are right on the target you pull the
trigger. A black spot will appear on the target--a dot, showing where
your shot struck if you have hit the target at all. We call it a
dotter because it makes a dot where it hits."

"And the dotter makes you dotty," muttered Sam under his breath, yet
loudly enough so that the man next to him heard it. The fellow laughed
aloud, bringing down a sharp rebuke from the gun captain.

"Hickey, try your hand at the dotter."

Sam climbed up to the little platform on the right side of the gun,
winking at his companions as he did so.

"What shall I do now?" he questioned, taking his place.

"Sight through the finder. I'll set the target going."

"Yes, I see it. I'm afraid that thing will make me seasick if I keep
on looking at it," declared Hickey, looking up at the instructor.

"Attend to your practice!"

"Bang!"

Sam leaped up into the air. His head came into violent contact with
the deck above him.

"Ouch!" yelled the red-headed boy, as he collapsed in a heap on the
deck.

Sam had unwittingly pulled the trigger, firing the cap that bad been
provided to explode the dotter, thus making the miniature target work
the more realistic.

"Did something hit me? I--I thought the seven-inch had gone off,"
stammered the boy, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing his head
where it had hit the ceiling.

"Just like a landlubber," growled the gun captain. "You'll make a fine
gun pointer, you will."

"I--I didn't know the thing was going off," complained Hickey.

"I suppose, if we were to fire the piece in earnest, you would jump
overboard," sneered the captain. "Get up there, now, and do it right,
if you want to stay in this division."

Sam took his place once more, the gun captain giving him suggestions
and directions as to how to catch the moving target when it was moving
upward as a ship does in riding a great swell.

"Bang!"

Sam had pulled the trigger, but this time he had done so intentionally.
Instinctively the lad jumped, grinning sheepishly as he noted the
smiles on the faces of his companions of the gun crew.

"Well, what is your score?"

"Score?"

"Yes. Did you hit the target?"

"I don't know."

"Look at the target."

"I see a fly speck over by the edge of the target," spoke up Sam.

"That is where your shot struck. Had you been shooting at a battleship
you might have raked her stern, but I reckon you would not have done
her very great damage. Howe