having fired my
practice shots to make my sighting sure, and now with time to wait before
my rapid-fire test. Imagine the usual confusion, the heavy rapping of the
shots, the calling over of names, and the buzz and laughter of the men
waiting near me. A perfect morning, the dew just burning off, a little
breeze from the lake, and not a cloud in the sky.

We are shooting from the two hundred yard mark, sitting position, and
since I have watched a few rounds, I am able to tell you the way of
it.--As the guns become silent with the disappearance of the targets the
Lieutenant calls, "Next men up!" Those who have just shot rise and
nervously stand aside, to watch the scoring of their ten shots. The new
men, while loading and locking their pieces, also watch the record of
their predecessors. Passing behind D Company a few minutes ago, I saw the
flag cross one target six times. I did not see the beginning of the
score, and how many more misses the poor devil made, I can only guess.
The men go away with their scores, the new ones stand waiting.

From the left rings the high call, "Ready on the right!" The lieutenant
responds to his men, "Unlock your pieces." To the waiting men the
interval is long. Then slowly the blank targets begin to sink and the
tops of the true ones to rise. It is the signal. The men drop to the
sitting position and settle the butts in their shoulders; the muzzles
rise, waver, and steady. Then together "Pol-lop!" and the whole line,
faster and faster, bursts into the rap-rap-rapping of the continued fire.
Along the line, little spurts of flame; a thin haze rises from the
muzzles and at once disappears. Beside each shooter kneel two coaches,
one calling the time, the other exhorting, warning, entreating. A
distinct lag in the firing between forty-five and fifty seconds--the men
are loading their second clips. Then the fire gradually quickens to the
full rate, the coaches urging the slow ones on, holding the hasty ones
back. The fire slackens, and seems stopped, when as the targets sink at
the ninety seconds, two last hasty shots slap out. The round is over. In
the brief time the three dozen men have fired three hundred and sixty
shots.

(_Later._) My turn approached, and I stood waiting, the sling clasped on
my arm. I felt the strain of the long wait before there came the call,
Ready! To my coaches I had said--to one, "Don't let me shoot too fast,
and keep me on _my_ target"; to the other, "Remind me to s