On Sentry Duty

Peter rubbed at his shoulder. "You pinch too hard," he complained, but in the tones he would have used to his brothers. "Pax," he agreed, although holding back on the word "Friends". That would have to be considered. So far, he did not want to be friends with this ill-tempered boy. But nor did he want to be at odds with him this early in a long voyage, so he held out his hand and said: "Now, do you want to go up on deck? I'll try to tell you who's who, but most people I don't know yet."

Bolitho had assumed that the new midshipman had come aboard, having seen the boat departing from the other ship. It had been too far away for him to get a good enough look at the young man in question, however. He could only hope the boy would adapt well to his new ship.

"Ah yes," he said, "Has Mr. De Guarde been properly settled in the midshipmen's berth? I would assume so, by now."

"Mister Yates took him below, I believe," Leat confirmed. A slight frown creased his fair brow. "Although they have been gone a while. I had expected them to have returned on deck by now."

The hands were shaken with a comfortable grip:"..Certainly. It would be most agreeable."He answered snatching his hat from his chest and placing it properly onto his head. He tucked a few loose strands behind his ear, touching the short tail of hair at the back to make sure the black cloth had not gotten loose. Satisfied with his appearance he turned to Peter awaiting him to climb the ladder first, before he would follow suit.

Noticing Leat's frown, Bolitho wondered if it might be wise to check on the midshipmen to make sure nothing untoward was transpiring.

"I would have expected them to return promptly," he said, "Perhaps we should see if everything is alright..."

"I could send Fletcher to see where they have got to," Leat suggested. Fletcher was of an age with Yates, though not so dutiful, he was a fairly competant soul to have around.

Finally all the sentries had been relieved, and Thompson could escape below. He could see the Captain and Mister Leat talking together, and wondered where the new middy was. He should have reported to the captain by now, surely?

"Yes, I think that would be best. Go and send Mr. Fletcher in search of them," Bolitho said.

"Aye, sir." Leat gave a salute and then went back topside.

"Mister Fletcher!" The appropriate midshipman started in surprise. "Be so good as to locate Mister Yates and your new messmate, then ask them to report to the Great Cabin as soon as is their convenience."

The last part was said with distinct sarcasm. Fletcher could not help but notice, and threw a perfunctorary salute.

"Aye aye, sir!"

And disappeared below decks.

[OOC: As much as I'm looking forward to reprimanding Peter and Matthew, unfortunately I have to be off now. Apologies!]

[OOC: I'll have to agree at this point and return tomorrow or in the fair good few hours! Good night!]

Being the only passenger not laid low by seasickness on a frigate was an exercise in boredom and patience. He had seen nothing of Major Findlay since they left the harbour mouth, and it now seemed likely that he would stay in his cabin until they reached Lisbon.

Meanwhile, Edrington was reduced to the boredom of paperwork and his own company. Even watching the slow approach of another ship, and the arrival of a new young midshipman, did not relieve that. These calm seas might be pleasant, but light winds meant delay, and he was already some days behind his battalion, which might even be in Lisbon already. He turned to walk back to his cabin, where there were still papers he ought to deal with.

Thompson was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to realise where he was. He was nearly at the top of the companionway when he walked into someone. Seeing only a red coat at first, he opened his mouth to berate a comrade, and then realised it was the Army Colonel, the passenger who'd taken ship to Lisbon. He swallowed nervously and pulled his hat off in the formal salute, coming to attention.

"I... I beg pardon, sir. Wasn't watchin' where I was goin'." The spectre of the grating and the ceremony of a formal punishment parade and flogging rose in his imagination.

Edrington saved himself from falling down the companionway with an effort and turned to look at the man who had walked into him. A Marine, staring at him with fear and an appeal. Not looking where you were going and knocking an officer down a hatchway was probably as serious an offence at sea as it would have been on land, even if the officer was only Army. Some land officers would have a soldier flogged for far less. From what he had seen of the Marine lieutenant, it would not surprise him to learn that he was a harsh man. He was morose, unpleasant company and regularly drank himself into a stupor. Edrington was not going to look for that moment of sobriety to tell him that he had bumped into one of his men. It wasn't that hard, nothing like a push, and if he had been paying attention it wouldn't have happened.

He gave a slight twisted smile, before the Marine developed a cramp from his rigid attention, and said: "Nor was I. So let us call it quits."

The other two seamen nodded. Taylor said "Prolly is, I'd wager! Sum cap'ns love fer ta dress theirselves an' they ships up like wimmen, so they does! I knowed one from ol 'Dragon that made 'is middies wear ribbons an' all, like us Tars. Alla them middies was wearin' they ribbons after they lef' the ship fer other postins, too."

Chase chuckled and glanced briefly aft. "Glad 'least our cap'n ain't so barkin' as all that. Oi but don't the cap'n look like he went an' tried t'eat tar? I reckon our new middie's yet t'report. Whaddaya say, Billy, let's go an' see if them two young gennelmen is still explorin' the orlop!"

"I... I am awful sorry, sir," Thompson said, not daring to look at the other's face.

It took a second before the officer's words registered, and Thompson's eyes widened. An officer... who was taking some of the blame?

"I'm in hopes you'm all right, sir," he said, wincing inwardly at what could have happened if they'd been any closer to the top of the companionway.

Billy saw Thompson's collision with their esteemed passenger. "Best wait a bit, though, till that one's safe below," he murmured, grinning at Taylor.

"I didn't fall down the hatch, and in recognition of that good fortune I shall not report you to your officer - Lieutenant Brandeson, I believe." Wide blue eyes in a tanned face met his with even more entreaty. Edrington smiled and returned the other man's salute. "Forget it," he said easily.

{OOC And I am forgetting how to type letters in order. Close to bedtime]

Thompson suddenly remembered to breathe.

"Thank you, sir," he said. He liked the look of this officer, and suddenly remembered he was an Earl, or some such. "I... I mean, my lord," he said, and stumbled to an embarrassed stop again.

"It was a pleasure," Edrington murmured. "And now, if I may return to my cabin?"

"Of... of course, sir." He stepped aside, and hesitated. "You know where you'm goin', sir?" he asked, then looked abashed. "O' course you do. Silly of me. Sorry, sir."

"I carved notches," Edrington said straight-faced, and went back to his room, a slightly puzzled frown narrowing his eyes.

OOC: So...I've been told that a certain officer needs a fellow lobster to shoot associate with; we'll just say that poor George has been prostrated with seasickness and that everyone's forgotten his existence...to account for the presence of another officer aboard >.>.

Every roll, heel, and lurch of the wretched vessel seemed magnified a hundredfold and the swinging lamp above his cot wasn't helping matters. With a stifled groan, George rolled his head to the side and fought a new wave of nausea, his sandy hair plastered with sweat against his pale and clammy brow. The sound of footsteps outside the berth, amidst the creaking and groaning of straining wood, caught the major's ear and he sat up weakly, pressing his fingers to his mouth to stifle a gag before calling out hoarsely to whoever was in the companion.

"A basin would be greatly appreciated."

What?

Thompson stared at the man's back as he made his way carefully down the ladder. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he hurried down himself, to return his musket to the arms locker and dig his cup out. He really needed to wet his mouth.

Edrington was still lost in thought as he passed along the passage towards that area - complete with fragile, easily removable walls - that he thought of as his cabin. Someone was calling from the next berth, and he opened the door. Major Findlay was half sitting, half lying, his hand to his mouth and his face a terrible mixture of pale green and yellowish pallor, sickly in the fluttering light. He could have been any one of Macbeth's victims' ghosts. If any of them had been retching at the time.

"A basin," Edrington said practically. There were a couple, not far from the bed, although out of Findlay's reach. Fortunately someone was looking after the cavalry man enough to ensure that they had been emptied and cleaned before being returned. He picked them both up and handed one to the Major, putting the other where it could be reached. He then stepped back, just in case.