tube. Into the breech with it
and the two cartridges after it. When the lieutenant had taken his
position at the telescope sight in order to determine the direction and
distance for firing, orders came down from the commander to fire at the
enemy's leading ship, the _Satsuma_. The distance was only 2800 yards,
so near had the enemy come. And at this ridiculously short distance,
contrary to all the rules of naval warfare, the Americans opened fire.

"2800 yards, to the right beneath the first gun-turret of the
_Satsuma_," called the lieutenant to the two gunners. They took the
elevation and then waited for the ship that was rolling to port to
regain the level after being lifted up by the waves. Detached clouds
hurried across the field of the telescope, but suddenly the sun appeared
like a bright spot above the horizon and dark brown smoke became
visible. The foremast of the _Satsuma_ with its multicolored
signal-flags appeared in the field of vision.... A final quick
correction for elevation ... a slight pressure of the electric trigger.
Fire! The gray silhouette of the _Satsuma_, across which quivered the
flash from the gun, rose quickly in the round field; then came foaming,
plunging waves, and columns of water that rose up as the shells struck
the water.

The loud reverberation of the shot--the first one fired on the American
side--acted as a nerve-tonic all round, and all felt as though they had
been relieved from an intolerable burden.

While the right gun was being reloaded and the stinking gases escaping
from the gun filled the narrow chamber with their fumes, the lieutenant
looked for traces of the effect of the shot. The wind whistled through
the peep-hole and made his eyes smart. The shot did not seem to have
touched the _Satsuma_ at all. The foam seen in the bow was that produced
by the ship's motion.

"Two hundred and fifty yards over," came through the telephone, and on
the glass-plate of the distance-register, faintly illuminated by an
electric lamp, appeared the number 2550.

"2550 yards!" repeated the lieutenant to the captain of the left gun,
giving the angle of direction himself. The _Connecticut_ again heaved
over to port, and the thunder of cannon rolled over the waves of the
Pacific.

"The shell burst at a thousand yards!" called the lieutenant. "What
miserable fuses!"

"Bad shot," came down reproachfully through the telephone, "use
percussion fuses."

"I am, but they're no good, they won'