“Just a tad under ten knots, sir,” said the quartermaster, looking down at the reel. The quartermaster’s mate began to reel the log back in as the quartermaster looked up at his captain. “Not near as fast as old Kestrel, sir, but not too bad. As we tweak the rigging, hopefully we can do a bit better than that.”
Hans, in his role as sailing master, was working hard to get every bit of speed out of their new Ship. “Aye, sir,” he told his young captain as he handed up a chunk of chewing tobacco for his monkey to bite a chaw off of, “the ticks is piss-poor sailors. Damned fine topmen, mind ya, but their idee of arrangin’ sails ‘as got no finesse, no art to it, if ya take my meanin’.”
A two-space Ship typically had ten sails. A mainsail, topsail, and topgallant sail on each mast, and a spritsail on the bowsprit. They all ran perpendicular to the length of the Ship. The strange “wind” or gravity effect of two-space was caught by the sails. Since it always came from directly above there was never any need to shift the angle of the sails, which made their rigging quite a bit simpler than it was in the old sailing vessels. Which was good, because any kind of pulley, as would be found in a block and tackle, was quickly made useless by the technology-eroding effects of Flatland.
Spankers and jibs, sails that ran more parallel to the length of the ship, contributed little to the forward movement of a Ship. So they were used only rarely, to facilitate sudden direction changes.
“The curs made a damned fine Ship, sir,” added Hans during one of his periodic consultations with Melville. These conferences were really more diplomatically conducted education sessions than consultation, as the master sailor explained what he was doing to his young captain. He and his monkey spit streams of tobacco juice over the side of the railing as he continued. “She has some o’ the strongest masts I’ve ever seen on a Ship. By God, I think ‘er sticks are stout enough ‘at she might be able ta stand some royals and a spritsail-topsail, if we do it real careful like. We might work on those later, but fer now we have at least a week’s worth o’ work in front of us, sorting out this rats’ nest of a riggin’ the ticks ‘ave been usin’.”
Every turn of the Ship’s glass marked an hour, and each hour the bell was rung, up to twelve bells. Then the night watch would begin the cycle again. At one bell they heaved the log again. “Just a hair over ten knots this time,” the quartermaster said with a satisfied grin.
Shortly thereafter a nervous young ship’s boy approached the quarterdeck. “Beg pardon sir,” the young man said. “But Mr. Petreckski and Lady Elphinstone say there’s som’t’n int’restin happenin’ in the surg’ry, if the Cap’in has time to come look.”
“Thank you. Tell them I need to speak with Mr. Barlet first and then I will be there directly.”
“Aye, sir! You’ll be with Mr. Barlet and then to the surg’ry direc’ly.” The boy saluted and scurried off as Melville turned to the quartermaster on duty. “Do you feel that all is well here?”
“Aye, sir,” he replied with a confident grin. “All is well.” Above them Mr. Hans’ sailors were working like a great, chattering flock of dirty white birds, adjusting the sails and coordinating well with the quartermaster throughout the process. Hans respectfully coordinated with his captain, but it was immediately obvious to Melville that the new sailing master (and ex-chief) had a mastery of sails and rigging that he would probably never equal. Melville resigned himself to the fact that he’d never be a Jack Aubrey, tweaking the sails of a Ship to get the greatest possible speed. He counted himself lucky to have Hans as a sailing master and was content to leave such things to the real expert.
“She’s a sweet Ship,” the quartermaster continued, “if a little slow and sluggish compared to Kestrel. Some of the changes Chief, er, Mr. Hans is making will make her even sweeter.”
The quartermasters were all experienced and trusted petty officers, assisted by two mates, one of whom served as the helmsman. As a former petty officer himself, Melville remembered how much he enjoyed it when the officers left him in charge. It was rare that there wasn’t at least a midshipman in nominal “command” and the quartermasters were enjoying their moment in the sun. Melville hoped to find a few good midshipmen from among the ranks. Although technically a promotion, it was often hard to convince a good career NCO to take the step from godlike NCO powers to lowly midshipman. It was sometimes easier to move them to a warrant position, as he had done with Chief Hans, but even then it was hard to get a good NCO to step “down” from being the big frog in his comfortable little pond, to being a middle-sized frog in a bigger pond.
Melville returned the young petty officer’s grin. “Very good. I’m going to coordinate briefly with Mr. Barlet, then I’ll be down in the surgery.”
* * *
It wasn’t hard to find the gunnery officer. He, Gunny Von Rito, and their mates were on the lower gundeck, crawling all over the big guns that Barlet had designated as 24-pounders. “Guns,” said Melville as he walked up, “what do you think of these cannon?”
“Sir, they’re simply magnificent,” replied the gunnery officer, with joy shining from his dark face. “Did you know that they were actually brass under this black coating the curs put on their guns? Brass cannons, by the Lady!”
He scowled and continued, “But the sighting system stinks! It’s like building the biggest, finest ship ever imagined, out of the finest possible material, and then not putting a rudder on her. It’s just like the curs, but I can’t really blame it all on their stupid, slam-bam-thankee-ma’am tactics. The problem is that this gun is too big to lean over and sight down when you fire it, and anyone who stands behind it when you touch her off will be crushed. So you have to sight her from behind the barrel, step back, tap the Keel charge, then jump back fast. Bottom line is that whenever you shoot, you’re always firing from old data.”
Then he grinned with the joy of a true craftsman, the feral grin of a master gunner facing a problem that he was born to solve. “I think I have a solution. It’ll be tricky but I think we’ll be able to use these guns in a way the Guldur never dreamed possible.”
“Good!” Melville responded. “That’s our top priority. Let me know what you need to get the mission accomplished. I’m also eager to do some test firing, so let me know when you’re ready. Our second priority is to get the 12-pounders we brought from Kestrel into position. Do you have a suggestion as to their placement?”
“Yes sir, I do. I think we can put a pair of 12-pounders forward of each pair of 24-pounders, two above, two below, on both the green and red sides. If we do it right, then on the upper green-side and the lower red-side we can swing the for’ard-most gun around and use her for a bow chaser at need.”
“That will account for eight of them, what of the remaining four?”
“Well, sir, I’d like to put two each in the cabin right below the quarterdeck, above and below, as stern chasers.” His brows furrowed and he looked askance at his captain, warily, judgingly. “The only problem is that you’d have to give up a lot of space in your cabin.”
Melville laughed out loud. It was plain to see that in Barlet’s eyes this was a test of the new captain’s character, but for Melville it was no test at all. “Aye, Guns, great minds do think alike. That’s exactly the solution I came up with. I don’t give a hoot in hell about space in my cabin! But what I do want is to give a load of grief to anyone who chases us. I figure with a Ship this slow we’re more apt to be the chasee than the chaser. So having some firepower back there may be useful. Tell Chips where you want the gun ports put, and make it happen! We have the wounded in the lower quarterdeck cabin, so do that last, and give the surgeon plenty of warning before you do it.”
“Aye, sir!” Barlet nodded happily as Melville turned and strode toward the surgery. If only all of his tests were that simple. If only all of his men were that easy to please. His good mood evaporated instantly and anxiety gripped his stomach as he thought about the fact that there would be times when he’d have to make hard decisions, decisions that they wouldn’t like. All their support and amiable nods might dry up in an instant in the face of their young, inexperienced captain.