When the Georgetown had been at sea about a week, it was announced one morning directly after sick-call that great gun drill would be held.
“And it’s with projectiles, too!” cried Ned. “Cracky, but I’m glad. You’re in the forward turret with me, Frank.”
“Yes, and I hope our ear drums don’t crack. They make an awful racket, those fifteen-inch rifles.”
Preparations for the drill went on. It had been gone through with many times before, though not always with charges of powder and projectiles, so the men knew the routine.
Frank had been detailed on this occasion as gun-pointer, which meant that he was to fire the gun when it was sighted at the target. Ned was helping with the ammunition and powder, which came up into the turret on a hoist, or elevator, from the magazine below.
“Are you all ready?” asked the officer in charge of the forward turret.
“All ready,” was the answer.
“Watch yourselves, then. Try to make a record,” he added.
“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Frank, who stood at the telescope sight, ready to look for the big canvas target which would soon be towed into range.