The big gun in America, though once widely used, never really enjoyed a good reputation. Like some misunderstood big bully......

Alone, in the cold darkness of the Chesapeake Bay, the punt gunner clung desperately as only a drowning man can to his overturned sneak skiff.

He knew he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to help himself. The skiff, with just enough flotation, kept rolling and sliding away—it had not been designed to float in this fashion. His boots and coat, laden with water, were like anchors, and he could not get them off. His own strong constitution and the relatively warm late-fall water were his only reasons for being alive, but his numbed hands could not hold on much longer.

One simple mistake had placed him in this position, Ed Marshall of Smith Island explained, as his memory rolled back more than fifty years. His father was away, and with the know-it-all of youth he had borrowed his “big gun.” Usually the shock of the free and lazy recoil was taken up by two bags of sea oats— one about the gun and another in the stern. He had substituted sand, and the increased resistance had caused the gun to jump out of her chock and capsize the boat.

He was eventually saved by an overdue steamer, casting her light about for a harbor buoy. He was nearly another punt or big-gun victim.