Stirk mustered his gun crew. His previous ship experience had ensured a rate of gun captain, and with Kydd and Renzi there were three other Royal Billys, Wong, Pinto and Doggo.
That left two of the original frigate crew on this gun -Gully, a bushy, round-faced man, and Colton, the second gun captain, a shrewish man with an uneven temper.
The twelve-pounder was only belly-high where the great thirty-two-pounders aboard the lower gundeck of Duke William were chest-high. Other than that, the cannon were nearly identical, and Kydd saw that the only real difference was in the number of men. Up to twenty men were needed to serve the big guns. Here, there were but three, together with a gun captain and his second, and the powder monkey.
Stirk was equal to the challenge. 'Right — different ships, different long splices. This barky likes it b' numbers, so 'ere's how we go.' He considered his men. 'Doggo, you're number one, load wad an' shot. Kydd, number two, want you to sponge 'n' ram. Renzi, number three, get the wad an' shot to number one. Gully, is it? Number four on the side tackle, please, mate, with Pinto an' Wong as number five 'n' six on the tackle. Oh, yeah — five an' six as well works the handspike, 'n' everyone bears a fist on the tackle falls runnin' out the gun.'
'An' me, Mr Stirk!' called the gangling boy at the hatch gratings amidships.
'An' Mr Luke, 'oo'll be doin' the honours with the powder,' he added gravely.
He stepped back, bumping into Colton. There was a moment of tension as Stirk stared him down. 'An' the second captain overhauls th' trainin' tackle.'
The routine of loading and firing was simple enough — the gun was run out and fired, then recoiled inboard. The cannon was sponged out, and a cartridge and wad rammed home. A ball was slammed in the muzzle, another was followed, rammed firmly in place, and the gun was run out again ready for firing. It was teamwork that counted, not only with the danger of naked powder brought close to gun blast, but the whole effectiveness of the gun depended on knowing what to do, and keeping out of the way of others when they did their part.
'We does it slow time first, lads,' ordered Stirk. This was Kydd's first time on the rammer. It was confusing that the rammer and sponge were at either end of the same stout wooden stave. He laid the stave down, sponge inboard, and joined at the side tackle. The gun was run out. The noise seemed more of a heavy rattle than the bass rumble of the three tons of the larger gun.
'Gun 'as fired,' Stirk said laconically. He looked pointedly at Colton, but Wong and Pinto thrust past and seized the training tackle at the breech end of the gun to make it 'recoil'. Kydd had the sponge ready in the bucket, and lifted the dripping sheepskin. Passing the rammer end out of the gunport to get more room, he plunged it into the muzzle.
Renzi, across from Kydd, had an imaginary 'cartridge' and 'wad' ready for Doggo, who stuffed them into the muzzle. Kydd quickly had the cuplike end of the rammer stabbing down inside the muzzle; Doggo took the shot and another wad and slammed them into the maw. Kydd repeated his ramming and the gun crew hauled together on the tackles to run out; Stirk performed his priming and pointing, and the cycle was over. 'We does it now in quick time!' he growled.
They did it again, causing Stirk to groan with frustration. Kydd, in his enthusiasm, had his rammer flailing straight after Doggo's cartridge but before his wad could be applied, and Wong, used to the huge inertia of larger guns, tripped over at the side tackle and sent his side down in a tangle of cursing men. At that moment a single squeal from a boatswain's call pierced the din.
'Still!' cried Rowley, striding aft to meet the Captain with his first lieutenant. Rowley removed his hat as Powlett stepped on to the gundeck. All movement ceased.
'Where are our Royal Billys, if you please, Mr Rowley?' Powlett demanded.
'This way, sir,' Rowley replied, and with a graceful gesture moved forward.
Kydd watched them approach. Rowley was short enough to stand upright and stepped carefully, as if distrustful of where he trod. Powlett stooped slightly and ranged like a wary lion. Spershott hurried on behind.
lDuke Williams, sir, Tobias Stirk, gun captain.'
Kydd sensed a cold ferocity behind Powlett's eyes and felt his back stiffening.
'Your men up to service in a frigate, Stirk?' Powlett rasped.
Stirk hesitated.
'Very well — we'll have the measure of you nevertheless.' Powlett drew out his watch. He swung round to the twelve-pounder next along. 'Symonds!'
'Aye, sir?' the other gun captain said carefully.
'You and the Royal Billys will exercise together.'
He turned back to Stirk. 'Run out. On my mark!'
Stirk spat on his hands and glared at his crew.
Powlett consulted his watch. 'Now!' His arm swept down and the gun crews leapt into action.
With Wong's great strength at the training tackle the recoil was accomplished rapidly. With nervous energy Kydd sponged and withdrew, Doggo's cartridge instantiy ready at the muzzle. Kydd returned with the stave - but Doggo hissed savagely, 'Fuckin' rammer!' Kydd had made a stupid mistake. He had not reversed the stave and the wet sheepskin was still inboard with the rammer gaily poking out of the gunport. He tried to turn the stave outside the port but he fumbled and it fell away, tumbling noisily against the ship's side and into the sea, sinking in the wake astern.