Free The Bomb Vessel by Richard Woodman

ten-inch weighing forty-one hundredweights. Why don’t we ship them on the beds, eh?’
    â€˜I take it they’re spares.’ Tumilty nodded. Drinkwater knew the other bomb vessels already had their own mortars fitted for he had examined those on the
Explosion
. There seemed no very good argument against fitting them in the beds even if they were supposed to be struck down into the hold. After all
Virago
had been fitted to carry them. He wondered what Martin would say if he knew, as doubtless he would in due course.
    â€˜By damn, Mr Tumilty, it is getting dark. Let us have those beauties swung aboard as you suggest. We may carry ’em in their beds safer than rolling about in the hold.’
    â€˜That’s the spirit, Mr Drinkwater, that’s the spirit to be sure.’
    â€˜Mr Rogers! A word with you if you please.’ Rogers ascended the ladder.
    â€˜Sir?’
    â€˜We have two mortars to load, spares for the squadron. I intend to lower them on the beds. D’you understand Sam? If we’ve two mortars fitted we may yet get a chance to do more than fetch and carry . . .’
    The gleam of enthusiasm kindled in Roger’s eye. ‘I like the idea, damned if I don’t.’ He shot a glance at Tumilty, still suspicious of the artilleryman who seemed to occupy a position of a questionable nature aboard a King’s ship. The Irishman was gazing abstractedly to windward.
    â€˜Now, ’twill be ticklish with this wind increasing but it will likely drop after sunset. Brace the three lower yards and rig preventers on ’em, then rig three-fold purchases as yard and stay tackles over both beds. Get Willerton to open the hatches and oil the capsquares. Top all three yards well up and put two burtons on each and frap the whole lot together. That should serve.’
    â€˜What weights, sir?’
    â€˜Eighty-two hundred weights to come in on the after bed and . . .’
    â€˜Forty-one on the forward . . .’
    â€˜
Forrard
, Mr Tumilty.’
    â€˜I’m sure I’m begging your pardon, Mr Rogers.’ Rogers hurried away shouting for Matchett and Willerton. ‘Why he’s a touchy one, Mr Drinkwater.’
    â€˜We’re agreed on a number of things, Mr Tumilty, not least that we’d both like to add ‘Captain’ to our name, but I believe there was much bad blood between the artillery and the navy the last time an operation like this took place.’
    â€˜Sure, I’d not be knowing about that sir,’ replied Tumilty, all injured innocence again.
    Virago
creaked and leaned to starboard as the weight came on the tackles. The sun had already set and in the long twilight the hands laboured on. The black mass of the ten-inch mortar, a little under five feet in length, hung above the lightened hoy.
    At the windlass Mr Matchett supervised the men on the bars. Yard and stay tackles had been rigged with their hauling parts wound on in contrary directions so that as the weight was eased on the yard arms it was taken up on the stay tackles. The doubled-up mainstay sagged under the weight and Rogers lowered the mortar as quickly as possible. Mr Willerton’s party with handspikes eased the huge iron gun into its housing and snapped over the capsquares.
Virago
was upright again, though trimming several inches by the head.
    â€˜Throw off all turns, clear away the foretackles, rig the after tackles!’
    It was as Drinkwater had said. The wind had died and the first mortar had come aboard without fuss. Mr Tumilty had left the pure seamanship to the navy and gone to closet himself with his sergeant and Mr Trussel, while they inspected the powder stowage and locked all the shell rooms, powder rooms, fuse rooms and filling rooms that Willerton had lined with the deal boards supplied by Chatham Dockyard.
    The tackles suspended from the main and crossjack yards were overhauled and hooked onto the carefully fitted slings