The men took off their boots so that they could grip the deck more firmly with their bare feet, stripped off their jumpers, and stood to their guns, eagerly waiting, with rows of cartridges in the racks behind them.
Down where I was, with "No. 2" right ahead, I could not see the pirates, but almost immediately the signalman above me shouted: "They've fired, sir!" and in the twinkling of a second a shell, missing "No. 2", fell into the water close under our bows, and, bursting, covered one gun's crew with spray.
"Me mither told me niver to git wet," said the funny man of the crew, ruefully shaking himself.
"Put your big feet up, then, and keep it off, Bill," shouted one, and "Take off your 'at, 'twill make yer 'air grow", shouted another.
"Shall we load, sir?" asked the Captain of the gun, a little grey-eyed man named Clarke.
I told him to wait for orders, and so we hung on, and as plenty more shells came whistling past, the men became rather restless, the ammunition numbers picking up the cartridges and waiting for the signal to load.
The order seemed a tremendously long time coming, but "No. 2", sheering across our bows to port, gave us a good view of the pirate, and commenced firing herself.
At last Tommy, putting his head over the bridge screen, shouted down; "Stand by!" "Close up!" I yelled to the two guns' crews, and the captains of the guns, with their chin-stays gripped between their teeth, jumped to their shoulder-pieces, pressing well home, glued their eyes to the sights, and, with feet wide apart, stood ready, keeping their sights on the destroyer.
Down went the breech-blocks with a snap, in rattled the cartridges, up went the blocks again, and "Ready!" yelled the breech numbers.
"Range 1500 yards!" yelled Tommy from the bridge overhead in a funny, squeaky, excited voice, and directly afterwards I heard Mr. Parker give the order "Commence!" to Jones of the 12-pounder gun.