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Nat the Naturalist: A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 13. How I Learned To Shoot |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN. HOW I LEARNED TO SHOOT I did not know where we were going, or how we got there, in my state of excitement; but I found myself as if in a dream handling guns and rifles that my uncle placed before me, and soon after we were in a long passage place with a white-washed target at the end, and half a dozen guns on a table at my side. "Look here, Nat," said Uncle Dick, "time soon steps by, my boy, and you will grow older and stronger every day, so I shall let you have both gun and rifle a little too heavy for you. You must make shift with them at first, and you will improve in their use day by day." "Yes, uncle," I said as I looked at the beautifully finished weapons from which we were to choose. "Did you ever fire off a gun?" said my uncle. "No, uncle." "You will not be afraid?" "Will it hurt me, uncle?" "No." "Then I'm not afraid," I said. He liked my confidence in his word, and nodded approval. Just then the man with us took up one of the guns to load it, but my uncle stopped him. "No," he said; "let him load for himself. Look, Nat, this is one of the Patent breech-loading rifles. I pull this lever and the breech of the gun opens so that I can put in this little roll, which is a cartridge-- do you see?" "Yes, uncle." "Now I close it, and the rifle is ready to fire. Next I reopen, take out the cartridge, and close again. Try if you can do the same." I took the rifle, and, with the exception of being too hurried and excited, did nearly as my uncle had done. "Now, my boy," he said, "the piece is loaded, and a loaded gun or rifle is a very dangerous thing. Never play with your piece; never trifle in any way; never let your barrel be pointed at those who are with you. Remember those bits of advice." "Yes, uncle." "There, now, put the piece to your shoulder, aim at that white target, and pull the trigger." "But there is no cap on," I said. "Caps are things of the past, Nat," he said smiling, "except that they are inclosed in the cartridge. Now, then, hold your piece tightly to your shoulder, take careful aim--but quickly--and fire." I tried to obey him exactly, but the rifle seemed very heavy to hold up firmly, and the sight at the end of the barrel seemed to dance about; but I got it pretty steady for the moment, drew the trigger, there was a sharp report, and the stock of the piece seemed to give me a thump on the shoulder as I heard a dull _clang_. "Well done, Nat; a good beginning, boy. There, your bullet has hit the target just on the extreme edge." "What, that black star? Is that the place, uncle?" "To be sure it is, my boy. I thought that rifle would be too heavy for you; but if you can do that the first time, it decides me to keep it." The man smiled approval, and my uncle took the rifle in his hand. "Brush!" shouted the man, and a brush started out of a hole in the wall, and touched the target over with white-wash. "Now for the double gun," said my uncle. "Try this one, Nat." I took the gun and put it to my shoulder, aiming at the target; but it seemed heavier than the rifle, and the sight wavered about. "Try this one, Nat," said my uncle; and he handed me another with rather shorter barrels. "I like this one, uncle," I said. "It's ever so much lighter." "No, sir," said the man smiling; "it's half a pound heavier. It is the make. The weight of the gun is more central, and it goes up to the eye better." "Yes," said my uncle; "it is a handy little gun. Load that the same as you did before." I found the construction so similar that I had no difficulty in loading both barrels of the gun, and it seemed such easy work to just slip in a couple of little rolls of brown paper as compared to the way in which I had seen men load guns with a ramrod. "Now, Nat," said my uncle in a quick businesslike way; "once more, you must remember that a gun is not a plaything, and though you are a boy in years you must begin to acquire the serious ways of a man. To handle a gun properly is an art, perfection in which means safety to yourself and friends, durability to the gun, and death quick and painless for the object at which you fire. Now then. No hesitation, boy: raise your gun quickly to your shoulder, take a sharp aim, and fire right and left barrels at those two targets." My heart beat fast as I did as my uncle bade me, feeling two sharp thuds on my shoulder, and then as I stared through the smoke I expected to see the two white targets covered with shot marks. "Better luck next time, Nat," said my uncle smiling. "Haven't I hit them, uncle?" I said in dismay. "No, my boy; one charge ploughed up the sawdust below the target on the right, and the other scored the white-washed wall three feet to the left of the second target." "But do you think it is a good gun, uncle? I aimed quite straight." "We'll see, Nat," he replied, taking the gun from my hand, and reloading it with a quick cleverness of hand that fascinated me. Then raising the gun he fired both barrels in rapid succession, hardly seeming to take aim, and as the smoke rose above our heads we all walked towards the targets, which looked like currant dumplings. The man with us rubbed his hands with satisfaction, saying that it was a capital close pattern, which my uncle afterwards explained to me meant that the shot marks were very close and regular all over the targets, instead of being scattered irregularly, which he said was a great disadvantage in a gun. "I don't think, sir, that you'll find many guns do better than that, sir; and, if you'll excuse me for saying so, I don't think many gentlemen would have made two such clever shots." "There is no cleverness in it," said my uncle quietly. "When a man spends all his days with a gun in his hand it becomes like second nature to him to hit that at which he aims. Yes, I like the gun. Now, Nat, what do you say--which was in fault last time?" "I was, uncle," I said rather ruefully. "I thought it would be so easy to shoot." "So it is, my boy, when you have had practice. Now come back and we will not lose any more time in selecting pieces. You shall have that gun and that rifle, and we will have a couple of hours' practice at loading and firing." We walked back to the table, and as we did so I saw a man thrust a long-handled brush from a loophole at the side of the wall and whiten the targets once more. "You decide upon those two pieces, then, sir," said the gunmaker; and my uncle bowed his head. I noticed then how quiet he seemed when away from home, speaking very little but always to the purpose; a habit, I suppose, acquired from his long and solitary life abroad. He then said that we had an abundant supply of cartridges, and took a chair beside me. "Now, Nat," he said, as soon as we were alone, save that a man was behind the loophole ready to thrust out his long-handled brush to whiten the target. "Now, Nat, my boy, fire away all that ammunition. It will not be wasted, for it will make you used to your gun. We will leave the rifle practice till we get to sea. Now, then, begin, and mind this, when you have fired keep your eye upon the object at which you aimed. I'll tell you why. If it is a bird, say a valuable specimen, that we have been seeking for weeks, you may have hit the object, but it flies a short distance before it drops, and if you have lost sight of it for a moment all our trouble is wasted, for it is sometimes labour in vain to seek for small objects in a dense, perhaps impenetrable jungle." "I'll remember that, uncle." "Another thing, my boy--a very simple thing, but one which you must learn to do, for your eyes are too valuable when we are collecting for them to do anything but look out for the treasures we seek. Now mind this: you raise your gun, take aim, and fire--not hurriedly, mind, but with quick ease. Then either before or after you have fired your second barrel, according to circumstances, but with your eyes still fixed upon the bird or animal at which you shot, open the breech of your gun, take out the spent cartridge, and reload." "Without looking, uncle?" "Certainly: your fingers will soon manage all that with a little education." I could not help a little nervous haste as I began to load and fire at the targets, but after two or three shots I grew more used to what I was doing, and to my great delight found that I had hit the target. Then after a little more practice I found it so much easier that I generally saw one or two little spots on the white discs; and by the time that the ammunition was all gone--that was after I had fired forty-eight times--I had once or twice made a respectable show upon the target, but I finished off with four misses, and as my head was now aching badly from the concussion and the noise, I turned with a very rueful face to my uncle. "Time we left off that," he said smiling. "You are tired, and your hands are getting unsteady." "I'm afraid I shall never shoot, Uncle Dick," I said dolefully. "Nonsense, my boy!" he cried, clapping me on the shoulder; "you shot very badly indeed, but better than I expected, and you steadily improved until you grew tired. All these matters take time." _ |
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