On Sentry Duty

Quinn's expression did not change, even as Brandeson palmed off responsibility for the Marine detachment onto him yet again.

"Marines! Order arms!"

The men moved smartly, muskets moving across their bodies and slidin down till the butss rested on the deck.

"Unfix bayonets!"

A quick twist and the bayonet was free of the muzzle and returned to the scabbard. "Shoulder arms! To your duties, fall... out!"

As one, they moved their muskets back to the shoulder before performing a right turn and falling out to return below. There was maybe a glance here and there in Mr De Guarde's direction, but most of them ignored him as they left the quarterdeck and made their way below. McEwen hastened down to get on sentry by the Captain's cabin and the others filed down to their section of the messdeck, glad it was over with.

The surgeon grimaced and shook his head as he finished applying the salve. "All right, Chase. Up. Sit there." He rummaged in a drawer for a moment, muttering to himself, and returned with bandages. "These are just temporary, but I want to keep these stripes of yours clean. All right? You can come back and see me tomorrow and I'll change 'em for you." He paused a moment and gave the seaman a bit of a gin. "Would you like to see?"

Thompson had sheathed his bayonet as Chase was lashed to the grating. He couldn't bear to watch, yet couldn't avoid watching, standing only feet away from the grating as he was.

It wasn't the first flogging he'd ever seen and wouldn't be the last. Chase made no sound and gave no indication of the pain of the thing, apart from curling his hands into fists. One dozen wasn't so many, not really. Thompson glanced now and then at Mr De Guarde, refusing to let his feelings show on his face. Being a Marine, he'd had practice at that, of course.

Once it was over, the two bosun's mates untied Chase and helped him below, leaving Thompson and Seaman Robbins to return the grating to its usual home before Thompson went below, heading to his mess table. He would've like to have gone to see how Chase was, but didn't think the sailor would want to see a Marine after what he'd just been through.

After rummaging in the drawers again, Crozier returned with a small mirror which he handed to Chase with a smile. "Now you hold that," he said, and reached up to detach a mirror that was hanging next to a lantern to amplify its light. "And I'll hold this back here." He stood behind Chase with the mirror angled towards his back. "Look there, in your little mirror. Can you see?"

"Lovely," Chase grumbled, upon seeing the cris-cross of angry, bleeding scores on his back.

"You don't sound very pleased, Jacob Chase," Crozier said as he exchanged his own mirror for a handful of bandages and wadding. "It's not every day that a man gets to see his own back. Now, hold your arm up while I wrap." It took a few minutes and then he was done. "You may not want your shirt for a while, but I'll leave that to you. Right, off you go."

Was he supposed to be pleased? Chase shrugged fractionally and didn't bother to answer. It was better not to.

Donahue was waiting when the sawbones finished wrapping the bandage around Chase's torso. Good lad indeed. Even for an Irishman. The topman grinned at his mate and picked up his shirt. "Right then, what 'bout some skylarkin' up topside? Where's Timlin an' his fiddle?"

If nothing else, he was determined not to be inactive just because of a few stripes across his back.

Billy appeared at the companionway. "There y'are, Cob. You all right?"

"Hale'n'hearty, Billy." Chase grinned. "Gather up the lads. Sure the cap'n won't mind some dancin' an' all on deck, considerin'."

Donahue offered a toothy smile. "I'll g'an git Timlin. Ain't a better shantyman I e'er heard!"

Thompson stripped off his crossbelts and red jacket, pulling on his white off-duty jacket instead and dug out his forage hat before slipping along to the sickbay to see how Chase was.

He saw his mate with him and grinned. He seemed to be alright, all things considered.

The surgeon looked up to see yet another well-wisher come along to greet Chase. "That's enough, men. Clear off and go do your skylarking elsewhere, or whatever it is you do. Out of my sickbay, the lot of you!" There were no other patients in the sick bay. He simply wanted to be left alone with his plants.

It wasn't a case for a midshipman to consider, but he did. Partly he reasoned that he needed to explore the ship before duties would call for his knowledge about it, partly it was just pure want to see the whipped man and catch him when he was not struggling not to show his pain. He kept clear from the other midshipmen, allowing them time to have it all sink in. He knew it wasn't the finest time to meet them.

Slipping much like a shadow, with his feet light on the ground but not trying to sneak in, just having such a manner of walk, he approached the sickbay where to Chase was lead. He came a little after the private, his small figure in stark contrast with the rest.

Crozier spotted him, and spoke with slightly more formality than he had to the others. "Yes, Mister de Guarde? Is there something you need in the sickbay?"

Oops.

"Sorry, sir."

Chase looked as though he was about to leave anyway, so Thompson slipped out to wait for him outside sickbay - and stiffened to attention as he saw Mister De Guarde approaching.

"Quite all right, Thompson, thank you. Cut along now." Crozier eyed the midshipman warily.

A delicated eyebrow arched at the sight of mr. Thompson. A marine in sickbay? He did not look in need of a doctor nor to have guard over Chase. The punishment had come to an end and Cob was a free man, till his actions earn him another such flogging.

So he was here to see the man? "...I wonder.."He spoke, so that Thompson could hear him. A spiteful tone in his voice betrayed little more. ".. Shouldn't mingle with them."He spoke, his eyes on the stiff posed private. "Leave, before you are missed." His voice sounded bored, yet superior.

He turned his gaze to Dr. Crozier. A small smile and a light tilt of his head, not a nod, nor a shake of it to say no.

" Not exactly."He glanced at the company, Another sailor here. Chase sure had a 'party'.

"On second thought, Private Thompson, I would like you to stay for a moment," the surgeon called. There was no reason for it, but he wanted to wipe the smirk off the midshipman's face. "There's nothing you need, Mister de Guarde? Then I will thank you to not to disturb me in my sickbay. Good day to you."

Now there was Thomspon come to see him too. Chase had to chuckle. Wasn't he a popular one today! The sawbones was herding them out, of course, but the seamen were only too happy to be on their way. Donahue disappeared to go find Timlin the shantyman and Chase stuck his hand out to Thompson.

"Glad ya din't get too eager wit' yer bayonet, mate."

Then of course he spotted the new midshipman lurking in the companion way and his cheerful grin became just a little bit forced. "Sar," he said, saluting. It was probably time to head up to the messdeck, where at least he and his mates could plan their skylark in safety. The midshipman's words to Thompson didn't pass unheard either but he could do nothing about them. Damn the boy.

"C'mon lads," the topman said airily, deciding to pretend that the middie hadn't ever spoken. "I hear there's still somethin' left in the mess kids. An' the offer's fer y'self too, Thompson, when yer done."

Thompson's position of attention became just that little stiffer as De Guarde spoke. He was about to make himself scarce when the surgeon called for him to stay a moment, so he saluted and slipped inside, grinning at Chase as he did so. "Thanks, mate, I'll be there afore you know it." It wasn't so often that the Marines were invited to mingle with the sailors, and Thompson didn't feel inclined to turn the invitation down in front of the young gentleman.

"You wanted me, Mister Crozier, sir?" he said, hoping he could make the middy think he'd been sent for and had a valid reason to be here.

The smug little midshipman was still standing there, blast him.

"Yes, I want you to drink this now," Crozier said soberly, decanting a small amount of brown liquid into a measuring glass. "And if you have any further complaints, you're to see me again." He watched as the marine sniffed at the glass of rum. "No complaining about the smell now, just drink it and then be off with you."

The midshipman's attention reserved to the cup he saw, being offered. A moment there was a flicker in his eyes that indicated his disinterest in the other men, even Chase and his injuries, or the manner in which he was given to leave, while the man he told not to mingle was called back instead. The private was not ill earlier, but what was this?

He looked stiffly at the doctor then, though spoke not against his manner. It was not that he was afraid but solely that he knew fate would be tempted, if he was to call on a thing, such as one before. Any complaint was now... well, the lieutenant was angered enough and the captain would be ill feeling if he heard the boy come with more to say.

He bit his lip, his cheeks reddening still. Dislike of the doctor wasn't foreign now. But then, he'd offered rum? He stood there, not moving yet not coming in further. Blast him.

Thompson looked askance at the doctor. He certainly didn't need any medicine, and sniffed at the glass. Rum. He coughed a little, trying to hide his grin. Wasn't the doctor a dark horse.

He made a pretence of seeming reluctant to drink it, to throw the middy's suspicions off, but obediently downed it, coughing a bit more as the rum hit his throat.

"That better be good medicine, sir," he said. "Thank'ee, sir." He gave the glass back and slipped out, saluting Mister De Guarde again as he did so.

"Good man," Crozier said quietly, nodding to the private. Then he turned his back to the midshipman who was still standing and staring, and he began to tidy up the salve and blood and bandages still on his table.

He observed Thompson leave and nodded curtly to his salute. Well then, this was proof of his philosophy. Instill fear in men by making an example. A proper salute at a good time, ... the man's flaw only that he did not leave when he was told. Still, he was unable to point a finger at a flaw there, the doctor did call him.

Both of his hands were in tight fists when he saw the doctor turn. It felt much as if he was brushed off, a slap to his pride if any. "..How soon will it be, till Chase is able to return to proper duty?"He knew through experience of seeing it done, for how long. Though as much as the number of lashings could be different so could they be on their own, due to those delivering them.

Cheers and ribald comments greeted Chase and Barrow when they appeared on the gun deck. Donahue had found Timlin and the two were waiting with tankards of grog. A couple of the ship's boys were present too, their small faces bright with grins. Chase made his way to his mess's table and was quickly handed a wooden plate of the boiled beef and hardtack that the cook had served just before the flogging. He was almost a hero, simply for taking his flogging without complaint.

"Ahoay, lads, there'll be some dancin' an' all up topside inna bit," Chase called out. "It's near to time fer the cap'n's dinner anyways, a bitta music fer our officers won't be amiss. An' sure it'll be easy t'get back t'workin' if the cap'n wants it!"

He spotted a white coat and blue cap near the ladder and grinned. "Let that 'un through, an' any lad wit' him."