Mary begins prowling the ship the instant she comes aboard.  The rigging first.  She swarms up the lines like the tops'lman she is, checking every rope for rot, proper waterproofing, fraying, all the little things  her life will depend on while this vessel is her home.  When she reaches the top of a mast, she shimmies along the yard arm, grabs a stay and slowly slides down in a spiral checking the wood carefully.  She likes, no she loves what she sees so far.  This ship is very well cared for, unlike the barque she reached the Caribbean in.  And the broadside.  When she reaches the deck she examines the guns.  Eight twelves per side?  there were government warships the size of the New Moon that didn't have that kind of firepower!  She scrambles up the forward mast, same drill, same result, then slides down a line to the bowsprit.  Pleased beyond words at what she saw she whoops "I love ya, baby!"