I asked him if at such times one was not inclined to feel a trifle
shaken, a little nervous, or, might one say, afraid?
"Yes, sir," he agreed politely, "I suppose so--only, you see, we were
all too jolly busy to think about it!"
"Oh!" said I, taking out a cigarette, "too busy! Of course! I see!
And where is the Captain during action, as a rule?"
"As a matter of fact he stood--just where you are, sir. Stood there
the whole six hours it was hottest."
"Here!" I exclaimed. "But it is quite exposed."
My Midshipmite, being a hardy veteran in world-shaking naval battles,
permitted himself to smile.
"But, you see, sir," he gently explained, "it's really far safer out
here than being shut up in a gun-turret or--or down below, on account
of er--er--you understand, sir?"
"Oh, quite!" said I, and thereafter thought awhile, and, receiving
his ready permission, lighted my cigarette. "I think," said I, as we
prepared to descend from our lofty perch, "I'm sure it's
just--er--that kind of thing that brought one Francis Drake out of so
very many tight corners. By the way--do you smoke?"
My Midshipmite blushingly confessed he did, and helped himself from
my case with self-conscious fingers.
Reaching the main deck in due season, I found I had contrived to miss
the Chief Gunner's lecture on the great guns, whereupon who so
agitated and bitterly apologetic as my Midshipmite, who there and
then ushered me hastily down more awkward stairs and through narrow
openings into a place of glistening, gleaming polish and furbishment
where, beside the shining breech of a monster gun, muscular arm
negligently leaning thereon, stood a round-headed, broad-shouldered
man, he the presiding genius of this (as I afterwards found) most
sacred place.
His lecture was ended and he was addressing a few well-chosen closing
remarks in slightly bored fashion (he had showed off his ponderous
playthings to divers kings, potentates and bigwigs at home and
abroad, I learned) when I, though properly awed by the gun but more
especially by the gunner, ventured to suggest that a gun that had
been through three engagements and had been fired so frequently must
necessarily show some signs of wear. The gunner glanced at me, and I
shall never forget that look. With his eyes on mine, he touched a
lever in negligent fashion, whereon silently the great breech slipped
away with a hiss and whistle of air, and with his gaze always fixed
he suggested I might glance down the bore.
Obediently I stooped, whereon he spake on this wise:
"If you cast your heyes to the right abaft the breech you'll observe
slight darkening of riflin's. Now glancin' t'left of piece you'll
per-ceive slight darkening of riflin's. Now casting your heyes right
forrard you'll re-mark slight roughening of riflin's towards muzzle
of piece and--there y'are, sir. One hundred and twenty-seven times
she's been fired by my 'and and good for as many more--both of us.
Arternoon, gentlemen, and--thank ye!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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