June 7: Early morning care

Some of the men were asleep at last. The remaining buckets had been emptied in quick succession and the sheets had been taken to be washed, their stench having made some of those who were feeling somewhat better, worse again. Mathew had been up for the whole of the night, having hurried back and forth to bring to the men, what they needed and to receive more. He had gone to call for the surgeon a couple of times during that night, mostly because of the people newly admitted, and once or twice because he had though the state of one or the other patient had gotten worse. He also brought the buckets for those who could not stand to wait or had been weakened by the wrenching pain of their bellies and the insistent bad feeling, so that they could not go far.

He yawned and wiped sweat from his brow, sighing. "Easy there. You'll need ter drink some more.. an' then you can sleep. Be best that." He murmured and held the ladle to the Tar's mouth carefully tipping it.

The few napkins needed replacing, so that their cold counterparts might help with what appeared to be a fever. When satisfied that the Tar had drunk enough he withdrew from him and carried the water bucket across to one side, taking a seat beside it. He rubbed at his eyes trying to return them to their previous alertness. He was tired. His clothes clung to his frame and though he was still feeling well, hi exertions had caused him to sweat enough that it caused the fabric to stick. Fresh air above would have been just the thing and yet he could not leave his post. It was hard work, but for once he did not want to give others any reason to think him slacking or not pulling his weight. His rump still ached and he soon found himself shifting into a half lying position. This he realised was not a good idea as it made his body even more convinced that a good night's sleep was in order. Standing again he walked back and worth, humming quietly to himself and taking short glimpses at those who were in his care.

Sew doggedly crossed the lower deck. By now he was no longer sure whether the ship, his tired head or the strange feeling in his stomach were responsible for the wild careening of its wooden planking, but it didn't matter anyway. The sickness appeared to be receding, and as soon as everybody else was on their feet again, a tired Marine lieutenant could go to his hammock and grab some hours of sleep. But until then ...

A sudden lurching of the deck made him grab for the binding beam in front of his head, but a piece of rope, misplaced in the whirl of the last day and now sliding around his feet, undid this plan. The huge Marine came down in a resounding crash, only drowned out by a short, but extremely graphic remark about the nature of whoever had left the rope.

The sudden, loud tumbling and a colourful display of one's language caused the young former midshipman to stir from his dazed stupor, which had nearly claimed the lad and might have caused him to curl up and sleep until being called for, or until he was able to free himself from its grasp.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes again, his humming no longer heard. Even before however it was rather quiet and done only to amuse himself and keep himself relatively attentive. He hurried then from the sick, to see who had been so misfortunate as to fall, and more so, to see if there was an injury that needed tending. Was the surgeon in need to be awoken, or was it another man who was sick and collapsed due to his ill feeling.

When he saw, on the floor, a red heap of coat he started startled for a few moments, then he hastened to the man's side. "Sir." He said urgently, though - he reminded himself - if the man had been injured badly, he would certainly not be able to so colourfully describe and condemn the fate of a man who had been so careless as to leave a rope places it should not be. "Sir, are you alright?" He asked.

Sew gripped de Guarde's shoulder to get upright, but let go when the shoulder proved to slight to anchor his weight. Tossing the rope aside with one hand, he scrambled to his knees and stood, rubbing his brow. His hand came away bloody. It seemed he had managed to hit that damn beam after all. It would heal. Blinking to focus, he turned his eyes to his companion. One of the midshipman ... no, rather a former midshipman. De Guard. Leat's division.

"Yes.", he answered curtly, trying to recall whether the boy had been on the sick-list or not. Deciding that this information warranted further speech, he inquired: "And you?"

"..I am well, sir. Ofco...." He saw blood and was certain that the officer needed a better look at the injury, as, not to do so, might cause him to suffer worse later. He stifled a yawn, just barely, before giving the man an awkward salute. "Sir, you are bleeding...Would you please come to the sick berth so that your injury is seen to?"

He worried that perhaps the man's fall was not caused only by his tripping over the rope, but that he perhaps too was as ill as those below, and would equally need attention. It would be much easier if he was to come now, than when he would need to be carried or have someone to attend to him at all times.

He did not have time to go to the sickbay now. Besides, if he sat down, Sew was sure that it would be rather hard to get up again.

But he couldn't walk around looking ghastly, and from experience he knew that head wounds always bled rather hard. Still, there was no need to call the surgeon. He reluctantly allowed the young seaman to lead him towards the sick-berth.

"Just wind a bandage around. Are you on watch?"

"Sir? No sir. Well..." In a way he was on his own watch over the sick, not exactly the same as that of the other Tars of his section. He shifted a bit, trying by that motion to adjust his trousers and to cause them to shift off of his injured bottom and rather hang loosely there.

"My services at present are to the surgeon. As ordered." He motioned to Sewell to take a seat as he walked quickly to the cupboard where he knew the neatly folded bandages were.

"I.. think it would be best I call the surgeon, for that sir. So that he makes certain yours is just a bump and.." He hesitated. He knew he could not keep the man here, a surgeon could, but he was merely his assistant and in ways on light duties with that. They did not feel at all light at that hour of day however. Still he brought the bandages close, and then hurried back again to bring a bucket of water and with it more cloth with which he meant to dab and clean the skin of blood.

Assistant loblolly boy, then. Not the best job on a ship for an overtired man in the present circumstances, but certainly an important one.

Sew sat down and turned his face to the light to make the boy's job easier; it felt incredibly good to be off his feet for a moment, but then the pain set in. To keep his mind away from it, he inquired:

"You think it more than a cut?"

"I do not know. I'm jus' a loblolly boy, sir... not a surgeon." Though it did appear to be no more than a cut, with a nasty bruise forming. "How'd you fall sir?" He asked then, touching the area around the wound very gently and wiping away the blood. He dipped the cloth in the water to clean it, then repeated the motion, gentle and careful not to cause harm or ache.

Nothing felt out of place. He stood, as sitting would feel more unpleasant. Great care though was given to tend to the officer, him being of the marines it appeared De Guarde had tried to go the extra mile that the other man would not feel pain, while being tended to.

"Does it hurt you much, sir?" He asked as he dipped the cloth again into the water, wrenched it a bit and then touched above and to the left of the cut. He gazed at the man's hand and held his to it. "Your palm is covered in blood as well, sir."

Sew looked at his own hand for a moment, then dipped it into the water bucket. He let his head fall back. The cool cloth felt very pleasant on his brow. The boy's gentle, steady strokes made him want to simply close his eyes and relaxe.

"Ship lurched. Beam and rope got in my way."

[OOC: Ship doesn't need to have lurched in reality.]

"I see." The lad wondered how this might have happened when he did not remember it doing so, but spoke nothing of his doubts. Instead he had rather rubbed the hand clean and then returned his ministrations to the cut.

"Do you feel at all ill sir." He asked then, another gentle dab at the skin. He was glad that the blood was mostly removed now, and he could wipe away the moist and the man would look almost as good as new. Cool water however would not do any harm if applied to the bruise and he wondered if the man might even benefit from it. "It's been runnin' all about ship..and few've got away a'right... alright." He corrected himself. He wondered if this officer had the same low opinion of himself as the others or if perhaps he might be swayed to think otherwise.

Sew's opinion of the boy got higher and higher by the moment. What he did felt wonderful.

If only he just would stop talking about that damn sickness. In the last twenty-four hours he had heard enough about that, and only thinking about it made Sew's stomach turn in sympathy right now. He should really grab something to eat.

Forcing his mind back to de Guarde's question, he answered, trying to sound more buisnesslike than tired: "No, I'm not ill."

"..That's good, sir." The lad murmured, rolling a bit of cloth, cold and wet and resting it on the bruise. He fought another yawn and won. "There.. this'n.. might help a little." He smiled, hopeful and yet fearful that he might displease. He'd done enough of that in the past. Far too much.

"How does it feel, sir?" He asked again, applying a fresh roll to the bump, leaving the other to float in the water.

"Wonderful ..." The remark - he wasn't even sure whether he had only thought it or really said it out aloud - was so uncharacteristic of him that Sew managed to shock himself back into his senses again. He should not be sitting here. He should be up on deck. With the weather they must be in they might need help. The Captain would be expecting a report.

"Good."

The chair creaked as he sat up and pulled his hand out of the water. The water dripped down, still faintly red from a small nick in the thumb-ball.

Taking the blissfully cool cloth out of the boy's hand, Sew held it onto his forehead himself.

"I'm all right. Thank you. Good job.", he said approvingly. The boy had certainly made a a nice and efficient job of it. Pity he was a seaman.

Pushing himself to his feet with his free hand, he already turned towards the companion way, when the ship suddenly lurched again ...

"Sir!" The boy spoke in alarm, and moved around to stop, or cushion the fall, should it be too late for him to prevent the man from falling.The ship did lurch this time, and it caused several of the men to groan as they shifted in their cots. Some awoken by the sudden jerk, other feeling only worse with the motion, their upset bellies unable to bear much at the moment.

He had, but few moments ago, felt so proud, his face radiant and himself even somewhat more awake, when a marine officer told him he did well. He remembered his plea to be let into the ranks of the red coated men, and how this was to be decided in time. But that time had not come. And to be told he had done well, by one such only made him smile with confidence.

But then, all that was interrupted, as the man got up to leave and the ship decided to deal him another blow.

Considering the fact that the marine lieutenant had easily twice de Guarde's weight, his efforts to steady or catch Sew certainly were valiant; but with nearly equal certainty they would not have brought much success and possibly even damage to the boy himself.

Fortunately for both, the strength of de Guarde was not put to this test. The conveniently placed foremast proved an adequate support for Sews bulk, and with a monosyllabic, but nevertheless acerbic expletive, he managed to steady himself.

Brushing his hair out of his face, thereby undoing most of de Guarde's cleaning work, he demanded:

"Is everybody all right?"

De Guarde glanced at the patients. Other than the few who awoke, all appeared to be well and none of them fell out of their hammock to injure themselves on the floor.

"They'm a'right." He steadied himself and frowned as he saw that the blood from the cut had been smeared across the officer's forehead. "Sir... may I bandage you first?"

"Find out ..." Sew's sentence was suddenly cut short as some of the older men began to point up and call out. His superior height, but more than anything else the knowledge of that grinding, squeaking sound occasionally heard now, made him realize what must have happened:

One of the cannons on the upper deck had come loose.

Endangering whole ship. It appeared to have settled now on the larboard side, but Sew knew that this was only temporary; the next change of tack, a squall or even a large wave would dislodge it again, sending it sliding over the deck with a force equal to those of the balls it commonly spat.

"..Sir?" The lad turned, listening to the creaking. He arched a brow. There was perhaps something that was not exactly as it should be. He straightened a bit. "...Lets see ter it, sir. And then have .. it taken care of." He indicated the cut.

He stood close to the man, just in case he stumbled again. He was huge and he doubted that he would be able to stop his fall, if this happened, but he would have to at least try.

"You stay behind me. If it shifts, you get out of the way."

Sew wanted to make it perfectly clear that there would be no heroics. If he got hurt, fine. It was his job. But to have a boy get hurt, probably because he had helped him even, was not.

Cautiously raising his his head out of the hatch to the upper deck, he looked around, straining his ears for any sound of shifting. There appeared to be no immediate danger. Furthermore, the deck appeared to be empty. Probably most of the men found the clean air above more conducive to settling their stomachs, and the officers had dispensed work accordingly.

From the fact that they had felt the lurch quite clearly, Sew guessed that the problem must be to stern, but the galley blocked his view and in the dim light it was hard to discern anything anyhow.

Swiftly he covered the remaining steps and went to the larboard gun row. Wiping some blood that threatened to get into his eyes from his brow, he quickly counted. All guns appeared to be in their usual position. So where was the problem?

De Guarde followed. He could spare a few moments from the sick berth, though he intended to return as soon as the problem had been taken care of. He could stay awake for some time longer and hope that the surgeon would let him curl up and sleep somewhere once the man was awake himself.

He debated whether to take the officer's words as an order. If it was so, he would probably have had to follow it to a T. If it was not however, he could do what he saw fit.

"Sir?" He inquired gazing at either side of them. "..What about.. there?" He indicated the direction with his finger, stepping to the side of the officer to see better.

With squinted eyes Sew looked in the direction the boy indicated. Was there ...? Yes, the first cannon was not in line! Not much, only a yard or so, but more than it should be. Rope, block and tackle on their side still seemed attached, but lay slackly, so it had probably come loose on the other.

Hefting a crowbar, he turned his head and said over his shoulder: "Find me a solid rope and make an angler's loop on one end." Then he cautiously went to towards the carriage.

"Sir." The boy answered and then turned on his heel. He knew where to get such a rope and so he disappeared from view for a couple of moments.

He decided to have the rope prepared in such manner that it was of use on his arrival and that it would not take him even a moment to have it tied. With the angler's loop neatly formed on one end as requested, the lad bolted back to where he had left the officer, having managed to avoid tripping when he missed a step, and though his misstep had caused him to knock his leg against the wooden edge, and managed to elict a rather profound curse, it did not slow him by much.

Like a wild cat, ready to jump at the slightest movement, Sew circled the cannon's carriage. Even before he could see the other side, he saw the frayed end of a rope spiralling down from one block. A quick step brought him with his back to the manger, and there he had a full view of the damage:

It had probably begun with the line fixing the tackle on this side snapping after a particularly deep wave. The big cannon rope had prevented the carriage from rolling over the complete deck, but it had come askew and with the next shift of the deck, it had slammed into the bulkhead. Now it stood with its muzzle directly against it, half a yard to the left of its position. It would be some work to shift it back to its gun port again, but for now it only needed to be secured in its present position.

When the lad came flying back, cursing and with the knot already slung, Sew stopped him before he could run behind the carriage.
Holding out his hand for the rope, he directed:

"Check the lines on your side. Careful. If it moves, get away."

Then he began to set up a jury rig on his side with the rope de Guarde had brought.

"Don't need ter worry so much about me, sir." He was a Tar after all. Dangerous jobs had him climbing up the mast to reach the very top. He frowned to think that a man worried about his safety as if he did not know how to take care of himself. He made the necessary inspection of his side, to be sure that the rope had not been terribly damaged and would not snap at the next lurch of the ship.

He peered over the cannon, to see what the man was doing and if he needed to be given any assistance. He pushed himself back again and then inspected the damage, if any, was done to the side where the gun's barrel was resting. At the very least the thing had not toppled over, as that would have made it awfully hard to return to its place and two men.. or a man and a boy would not suffice to do anything but to call for assistance. And even then..it would be some hard work.

He knew full well to keep his feet from the line into which the cannon's carriage could roll, in order to crush them. "All clear 'ere.. 'cept fer t' rope lookin' worn." Worn, but not broken, nor snapped.