"Very well, when you are ready."
A bell buzzed in the starboard seven-inch forward turret, while an indicator told the waiting gun crew that the doomed ship lay three thousand yards from them. An instant later a projectile had been shoved into the big gun, the breech closed and the gun pointer crawling to his station, was sighting the piece on the ghostly outline of the "Oriole."
"Fire!"
The battleship heeled ever so little, followed by a report as if the ship had blown up.
Again the bell in the turret buzzed.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the gun captain.
"An excellent shot," came the information in the voice of the executive officer. "You shot away the foremast. The schooner lies very low in the water. You will have to depress your gun a little more this time, or wait until the target rises on a swell. Drill her this time."
"Aye, aye, sir; we'll drill her."
"Boom!" roared the big seven-inch, as it hurled the second heavy projectile straight at the unfortunate schooner.
"Fair hit," shouted the executive officer in a tone of exultation.