman officer-of-the-deck, hailing the lookout.

"Right ahead, sir, but I don't know what it is. It looks like a funny kind of a ship with six sails on it."

"Who made that ridiculous report?" inquired Commander Brice in great disgust. "If it were an ordinary seaman I'd disrate him to an afterguard sweeper. But I imagine it's a future admiral. The sail he's reported are the targets—there are six of them. Anybody but a midshipman would know it. They've been in sight ever since we left the Severn River."

The target was now seen by everybody and the "Nevada" steered for it. It was at the apex of an equilateral triangle each side of which was one thousand yards long. The word targets, rather than target, should have been used, because in this apex, for the purpose of expediting this practice, of finishing it in one afternoon, six targets on rafts had been placed. The tug "Standish" was anchored near by. She had brought a party of enlisted men, who had been working all morning, and had erected the marks.

Commander Shaw, the head of the Department of Ordnance and Gunnery, remained on the bridge with Commander Brice until the "Nevada" had cleared the channel. Then, as he descended the ladder leading from the bridge to the superstructure deck, he was met by an eager-faced midshipman, who cried to him:

"Captain Shaw, do you remember we were all encouraged by your instructors to make any improvements we could in the guns we were to drill with?"

"I do indeed, Mr. Drake," replied Commander Shaw, smiling with interest at Robert's eagerness. "What have you been doing?"

"I will show you, sir. Will you please come over to the starboard six-pounder gun?"

Robert stepped quickly to the starboard side, followed by the commander. He then quickly unscrewed the regular gun sights, drew them out of the sockets, and threw them over to Chief Gunner's Mate Lenn. The latter handed Robert a long parcel wrapped in paper.

"Hello, Bob, what have you there, a new gun?" laughed Blair. "Say, fellows, let's see what Bob is up to." Everybody became interested and crowded about, and many were the laughing remarks made to Robert. But the latter, paying no attention to these, quickly stripped the paper from the parcel, and a long brass pipe was exposed to the curious eyes about him. On one end of the pipe was clamped a piece of metal which carried a circular ring, across which were attached, at right angles, thin silvery-white wires. At the other end of the pipe was attached a small brass cylinder, closed except for a minute hole through its centre. Near the cross wire end, hanging from the pipe, was a solid plug, cylindrical in section.

Robert worked rapidly. He slipped this plug into the recess left by the front sight, putting in several thin washers; at the rear end of the brass pipe was attached a condemned rear sight, one furnished by Lenn, and this naturally slipped into its place.

"By George, Mr. Drake," cried out Commander Shaw, "this is splendid. It's the Paul Jones' bar sight! She won this year's six-pounder record by that sight—I only yesterday received a drawing of it—how in the world did you get this up?"

"Several helped, sir, and Chief Gunner's Mate Lenn did all the work about it. May I use these sights, sir, on my target practice to-day?"

"Indeed you may, and all of the rest of the gun crews will. We've known for some time the old sights were very poor. I'm delighted, Mr. Drake."

Robert's face was radiant with happiness. His classmates crowded about him; everybody saw at a glance that Robert's sight was a decided improvement.

"I congratulate you, Bob," said Blair to him. "I guess you've got the flag and you deserve to have it; this is just fine. Captain Shaw," continued Blair, "I request permission to fire my shots with the old sights."

"Not granted, sir."

"But, captain, there is a special reason why I should, a big reason. You see, sir, Drake and I are fighting for the flag; this target practice will decide things; one of us is bound to win it; now he has got up this sight and it would certainly be unfair to him if I were to get the benefit of his good ideas and——"

"Captain Shaw," cried Robert, interrupting Blair, "if you think it's a good sight let's all fire with it, and give the Naval Academy a better record in target practice than last year; and if Blair can beat me out—then all the more credit to him, for I've had a lot of practice in aiming and loading. And, captain, I'd like to have each crew practice as much as they can find time for; I've had hours of it. It's very easy to go from the old sights to this; you just keep the gun pointed with your shoulder and arm so that the line through the peep-hole and intersection of cross wires prolonged will meet the object you want to hit. Here, Sam, you take the gun and get used to it."

"Bob, this is awfully white of you, and it's not fair to you."

"Gentlemen, you'll all fire with this new sight of Mr. Drake's," announced Commander Shaw, decisively.

"Bob, I'm going to do my best, of course, but you ought to win; if I should happen to get credited for the most hits I couldn't feel I deserved to beat you."

"Don't you worry, Sam," chuckled Robert; "I've been practicing with that sight for some months. If you can win you've a right to."

Robert was radiantly happy; this public recognition of his having done something worth while filled him with joy. And at the same time he was completely confident that he would make the best record during the day. He was really desirous of having everybody who fired use the sight he had installed, because he expected to win anyway. He knew in his heart that with all the special drill he had had he was practically certain to make the highest score in target practice, no matter which sight was used, and he felt he would really have more credit if all who fired used the same sights.

"Now, gentlemen, each pointer will have a chance to practice with Mr. Drake's bar sight before he fires," announced Commander Shaw. "Mr. Drake, you will fire first. Are you bore sighted?"

"Yes, sir, everything is ready, but I'd like to fire a trial shot."

"Very well. We'll steam to the range and give you a trial shot, and then Mr. Blair may practice aiming. Then we'll go on the range and you will commence, and when you finish the second company's gun crew will commence; as soon as they finish, and while turning the ship around for the return run, the pointers of the third and fourth crews will practice with the sight. We'll fire two pointers on a run and practice two on the return, so after six double runs we will have fired at the six targets; then a boat from the 'Standish' will patch up the targets, and after that we'll fire the other six gun crews; we ought to finish before five o'clock. Have you your range cards ready, and a stop-watch?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right." Then to Commander Brice on the bridge: "Are you making ten knots, captain?"

"Yes, sir, just exactly ten knots."

"Take your trial shot just after we pass the first buoy, Mr Drake."

"Yes, sir; I'm ready, sir."

The "Nevada" was now rapidly approaching the range, which was marked by three buoys in line, this line forming the base of the triangle, of which the targets were in the apex. The "Nevada" was to travel just outside of the line while the six-pounder was being fired.

"What yacht is that?" asked Commander Shaw of Commander Brice, indicating a yacht that had evidently just come from Annapolis.

"That's the 'Robert Centre,'"replied Commander Brice, after looking at her through his glasses.

"I think she has come out to see the target practice, and I'll wager a ship's biscuit that a party of midshipmen with some girl friends are on board," he continued, with a laugh.

"Just look at the way sail is crowded on her. Jerusalem! the fellow who is running that yacht has a lot of nerve; he's got every rag stretched that's aboard."

The "Robert Centre" was a yacht that some years previous had been presented to the Naval Academy, and in leisure hours midshipmen were allowed to sail her in Chesapeake Bay. She was coming out under a great press of canvas with a fresh, spanking breeze on her port quarter.

"I'll blow the ship's steam whistle when the first buoy is abeam of the mast," called out Commander Shaw. "Mr. Drake, take your trial shot as soon after as you please."

"Aye, aye, sir."

In a moment there was a strident blast from the steam whistle and immediately after: "Bang!" went the six-pounder.

Many midshipmen, not prepared for the deafening report, jumped violently.

"A bull's-eye," cried out Commander Shaw in delight. "Mr. Drake, your sight is all right, and the powder is all right. Captain Brice, I'd like to go back and commence over again. Mr. Drake, let Mr. Blair practice sighting the gun. You'll find, Mr. Blair, that the new sights are easier to shoot with. Mr. Drake, I'm delighted; that was a bully good shot."

Again the "Nevada" steamed toward the range.

"Now, fellows," said Robert, "put cotton in your ears and don't mind about the noise; get the gun loaded as soon as I fire; and, Glass, be sure you throw the shell in home; the only chance of a poor score is a jammed cartridge."

The "Nevada" rapidly approached the first buoy. An intense, breathless silence, an air of solemnity, pervaded the ship. Standing like statues grouped about the six-pounder gun that was about to fire, were Robert and his crew, with grim determination written on every face.

"After the whistle blows commence firing immediately," ordered Commander Shaw. "I'll time you with a stop-watch; you will fire for just a minute; jump back the instant I tap you on the arm like this. Mr. Blair, have your crew ready to jump to the gun just when I signal to Mr. Drake to cease."

"Aye, aye, sir," came the replies in unison from both Robert and Blair.

When the whistle blew, there came a novel sensation to those on board who had never before seen a navy target practice.

A sheet of white flame burst from the muzzle of the six-pounder, a thunderous, reverberating report assaulted the ears of everybody, and hardly had this been experienced when the same thing was repeated, over and over again. The grim statues at the gun had burst into reckless life. At the first shot, the recoil of the gun had thrown down the breech-block and so had opened the gun, ejecting the used cartridge case. The gun was ready for loading, and Glassfell lost no time. Hardly had the empty cartridge case been ejected than into the chamber he threw a fresh shell. A spring was automatically released, throwing the breech-block into place, and the gun was ready for firing. Almost instantly it was discharged, for Robert never allowed the sights to leave the target.

And so a thunderous bang! bang! bang! was kept up from the gun.

Commander Brice, on top of the pilot house, with his glasses leveled on the target, was in an ecstasy of delight.

"A bull's-eye," he cried, "another bull's-eye, a beautiful shot, wonderful shooting."

While this was going on, a wild-eyed enlisted man, scantily clad in working trousers and undershirt, and evidently under intense excitement, came tumbling up on the superstructure deck, screaming, "Captain, captain."

He ran into half a dozen midshipmen, fell down twice, reached the ladder leading to the pilot house top, still continuing his wild cry of "Captain." He bumped into Captain Brice, and when the latter turned angrily around to him, he thrust a paper into the captain's hands.

Commander Brice read the paper, and then in a stentorian voice cried out: "Cease firing."

At the same instant Commander Shaw touched Robert on the shoulder and called "time."

"Cease firing," repeated Commander Brice. "Keep Mr. Drake and his crew at the gun! Hard a starboard the helm! Call away the life-boat. Gunner's mate, get up twelve rifles and rifle ammunition, double time! Captain Shaw, detail Lieutenant Joynes to take charge of the life-boat; have two midshipmen crews, armed with rifles, prepared to go in the life-boat when it is lowered. Ease the helm, amidships with it—steady so."

Many pairs of surprised eyes were upon Commander Brice. With glasses up to his eyes, he was now looking at a yacht on the starboard bow, recognized by everybody to be the "Robert Centre" which, some distance away, was careening far to one side and was bowling along at a furious speed.

"Mr. Drake!" called out Commander Brice.

"Sir?"

"Do you see the 'Robert Centre'?"

"Yes, sir."

"Drop a shell under her bows. Don't hit her. The range is about fifteen hundred yards."