“They’re serving those pieces like rifles,” said somebody, in Jerry’s ear. “By thunder, they’re planting shot and shell exactly where they please.” That was the surgeon, who had come forward for a view. “But the enemy’s making mighty good practice, too. He has German artillery officers.” Suddenly the surgeon yelled, and grabbing Jerry forced him flat. “Look sharp!” The parapet of the battery was scored ragged. The gun platforms and the trench were littered with shell fragments and spent solid shot. Now there had sounded a soft “plump” or thud. A round black sphere as large as Jerry’s head had landed in the bottom of the wide space behind the guns――it was only a few feet to the rear of the quarter-gunner who stood holding in his arms a copper tank containing the powder charges. Each charge weighed ten pounds. He heard the thump, and what did he do but turn and stoop and put his hand upon the thing! Evidently it was hot――it was smoking――a shell! Down dived the quarter-gunner, quick as a wink, plastering himself against the ground. There was a chorus of startled shouts, and――“_Boom!_” the shell had exploded. The tremendous shock drove Jerry rolling over and over. As seemed to him, the trench and the emplacements and the battery and all the men had been blown to bits. But when he picked himself up amidst the dense smoke, instead of seeing bloody shreds everywhere, he saw the men likewise picking themselves up and staring about dazedly. The ammunition chest had exploded also, but even the quarter-gunner had not been harmed. One lieutenant had had his hat-brim torn off; that was all. “A thirteen-inch bomb, from the castle,” the surgeon remarked. “Young man, we’d better get out of here, and stay where we belong.” “Send that boy out of fire,” an officer barked. “Now, my hearties! Show those fellows we’re still alive.” Cheering, the sailors jumped to their task. His head ringing, Jerry stumbled back with the surgeon. And at the hospital he got a quick dismissal. “You heard the orders, youngster. Follow your nose and keep going.” That was good advice, when such shells were landing and he could be of no use. So Jerry scuttled back down the trench, hoping to run upon Hannibal somewhere. VI SECOND LIEUTENANT GRANT The Volunteer section of the trenches, extending right and left back of the naval battery, had not escaped the fire of the Mexican guns. It was filled with the blue-coats and blue-caps, as before; but shot and shell had ripped it, squads were repairing it, under fire, by throwing up fresh sand and stowing the sandbags more securely. The other men crouched nervously, their muskets grasped, as if they were awaiting the word to charge. Some of them grinned at Jerry, when he paused to look in; they leveled jokes at him. “Did you get blown up, bub?” “How’s the weather, where you’ve been?” “Does your maw know you’re out?”