The Midshipman Prince (32 page)

      
“That I might want to attend?”

      
“Yes.”

      
Actually she didn’t. Her husband’s death and the way it happened were not that far in the past. She still thought of him, missed him in some ways, though their brief marriage was not exactly the best one in the world. Still, Bill was right; she was interested in anything having to do with the navy. It was one of the things the men really liked about her.

      
“All right. I can finish this later. Lead on.”

      
The relevant cast of characters had assembled on the gun deck where the twelve 24-pound guns had been stationed, six on a side. Most of the gunners, gunner’s mates, and officers were there along with all the midshipmen. The captain and Sir Charles had yet to make their appearance.

      
The ship’s gunner was fluttering around the guns making sure everything was in perfect order. That, by itself, wasn’t unusual. He normally arose at 5 AM each day to make sure the guns were properly washed, cleaned, and dried. After that, he would inspect each gun to make sure it was well secured and ready for service, that their vents were clear, tompions in, and no shot was loose in the barrel. He would continue his inspection routine several times during the day, and any discrepancies would be noted and corrected immediately.
 

      
Technically, he was an officer, although he held that position through a warrant issued by the Board of Ordnance. It was his responsibility to keep the gun crews trained and, to do that; he would exercise at least two guns each day, except on Thursday and Sunday.

      
Normally a taciturn man, he seemed unglued at the thought of having Sir Charles on board and, in effect, inspect him, his guns, and his men.

      
The naval gun at that time was not much more than a muzzle loaded pipe bomb. It was thicker at the breech to resist the force of the explosion, but tapered toward the mouth. About a third of the way up from the breech two sturdy metal arms, called “trunnions,” stuck out from the sides. These rested in a wooden frame on wheels called a carriage that bore the weight of the gun and allowed it to be moved around and pointed. At the back of the barrel, a knob stood out called a “cascable.” A stout three-inch rope ran from a deadeye and pulley imbedded in the hull on one side of the gun, around the cascable, and back to a deadeye and pulley imbedded on the other side. This rope was to limit how far back the gun would recoil when it was fired. The pulleys allowed the gun to be run out again.

      
Gun sizes were rated by the weight of the ball it fired. These were generally either 6, 9, 12, 18, 24 or 32 pounds each, although some of the seamen still used the old fashioned terms: Cannon Royal, Cannon, Demi-cannon, Culverin, Demi-Culverin, Falcon, Falconer, Minion, Saker, and so forth. The 24-pounders, like the ones Susan and Hanover were looking at, could shoot about 3,000 yards with accuracy and up to 1.75 miles accompanied by a prayer. Even a little 18-pounder could send a ball through 2 ½ feet of sold oak at 400 yards.

      
Captain Saumarez and Captain Douglas soon emerged from the captain’s cabin and made the short walk down the gun deck to where the group was waiting. Douglas was a beefy man, about six inches taller than Saumarez with a large square jaw and bushy eyebrows. He had to duck at each overhead beam as he walked to the waiting group. His size, however, was offset by a soft voice that spoke with a highland burr.

      
“All right then, which of you is the gunner,” Douglas began.

      
“That’d be me, sir. Lawrence Woolsey.” Woolsey stepped forward and knuckled a salute. Instead of returning the salute, Douglas held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Woolsey.” Woolsey shook hands with him and took on the look of a man who had just kissed the ring of the Pope.

      
“If you’d be so kind, please assemble a crew for this gun, release the breeching, and run it out as if you are about to fire it.”

      
When Woolsey had done that, the group moved in closer to hear what Douglas had to say.

      
“I am sure you’re all familiar with the standard 24 pound naval gun. The one before you is that same gun with certain modifications I have made which I hope you will view as improvements.

      
“Now, let’s say this gun has just been fired. At this moment, what is the biggest danger? You sir?”

      
One of the ships many lieutenants spoke up: “The gun will recoil backwards where, until the breeching rope stops it, it could run over a seaman. There is also the possibility that the rope could break sending the gun across the deck and possibly crash through the opposite side.”

      
“Very good, lieutenant. Quite correct. This brings us to improvement number one. Mr. Woolsey if you would have your crew slide that ramp over here about eight feet behind the gun.

      
“This simple ramp will now be placed about this distance behind the gun. When the gun fires, it will recoil back until the rear wheels of the carriage slide up this ramp, thus breaking its travel. When the recoil energy is spent, it will roll the gun back down the ramp where it can be serviced for the next shot. You’ll notice also that the front of the carriage is attached to a rope, which is attached to a heavy spring, which is attached to another rope, which is attached to the hull. This too will help in controlling the recoil.

      
“This does three things. First, because it’s not rolling back so far, it helps keep men from being run over by the carriage. Second, it eliminates the possibility of the breeching rope breaking because the gun never goes back far enough to put a serious strain on it. And third, it returns the gun to a position much closer to the gun port, which means it won’t take as long for the crew to roll it back into firing position. In short, you can thus fire it faster.

      
“You there, the midshipman on the end. What would happen next in our firing sequence?”

      
A young man, about 17, stepped forward—an older midshipman who was about ready to take his lieutenant’s exam.

      
“Next, sir, the gun would be cleaned out with the worm,” he reached over and grabbed a pole with a metal corkscrew on the end, “followed by a swabbing with the sponge on the other end, wetted down of course. That gets rid of any sparks left over from the previous blast that might set off the new charge. Then you...”

      
“All right, stop there,” Douglas interrupted. “None of those things are now necessary.” Douglas paused while his statement sank in and the astonished murmuring ran its course.

      
“First, we will now be using pre-cut wetted pads.” He reached into a tub of water sitting near the gun and pulled one out. By using these pads, there will be no shower of sparks from the wadding when the gun is fired. Second... son, if you’ll hand me that...” a small boy timidly approached and handed over a wooden box. Douglas opened it and held up a new kind of powder charge.

      
“Second, you’ll notice the charges are now different. They are contained in flannel bags—not silk like the old charges. Silk causes sparks when the charge goes off; flannel simply disintegrates with no sparks. By using wetted pads and flannel powder bags, there will be no burning residue in the chamber, thus no worming, thus no sponging, thus again, a faster rate of fire.

      
“All right, midshipman, you’re doing a fine job. What happens next?”

      
The midshipman beamed. “Well, sir, next a powder charge is placed in the muzzle of the barrel and rammed home, followed by a wad, followed by the ball, followed by another wad, and the gun is run out.”

      
“Excellent. Now, young man, who fires it?”

      
“Each gun has a Gun Captain. On my old ship, they called ‘em ‘Quarter-gunners;’ here they call them ‘Gun Captains.’ He’s supposed to aim and fire the gun.”

      
“Fine. Do we have a quarter-gunner here?”

      
“Aye, sir. McGinty, sir.”

      
“Tell me, McGinty, how do you fire the gun?”

      
“Aye, sir. I takes a thin rod, like that one over there, push it down the vent hole and swish it around a bit. That breaks the powder bag that’s in the chamber. Then I pour a little bit of special fine grain powder down the hole.”

      
“All right, stop there. You won’t be doing that any more.”

      
“Sir?” McGinty was astonished along with everyone else. No one could imagine any other way of doing it.

      
Douglas reached over, pulled out a small box, opened it and from among several dozen in the box, pulled out what looked like a short writing quill without the feathers.

      
“Another little invention of mine, gentlemen. These quills are hollow and filled with a special mixture of gunpowder kneaded in spirits of wine. You just push it down into the vent hole. The quill breaks the bag, and you don’t have to pour any powder down the vent. It’s already inside the hollow quill.

      
“All right, McGinty, what happens next?”

      
McGinty peeled his eyes, now grown somewhat larger, off the box of quills. “Then I takes the slow match from the fire tub, blow on it a few times to get the tip hot and touch it to the powder that I just put into the touch hole.”

      
“Is the slow match always lit when you pick it up?”

      
“Oh no, sir. Sometimes the spray from the ocean has put it out, sometimes it’s fallen into the water in the fire tub, and sometimes it’s just plain gone out and I don’t know why.”

      
“That’s all right. The slow match is gone too, McGinty.”

      
“But, sir, how do I...”

      
“Ask this marine here,” he said pointing to one of several marines that were observing from outside the circle of seamen.

      
“Sir?” said the surprised marine suddenly straightening into a posture resembling attention.

      
“How does your weapon fire, private.”

      
The marine held up his flintlock musket. “It’s easy, sir. I just pull back on the hammer. When I am ready to shoot, I pull the trigger; the hammer drops forward, opens the pan and strikes this piece of flint against the striker. That causes a spark, which ignites the powder in the pan, which travels into the chamber and ignites the charge, which blows out the ball.”

      
When the marine ceased talking, all hands turned back to Sir Charles who, miraculously, was holding an oversized flintlock firing mechanism in his hand.

      
“And what I have here is a much larger version of the one that’s on that marine’s musket, only this one is going to fire this gun,” Douglas said while screwing the flintlock mechanism into a special hole the ship’s armorer had earlier cut into the side of the gun.

      
“McGinty, you will now fire your gun the same way that marine fires his musket. After you insert the quill, you place a small amount of powder into the pan, just here. Then you pull back the hammer, take up this string and, when you are ready, pull it.”

      
“Oh lord, sir. Can there be anything else?” McGinty spoke with out thinking and was immediately embarrassed. The group, along with Douglas laughed, however.

      
“Actually, yes. One more thing.

      
“How do you know
when
to shoot it, McGinty?”

      
“Sir?”

      
“I mean, you are on a ship that’s constantly rolling back and forth. If you fire too early on the roll, the ball will fly over the enemy. If you fire too late, you’ll just be shooting the ocean. How do you know when to fire?”

      
“Well, I look out the gun port and try to judge it.”

      
“Does that always work?”

      
“No, sir. Most of the time the smoke from all the gun fire is so thick I can’t even see the water, let alone the enemy.”