STO'B 7-1

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Philip returned to the quarterdeck., opened his pocket-watch, and said, “beat to quarters.”

The drum beat out directly, there being neither a lieutenant nor a midshipman to convey the message, and the crew scattered and reformed, casting loose their guns, sanding and wetting the decks, attending to the myriad tasks that prepared Badger for battle. Eighteen minutes and 32 seconds later his remaining officers reported the tasks complete. Not a bad time with such a reduced crew, Philip thought, though he also realized that the number was somewhat artificial. There was nothing unexpected about Badger’s going to quarters after divisions; she did so every day except Sunday, and Philip had noticed that many of the crew had prepped as they went to divisions, loosening tackle, filling buckets with water, other little tasks designed to shave off few seconds. They were jealous of their reputation, proud of what they had accomplished.

“Each gun will fire three rounds, live firing with practice powder. Silence, fore and aft,” he called. He looked at his watch again, “gun one, cast loose your gun and fire as you bear.”

Gun one cast loose, under the keen eyes of the rest of the crew, for here was the gun against which all others would be judged. Forty-one seconds after Jack gave the command, the gun went off with a gruff bark, spitting its ball out into the ocean and breathing out a cloud of smoke. The gun crew, lately used to silent, smokeless dumb-show practice, lost their rhythm, and close to two minutes passed before the gun was loaded with the rotten practice powder, run up again and ready to fire. This time the gun crew drew as far away from their charge as they could, covering their ears and opening their mouths, and the gun captain actually closed his eyes as he pulled the lanyard.

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