The End of a Coil. Warner Susan

and she stood and looked along the avenue between the bristling black cannon.

      "Now, what is it that you don't understand?" he asked, watching her.

      "What are these guns here for?"

      "Don't you know that? Guns are to fight with."

      "Yes, I know," said Dolly; "but how can you fight with them here in a row? and what would you fight with? I mean, who would you fight against?"

      "Some other ship, if Fate willed it so. Look here; this is the way of it."

      He took a letter from the breast of his coat, tore off a blank leaf; then resting it on the side of a gun carriage, he proceeded to make a sketch. Dolly's eyes followed his pencil point, spell-bound with interest. Under his quick and ready fingers grew, she could not tell how, the figure of a ship, – hull, masts, sails and rigging, deftly sketched in; till it seemed to Dolly she could almost see how the wind blew that was filling out the sails and floating off the streamer.

      "There," said the artist, – "that is our enemy."

      "Our enemy?" repeated Dolly.

      "Our supposed enemy. We will suppose she is an enemy."

      "But how could she be?"

      "We might be at war with England suppose, or with France. This might be an English ship of war coming to catch up every merchantman she could overhaul that carried American colours, and make a prize of her; don't you see?"

      "Do they do that?" said Dolly.

      "What? catch up merchantmen? of course they do; and the more of value is on board, the better they are pleased. We lose so much, and they gain so much. Now we want to stop this fellow's power of doing mischief; you understand."

      "What are those little black spots you are making along her sides."

      "The port holes of her guns."

      "Port holes?"

      "The openings where the mouths of her guns look out. See," said he, pointing to the one near which they were standing, – "that is a port hole."

      "That little window?"

      "It isn't a window; it is a port hole."

      "It is not a black spot."

      "Because you are inside, and looking out towards the light. Look at them when you are leaving the ship; they will look like black spots then, you will find."

      "Well, that's the enemy," said Dolly, drawing a short breath of excitement. "What is that ship you are making now?"

      "That's the 'Achilles'; brought to; with her main topsails laid aback, and her fore topsails full; ready for action."

      "I do not know what are topsails or fore topsails," said Dolly.

      The midshipman explained; to illustrate his explanation sketched lightly another figure of a vessel, showing more distinctly the principal sails.

      "And this is the 'Achilles,'" said Dolly, recurring to the principal design. "You have put her a great way off from the enemy, it seems to me."

      "No. Point blank range. Quite near enough."

      "Oh, what is 'point blank range'?" cried Dolly in despair. Her new friend smiled, but answered with good-humoured patience. Dolly listened and comprehended.

      "Then, if this were an enemy, and that the 'Achilles,' and within point blank range, you would load one of these guns and fire at her?"

      The midshipman shook his head. "We should load up all of them – all on that side."

      "And five them one after another?"

      "As fast as we could. We should give her a broadside. But we should probably give her one broadside after another."

      "Suppose the balls all hit her?"

      "Yes, you may suppose that. I should like to suppose it, if I were the officer in command."

      "What would they do to her? – to that enemy ship?"

      "If they all hit? Hinder her from doing any more mischief."

      "How?"

      "Break her masts, tear up her rigging, make a wreck of her generally. Perhaps sink her."

      "But suppose while you are fighting that she fights too?"

      "Extremely probable."

      "If a shot came in here – could it come in here?"

      "Certainly. Cannon balls will go almost anywhere."

      "If it came in here, what would it do?"

      "Kill three or four of the men at a gun, perhaps; tear away a bit of the ship's side; or perhaps disable the gun."

      "While you were firing at the enemy on this side, the guns of the other side, I suppose, would have nothing to do?"

      "They might be fighting another enemy on that side," said the midshipman, smiling.

      "I should think," said Dolly, looking down the long line of the gun deck, and trying to imagine the state of things described, – "I should think it would be most dreadful!"

      "I have no doubt you would think so."

      "Don't you think so?"

      "I have never been in action yet."

      "Don't you hope you never will?"

      The young man laughed a little. "What would be the use of ships of war, if there were never any fighting? I should have nothing to do in the world."

      "You might do something else," said Dolly, gazing at the lines of black guns stretching along both sides of the deck, so near to each other, so black, so grim. "How many men does it take to manage each gun? You said three or four might be killed."

      "According to the size of the gun. Twelve men for these guns; larger would take fifteen."

      Again Dolly meditated; in imagination peopled the solitary place with the active crowd of men which would be there if each gun had twelve gunners, filled the silence with the roar of combined discharges, thought of the dead and wounded; at last turned her eyes to the blue ones that were watching her.

      "I wonder if God likes it?" she said.

      "Likes what?" said the midshipman in wonder.

      "Such work. I don't see how He can."

      "How can you help such work? People cannot get along without fighting."

      He did not speak carelessly or mockingly or banteringly; rather with a gentle, somewhat deliberate utterance. Yet Dolly was persuaded there was no unmanly softness in him; she never doubted but that he would be ready to do his part in that dreadful work, if it must be done. Moreover, he was paying to this odd little girl a delicate sort of respect and treating her with great consideration. Her confidence, as I said, had been entirely given to him before; and now some gratitude began to mingle with it, along with great freedom to speak her mind.

      "I don't think God can like it," she repeated.

      "What would you do, then?" he also repeated, smiling. "Let wicked people have their own way?"

      "No."

      "If they are not to have their own way, you must stop them."

      "I think this is a dreadful way of stopping them."

      "It's a bad job for the side that goes under," the young officer admitted.

      "I don't believe God likes it," Dolly concluded for the third time, with great conviction.

      "Is that your rule for everything?"

      "Yes. Isn't it your rule?"

      "I have to obey orders," he answered, watching her.

      "Don't you obey His orders?" said Dolly wistfully.

      "I do not know what they are."

      "Oh, but they are in the Bible. You can find them in the Bible."

      "Does it say anything about fighting?"

      Dolly tried to think, and got confused. Certainly