“We had target practice one day, and it came my turn to shoot.  There was quite a swell on, which made it very difficult to get any kind of a shot, but when I fired I hit the target, which was a barrel with a small flag on it, set up about three quarters of a mile distant.  Such a thing as hitting a small target at sea, with the ship in motion, and a swell on, is considered almost out of the question, so they all said it was ‘luck.’  But another target was put out, and I fired again and stove it all to pieces.  Then the crew all cheered, and made quite a hero of me.  Still some said it must be luck, and another target was put out in exactly the same manner.  This one I did not quite hit, but the shot fell so near, that all gave it up it was not luck, and that I was a first-rate shot with broadside guns.”

After such demonstration, it is not strange that he was looked upon as having a very correct eye for distances, and was ever afterward called upon to fire whenever experiments were wanted.  Naval gunnery, be it remarked in passing, is quite a different matter from army practice:  in the former, with its platform never at rest, it is like shooting a bird on the wing, when distance and motion must be accurately gauged and allowed for; in the latter, from its gun on a fixed platform, it is but a question of measurement from the object, by means of instruments if need be, and of good pointing.  The seaman stands immediately in rear of the gun, with eye along the sight directing its train, now right, now left, now well, and with taut lock-string in hand in readiness to pull the moment the object is on, and on the alert to jump clear of the recoil.  The soldier handles his piece with greater deliberation, sights it leisurely on its immovable platform, and, if mounted en barbette, retires behind a traverse before firing.

Graduating in June, 1856, the now full-fledged Midshipman Perkins could look back upon his five years’ probationary experience with many pleasant recollections, though doubtless thanking his stars that his pupilage was over.

During his time there had been two superintendents at the academy.  The first was Captain C.K.  Stribling, a fine seaman of the old school, of rigid Presbyterian stock, stern, grim, and precise, with curt manners, sharp and incisive voice that seemed to know no softening, and whose methods of duty and conception of discipline smacked of the “true blue” ideal of the Covenanters of old in their enforcement of obedience and conservation of morals.  The second was Captain L.M.  Goldsborough, a man of stalwart height and proportions and a presence that ennobled command; learned and accomplished, yet gruff and overwhelming in speech and brusque and impatient in manner, but possessing, withal, a kindly nature, and a keen sense of humor that took in a joke enjoyably, however practical; and a sympathetic discrimination that often led him to condone moral offences at which