After the refit

[OOC: This thread takes up after Dr Maturin and Capitaine des Sablières leave the Terpsichore] Peter watched the boat return from the dock, and hovered by the entry ladder until young Fletcher came aboard.

"What did you learn?" he asked, as the seamen dispersed. Fletcher waited until they were out of earshot - though anything he knew the seamen would have heard too, and would be discussing among themselves. "They'll be coming on board tomorrow, as guests of the Captain," he confided. "With a third man - an army captain - who has been wounded, but is going to join the army. We'll take them north with us. Mostly the two doctors talked about looking after him, but I'm sure the young one's a Frenchie." He smiled up at Peter. "You'll probably have to pick them up tomorrow. So you can learn more."

If they were going to be travelling with them, Peter thought, there would be time to find out more. So far, he had heard several different stories about the doctor - how he could take a man's leg off, or the top of his head, how he'd fallen into the water from every conceivable craft, been left on barren rocks for days ... Life with Dr Maturin aboard should not be dull.

A noise forrard attracted his attention and he hurried along the gangway to watch the men securing more cases on deck - stores for the army, this time, not for the ship.

Crozier having seen the doctor and his companion over the side, Leat returned on deck. He was glad that the captain had agreed to the offer of transporting Maturin and the other two gentlemen - he had not seriously believed Bolitho would deny it, though he really should have checked first. He was looking forward to travelling with the doctor again. Maturin had been very understanding of his predicament and offered a supportive figure aboard the Polycrest just after his impressement, and although their acquaintance had been relatively brief, Leat had never forgotten the doctor's kindness.

"Stow those barrells aft, Mr. Yates," he said, the Midshipman leaning over the side to watch the supplies being hoisted up. "We'll see how she sits after the next two come aboard."

"Yes, sir!" Peter waited until the hoist was complete before ordering the seamen stowing the casks on deck to take them aft. The rope was lowered again for the next load, and Peter followed the men with the barrels to ensure that all was secure. The heavier cargo had been loaded first and was taken below. It was amazing though, how much an army needed. On the other hand, he had heard that all told there would be nearly twenty thousand men, or enough for a hundred ships like the Terpsichore - who would need considerable amounts of stores even if they were not going to fight a battle.

The new casks lashed in place, Peter returned to receive the next load, and to see them too stowed safely. "That's the next two, Sir," he said, saluting Mr Leat.

Leat considered the feel of the ship. He would have to go out in the jolly boat to tell for sure, yet even now she felt as if she were heeling slightly over to the left more than usual.

"Move about twenty or so to starboard," he said. "That will do for now."

The captain would do the last minute tweaking probably tomorrow morning so to get his ship's trim as he wanted it... And now here was that wretched chandler wanting a signature for his chitty. Leat perused the paperwork that was handed to him; beef, pork, plenty of pork, biscuit... He frowned at the last page. He took the pen from the man, dipped it in the offered inkwell and crossed out the presented figure, ammending it before applying his signature to the paper.

"Sir." Peter walked round the stacks. It was to his eye relatively evenly balanced, but then the balance of the ship would be affected by the stowage from the cable tiers to the masts and sails themselves. He identified three rows, and asked the seamen, who seemed as interested in the problem as himself, to move those casks, and that pile of crates, to the other side. They looked from him to the load and back, and, apparently deciding that his instruction was not going to make the ship turn turtle, complied with a nod of obedience.

The ship shifted ever so slightly beneath them, and Leat felt a small sense of satisfaction. Yates was starting to come along in his chosen trade...

"I don't care how many you sent," he snapped back to the protesting chandler. "That is only how many I received - a dozen or so were spoiled in the first place - so whatever you've done with the outstanding is not my concern, but I certainly shan't be lumbered with the blame for your losses! Perhaps you should keep a closer eye on your drivers?"

Peter watched the Lieutenant handling the chandler. That was one thing he had learned - that everyone - whether civilian or even part of the Navy, English or Portuguese - sought to cheat the ship and the Navy. Old, tainted barrels were routinely sent out to ships in the hope that one of them would unwarily sign for it and make a profit for the supplier. And such a lapse could have disastrous consequences during a long voyage. He smiled at the men, and turned back towards the side, where another tender was being off loaded, with sacks and bales caught up in a net being hoist aboard.

It was hot, hard, boring work, Thompson thought, hoisting yet another sack onto his shoulders to be taken to the hold. He'd taken off even his drill jacket earlier, and could only be distinguished from the sailors by the forage cap on his head and the shoes on his feet with the gaiters buttoned over them.

There were men everywhere, all moving with the same purpose, that of re-supplying Terpsy's stores. He wondered for a moment where they would be heading for after weighing anchor and leaving Lisbon.

Allen wiped the sweat from his forehead as he prepared to heft up one of the heavy sacks. There certainly were a lot of them being brought aboard, and the heat did not help the task at all. At least there were a good deal of other sailors and Marines working as well. Thompson was beside him, hauling up a sack of his own. Taking a deep breath, Allen lifted up the sack and positioned it across his shoulders.

"I wish there were a eaiser way t' haul these bleedin' sacks down t' th' hold," he said, turning to Thompson, "But we've all gotta do our part t' get Terpsy ready fer sea, don't we?"

"Would be nice, wouldn't it, mate?" he said in reply to Allen, who'd taken a sack himself. "Just don't go fallin' down the bloody ladder, that's all." If it weren't for the heavy sack, he'd have shrugged. "Terpsy ain't goin' to get ready for sea without us, that's f'r sure. What the hell they've put in here, I dunno. Feels like a ton of lead!"

"I'll try not t' fall down th' ladder," Allen said with a grin, "But if I do, th' sack might at least break my fall!"

He shifted the sack a bit, making it slightly more manageable on his shoulders.

"As t' what's in these bloody things, I ain't got th' faintest idea. I think they make 'em extra heavy 'cause they know we've got t' haul 'em around."

"Next time, I'm goin' t'make sure I'm in the same bloody work detail as Brannin'. That's fer sure!"

He was at the top of the ladder now and made his way down gingerly. Chandos directed him to the breadroom with his sack, which he dumped with the others, grateful to have the weight off his shoulders. "I don't reckon I'm ever goin' to manage to stand up straight, ever again," he said, trying to work out a knot in his neck.

"Brannin' would be much better at haulin' these things, make no mistake."

Following Thompson down the ladder, Allen made his way to the breadroom as well and set down his own sack onto the growing pile.

"I know what you mean, mate," he said, rolling his shoulders a bit, "Not exactly light duty, is it?"

"Bleedin' heavy duty, if you ask me. Though I don't reckon it'll be much fun tryin' to weigh anchor with all this mud holdin' the anchor in place, neither."

At least once the anchor was won, they'd be on their way and back to the usual ship's routine. He stepped out of the way as Dickin came down with a sack of his own.

"How many more of the damn things are there?" he said, climbing the ladder back topside.

"Too bleedin' many!" Allen responded.

He climbed up the ladder behind Thompson, as they made their way back up to the deck. Once at the top of the ladder, he looked across at the mound of sacks that still needed to be taken down. Sighing, he headed towards the pile, readying himself to haul yet another sack.

"At this rate, we'll be carryin' 'em down all day," he grumbled.

"Where the hell are we goin'? The Great South Sea? Ameriky?" He heaved at another sack and turned towards the companionway.

"Goin' to need me hammock tonight, that's for sure. Won't be able to move tomorrow. Just prop me up on duty and I'll stand there to attention the whole watch."

Allen chuckled as he hefted up another sack.

"Well, at least th' corp'ral won't yell at you fer shirkin' your duty, at any rate," he said, following Thompson to the ladder, "But I have t' wonder where we're goin' too. Wouldn't mind goin' t' th' Great South Sea myself, provided I don't have t' haul anymore sacks."

He grinned. "That's true. Wish these here bloody sacks would grow legs and get theirselves down to the hold. Save me achin' back, that would."

At least with everybody pulling their weight, things would be stowed away sooner rather than later, which was a mercy.

"Now that would be somethin' t' see! We'd sure have a much easier time of it if they could get themselves down there," Allen said, grinning back at Thompson, "I think we'd all 'preciate that!"

[OOC: Dinner time for me, and I know I'll miss everyone else because I'll be back too late. So, I guess I'll see you around tomorrow!]

"I know my back'd 'preciate it prop'ly. Dammit but these are heavy." He sighed, almost bent double under the weight. "Goin' to need me tot later, that's for sure"

(OOC - enjoy your dinner! See you tomorrow...)

His shirt had soaked through some time ago, but he barely noticed. Later on, after the loading of supplies was finished, he might grouse a little about it, but there was a lot of work to be done yet.

Branning hefted a cask of salted beef and ambled down the dock. Let the Tars worry about bundling up the water barrels into nets so they could be swung aboard. It was more to Branning's liking to do this kind of work.

"Slowin' down, lads?" He teased, coming up behind a pair of Marines on the ladder.

Turning at the sound of the voice, Allen saw Branning had appeared behind them.

"Well, I'm certainly glad t' see you. All this haulin' is jus' your kind o' work," he said with a smirk. Then he added, "An' what d'you mean slowin' down? We ain't slowin' down, but we sure ain't racing neither. It's mighty hard t' hustle when you're luggin' a bleedin' heavy sack."

The latter remark was said in a rather indignant tone, though the fact that Allen was still smiling made his indignation slightly less believable.

Branning grinned. "Buncha saplins, ya lot!" He rolled the cask off his shoulder and held it out. "Here, I'll swap ya. That sack o' yers don't weigh half's so much's ya think!"

Allen glanced at the proffered cask and raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks fer th' offer, but I think I'll stick wit' th' sack," he said, "You're better suited t' haulin', so you can pull th' harder load. I'm sure that cask weighs a whole lot more, an' I know you're jus' tryin' t' trick me into carryin' somethin' even heavier."

Offering Branning another smirk, he added, "You'll need t' do better than that if'n you want me t' end up unfit fer duty!"

"Just don't trip him up down the ladder," Thompson interjected. "That'd set him up proper to be lazin' about in a cot in sickbay, leavin' us ter do his share an' all."

He hefted another sack.