Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber by L. A. Meyer
Authors: L. A. Meyer
Ads: Link
is a snap and a puff of smoke. Had there been a charge in the barrel, there would have been a roar, and the gun would have slammed back on its carriage.
"Pull it back! Swabbers! Up now!" The boys come back with their cannonballs, but no swabbers swab, and the guns stay where they were. Several men grab tools that they obviously have no notion of what they are for and trip over one another and fall to the deck. Everyone looks at me blankly.
"All right. Everybody stop. Stand where you are," I say, glaring out from under my hat. I look at a man standing behind the cannon I had just mock fired. "Do you know you would be dead now from the recoil of this gun? Your legs crushed and your back broken?"
He mumbles, "No, Mum," and moves belatedly out of the way.
"Have any of you ever been swabbers?" A few hands are raised. "How about ratchet men?" A few others raise their hands. "Rope and carriage men?" Even fewer hands are seen.
"Very well," I say, "let us start with just this one gun, with the experienced men at their positions." They move to their proper places.
"All right, we will begin. Fire!" and I click the firing lanyard. "The gun recoils and the swabber shoves his swab down the barrel. Do it!"
It is Shaughnessy who pushes the wet swab down the barrel.
"Now the charge! Tucker!" The boy hands his ball to Shaughnessy and Seaman Yonkers rams it down with his tool.
"The ball, Mr. Piggott!" and Georgie hands his ball to Shaughnessy, who drops it into the barrel. It rolls down to touch the mock powder.
"The wad!" Seaman Yonkers looks about for the wad, but they are not stacked in the slot on the bulkhead where they belong. "Pretend, then!" I shout. I pour more priming powder in the fire hole.
He does and I squint over the barrel again and say, "Pike up Three! Swing her tail two points forward. Fire!" Again I snap the lanyard, and the bit of powder ignites and
pops
and I look at my crew and say, "Let's do it again."
And again, and again, and again.
At last I call a halt. We've been at it for two hours and men are beginning to be placed in positions where they might be of use.
"Men," I say, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice, "we've got to be able to fire each gun and reload in under ninety seconds. Right now it's taking us over four minutes. That is unacceptable. We would be destroyed by even the meanest of French vessels."
I tread back and forth in front of them, thinking. At last I say, "Harkness, you shall drill the men for another hour, bending all your efforts to getting the right man in the right position. I shall see about us getting some powder so that we might have a proper exercise of our guns. Carry on."
With that, I spin on my heel and leave. It is possible that I hear the word
bitch
whispered under someone's breath as I go, but so be it.
It is just before the First Dog Watch and Mr. Pelham is on the quarterdeck as Officer of the Deck. I go up to him and salute.
"Begging your pardon, Sir, but I have several concerns."
His eyes roll heavenward, asking, I assume, for deliverance from this pesky female. "What is it, Miss Faber?"
"Number one. Why do we not have powder to exercise the great guns? We are woefully unready."
He stiffens and says, "The Captain has not authorized the powder. It is not for you to question that."
Umm.
I decide to hold my tongue on that. "Number two. As ranking Midshipman, I must insist that the midshipmen be put on the quarterdeck watch schedule. They are not learning anything just sitting around their berth." I gulp it all out. I still am not easy at speaking plain to regular officers.
Mr. Pelham eyes me coldly. "Are you implying by all this that the officers on this ship have been derelict in their duties?"
"No, Sir. I know how things lie on this ship and I have nothing but the utmost respect for both you and Mr. Pinkham, and I admire your fortitude in enduring it all. It is because of my special condition that I might have a little more latitude in the correction
"Pull it back! Swabbers! Up now!" The boys come back with their cannonballs, but no swabbers swab, and the guns stay where they were. Several men grab tools that they obviously have no notion of what they are for and trip over one another and fall to the deck. Everyone looks at me blankly.
"All right. Everybody stop. Stand where you are," I say, glaring out from under my hat. I look at a man standing behind the cannon I had just mock fired. "Do you know you would be dead now from the recoil of this gun? Your legs crushed and your back broken?"
He mumbles, "No, Mum," and moves belatedly out of the way.
"Have any of you ever been swabbers?" A few hands are raised. "How about ratchet men?" A few others raise their hands. "Rope and carriage men?" Even fewer hands are seen.
"Very well," I say, "let us start with just this one gun, with the experienced men at their positions." They move to their proper places.
"All right, we will begin. Fire!" and I click the firing lanyard. "The gun recoils and the swabber shoves his swab down the barrel. Do it!"
It is Shaughnessy who pushes the wet swab down the barrel.
"Now the charge! Tucker!" The boy hands his ball to Shaughnessy and Seaman Yonkers rams it down with his tool.
"The ball, Mr. Piggott!" and Georgie hands his ball to Shaughnessy, who drops it into the barrel. It rolls down to touch the mock powder.
"The wad!" Seaman Yonkers looks about for the wad, but they are not stacked in the slot on the bulkhead where they belong. "Pretend, then!" I shout. I pour more priming powder in the fire hole.
He does and I squint over the barrel again and say, "Pike up Three! Swing her tail two points forward. Fire!" Again I snap the lanyard, and the bit of powder ignites and
pops
and I look at my crew and say, "Let's do it again."
And again, and again, and again.
At last I call a halt. We've been at it for two hours and men are beginning to be placed in positions where they might be of use.
"Men," I say, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice, "we've got to be able to fire each gun and reload in under ninety seconds. Right now it's taking us over four minutes. That is unacceptable. We would be destroyed by even the meanest of French vessels."
I tread back and forth in front of them, thinking. At last I say, "Harkness, you shall drill the men for another hour, bending all your efforts to getting the right man in the right position. I shall see about us getting some powder so that we might have a proper exercise of our guns. Carry on."
With that, I spin on my heel and leave. It is possible that I hear the word
bitch
whispered under someone's breath as I go, but so be it.
It is just before the First Dog Watch and Mr. Pelham is on the quarterdeck as Officer of the Deck. I go up to him and salute.
"Begging your pardon, Sir, but I have several concerns."
His eyes roll heavenward, asking, I assume, for deliverance from this pesky female. "What is it, Miss Faber?"
"Number one. Why do we not have powder to exercise the great guns? We are woefully unready."
He stiffens and says, "The Captain has not authorized the powder. It is not for you to question that."
Umm.
I decide to hold my tongue on that. "Number two. As ranking Midshipman, I must insist that the midshipmen be put on the quarterdeck watch schedule. They are not learning anything just sitting around their berth." I gulp it all out. I still am not easy at speaking plain to regular officers.
Mr. Pelham eyes me coldly. "Are you implying by all this that the officers on this ship have been derelict in their duties?"
"No, Sir. I know how things lie on this ship and I have nothing but the utmost respect for both you and Mr. Pinkham, and I admire your fortitude in enduring it all. It is because of my special condition that I might have a little more latitude in the correction
Similar Books
