Hold Hideaway

"Ain't doin' nuffin'," Jacky Fisher said, and Terry nodded. "Jus' goin' to get our 'ammicks, is all."

And dammit. That was the sailor - one of them - who he'd seen that night. Not good.

"An' helpin' that useless bugger Hales, too," Seward snarled. "Move it. Or I'll move you!"

Chase appeared, sensing trouble. "Hoi. Leave it off, wouldja? They ain't hurtin' you. Been a hard day for 'em, an' all."

And there was Cob Chase. Good, solid, nice Cob Chase. Terry breathed a sigh of relief.

He was going to have to tell someone... Mister Evans, maybe, he thought. The petty officer would know what to do, and who to tell. But that could wait for a bit.

Seward scowled. "Interferin' lot of troublemakers, that's what they is. Stoppin' a lad's fun!" He turned on his heel and stalked back toward his messtable.

"You boys steer clear of that 'un," Chase warned, shaking his head. "He's been in a bad temper for days. Means trouble for somebody, right 'nuff!"

Terry shivered. Maybe he hadn't ought to tell anyone? Though... though what he'd seen wasn't right - not if it really had been something to do with all that racket afterwards.

But what if he caught wind that someone had told, afterwards? What if he learned it was Terry who knew what he'd done?

He nodded, mutely.

"Good lads." Chase glanced over his shoulder to make sure Seward had gone. "On your way now. Tell Hales next time you see him that he shouldn't go runnin' off like that alla time, neither."

"Arrigh'," Terry said. Should he tell Mister Evans that the sailor was after Hales, or just let the lubber sort things out for himself? He wasn't sure about that one.

The boys were drifting away to their various pursuits. Chase glanced at Button. Not a bad lot, these boys.

"Good lads," he said again, before shifting off back toward his own mess. There was cleaning up to do.

Terry glowed a little at the praise. It wasn't often he got told he'd done something well, or was a good lad.

"C'mon, they's goin' to pipe 'ammicks down any minute now," he said, glancing at Jacky and the others. Fingers was lucky - he only had a hammock down because of earlier. "'Ere," he said, as a thought struck him. "If that tankard 'longed to 'im," he indicated with a thumb the direction the lubber had gone, "who lef' it on our mess-table?"

And did whoever it was know that the boys would drink it? Though, really, he must have counted on that...