STO'B 7-3

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After this, the gun crews exercised more care. Gun twelve hung for almost a full minute before going off with a muffled ‘thump’, and gun thirteen had to be wormed out and reloaded when it didn’t go off at all after three minutes’ careful waiting. Still, by the time all of the guns had been exercised (except for those still in the hold), the crews were regaining their rhythm, and at least some of them had first hand experience with a hang- or mis-fire. Philip stood them down from quarters and handed them over to the gunner, whose watch it was, and retreated to the windward side of the quarterdeck. Through the skylight, he watched a crew of seamen, under the direction of the carpenter, reassembling his cabins.

“Sir?”

Philip looked up. Mister Foster stood at the edge of the windward quarterdeck; Philip waved him over. “Mister Foster,” he said, “how do you do?”

“I don’t complain, sir,” said the surgeon, then, “I have taken a look at the men and I believe you are mistaken. Malingering, you may trust me on it. All of the men are receiving their antiscorbutics in their grog, of course, so scurvy is impossible.”

“Hmm,” said Philip. “Well, thank you, Mister Foster.”

The surgeon left, and Philip turned away to pace the windward side of the quarterdeck and consider. Not for the first time, he regretted the absence of Doctor M’Mullen.

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GLOSSARY