our own," and
leaving Mr. Gibney and the crew to get the guns on deck, Captain
Scraggs ran below. He appeared on deck presently with a long blue
burgee on which was emblazoned in white letters the single word
_Maggie_. It was his own houseflag, and with trembling hands he
ran it to the fore and cast its wrinkled folds to the breeze of
heaven.

"Good old dishcloth!" shrieked Mr. Gibney. "She never comes
down."

"Damned if she does," said Captain Scraggs profanely.

While all this was going on a deckhand had reeved a block and
tackle through the end of the cargo gaff and passed it to the
winch. The two guns came out of the hold in jig time, and while
Scraggs and one deckhand opened the after hold and got out
ammunition for the guns, Mr. Gibney, assisted by the other
deckhand, proceeded to put one of the guns together. He was
shrewd enough to realize that he would have to do practically all
of the work of serving the gun himself, in view of which
condition one gun would have to defend the _Maggie_. He had never
seen a mountain gun before, but he did not find it difficult to
put the simple mechanism together.

"Now, then, Scraggsy," he announced cheerfully when the gun was
finally assembled on the carriage, "get a sizeable timber an'
spike it to the centre o' the deck. I'll run the trail spade up
against that cleat an' that'll keep the recoil from lettin' the
gun go backward, clean through the opposite rail and overboard.
Gimme a coupler gallons o' distillate and some waste, somebody.
This cosmoline's got to come out o' the tube an' out o' the
breech mechanism before we commence shootin'."

The enemy had approached within three miles by the time the piece
was ready for action. Under Mr. Gibney's instructions Captain
Scraggs held the fuse setter in case it should be necessary to
adjust with shrapnel. Mr. Gibney inserted his sights and took a
preliminary squint. "A little different from gun-pointin' in the
navy, but about the same principle," he declared. "In the army I
believe they call this kind o' shootin' direct fire, because you
sight direct on the target." He scratched his ingenious head and
examined the ammunition. "Not a high explosive shell in the lot,"
he mourned. "I'll have to use percussion fire to get the range;
then I'll drop back a little an' spray her with shrapnel. Seems a
pity to smash up a fine schooner like that one with percussion
fire. I'd rather tickle 'em up a bit with shrapnel an' scare 'em