On Sentry Duty

Smiling, George tilted his head slightly as a bell was struck and the glass turned before turning his attention back to Edrington. "Then we are in similar positions, though for entirely different reasons. I do not know any of my junior officers and know Major Hankin only by reputation."

Silently he wondered at a peer being willing to return to the fray at all. He did not think that Edrington was married and so it seemed a risky career choice in terms of dynastic considerations - but perhaps the earl was married and had a handful of sons back in England, or, perhaps he had brothers.

When Edrington asked about the horses, George nodded somewhat absently. "Yes, almost all of our officers lost at least one of their mounts but we brought our reserves home safely; surprisingly, the men themselves sustained few losses in that regard. Damned fine care they gave their animals."

Oh bloody hell. Thompson had barely wet his mouth when the bosun came up to him. Someone in irons... "Aye, aye, Mr Watts," he said, swallowing the rest of his mugful quickly and wiping his mouth wit the back of his hand.

He wondered what had happened as he adjusted his crossbelts and moved aft, to find Cob Chase sitting on the deck, already secured. He frowned. Cob Chase was in the watch below at the moment, surely?

He took up position and waited as the bosun moved off to go back about his duties.

"What 'appened, mate?" he asked, careful to keep his voice low. It would not do for him to be overheard talking with the prisoner.

The only thing he disliked about the leg irons was that they were making his legs itch. A stupid thing to dislike about them, sure, but it was maddening to have his ankles constantly feel as though something was crawling all over them. His tattered trouser bottoms weren't any protection from the damned shackles either. Chase tried to work his fingertips into the tiny space between his leg and the cold iron, but failed to get more than a quarter-inch in.

Shoes on the deck behind him, heralding the arrival of his red-coated guard. Chase managed a brief smirk when he saw it was Thompson and even lifted a hand to wave at the Marine. At least it was a friendly face. "New middie," the topman answered. "Figgered he'd lay it on heavy not more'n an hour after comin' aboard. He reckoned I were mockin' him - an' mebbe 'tis so, but sure not to his face."

Chase shrugged and lounged back on his elbows. It was pointless to try getting truly comfortable but he had nothing better to do just then. "Said it were insubordination an' dis-re-speckt, but we saluted him when he came up an' called him sar an' all. So I called the bos'un down meself an' it's defaulters at four bells. A dozen strokes for it but the lads'll know 'bout the blaggard. Woe t'the poor fools get stuck in his division!"

"Ah, crap. One o' them sort, is he? Was on duty when he come aboard and he didn't seem so friendly then, neither."

It'd be four bells before defaulters, and Thompson didn't really want to have to witness a flogging for... what? Some middy reckoning Cob had saluted too late or something?

"You'll be all right, mate. Reckon Mister Leat'll have summat to say about it, an' all, like."

He shrugged again. "I hope he don't, won't be right if the boys think I got special rights, more'n they got."

Damn that endless itching! Chase shoved his fingers underneath the shackles and grimaced. "Ain't never liked cold iron 'gainst me legs though."

When de Guarde had left him, Peter had watched him approach the three sailors. He knew Barrow, the Captain's coxswain, a cheerful man who always had a word for him, and wondered what the new midshipman was about. By the time he realized, it was too late. He could not hear the confrontation, arriving just as the blond foretopman called for the boatswain. He expected to be summoned, either by Mr Leat, who spoke to de Guarde, or by the Captain, to explain just how much he had seen - or worse, why he had allowed the new boy to behave like that. As if he could have stopped him! De Guarde was senior, but also, Peter was beginning to be afraid for himself, if he should anger him: he had already shown himself to be viciious. Now, everyone would know it.

Thompson grinned a little. The sailor couldn't see him, of course, and there really wasn't anything to grin about.

"It ain't the irons you got to worry about, mate. The cat'll be worse."

Chase wasn't the only sailor who'd ever complained about the discomfort of being in irons. But then, it wasn't exactly meant to be comfortable, was it? And of course, now he'd have to stand right behind the man as he was taken on deck and had the Articles of War read out - well, one of the, anyway, and be right up close as Chase was flogged.

Not fun. Less fun for Chase, of course, but not fun. "Hope he don't come it the high-handed bastard of a bully, like. And a'course Mister Leat'll speak up f'r you. You'm in his division, ain't you?"

"Aye, so I am. Be surprised if he ain't arready talked t'the stoopit boy. But it don't matter, Mister De Guarde's still an officer." The topman gave up trying to squeeze his fingers underneath the shackle and flopped back onto the deck with a sigh. "The bastard ain't gonna hear me even groan."

And that was what it came down to: an officer's word against a common sailor's.

But there was a sense of pride and stubbornness in Chase's voice as he made his promise.

"That's the spirit," Thompson said. He smiled to himself, behind Chase's back. Usually it, the sailors and the Marines kept themselves apart, due to the fact that it was the job of the Marines to keep the sailors toeing the line and stopping them from deserting, or mutinying, or committing any one of a hundred other crimes against the Articles of War. But it seemed that the arrival of one bullying midshipman would get them helping each other out against him.

"You'll be all right. You've only got till four bells, and you'll soon be up aloft agin."

Leat watched the boy's back as he retreated below decks, clearly upset, but having enough control not to disappear with undue haste. It was an admirable trait, hinting that the boy may yet make a good officer - but only if that could be salvaged from the rest of his apparently foul nature. He would find out either way at four bells.

The lieutenant then returned his mind to what he had intended to do before De Guarde's needless bullying, and walked over to the two army officers, their passengers to be deposited at Lisbon. He touched his hat to them politely, and gave one of his customary small smiles.

"Good day to you, my lord. Major, I am glad to see you are up and about again."

"Lieutenant." Edrington acknowledged the salute, and added: "Was that the young gentleman who came aboard just now. He seems to have wasted no time in - making his presence felt."

"Yes," Leat's expression clouded somewhat. He did not mind the crew knowing of his disapproval of the boy, but criticizing a fellow Naval officer to an Army officer... he was wary of how critical he could be.

"A promising lad, perhaps, but over-eager. Too eager by far."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," George replied, turning towards the newcomer. He lapsed into silence as the others spoke and adjusted the fit of his hat. After observing Leat for a moment, he cleared his throat quietly and offered a sort of half-smile. "He's young yet; a firm guiding hand ought to settle him."

He smiled faintly at the major's intended reassurance.

"Indeed," he said thoughtfully. The problem was that De Guarde seemed to have had another firm hand guiding him; only not in the correct direction. "It is always..." he searched for the word. "A delicate time when a ship acquires a new midshipman that another captain has formed."

Aloft again. Chase grinned at the gloomy semi-darkness. Hell he'd be going up into the tops as soon as the sawbones was done "treating" his back. All else be damned.

"How long will it be 'til the middie runs up 'gainst ol' Cross-eyes?" The topman asked, feeling a bit of his humour returning at the thought of De Guarde encountering the foul-tempered Marine corporal face-to-face.

"They've met. Don't think the Corporal thought much of him, like. If the young gentleman gets on the wrong side of him, there'll be fireworks. 'Specially if'n he does summat that warrants a canin'."

He grinned at that thought. Idiot; ignoring Johnson's perfectly polite statement that the guard had been posted.

(OOC - dinner time! Be right back...)

They had? Well! That must've been interesting. Chase chuckled at the thought of Johnson's temper running full up against De Guarde's harsh manners.

"I'd wager a tot that the ol' corporal won't be kind t'all. It ain't hard t'get onta his wrong side neither. Poor Robbins done it once an' he's been scairt of even goin' near yer messdeck ever since!"

"Don't s'pose he will, an' I jest hope I'm there t'see it, is all. An' you should see us jump when he says, when he's wantin' someone to shout at. I don't blame Robbins, neither. I wouldn't, if I didn't live there."

At least imagining Corporal Johnson and Mister De Guarde coming up against each other had seemed to cheer the seaman up a bit. Thompson hadn't ever heard of Chase being in trouble, that he could remember, and he couldn't believe De Guarde hadn't mistook himself.

The topman's grin strengthened a bit. "I knowed a bos'un's mate what was like that. Always thunderin' on at us lads when he figgered he could. There's always somebody like it."

That infernal itch was back. He twitched his left leg and strove to ignore the uncomfortable sensation. "Long's it's ol' Cross-eyes an' not me what get stepped 'gainst by that young gennelman, it'll be arright with me!"

"Jest you try an' keep outta his way, an' we'll see if the Captain and Mister Leat can't teach him what's what, an' the proper way o' doin' things." He adjusted his crossbelts again; he was sure his bayonet scabbard wasn't sitting right.

It wasn't long till four bells, and he wasn't looking forward to it. But then, he didn't suppose Chase was, either. At least Bolitho wasn't a flogging officer, and would hopefully award as light a sentence as he could. That was one mercy. Another was that Chase was pretty popular and the new middy was unknown; there was no reason to think that the bosun's mates would be any harder on the seaman than usual.

"You'll be alright; just see if you ain't," he said.

Humourless, the young gentleman debated in his mind, the encounter with the stern lieutenant Leat. He was no fool not to sense what his last words, before curt dismissal, were to mean. But his pride and a sense of right had not agreed with his superior. By now his tears were dried, wiped clean with a gray specked handkerchief, which lay, cast off, atop his travel chest. He felt his eyes still stinging a small bit, yet the wave of emotions was gone. A man needed to think with a clear head, and a midshipman such as he, could not afford to quiver when the times were dire.

A small sigh allowed the last of his anguish to depart, with the air exhaled slowly. Confused before, his eyes now shone with certainty and purpose. A curt nod to none particular, as he stood and dusted his uniform smartly. He smoothed out the wrinkles with great attention and care, more to keep his mind occupied, for the time was ticking away at a snail's speed, than because there was much wrong on his coat. Fingers worked meticulously with his hair, that has been loosened only to be promptly retied. Presentable.

He wondered of Mr. Yates and if the boy would dare to speak against him, should the time arise and whichever his own decision. He was the only one that could make a recollection of the event, IF he saw enough at all, and be much heard. A fellow officer rather than a subordinate. But, did the boy fear him enough? Certainly he did not find him to be a friend. He ducked the suggestion when they've shaken hands. And owe? He didn't know the honour of the boy at all.

Touching his temple he rubbed it lightly. Much clearer now what he ought to do. That calmed De Guarde.
Come now, why did time pass at such slow speeds? And to consider that, when would he be introduced to more than the parts of the ship? His own duty aboard here, more firmly outlined than before?

"Oh they'll teach him, arright!"

A bell pealed from topside. Two bells. Chase sat up partially and scratched himself. It wouldn't be long now. Waiting for it was always the hardest.

"Sure I'll be arright, be a sorry fellow if I couldn't stand a few touches from the cat. A floggin' ain't so bad, y'know, 'less it's unjust." The topman flopped back down to the deck and laced his fingers underneath his head. "Better'n gettin' stood 'fore the cap'n in his cabin though!"

Thompson didn't think this one could be much more unjust. "I reckon if you look wrong at that one, he'll have you on a charge of insolence," he said. Two bells more. Thompson grinned at the seaman lying at his feet on the deck with his hands behind his head. Chase seemed to be taking it in his stride despite that. "An' he can't have you f'r bein' drunk, neither."

The waiting was the hardest part, Thompson knew. Some men went fair mad with terror, waiting, and were right as rain after.

Billy looked over his shoulder cautiously before approaching the marine. It was Thompson, and he was all right, a decent fellow. He could just barely see Chase lying on the deck beyond. Billy was about to announce his presence, but it was unnecessary when the marine turned and saw him.

Quiet footsteps behind him made him turn. It didn't sound like a middy's shod feet, or a Marine's heavy tread.

Another sailor, one of Chase's mates. He gave a quick grin.

"If you'm come to see y'r mate, mind you make it quick... Corporal catches me, an' I'm for it," he said, glancing round quickly to make sure Johnson wasn't anywhere in sight.