Hold Hideaway

Past the duty drummer - an older Marine - and off forrard again. If he was quick, he could duck under the boat tier and hide.

"Watch it there!" Mister Evans barked.

Oops. "Sorry Mister Evans!" he called, sidestepping the quartermaster and running after Fingers, who seemed to have gone to ground somewhere. There was an older Marine standing in for the drummers, who all seemed to have vanished after the events of earlier. Or at least, Terry couldn't see them.

Mister Evans' interference was perfect. Fingers took full advantage of his distracting Button to slip underneath the longboat.

This was grand!

Dammit. Fingers had definitely disappeared somewhere, but Terry wasn't sure where he could have gone. He hadn't darted down the companionway, but Terry couldn't work out where he might have got to.

It was hard not to giggle. Very hard. Fingers wedged himself a little more against the keel of the longboat. Once Button went past, he'd crawl out again.

Dammit. Terry headed for'rard again, wondering if Fingers had ducked round the mainmast and was hiding out of sight there.

Don't giggle. Don't giggle. Fingers bit his lip and grinned broadly. There was more than one way to escape from pursuers!

The air quivered suddenly with the paired clangs from the bell. Was it the end of the watch already? Fingers' stomach rumbled. The watches changing now meant food, though.

Supper time, already? Terry realised suddenly how hungry he was. "All right, Fingers, you win," he said, though he didn't know if Fingers could even hear him. Food was far more important than a game of tag - and there was their second rum issue of the day to think about as well., of course.

It took some doing, but Fingers managed to wriggle under the longboat, squeezing himself through the narrow space between the boat's hull, the deck, and the chocks. He emerged on the other side looking decidedly rumpled and just a little dirty, but grinning hugely.

Scampering back around to where Button stood was easy. Fingers sprang up and latched onto the older boy's back.

"Ha!"

Something jumped on his back and Terry started, then realised it was Fingers. He grinned. "Where you bin, mate?" he said, shifting the younger boy a bit. If he wanted a piggy-back, Terry didn't mind in the least. It was all fun and they were mates anyhow, weren't they?

"Unner the boats!" The boy declared cheerfully. It was one of his preferred hiding places up here topside.

"Eatin' time, innit?"

"I'd never've thought of lookin' there," Terry admitted, grinning. "Dunno 'bout you, but I could eat a horse. Pretty much." He turned to head for the companionway down. "Mind your head up there," he said, though Fingers probably had enough headroom without having to duck.

That sounded about right, Fingers thought. He clung to Button's back, giggling. This was even better than playing tag!

Terry headed down the companionway, careful of his footing with Fingers on his back. Life at sea wasn't bad, really, with mates like this, who you could laugh and play with.

"Here, you lads!" Johnny Stenhouse called. "C'mon. Prime pickin's tonight!"

Fingers laughed.

"There is?" Terry was surprised. "How'd you wangle that, then, wivvout the grown-ups shovin' you away?"

Stenhouse smirked. "Best not knowin' that. Settle in then an' enjoy."

Fingers needed no further encouragement to slide off Button's back and lay claim to an open spot on the hanging bench. "C'mon!"

Terry shrugged and sat down. "Bet it's summat to do wiv earlier," he said, waiting for his food. He grinned at Fingers, who looked much better in clean clothes.

" 'Oo cares?" Fingers asked, a hunk of biscuit already stuffed into his mouth.

Terry hadn't been slow in helping himself to some biscuit from the bread-barge and tapped it absent-mindedly on the table. "It don't marrer, 'course it don't." He broke the biscuit against his elbow. "'Ere. Any of you know 'ow Mister Foxley's bin today?" If the purser had been in a temper because Terry had been absent, he was likely to cop it tomorrow...

"Seemed arright," Stenhouse replied.

Fingers stared greedily at the mess kid. "Whattabout the gunner?"

"'E didn't say anythin'," Jacky Fisher replied. He, too, looked unnaturally clean and pink, and his hair had been tied back with a piece of spun-yarn. "I dunno that 'e realised what a to-do 'e was goin' to kick up, or 'e'd've kept 'is mouf shut yesterday."

It had, after all, been the gunner who'd instigated the whole misery of the bathing earlier.

True. But there was always a chance the gunner would be angry that Fingers hadn't returned directly to duty. Oh well!

"Tankards, lads," Stenhouse announced, having been watching intently for the serving of the second rum ration.

The rum tub had attracted immediate attention. Thirsty sailors lined up almost before the duty master's mate had appeared to supervise the doling out of the ration to each man.

"One at a time," Johnson said irritably, folding his arms over his chest. He stood just behind the master's mate, lending a bit of redcoated authority to the proceeding.

Time for their second grog issue. That would put everything back to normal, nearly. Terry found his tankard - an ancient brass-bound wooden thing he'd been given when he'd first come aboard - and scrambled up to join the queue. He swallowed a little at seeing that the Marine on duty was Corporal Johnson, but the corporal wasn't so bad, not after how he'd helped Fingers out, earlier.