“Have to lower the gun,” commented Ned.
As has been said, in order to reach a far distant point, a gun must be elevated more than to hit a mark close by.
“Down she goes!” Frank exclaimed, as the mechanism depressed the muzzle.
“Can you sight the target?” asked the officer.
“Sight she is!”
“Fire!” echoed Frank.
Again came that belch of smoke and acrid smell, the recoil of the gun, the trembling turret and the rush of compressed air as it blew out the burning particles of powder.
Powder that is used in big guns is not like the old-fashioned black powder. It is highly explosive, but some of the “grains” are in sheets, perforated like a piece of Swiss cheese, and as large as your palm. Some is in long sticks, like large macaroni. Other is in brown hexagons, two inches across. You can safely touch a match to some of this powder and let it burn as you hold it. It is when it is confined, as in a gun, and the gases from it can not escape after its sudden detonation, that it exerts its explosive force.
So the target practice went on, the young blue-jackets taking turns at sighting and firing the gun. But no one bettered Frank’s record of shots though Ned came close to it. It was hot work in the turret. The boys were stripped to their waists, and even then they were wet with perspiration and blackened with smoke and oil.