It was a perilous gun to handle. Owing to some undiscoverable flaw of
construction or imperfection in the alloy, the monster soon developed a
disconcerting knack of back-firing, hazardous to life and limb. It
stands to reason that the Good Duke attached no undue importance to any
trifling disaster accruing therefrom. On the contrary, in order to be
sure of a thunderous detonation, he often deigned to superintend in
person the loading of this particular piece.
"More powder," he would then command. "More powder! Ram it in! Never
mind her little caprices! A good salute is worth a good soldier! More
powder! Fill her up to the brim! She's only playful, like her master."
Those who lost fingers or hands or arms received the Order of the
Golden Vine. Whenever a major portion of the anatomy, a head or so
forth, went astray, the victim was posthumously ennobled.
Since his day, thanks to the science of a Paduan engineer, this defect
has been almost completely overcome, and the gun can still be heard on
great occasions, such as the Duke's birthday, the Festival of the
Patron Saint, or the visit to the island of some foreign sovereign; it
is also discharged, as of yore, to summon the Militia for the purpose
of quelling any popular disturbance.
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