"That's the idea.
Stand here, please, behind Number One gun, and watch straight ahead of
you for the shot--you must watch very closely or you will miss it--and
remember to keep your mouth open to save your eardrums from being
injured by the concussion."
So far as I personally was concerned this last bit of advice was
unnecessary--my mouth was open already. Four men trotted to a magazine
that was in an earthen kennel and came back bearing a wheelless sheet-
metal barrow on which rested a three-foot-long brass shell, very trim
and slim and handsome and shiny like gold. It was an expensive-looking
shell and quite ornate. At the tail of Number One the bearers heaved
the barrow up shoulder-high, at the same time tilting it forward. Then
a round vent opened magically and the cyclops sucked the morsel forward
into its gullet, thus reversing the natural swallowing process, and
smacked its steel lip behind it with a loud and greasy snuck! A glutton
of a gun--you could tell that from the sound it made.
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