"Then why didn't you get out on the gun, Steve?" was the old gunner's dry response; and the second gun captain said no more.
Rammer in hand, Walter edged closer and closer to the muzzle of the Polly. The Brooklyn was moving up and down over the long green waves, sending the spray flying on both sides of the bow. He gave one look down, felt himself growing dizzy, and then kept his eyes on the gun.
Rammer in Hand, Walter Edged Close to the Muzzle.
At last the muzzle was gained, and not without difficulty the rammer was inserted. The projectile had not been very tightly wedged, and a firm pressure sent it backward, so that Caleb could catch it and pull it out through the breech. Then throwing the rammer aboard, Walter lost no time in coming in again. He had been exposed to the direct fire of the enemy, but no shot had come near him.
"Boy, you're too plucky," exclaimed Caleb, catching him by the shoulder. "You ought to be flogged for your daring. Let me see your hands. Ah, just as I thought; both of 'em blistered. Go and put some sweet oil on 'em, and a bit of flour. I'll bet the end of Polly is red-hot."
"Well, it is pretty hot," replied Walter, and then he was glad enough to follow Caleb's advice, for both hands smarted a good deal. Soon Si joined him, to get something for his hands also.