The Middies' Berth

"He'll be all right. It'll take more'n a knock on the head to do f'r him, though I'll be keepin' away till he's better. Don't want him snappin' at me as well as the Corp'ral, do I?"

At least Branning looked all right, which was something. "Did any other Marines get injured - or killed?"

Branning shook his head. "Wit' ya there, mate. Last I saw, Corp'ral was movin' the prisoners below. He were in fine style, hollerin' on like he does."

Any other Marines wounded or killed? He had to think about that. "Nobody got done for, that I seen, really." Branning frowned. "Everett took a ball an' I think Grattan got his leg opened, but that's 'bout all that I seen."

"Well, that's all right then. D'you know what happened to Mister Dunnock at all?"

Poor kid, to lose the number of his mess so young. He'd hardly had a chance, though he'd been a fine officer, from what Thompson had seen of him. His division would miss him, that was for sure, and his friends.

Branning shrugged slightly. "Think he lost his arm, up t'his shoulder. Cou'n't rightly tell. Mister Yates were there, an' the Cap'n too. Poor lad."

"Hey." He frowned, as another thought came to him. "Why wasn't ya up topside wit' us?"

"Mister Bush wanted someone to stand watch on Mister De Guarde till he was sent for by the Captain, or one of the lieutenants. Which he ain't been, yet." He shrugged. "I was just the first one to get there when he yelled for a Marine."

Ah. Branning nodded.

"Care fer a relief? Mebbe fetch a dipper from the scuttlebutt or summat."

He nodded at the other Marine, grinning. "Sounds grand - we'm bin talkin' a lot 'bout things, an' my throat's fair dry. Don't s'pose the lad would say no to a drink, neither."

"Two dippers, then," Branning said and grinned back. "Talkin' does dry up a lad's throat quick, don't it?"

He moved to stand on the other side of the open door, so when Thompson headed off there would still be a Marine in approximately the proper place.

Listening to the two marines talk, the midshipman waited behind closed doors. He didn't like it that Thompson told Branning that they might have been talking, yet he chose to keep quiet about it, and just stand there and wait. There were many questions that Thompson asked and he wanted to know also. And thus many that were properly answered.

"Cheers, mate, won't be long," Thompson said. A couple of dippers from the scuttlebutt wouldn't take long at all.

Branning simply nodded as Thompson went off. With all the bustle and activity going up on the weather deck, it was unlikely that any of the ship's officers would venture this far below decks for quite some time. The big Marine settled into a wide-legged stance and leaned slightly on his musket. It didn't bother him that Thompson had been talking with the midshipman he was supposed to have been guarding. It helped pass the time, most likely.

"Arrigh' in there, sar?" Branning called out softly, or as close to softly as he could manage.

Slowly, he peered through the crack at the door and looked the other private up and down. This was the lad that could intimidate quite a few men and get them packing. He'd thought he was someone else earlier, and was not fully sure if he was comforted by the fact it was not.

Startled he blinked when the man called, and since it was not to Thompson that he was talking.

"...Aye." He spoke tentively and then inched the door just a bit further appart. It was enough to have both of his eyes now able to see him. "...." He remained silent for a few moments before in what he considered a confident and officerlike tone, he spoke:" What is the status of injured and dead amongst the navy officers and midshipmen? " He heared Leat injured, and one dead. But surely that wasn't all?

Good, Branning thought upon hearing the midshipman's response to the affirmative.

"Mister Dunnock's copped it, sar," Branning replied. "Mister Leat's gettin' his head sewn up, an' the cap'n's got a couple bad slashes. Dunno 'bout any others, sar. Think I saw Mister Chandos fer a bit though, up on the Frog's foc's'le. They'll have gathered up mosta the wounded down in the orlop now I reckon."

"I see." His heart leapt in joy before he came to scold himself. Still it meant that they would be short of hand and would need an extra pair no matter their inhibitions and if Leat was in the sickbay, and the captain was too, and Bush would be sent to master the other ship then George was left to be taking care of their ship till both higher ranked men were able for duty.

And though George was a strict kind of man, he had no grudge as the other two lieutenants had.

It made him smile, though he hid that by retreating a moment behind the door. As he appeared again, he looked composed. "Are we to expect to set sail soon then?" He knew the marine wasn't the most proper an address, but he was all that he had. "..Many Frogs dead?"

"Fair soon, I'd guess, sar. Mister Bush don't waste time settin' a ship back t'rights." Branning's voice reflected his confidence in the first luff's abilities. "Oh aye, sar, a good number of 'em. We showed 'em all what's what, sure!"

"Good." The marine wouldn't know when he was to be relieved, so he did not consider asking him. "How is our new prize?..." He best would've said theirs, for he did nothing to win against it. "..How damaged? What have you found on her?" He glanced past Branning. He wondered how Thompson would carry three cups at a time.

How damaged? Branning had to think about that for a moment. He hadn't paid much attention to the Frog ship's state of (dis)repair. "Not sure, sar. We din't knock any yards or riggin' down, but there's prolly a few holes in her hull. Easy 'nuff to set t'rights, really."

He shrugged. "I dunno what's been found on her, sar. Mebbe one of the Tars'd know better'n me."

"Very well. Can you give me a report on the battle itself, private? From your point of view of course, as you cannot account on things that you have not seen." As it was quite obvious.

"A report on it, sar? Arrigh'. Well, I went 'cross wit' the first lads, an' was close by when Sarn't Quinn got hisself knocked on the head. So I took him back 'cross an' down t'the sawbones. Foun' out I took a nick on me leg but it weren't nothin'. Went back up, wit' Sarn't Quinn, an' went back t'layin' inta them Frogs."

Branning paused to give his tongue a moment's rest. "Went aft t'help out Corp'ral Johnson, an' helped the cap'n after Hardy pulled down the Frog's colours. The Tars took the cap'n below t'the Frog's sick-berth, an' me'n Hardy brung Sarn't Quinn back down t'our own sick-berth. An' now I'm here."

"An' so'm I," Thompson said, carefully carrying three full mugs back towards them. He'd stopped off to raid his sea-chest and Branning's for their mugs, and borrowed Vining's to lend to the middy.

"How did anyone get to manage to hit the Sarn't acrost the head anyways?" he asked, passing a mug to Branning before tapping on the door and holding out his own mug for the middy. Vining's was in no state to be lent to any gentleman, young or otherwise. He took up his place again, shooting a grateful look at Branning.

(OOC - And De Guarde's player's toddled off to bed... which is where I'm headed shortly, too.)

The door was inched open and a small hand reached out taking a hold of the mug. Seeing as it was safe, the door remained open to the extent, while the midshipman began sipping the contents of his borrowed mug. Since Thompson had asked a question and he was part curious about it too, he remained in silence and waited for Branning to reply, already forming his own, for what he wished to know about the bloodshed. Since the captain was injured, Leat too, and Bush had a handful of work because of it, and George wasn't mentioned but he must've been busy too, it meant that he might be without work for a while. Now, that the battle had ended it suited him well.

What about that guest? Surely he did not fight and remained somewhere below where it was safe. He had to ask about him only because he'd remembered they had him. but first he would wait and enjoy his drink, to wet his dry lips and throat.

"Cheers," Branning said when Thompson handed him a mug. The water was a little warm but it was wet and relieved the parched feeling in his throat. He nodded happily after a couple healthy sips.

"Think some Frogs rushed him, or summat. I din't see. But ol' Higgins did, I think. Heaved the Frog what done it straight over the side!"

"Good f'r Higgins!" Thompson said. "Extra tot of rum f'r him!"

Maybe next time he'd get to join in the fighting as well. Though it had been strangely pleasant down here, talking to the young gentleman, even if he did have some strange ideas about the seamen, pressed men or otherwise. He took a mouthful of water, and grimaced. Whatever Vining drank out of his cup, Thompson was sure it wasn't washed between drinks. Didn't help that the water in the scuttlebutt wasn't exactly fresh, either, of course.

"Ye'll get him a tot of rum?" He piped in, looking between Thompson and Branning. He believed there was always rum , grog, wine or what not that was better than the standard mug of water any day, and even now he was agreeing to that fully.

"No-o, not 'zackly," Thompson said hesitantly. "Only, I reckon some of the other lads'll share theirs with him when they hear what he did."