Midshipman Fletcher Goes Up In The World

The middie was moving now. Slowly as death, maybe, but moving. Fingers hooked one arm around a ratline and leaned outward, grinning down at the boy-officer.

"There now, you gots it fine, sir," he encouraged.

"You's doin' good, sir," Terry said encouragingly, and cast about for something else to say, to help take the other boy's mind off how high he was. "This your first time up here?"

Oh, clever. There were probably a whole ton of better things he could have come out with than that.

"No!" Fletcher blurted out, then realised that the delivery had been a lot harsher than he intended, and turned pink with embarrassment. He focussed his attention on the upwards climb, and with a determined effort managed to get some speed on, enough even to keep up with Fingers, to the next top.

"That's it, sir," Fingers said cheerfully, when the midshipman made it to the next top. "S'better up here!"

"Was only askin' sir," Terry said, nettled. But at least the middy was moving now. Button scrambled up after him, ready in case he needed a hand. If anything happened to the young gentleman, he was going to get an earful from Mister Bush and maybe even a meeting with the gunner's daughter... and he didn't want that at all.

But Fletcher was no longer listening, scrambling as fast as his childish limbs would carry him onwards and upwards, concentrating on the climb alone lest he freeze again and be stuck for good this time...

And then suddenly there was nowhere else to go. He stopped, dazed, clinging to where the topgallant yard crossed the mast.

He was up. Dear, God he was up! There was a horribly giddy sensation as the other two boys that had encouraged him along came up to join him. Was he really here? He felt so light-headed as the mast swayed with the great roll and pitch of the ship...

It was thoughtless work to clamber up to join the midshipman, who was staring out at the endless expanse of sea around them.

"Ain't so bad, izzit sir?" Fingers asked, grinning. But it hadn't been at all, for him.

Terry grinned. The movement of the mast up here was rather bad. but they were up, and that was what mattered. He grinned and brushed a wild strand of hair away from his face. That was the problem with ships - the wind came from some varying direction of 'aft' which meant you always had the wind behind you.

"You made it, sir. It's grand up here, ain't it?" he said. glancing down towards the deck below them. The officer of the watch was pacing the quarterdeck, a telescope tucked under his arm.

"..."

Fletcher made an indistinct sound which may or may not have been an agreement. How high up he was, how open and exposed to the elements, and how far away the deck and the sea looked below! Yet as he sat there, certain in the knowledge that he would not have to move again any time soon, the nervousness began to subside, and he felt he might even start to enjoy being up here.

"I... It is certainly different," he said, managed to keep a stutter of fear from his voice.

"Aye," Fingers agreed and scratched carelessly at an itch on his head. "On'y place inna ship nobody chases after ya!"

Fletcher turned his face to the curly-haired boy, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

"Why should anyone be chasing you?" he asked, genuinely confused - unless the boy used the height up here to escape doing his duties.

The boy shrugged. "That's what them warrants an' officers does, sir. Least for us boys."

"But... chase you?"

" 'Magine they thinkin' us need constant chivvyin' 'long," Fingers answered, not for an instant thinking the reality was that he and other boys were for ever skiving out of their duties.

"They prolly don't want us all in th'way alla time," Terry said, scrambling up to sidle out on the footrope a little way. "T'ain't so easy to keep outa the way though, not wiv so many folks aroun'."

Fletcher could well sympathise with that. He always seemed to get underfoot, as Mr. Leat, Mr. Bush and Mr. Deverel was always complaining. The only one who seemed not to have a harsh word for him was the captain - but only because he had hardly deemed to speak a word to the young midshipman.

Save that short, rare exchange in the Great Cabin when Simon had felt brave enough to ask for some of his allowance to go ashore with; but even then he had ended up making a fool of himself.

And now he had made a fool of himself in front of two of the ships boys. How would he hold his head up after this? He sighed and stared down at the deck. It was such a long way down, but he felt so miserable at that point that he forgot to feel afraid.

"I should like to go down now," he said quietly - probably too quiet for the other two boys to hear. He started shifting himself so that he would be able to reach the shrouds to descend again.

Down? But they'd only just gotten up here!

"You sure, sir?" Fingers asked curiously. "This's a'most a skylark!"

Fletcher paused, one foot off the yard, and forwned.

"What is a skylarking?" he asked.

He'd heard the expression bandied about apparently in connection with many things - usually some loose fun being had by the men - but he did not exactly know what it was. No one had ever explained, and he'd not liked to ask.

Terry nearly gaped, but closed his mouth just in time. Gaping at someone who was even only very nearly a midshipman would mean real trouble.

"A skylarkin's just 'aving fun aloft, sir," he said. Though it didn't look like Mister Fletcher thought of this as 'fun'. Ah well. It was only his second time up here, after all.

"Oh."

Fletcher found the prospect of having"fun" aloft completely foreign. Aloft was a place of work and danger; it was not a natural place to be.

So saying he tried to work his way back around the mast to a position from which he could descend, but the manoeuvering seemed awkward, and his shoes were somewhat encumbering him. No wonder the hands tended to go around in bare feet...

The poor lad didn't know what a skylarking was? Fingers shook his messy-haired head a couple of times, his grin failing for an instant only to return broadly.

"Aye! Runnin' up'n'down the shrouds, like, sir," the boy explained. "Or jes' sittin' an' talkin'."

"Really?" Fletcher couldn't imagine ever being able to "run up and down" any of the shrouds, though he knew he had seen some of the boys do so - and at ridiculously fast speeds. It had been like watching squirrels run and fight up a tree.

"You never seen it?" Terry asked. He'd be more than happy to demonstrate, if need be - it would take very little encouragement from the young gentleman.

Fingers' head bobbed eagerly. "Best thing inna world, sir."

Fletcher looked between the two eager faces either side of him and wondered what must they have in mind as a demonstration - yet as he did so his concentration wavered, his still-moving feet slipped as the soles of his shoes lost their footing on the yard and for a dreadful, heart-stopping moment he fell.

Thankfully an instinct of animal preservation came into force at that moment, and reflexively Fletcher grabbed at something, anything, to stop himself from falling to the deck. His arms and legs flailed in an ungainly fashion for a moment - then seized hold of one of the shrouds, locking themselves around the ropes so he clung like a petrified ape between heaven and hell.

After a second his paralyzed mind managed woke enough to register that he had fallen only a two or three yards, and that looking upwards he saw the other two boys still seated on the yard staring at his. He stared back, blankly.