A SHOT FROM THE LONG GUN
Christy Passford, as soon as he found that all the other preparations for the decisive event had been made, turned his attention to the aiming of the long gun. He had practised with it somewhat before; and in the ambitious spirit of a boy, he had often amused himself by sighting over the top of the piece.
There was no sort of duty on board of a vessel, even a war steamer, in which he had not done his best to make himself a proficient. He had done duty as an engineer, and even as a fireman. He had taken his trick at the wheel as a quartermaster, and there was nothing he had not done, unless it was to command a vessel, and he had done that on a small scale. Doubtless he had no inconsiderable portion of a boy's vanity, and he believed that he could do anything that anybody else could do; or if he was satisfied that he could not, he studied and practised till he did believe it.
Be it vanity or pride, Christy certainly believed in himself to a very liberal extent, though his character was fortunately leavened with a large lump of modesty. What he believed, he believed for himself, and acted upon it for himself; so that he was not inclined to boast of his accomplishments, and permitted others to find out what he was rather than made it known in words himself. But his father had found it necessary to restrain him to some extent, and he had not pushed him forward as rapidly as he might have done till the dread notes of war were heard on the land and the sea; and then he thought it would be wrong to hold him back.
When Christy sighted along the great gun, he believed he could hit the Vampire almost to a certainty; but he was not self-sufficient, and did not often believe that he knew a thing better than any other person, and he was not above taking the advice and instruction of others. It was dark, but Christy had fixed upon an object at the bend below, of which he intended to make use in firing the gun. It was a tree which painted its outline on the horizon, and the decisive moment was to come when the Vampire was in range with this tree. He adjusted the gun just as he wanted it, and he was satisfied it would do just what he required of it.
He was not inclined to act on his own judgment and skill alone, and he called Boxie, the old sheet-anchorman, who had been the captain of a gun years before the midshipman was born, and pointed out the tree to him, asking him to sight along the gun. He explained his plan to the old salt, and then asked his opinion.
"You have aimed it too high, Mr. Passford," said the veteran, after he had squinted a long time along the piece.
"How is it otherwise?" asked Christy.
"It is all right, sir; but the shot will pass over the steamer. Drop the muzzle a trifle, and the shot will hull her, if you pull the lockstring at the right time."
"I shall see that the string is pulled at the right time; thank you, Boxie," added Christy, without depressing the gun as the old man suggested, for he had a theory of his own which he intended to carry out.