A great cape, for us, can't be expressed in longitude or latitude alone. A great cape has a soul, with very soft, very violent shadows and colours. A soul as smooth as a child's, as hard as a criminals's. And that is why we go.
From the book, The Long Way, by Bernard Moitessier.
Well, imagine 26 or so 18-pound cannons going off on the gundeck a couple of times each. Then you try to talk to someone standing next to you. An after-broadside voice would be about that quiet.
The description here makes it sound pretty loud, but I would guess it's just the standard "I'm in artillery!"-level voice of someone who doesn't hear very well talking louder than necessary to someone right next to him (or her). (See Robin Williams in Good Morning, Vietnam for an example, or that guy playing Col. Alexander Porter (is that name right...?) in Gettysburg.)
You know, there has to be a difference between generic bellowing, and using a Cape Horn voice. I do bellow around my family--if only to be generally acknowledged amid all the obnoxiousity--but there has to be a difference between general family-style bellowment and Cape Horn voice.
Aw, man, I can't imagine when I'd ever get to use a Cape Horn voice. The last time was more than a decade ago, working at a Renaissance Fair, when I had to be heard over the jousters and the kettle drums. Not even on those rare occasions when bellowing an order to the ranks, or shouting the next tune title over the snare drums.
Bloody hell. Now I'm mad because I'll never get to use my Cape Horn voice! *pouts*