"The Captain, in his excitement, had slipped off the sandbag, and was on his knees in the mud, the glass still at his eye. He was muttering to himself and slapping his thigh with his disengaged hand. At every slap a big round juicy cuss word would escape from his lips followed by:
"'Good, Fine, Marvelous, Pretty Work, Direct Hits, All!
"Then he turned to me and shouted:
"'Wilson, what do you think of it? Did you ever see the like of it in your life? Damn fine work, I call it.'
"Pretty soon a look of wonder stole over his face, and he exclaimed:
"'But who in hell gave them the order to fire. Range and everything correct, too. I know I didn't. Wilson, did I give you any order for the Battery to open up? Of course, I didn't, did I?'
"I answered very emphatically, 'No, sir, you gave no command. Nothing went through this post. I am absolutely certain on that point, sir.'
"'Of course nothing went through!' he replied. Then his face fell, and he muttered out loud:
"'But, by Jove, wait till Old Pepper gets wind of this. There'll be fur flying.'
"Just then Bombardier Cassell cut in on the wire: