Aboard DEFIANCE after the battle

"Sir! Mister Deverel, sir!" He couldn't reach out and catch hold of the Lieutenant's sleeve. That, aboard this ship, would count as 'striking an officer'.

He heard his name and turned, wondering if the admiral was calling him back to retract the orders. "What is it, Oxley?" he asked reservedly.

He lowered his voice, not wanting to be overheard by anyone. "Sir, I..." How could he put this? "I was wonderin', sir, if... if it would be possible to... to transfer to Terpsykor, sir." Why had his kid brother ended up on a ship with such an outlandish name?

Deverel stared in incomprehension. "What?" Was the young man offering himself as a substitute for a lieutenant? That made no sense at all.

He seemed moonstruck or something, and Sam tried to explain. "I want... I want to transfer to Terpsykor, sir. If... If I can. Please. Sir."

"What? Why? I don't really have time for this, Oxley," he replied, moving forward again to head to his cabin.

"Because... because... well, sir, me brother's there." Which would sound a whole lot better than 'I want to get the hell off this ship!'. "Please, sir."

"Your brother? Oh, the marine boy." The attack on the fort had been earlier that same day, but Deverel had already forgotten the younger Oxley and had probably never stopped to think about which ship he belonged to. He did not want to begin thinking about it now. He was nearing the wardroom which he hoped would offer some solace in a last parting cup. "You know it isn't up to me. Why don't you tell your brother to come over here instead, and the captains can arrange it between themselves."

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I... I want to get off Defiance, sir," he said, quietly. "I'm sorry I bothered you, sir."

Well he had a point. Even Deverel wanted to get off Defiance, though he had hoped for to leave for better circumstances.

"Can't blame you there," he answered wryly. "Look, I'll see what I can do, but don't get your hopes up. Old Croaky asked Bolitho to send fifteen of the Terpsichore's men over here. Men, mind you, not drummer boys, so I doubt your brother will be in their number. But I don't know if the captain will be letting anyone go the other direction."

If Croker wanted to have some of Terpsichore's men sent to Defiance, he had practically no chance of making the transfer the other way.

He let out a breath. "Would you... would ask him, sir?" Though, if the Captain said 'no' - and it was more than likely he would - he was going to be keeping a close watch on the young seaman, and would probably make his life hell.

"Yes, yes, I'll ask him," he said impatiently. "Not that he'll listen to me." He looked at the seaman and smirked, deciding that he might as well share the news. "I've been transferred to the Terpsichore myself."

"Oh." So of course he didn't want Sam Oxley to go with him. He might have guessed he wouldn't. "Con... Congratulations, sir." And of course the officer wanted to get on with packing his things up, didn't he? The sailor stepped aside, knuckling his forehead.

"'M sure you'll like it there, sir," he managed to say, wishing he could think of a way to get himself aboard Terpsichore that wouldn't lead to his being marked down as 'Run' in Defiance's books.

What a strange thing to say. Did the seaman think the frigate was some sort of floating paradise simply because his brother was aboard? Or perhaps he knew something that Deverel did not. Perhaps the younger Oxley had shared enticing stories. He looked at him sharply. "Why, what have you heard?"

He shrugged. "Only that she've got a good captain and officers, sir. The Captain don't like usin' the cat unless he has to. Reckon you'll like it there, sir."

He smirked again. "All right, Oxley, get back to what you were doing. I'll speak to the captain before I go."

"Aye, aye, sir. Thanks, sir." He made his obedience and headed below. There was no harm in making sure his stuff was all in one place, was there? Just in case...

Two bells later - for Deverel had asked Bolitho please not to wait, as there would be boats to-ing and fro-ing anyway - one of the ship's boys was sent to seek out seaman Oxley and deliver the message: "Lieutenant Deverel says you're to bring your dunnage on deck immediately for you're coming with him."

Sam Oxley had almost begun to think Mister Deverel had forgotten his request. He'd had his dunnage packed and ready for the last bell, and was about to start unpacking it again when one of the boys came up to deliver his message. He grinned and grabbed his ditty-bag, heading topside to meet the Lieutenant.

"There you are," Deverel said mildly, looking at the seaman's scant belongings. "You'll have to wait here while they're hauling my chest out of the hold. The, ah, old jemmy-legs is coming too." The Terpsichore's boat had arrived with her own transfer of men, including Lieutenant George who would be escorted in stately fashion to his new command, the Sylphe. The newly arrived Terpsichores, now Defiances, looked around with a mix of anxiety and approval at their new surroundings.

"I'll have to see what the problem is. You stay here," he instructed Oxley, heading to the hold far below.

The Master-at-Arms was going to? That changed things a bit... or did it? He still wanted to be with his brother. He just hoped the Marine sergeant on Terpsy was a decent sort who'd see Tommy right.

He just hoped Terpsichore would stay a happy ship, enough to make this transfer worth it.

Transferring? Well, not a bad idea, he thought. New faces, new adventures...
And a new place that certainly needs order.

Claggart smiled on his not-too-calming way. We'll see, my dears, we'll see.

'I'm ready' he said, not to a particular man, better to the sea.

Sam shifted his bag, inching away a little from Claggart as he did so, hoping that the movement wasn't obviously intentional. Even with Claggart going too, Terpsichore - he thought his brother had called her 'Terpsy' but he wasn't sure - had to be a better ship. Somewhere more like his previous ship, with a fair Captain and officers. Besides, Tommy was there, and that would make it better than any of his previous ships had been.

"Well, Sam..." he thought "it ain't goin' to be Heaven. Not with me in."

Heaven was something he hated with a rage comparable to that of Milton's Satan.

Terpsichore. Whoever named this ship, he was certainly a sober man - no drunken sailor could pronounce this name correctly.

He tried not show his thoughts, but hoped like crazy that Mister Deverel would hurry up. He could cut the tension with his knife, and kept a firm hold of his sea-bag, sure that his knuckles were going white.