Now, Speedy-the-Skimmer, as soon as the race had begun, had come on to the warship to take a rest. And he happened to be talking to the Doctor when the order to man the guns came down from the Captain. So the Doctor and Speedy went below to watch the guns being fired.
They found an air of quiet but great excitement there. Each gunner was leaning on his gun, aiming it, watching the enemy's ship in the distance and waiting for the order to fire. The poor man who had been mobbed by his fellows was still almost in tears at his own stupid mistake.
Suddenly an officer shouted "Fire!" And with a crash that shook the ship from stem to stern eight big cannon balls went whistling out across the water.
But not one hit the slave ship. Splash! Splash! Splash! They fell harmlessly into the water.
"The light's too bad," grumbled the gunners. "Who could hit anything two miles away in this rotten light?"
Then Speedy whispered in the Doctor's ear:
"Ask them to let me fire a gun. My sight is better than theirs for bad light."
But just at that moment the order came from the Captain, "Cease firing!" And the men left their places.
As soon as their backs were turned Speedy jumped on top of one of the guns and, straddling his short, white legs apart, he cast his beady little black eyes along the aiming sights. Then with his wings he signaled to the Doctor behind him to swing the gun this way and that, so as to aim it the way he wanted.
"Fire!" said Speedy. And the Doctor fired.