"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 it did say a good deal about fighting, but in various ways, it seemed to her. She did not know how to answer. She changed the subject.
"How do you get the shot, the balls, I mean, into these guns? I don't see how you get at them. The mouths are out of the windows. Port holes, I mean."
For the upper gun deck had been put to a certain extent in order of action, and the guns were run out.
"You are of an inquiring disposition," said the midshipman gravely.
"Am I?"
"I think you are."
"But I should like to know"--pursued Dolly, looking at the muzzle of the gun by which they were standing.
"The guns would be run in to be loaded."
Dolly looked at the heavy piece of metal, and at him, but did not repeat her question.