It seemed to Perrin that his gaiety was natural, and that, perhaps, the sight of Mrs. Stukeley, with her husband, had proved an effective cure. A gun’s crew swayed the gear out of the boat. The other guns’ crews, heaving the heavy trucks, training the guns forward, wished that they might help. Captain Cammock resumed his drill. “Starboard battery, on the bow!” he exclaimed. “Port battery, upon the beam. Imagine them hulks. Them’s the enemy. Bring aft your train tackles. No. No. Oh, what are you playing at? Drop them blocks. What in hell are you thinking of there, number three? I’m not talking to you, port battery. Now. Wait for the word of command. Take heed. Silence. Silence there. Now. Cast off the tackles and breechings. Carry on.” The figures by the guns became active. Though they carried on “in silence,” there was a good deal of noise, many muttered oaths, much angry dropping of rammers. Captain Margaret stood by Cammock, waiting till the guns were fired. He had learned the practical part of naval gunnery from a book in Cammock’s cabin, _The Mariner’s Friend, or Compleat Sea Gunner’s Vade Mecum_. He watched the drill wearily, knowing how hard and dull a thing it was to the men who swayed the tackles, and hove the trucks along with crows. In the moment of peace after the broadsides, he felt a pity for his men, a pity for humanity. He had hired these men at four shillings a week apiece. He gave them their food, worth, perhaps, tenpence a day, with their rum worth twopence more, bought wholesale, out of bond. “For eleven shillings a week,” he thought, “a man will clog his heavenly soul with gun-drill, which his soul loathes; and refrain from drabs and drams, which his soul hungers and thirsts for.” He felt ashamed that he had not thought more of his men’s comfort. “You’ve got them into shape already, captain,” he said. “I’ll get them into trim in time,” answered Cammock. “It takes time.” “Yes,” said Margaret, “it takes time.” He paused a moment, remembered his kindly feeling, and continued. “I want to ask you about fresh meat, captain. Shall I get some fresh meat here, to see us well into the Western Ocean? Or flour, now? I want the hands kept in good trim. I don’t want to lose any by sickness.” “Fresh meat is always good at sea,” said Cammock. “But there’s better things than meat. For keeping a crew in good shape, you can’t beat sugar and flour. It takes the salt out of their bones.” Perrin had joined them. “I’ve ordered fresh meat and sugar,” he said. “And three dozen fowls. They’ll be off in about an hour’s time.” “You oughtn’t to have done that,” said Margaret. “I paid for them myself,” he answered. “There they come.”