17th July: The vile tempest

"He has told me some, yes." Though the conversation could hardly be called a briefing, he had learned enough in the short exchange to understand it was important. "Do you believe these many buckets necessary?" He asked , looking more disbelieving at how many they had prepared than actually questioning the other officer.

He saw Whyte scamper past him again only to return fairly soon with another bucket. He was dragging it on the floor for the most part and when not, carrying it just the tiniest bit above the ground. He looked miserable. Wet, and perhaps resembling a drenched rat more than a human and utterly miserable.

"They'm passed out drunk, sir," Thompson said, wondering if they had enough water to wake them. He took the first one and threw its contents over the drunken, snoring sailors.

Sewell held out his hand for the bucket Whyte was bringing, stepping towards the Carpenter's Mate he thought to be the leader of this little circle.

"Do you recognize any of them, Mr. Bailey?"

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MacTavish, following Thompson's example, was happily dumping water over another man.
Slowly the drunken men came awake and aware, first protesting the cold water, then slowly realizing what it meant. The scrawny looking fellow Thompson had showered jumped up wide-eyed (and immediately sagged to his knees again, swaying) and yelled: "I didn't do anything! Honest!"

Bailey gazed at the men´s faces, peering a little closer at those that were not just splashed with water and who could not suddenly leap up and punch out without meaning to. He paused and then nodded. "I know that one..Hodgins. Carpenter´s mate." He indicated the man then pointed at the others naming each in turn. They were from the previous ship and he rather regretted it to be so. It was not the best show, when your own men were drunk of their rockers, while the Terpsichore´s men had not sinned in such a fashion. At least not this time. He sighed and pointed at the fourth, the one who had just proclaimed his innocence. "That one´s Bottoms." Identifying all the men he turned to the marines. "Clap them in irons, once they are awake.. I´ll inform the officer of the watch."

"Very well, Mr. Bailey! Marines, you heard him. Wake them up and arrest them."

Sewell held out the bucket for Whyte to take again while catching the pugnacious Hodgin's fist. It was doubtful that he had actually meant to hit Sewell - the fist had been waving about rather undecidedly - but any intention in whatever direction now was speedily brought to an end.

Thompson wasn't quite as lucky. While Bottoms was still protesting, a third man tried to break through the ring of Marines, ducking and running to smash through between Thompson and Bailey. Despite, or maybe because of his drunkenness, he actually managed the rather stupid attempt with rather more coordination than one would have supposed.

Whyte took the empty bucket away, ducking instinctively when the sailors sprung into motion. He pulled the bucket to safety, then looked on to see what would happen, whether he needed to run after any of the men too and what the officer would order.

The man - who Thompson thought had been identified as Simpson - might have been more sober than the others, but he was still not as sober as Thompson, whose reflexes were unimpaired by drink. He made a grab for the man's arm, determined not to let him get away to cause havoc elsewhere.

With a gleeful Gaelic battle cry, MacTavish, somewhat disappointed that his own opponent seemed unwilling to put up a fight, locked his arms around Simpson from behind.

"I got him, corp! Come on, man, you won't shake me off!"

He seemed quite hopeful that the man would try, though, and was not disappointed. Simpson was severly limited by Thompson's grip on his arm, but he struggled like a pig on the way to the slaughter.

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Sewell meanwhile held Hodgins' hand in a rather unforgiving grip. The man struggled and tried to get free - the grip most likely hurt - but the large Marine officer was not letting go.

"Whyte, a pair of manacles, please", he asked calmly. He had long ago learned that appearing calm could have a very unnerving effect on your enemy - and it made the few times he completely forgot it all the more impressive.

Whyte, who had just lifted the bucket with the intent to smack it right over the head - if he reached it - of one and then the other seaman dropped the offending item and nodded quickly. "Yes, sir!" He hesitated but then bolted in the direction where he could fetch them convinced that the officer knew he was able to keep the rest under control or else he would not have sent him away.

"Stop it - you ain't goin' nowhere, 'cept the irons," Thompson told the struggling man. "Man like you oughta know better than to get drunk, 'specially in this sort o' blow."

The weather, and subsequent movements of the ship, were making the Marines' task harder, something Thompson did not appreciate.

Simpson once more tried to struggle free, obviously not believing Thompson. It seemed he was not even properly believing this was real. However, by now the other Marines had found enough space to join the fight, and - now outnumbered - the drunken men were subdued rather quickly after that.

Sewell, still grimmly holding on to Hodgins, took a good look and shook his head disgustedly.

"Those who still can work, put them to the pumps. The rest, irons."

The pumps were important, but simple enough so that even slightly intoxicated men could work them without endangering themselves or others, and it would probably sober them up quickly. The more belligerent ones like Hodgins would cause too many problems, however, and as much as Sewell wanted to just dump cold water over them until they were sober again, they already had enough water inside the ship. Well, considering where they would be going to be locked up, hopefully most of them would declare themselves ready to work sooner rather than later.