Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1861-10-24
sHARP-sHooTINa OF THE ENGLISH
VOLUNTEERS.

A pleasant writer in Az tie Year Round thus
describes days practice in rife-shooting,
The target, a stout canvas, strained on two
poles. is hung between two strong saplings, and
blows tight with the wind, which, by-the-by, is
little too strong for rihe-shooing, but will not
defect the bullets much at the shorter ranges,
The canvas is square, 81. Ives says, with
true volunteer JUNCTION, that represents the night
and width of column OF men three deep:
LACY all this time is tightening the target and
patching with white paper circles the rough
edge nerforations torn BY the bullets of his
masters last nights practice. The keeper now
takes TO his burrow, as we shoulder our rifles
and pace back to the two-hundred-y yard post.
St. Ives opens his large leather pouch-re-
markable for holding thirty rounds-and takes
out Government cartridge. He twists off
one end, pours into the rifie-barrel the small
dose of large haky-grained powder, slips in
the creased bullet, leaves off the sloughing pa
per, drives home the pointed lead with a strong,
gentle pressure Of the euplike end of his steel
ramrod, puts the little copper hat of a cap on
the NIPPLE and full cocks |, on the other
hand, load on different receipt. pour in the
powder from horn, through small measur-
ing tin filter, to insure the exact quantity Of n
charge. Then / take out my thimble-shaped,
creased circle of thin linen, and drive it into
Che gun.
We are both loaded. Yonder beyond the
rude hills and furze bushes, right against the
dark redoubt of clay and turf, is the target,
looking about as big as an archery target the
black wafer;n the center about as large as the
crown of a large hat. While St. Ives makes
ready, throw myself on the parched, grizzly
turf-slightly thirsty, by-the-by-and look up
to freshen my eye at the great snow-mountains
of cloud
"Those mighty fragments rent away
From some white alp Of yesterday"
The larks are singing overhead. The black
birds answer them from a plantation on the
hill.
st. Ives is now in superb position his left
arm on his chest and quite under the gun, so
that the barrel is imbedded firm and steady in
the palm Of his left hand his right ann is rec
tangular, and kept well out. The back and
fore sight are in splendid line The barrel does
not waver nor ,tremble hairs breadth it
might be bar of steel riveted into stone
wall The keeper went under cover when l
threw up my felt just now. There is a dead
silence. st. Ives holds his breath, and presses
the trigger gently but frmly-a jerk or bend
forward from anxiety would ruin the aim.
Bang A thin, angry jet of fire, a puff of
backward borne smoke, a ping a whiz then
a curious echo as of an ak coming down on q
wood block; slight ripping sound, as of torn
canvas, AMI spirit of dust in the butt immedi-
ately behind the target.
"a center, III bet iver, though say it that
shouldn't say it !" says St. Ives, keeping his
gun for moment in position.
The keeper energies from his troglodyte cave
and numbers 10 the target. He looks a mo-
ment, then returns to his burrow.
"a miss !" said l.
"Not IT," replied st. Ives, quietly ringing
down his ramrod. 81 know all his moves |;
he's "nly gone back to get his rule to measure
if it is center OF bulfs-eye."
The keeper waves the blue fag-St. Ives's
was center.
Now, as this was one of my first days of
rifle practice, may as well confess that the art
is not an easy one-cool head iron nerves.
strong wrist, keen, true eye, much thought and
observation, and all these things aided by con
slant practice, are needed to make good rifle
shot. The quick instinct and partnership of
eye and hand is all very well for a partridge or
rabbit shot, but here other qualities are requir-
cd. The distances are so long that an error of
the smallest fraction of an inch in the aim
throws the bullet up or down many, yards. At
first it seems almost impossible to keep a rifle
l'p-
sition; anxiety, moreover, is as detrimental to
good aim as carelessness or even incompetence.
Then, the wind and any fault of ones gun have
both studiously to be provided for. 1t is often
necessary, too, purposey to aim little too low
or too high, to allow for the involuntary jerk
up of the rihe-barrel in firing.
have slipped the bar Of the backsight to
the little figures 200. make ready; / pre-
sent. feel the little nib of the foresight com
ing up over the horizon of the notch or gap in
the backsight, and both telling against the black
wafer. | try to get an aim dead in the center,
but feel the barrel waver. wish had pulled
on my first instinct. Slowly l readjust it, l
remember my BREATH press the trigger in
dead silence. Again the crack, rush, and billet
chopping echo.
"IIigh to the right" said St. Ives, 81 saw it
hit Half the bullets fired fall away to the
right. You can correct that partly by making
rest OF the sling, and twisting your elbow in
it."
The keeper, without going to the target wav-
ed q white flag.
We fire six more bullets, all either whites or
blues, except one bulls eye of st. Ives's, at
two hundred, and we then move backward to
the three hundred ,yards-a distance generally
found peculiarly difficult by volunteers.
We move the bars of our rest up to the re-
quired distance.
patch - roars St. Ives to the keeper. Out
he tumbles, paste box in hand, and is soon busy
at work. Our gun-barrels now begin to get
besmrched about the breech the nipples are
black and moist at the tips while at the muz-
zles are little spits and frothings of red, the re-
suit OF the fired grease from the cartridges.
The target now looks scarcely bigger than
the door of hackney coach the black wafer,
100, contracts. st. Ives lies on his stomach
like deer-stalker, and fires; or he kneels on
his left heel and makes firm rest of his left
elbow on. his left knee
We look at each bullet as il energies, clean
and bright, from its paper chrysalis, with tender
solicltude. st. Ives IS four above me, and the
distance is increasing; but get steadier. and
begin to feel an instinct when | shall hit and
how my aim is. We now no longer hear the
rip of the cloth, and have to trust entirely TO
the keeper and his three flags.
At this moment ST. Ives who has been look
ing about the grass in an observant way, sud
denly directs my attention to a large, grassy
mole-hill. some four feet in diameter, which
one of yesterdays MIME bullets has pierced
with as clean and exact perforation as a punch
makes in card The bullet has pierced some
two feet of solid EARTH and has left, at going
out, only little spit of dust to mark its terri,
BILE passage.
Back crawlS the keeper, up flies my wide
awake In q moment Iacy's head nears oye.