Ribbit, ribbit: June 25th

"Pity! It would'a been two grog rations easier gotten n' if I asked for 'em!" De Guarde laughed softly. He ran to his station, to his own cannon that was along the line, a rather good distance further up.

He could run because nobody expected him to walk at a proper quick pace, but not to be ungentlemanly about it. Halting at his number he took hold of the wooden tub. Checked it was the right cannon secretly. It was. Then tugged the tub over his head taking a step back. The most dangerous thing to the powder monkeys might have been bringing a full tub such as this one, back up to the cannon and.. of course managing to come in full contact with the enemy's fire. But then, limbs were blown off for less.

Terry contented himself with blowing a raspberry at de Guarde. "You run like you's gotta bull chasin' you," he said instead, careless that he was flatly contradicting what he'd said earlier.

"And you run like a girl!" De Guarde called back. For a moment he chose to sit himself atop his cannon, but quickly hopped of again when the rest of his gun crew appeared to be coming.

Up above more preparations were made, securing all that needed be secured, bringing the hammocks where they could offer their use, arming the party that would board the ship when close enough.

The French ship has spotted them later than they had seen it. It's sails fluttered in the wind then set as more were unfurled. The deck , though not yet as clear to see, had become just as animated as that of the Terpsy.

"I do not," Terry retorted indignantly. "You run like a... like a... like a duck!"

Men were passing him with their hammocks rolled tightly, ready to be stowed in the hammock nettings as protection from musket fire, and the gun captain of his gun arrived, complete with his powder horn, and the lock of the gun which he screwed in place before testing the edge of the flint.

"Don't! An' you already said I ran like a bull was chasin' me! Can't change it now, girly runner!" De Guarde grinned and stepped away from his gun. He watched curiously as the men each settled into theri station, checking the cannon in the process so that there would be no strange surprises later.

"You owe me a pint of grog, remember?" He added, and did not comment when one of the men glanced at him with a questioning look.

"You's lucky you's alla way over there, else I'd thump you!" terry said cheerfully. "Ain't no girl - though you prob'ly is." He grinned. "Ain't a pint any'ow. Halfa pint, mebbe, but not a full one!"

"Want a full pint!" De Guarde called back. "Jus' couse you are a lass you can't judge everyone else ter be! Peh!" He wished he could see the ship already, but they were down here and this meant that they would need to wait for a little while longer. Up above he wondered which of the boys was thumping their drum. Maybe it was Oxley.

"Who'd seen it anyway?" It would have been somewhat amusing if it turned out that they did not really see a ship in the end!

"You c'm 'ere and say that t'me face, you. A joke's a joke, you oughta learn when to stop it." Terry shrugged. "Only gonna be a half pint 'cause that's what me ration is, ain't it?"

De Guarde did not respond. He just turned around and seemed to busy himself with his tub and then with the checking of the cannon that he need not even do. After that he stood quietly at the side of the men, ready to bolt for the gunpowder, when so told.

Sew watched quietly until the first commotion had ebbed down. As long as there were no bullets flying yet, and no obvious hitch, there was little reason to disturb his NCO's in their preparations. He was pleased to note, though, that they went smoothly and with a minimum of fuss. Not that he expected anything else from his Marines.

Only when everybody he could see seemed to be where he wanted to be and the long wait for them to catch up with the ship began, did he ask:

"Everybody present and ready, Corporal?"

Thompson did a very quick head-count. Some of the Marines were still pulling their uniform straight, but apart from the sentries, everyone was here. "Aye sir, everyone who ought to be here is, sir."

He took a long, steadying breath. This was going to be his very first fight since he'd been given his rank and he could only hope he would not disgrace his officer, his ship, or his Captain.

Sew nodded in acknowledgement of the report, then turned to stand side by side with the other man and surveyed the vague outline of the French ship. Rather out of the blue, he asked:

"What do you think of young DeGuarde?"

Thompson thought for a moment. "I like him, sir. Not sure why, 'zackly. He's young an' very serious, an' he'm tryin' to fit in without quite knowin' how. I don't think he've got so many friends, not real friends, though he gets on all right with young Oxley an' one or two of the boys." He chuckled. "He def'nitely likes the M'rines, though, sir. Dunno whether that's 'cause I'm one, or what."

He wondered if the Lieutenant had heard of the trick the young lad had concocted with Oxley and the others, to stand a watch as a drummer while they'd been at anchor off Oporto.

Sew watched their enemy through squinted eyes while talking quietly to his corporal.

"He wants to become a Marine, but he has a bit of a temper. Do you think that would be a problem?" - Are you and his friends in a position and willing to deal with it before it becomes one? Some questions shouldn't be asked to directly, yet they needed to be asked nonetheless.

"No, sir, I don't think it would be. He gets on well enough with Oxley." He gave a quiet sigh. "We'm... friends, him an' me. An' I wouldn't want that to, um, make you decide you wouldn't have him in the detachment, but it's summat you need to know, sir."

He found it easier to look at the French frigate in the distance than at the officer. "I won't let him off any easier than any of the other lads, sir, but it might be that he'd try to, I dunno, use our friendship the wrong way. I wouldn't let that happen, o' course. An', well, I'd like him as a M'rine." He gave a wry chuckle. "It'd be a mite easier to keep an eye on him, stop him goin' wrong, if he was, sir."

Sew squinted his eyes a bit more, then pulled out his spyglass, staring intently at the enemy's rigging.

"They just send up sharpshooters. Have our own deal with them first."

With one hand, he offered the spyglass, without taking his eyes of the French ship.

"If he tries to play on that, he will find himself reduced to every damn wearisome work I can find. The final decision lies with the Captain, of course, but I'll keep an eye on him in the fight. If he handles himself well, I'll make that recommandation to the Captain."

"Aye, aye, sir," Thompson said and turned to the nearest Marines. "Right, Mallory, McEwen and Vinin', oh, an' Dickin, foretop for you. Beech, Simms, Willis, an' Brice, maintop." He turned back to the Lieutenant. "I'll make sure he don't try anythin' like that, sir." he took a breath. "I know it's goin' to sound strange after everythin' I've said, sir, an' you got no reason to say yes, but if the Captain does agree to it, could he be in my squad, sir? I'll be able to keep a closer eye on him there."

Sew nodded approvingly when the men quickly climbed to their allotted places. Thompson knew what he was doing. The promotion had been utterly deserved. But letting De Guarde stay completely under his influence might be not for the best. The boy would need to become a proper Marine, able to work well under all circumstances, not only when Thompson was close. While it would be preferable most of the time, he would need to make sure that the dependency didn't become too strong.

"First the Captain has to agree, Thompson. Then, if no other squad needs re-enforcement more urgently, you can have him until he has learned the ropes. After that we'll make the final decison."

Well, that was fair enough. Thompson nodded. "I'll have a word with the lad, sir. Well, if you don't mind, anyway, sir." And whatever happened, Thompson was determined that the lad would become a proper Marine, without having to rely on him all the time. "I'll make sure he learns prop'ly, sir."

Having awoken at once at the sound of the drumming, Bolitho had roused himself as quickly as possible and was leaving his sleeping cabin when the knock came at the Great Cabin door. Opening it, he found Midshipman Bailey on the other side.

"Mr. Bailey, what's happening? Has an enemy ship been sighted?" he demanded. After all, they would surely not be beating to quarters unless that was the case.

"Mister Tadcock's compliments, sir." Bailey had just about wanted to tell him, what was going on, but the captain guessed right, so that the boy only smiled and nodded. "Yes, sir. an enemy ship has been sighted.." And then he gave an indication of the direction in which it has last been seen, but as it was now on the constant watch, it could not slip out of their notice.

"It has spotted us too sir, though we are in pursuit of her, should she decide to try and flee. It's been recognised as a French vessel, sir." There, now he had nothing else to say short of repeating himself, so he gazed at the captain expectantly for orders that were to be sent away, for anything the captain deemed necessary.

"Do."

Sew nodded.

"Is he still with the surgeon?"

Thompson nodded. "So far as I know he is, sir, yes."

"Good. It would be useful if he'd picked up some skills there as well, should we have to go against a fort again."

Sew once again fell to studying the enemy ship.

"I'll stay here, if you have to make final preparations for the engagement." - If you want to tell him now.

"Aye, aye, sir," Thompson replied, turning to salute the officer. his new rank still felt foreign, although he thought the other lads had taken the news well - or at least, he hadn't heard that anyone had anything to complain about. Apart from Shriver, and he could guess what the big Marine had had to say about it to the others.

The other Marines topside seemed to be all right - and if Mister Seward had any problems with them, he could say so directly. The men Thompson had detailed for the tops (and in some respects he wished he could still go up there himself) were all steady enough types. And that only left the sentries and those Marines on the gun-crews. He headed down to speak to them, leaving de Guarde's gun till last. There were no Marines crewing this gun, and the gun captain, Bob Cordwainer, looked at him askance.

"What d'you want?" he asked, eyeing the Marine up curiously.

"Just want a quick word with your powder boy, there - we'll only be a moment," Thompson replied.

The Tar shrugged. "Make it a quick'n, then," he said. "Oi, Buckles! You're wanted!"