Up before the Captain

It had been a pretty uncomfortable night, all things considered. It was eight bells of the morning watch when Dickin and Vining came down to release Thompson and the others from the irons. There were a couple of sailors with them to offer clean shirts to the seamen and Dickin held out a bristle brush to Thompson. "From Sar'nt Quinn," he said as Thompson brushed his jacket off, straightening it up as much as he could before holding it out so Dickin could do the back of his jacket.

"Any idea what the Captain's goin' to do?" he asked, and wasn't surprised to see Vining shake his head. Dickin handed the brush to one of the sailors who'd come with him and the man gave them an encouraging grin before slipping away again, taking the prisoners' old shirts with him to put away.

Getting the irons off his ankles was a tremendous relief. Chase rubbed his feet briskly, quietly grumbling about how much the irons made his ankles itch.

Dyer, on getting to his feet, almost immediately toppled over. He was caught by Tommy Edwin before he could hit the deck, amid chuckles from the others.

"Thanks for them shirts, lads," Preddie said gratefully.

A small form looked to be sneaking in, so careful it was not to draw attention to itself. It was, when the face came to light, that the form was recognized as the former midshipman. He'd behaved well the other day, though he hadn't been around when the provosts filed their complaint.

He came now, as it was nearly time for the punishment and the men to be brought above. The final moments were fair enough to slip in. "Ey." Was it true, what he'd heard rumoured from a few other ship boys. There was a marine that he knew amongst the lot that was imprisoned. And there were even men from his mess! It had been a rather quiet breakfast that morning. He blinked. There was Chase! "Ey..." He didn't feel like it was a time to joke. They awaited punishment and not a man knew what they would get for it. How Chase got in trouble? Well... he could try to reason with his past experience or just decide it was a surprising thing!

He looked on and blinked uncertainly. "...Thompson..can't be.. t' marine." He muttered surprised. They did not tell tall tales after all. Was all true.

Thompson handed the brush to Vining with a pointed look at the other Marine's own jacket. He wasn't particularly looking forward to this morning, but whatever was going to happen, was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not.

He looked up from making sure that all his buttons were fastened, to see a small figure lurking in the shadows.

"Hello there, Mathew - though you can't stay long 'cause they'll be piping 'All Hands' in a minute."

"Won't. Just.. just came down to see. So.. so they really did get here n' pointed fingers?" He whispered as he moved closer. The fact he hadn't been on the ship when it happened actually was the most fortunate thing. If they'd have recognised either him or one of the Shepherds they would have much to answer.

"..." He looked around. "Well...." He sighed and looked at the marine. "I hope t' captain will be ..lenient. You don't deserve ter get punished...any of you." He added.

"Well, there was a bit of a fight, though I reckon it's all a nonsense and a lot of bother about nothin' much at all." He shrugged. He just hoped the Captain thought the same. Still, after it was over, it would be over and nobody would say anything more about it.

"..'twas not you, who started it was it?" He glanced over his shoulder, knowing that at any given moment he would have to be out quick and joining the Tars. They'd have them all called up to witness punishment. He just hoped it wouldn't be the grating. It couldn't have been that bad, it wasn't something Bolitho would do. Not the captain, he hoped. He looked rather worried as he gazed back up at Thompson and tried quickly to change that expression. "Ah.. he's probably jus' goin' ter.. have a yell at you...n' let you go back ter work later... um, ..glad to see....you've all slept well enough." He turned to look up again. "...if there was anything you needed...."

"'Course not," Thompson said. "I'll be fine. You'd best go up, lad. An' don't worry 'bout me, I'll be all right." He hoped he would anyway; he didn't want the lad to get all upset simply because he'd ended up getting punished for something stupid.

Chase was picking unhappily at his clean shirt. "Prolly be an even dozen," he guessed. " 'Cause of them damned provosts or whatever they is."

"Ah no Chase.. you can't think that. " He shook his head. "..that'd be.. an awful lot of floggin's if that would be t' case...." Though, did he remember there a grating be prepared? If he saw it, he must've forced it from his mind, like an unpleasant memory.

"..Liss'n to George.. he says..you lot's going ter be alright so..you will. " He turned. "You'll be back in our mess before.. long!" And he then turned to Thompson and nodded. "N' you...you be a'right. " He seemed to be talking to both him and Chase as he continued. "Well.. I better be going I'll be up there...will keep m' fingers crossed.. that t' captain's not goin' ter be listenin' to them provost fools and thinking he should do bad for it! Good luck!"

An even dozen apiece wouldn't be so bad, Thompson thought, though it wasn't what he would call fair. The captain and Mister Bush had seemed pretty annoyed by the whole thing, yesterday. He just hoped they wouldn't take their annoyance out on himself or the seamen. "See you later, Mathew," he said instead.

De Guarde ducked out before he could come to be in the way. He couldn't go to talk to the captain. First he did not know of the fight, nor was he present there, even if he had been he could not talk of it. He was not officially on shore leave after all. And if he had been, they were guilty in a way too. They did throw muck at the provosts, no question about that!

He frowned and disappeared from view. Nothing left but to hope for the best and that his friends and fellow crew members would not suffer corporal punishment, as unlikely as he felt that would be.

"Lively there," Vining hissed. "Or we ain't half goin' to cop it."

The bosun's mates were already piping for all hands aft to witness punishment, and Thompson shrugged. This was it, then. "Bin nice knowin' all o' you," he said and turned to head up the companionway to where the rest of the Terpsy's crew had assembled in the frigate's waist, looking up at the quarterdeck. The sight of his red uniform jacket alongside the prisoners, instead of with the sentries, brought an instant hush to the sailors nearest him, and he tried not to reveal how uncomfortable he felt at standing where he was.

Bush stood next to Bolitho, watching as the prisoners were brought on deck. He was still angry about the provosts having nerve enough to come out to the ship and accuse them of brawling. Obviously the men should not have been fighting, but they did have a right to defend themselves if they were attacked. If only the bloody soldiers had not started the fighting, none of this would have happened. But that was water under the bridge now, and the men still needed to be punished. But Bush was glad that Bolitho shared his feelings, and had decided on a fair punishment for the men. There was no need to flog them if they had committed no major crime.

The lads were staring. Damn the lot of them, but they were staring like stupefied sheep. Chase barely keep a scowl from his face and fixed his gaze on the quarterdeck rail, where the ship's officers were lined up.

"Bleedin' hell," Dyer muttered under his breath.

Oxley just couldn't believe that Thompson was one of the prisoners. it wasn't like him at all to do something that would lead to getting in trouble with the officers. He wondered just what had happened, and wished he'd seen it... though he was perfectly glad he wasn't with Thompson and the group of Tars with him.

De Guarde watched as the prisoners were brought up. The redcoat stood out like a sour thumb, but then the good Chase, seemed quite out of place too, even if his glorious battle of flying muck had been anything but innocent. He shook his head. Nobody got caught then, but the provosts just had to have a good memory and an ear not to miss the cry.

He shook his head and noticed Oxley amongst the men as well. Where were the Shepherds anyway? They weren't amongst the prisoners, neither of them, which just meant they too had been safe.

He glanced towards where the lieutenant stood, sourfaced as ever. "Come.. b' easy on 'em." He whispered near silently.

This is a bleedin' travesty, Allen thought as he watched the prisoners. The lads had done nothing wrong. All they did was fight back when those lousy soldiers had started brawling. They couldn't be punished for that. There was no harm in them showing that Terpsies weren't weak. But no matter how wrong Allen found it, their fate lay in the captain's hands. But surely Bolitho knew the lads weren't troublemakers...didn't he?

The neutral expression on his face belied the unease he felt. Cartwright watched as the prisoners were paraded on deck and wondered how Captain Bolitho would choose to punish them. He knew without looking that Corporal Johnson was still sore about the previous night's events, but it was impossible to tell how Sergeant Quinn felt about them.

Quinn kept his face blank, though he wasn't sure quite how he managed it. Thompson was a good Marine, in his opinion; conscientious, polite and who looked after his kit. He still couldn't believe the man had been involved in a fight, though from everything he'd heard, it hadn't been by choice. Which fitted with what he knew of the man.

He just hoped that Captain Bolitho felt the same way he did; he didn't want to watch a completely undeserved flogging and after the way the Army provosts had come aboard and kicked up such a fuss yesterday, he knew Bolitho was going to punish these men somehow. He just wished he knew how.

(coming from sick berth)

It was eerily quiet as Billy pulled himself up the ladder, tightly gripping the rail as he climbed the steps. He was not accustomed to arriving late for any muster and he felt rather self-conscious, blinking against the sunlight and looking for his division. Everyone's attention was directed aft towards the quarterdeck, naturally enough. He slipped behind the closest seamen he could reach, hoping no one had noticed. He as yet had no idea what the muster was about, but he could feel the tense unhappy mood of the men around him.

"Sorry mate," he whispered after he had elbowed a neighbor while pressing his aching wound. Who ever would have thought that walking about could make one's chest hurt? "What's amiss?"

"...The provosts came the other day. They've come to complain 'bout a fight .. n' they's men were the ones taking part in it." He looked up, startled. Barrow was supposed not to leave the sick bay for a while, according to what everybody had believed and said. Here he was, tense in posture, bent a little and looking as though he was probably in pain, even if he might've tried to conceal it for the most part. He was tense anyway.

"..It wasn't even their fault." Not most of it. "But.. the provosts som'ow caught scent of where they was from..N' made t' cap'n put 'em in irons." He made a scowl as he looked over at the small collection. He was whispering now. "..They shouldn't be 'ere at all..." Not Chase, Not Thompson, not Dyer... and the longer he thought of it, not any single one of them.

"..Ain't you suppose to be in sick berth , Billy?" He asked after a moment of thought, and actually looked concerned that the Tar would double over and faint right there, without a moment's notice.

Bolitho looked out on the group of prisoners now gathered on the deck. He hated the fact that he had to do this, but even though he knew the provosts' charges were ridiculous, he had to see that justice was served. Work detail would not be pleasant, but he wagered the prisoners would certainly prefer it over other punishments that could be doled out. And he was not going to have any of them flogged over a fight that they had not instigated. No, a work detail would be sufficient enough to appease the provosts without being too harsh on the accused men.

"You were all guilty of brawling while on shore leave," Bolitho announced to the prisoners, "As members of the Terpsichore's crew, it is your responsiblity to represent the ship well when you are not aboard her. Having failed in this task, you shall be punished." He paused briefly before pronouncing sentence. "This punishment shall fit the crime. Being as the fight took place ashore, your punishment will be a work detail ashore." Giving them an even more stern glare, he added, "And if any of you decide to act out of line while performing this duty, it will go all the worse for you when you return to the ship."

Cartwright let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd held. A work detail. That was a good deal better than floggings, to be sure. It was still a shame that there had to be punishments at all.

Thompson kept his eyes on the row of fire-buckets hanging from the quarterdeck rail. He felt entirely too conspicuous standing with the sailors in his uniform jacket with his hat off, with Vining and Dickin behind them.

Someone had rigged a grating up and he couldn't help glancing uncomfortably at it before the Captain started speaking. His words made the Marine wince. It wasn't as though he'd meant to get caught up in a fight, and he certainly hadn't intended to bring Terpsy into any disrepute.

He was keyed up for Bolitho to produce the Articles of War, read out Article 36 and have them all seized up in turn to receive a round dozen, so he blinked a couple of times when they were sentenced to a work detail ashore instead. It didn't sink in for a moment or two, and then he gave a long sigh of relief.

A work detail was bearable. Uncomfortable but not anything like as bad as a flogging, though undoubtedly they'd be cursing before it was over.