and filled a little funnel (like the funnels once used by chemists for
filling bottles of cough-mixture) with the powder. This he poured down
the muzzle of the gun. "Now a wad," he said, taking up a screw of
twisted paper. "Ram it home on to the powder with the rammer. That's
the way. Now for the shot. We'll put in a dozen bullets, and then top
with a couple more wads. There! Now she's loaded. Those bullets will
go for fifty yards with that much powder ahind 'em. Now, all we have
to do is to prime her." He filled the touch-hole with powder, and
poured a few grains along the base or breech of the gun. "There!" he
said. "Only one thing more. That is aim. Here, Mr Preacher-feller,
Hugh, whatever your name is. You're captain of the gun; you must aim
her. Take a squint along the gun till you get the notch on the muzzle
against the target; then raise your gun's breech till the notch is a
little below your target. Those wooden quoins under the gun will keep
it raised if you pull them out a little."

Hugh lay down flat on the grass and moved the gun carefully till he
was sure the aim was correct. "Let's have a match," he said, "to see
which is the best shot."

"All right," said Marah. "We will. You have first shot. Are you ready?
All ready? Very well then. Here's the linstock that you're to fire
with." He took up a long stick which had a slow match twisted round
it. He lit the slow match by a pocket flint and steel after moving his
powder away from him. "Now then," he cried, "are you ready? Stand
clear of the breech. Starboard battery. Fire!"

Hugh dropped the lighted match on to the priming. The gun banged
loudly, leaped back and up, and fell over on one side in spite of its
roping as the smoke spurted. At the same instant there was a lashing