Target practice.

Mist. That was all there was, Mist. A Thick, white, slime like smog covered the decks of the great oak wood ship that sailed the seven seas. The slime dripped through the shrouds the first mate and a gunner was climbing to get to the crow's nest for target practice. They both stood on the highest point of the boat and waited. The wind had just died on them and this was the best condition for taget practice so the first mate threw a plate up into the air and the gunner shot it in a flash... "Shiver me timbers tha'h was a good shot"