11 June; Watered down

A frown creased Chase's brow and he glanced briefly over his shoulder. It was pure bad luck for Seward's mess to be the next one over.

"He'll keep clear if he knows what's good for him."

This was as much from a desire to prevent more trouble between Button and Seward as it was a private hope to have a valid excuse to thump the maintopman's skull in. Properly, this time.

Why was Chase so... worried?... about Seward keeping away from him? It didn't make sense, to Terry - he was just a boy and didn't harbour any illusions that he was at all important to the men. It was a man's world, not a boy's world, and he was genuinely puzzled as he looked up at Chase. "Why's it so 'portant to you?" he asked, adding hastily, "Not I'm... I'm complainin'... only you didn't oughta waste your time wiv me."

The topman sighed and lowered his voice. "Somebody's gotta, since the officers ain't bothered."

It was not just Button either. Seward had had a go at De Guarde, too, and on the weather deck at that, and no officer had intervened. It made Chase wonder about things. Just a little.

Terry couldn't hide a surprised look at the idea that the officers should be bothered. He was only a boy, one of the least important people aboard, certainly nowhere near as skilled or as knowledgeable as Cob Chase.

"Mister Leat's a'right," he offered, shyly, remembering the cocoa that he'd been given the day he'd been made Leat's servant. "On'y, they gots more 'portant fings to worry 'bout than me an' the uvver boys."

"More important, like what? Somethin' other than a near-fight 'tween one of the lads an' a boy, happenin' right under their noses?" It was difficult to keep the disgust from his voice. "Keepin' the peace aboard oughta be important, mate, or I dunno what is."

"Makin' sure we don' 'it any rocks," Terry said, and frowned. "A fight? Weren't me, honest." Possibly the only boy aboard he would beat in a fight would be Fingers, and that would only be because his friend was even smaller than he was. He certainly wouldn't end up in a fight with any of the men - he'd lose, certain-sure, and get soundly thumped in the process.

"Any'ow, you was fightin' yourself, an' wasn't 'appy when it got broke up," he pointed out, careless that his words might earn him a clip round the ear.

"Him an' De Guarde," Chase clarified, unable to keep from scowling into the half-empty tankard. "Durin' the skylark. Ain't a thing was done 'bout it 'til Thom Boyles stuck his oar in. If that rock-headed bullock'd had any sense, he'd have stood well off, too. No floggin' will sort Seward out. Take a good thumpin', or two, if needs be!"

Terry shivered. It had been Seward he'd seen that night, then. He'd thought so, but if the sailor had a grudge against Buckles that other folks had seen, then...

Why had Corporal Thompson come along just then? If Chase had been able to lay Seward out, then maybe he'd leave off hurting Buckles and him...

"Mebbe the officers don't care 'bout Buckles...?" he suggested slowly.

That was a thought Chase didn't much care for, even though it had occurred to him, too. "If they don't, they ain't worth trustin'."

"That's..." He couldn't say the word. Maybe it wasn't, anyway. What did he know about things like that? "Well. folks don't much like 'im, do they?" So why should the officers be any different? "I mean... Well, I fink 'e's all right an' all."

Many lads still remembered how the former midshipman had come aboard, no doubt. Chase supposed that was only natural. Even if it was wrong.

"Officers ain't s'posed to play favourites," said Chase. "But seems that's just what they're doin', if they ain't tryin' to stop trouble just 'cause of who's caught up in it. So it's down to us to sort things out our own selves."

And if that meant giving Seward a clout every time he stepped out of line, so be it. Chase had had his fill of trying to talk his way around difficulties.

"Mebbe they dunno... 'e ain't telled anyone, 'as 'e? Buckles ain't, I mean - 'e ain't even telled you, why'd 'e tell an officer what put 'im afore the mast? Mebbe 'e dunno that 'e oughta tell someone."

After all, Terry himself had only told Mister Leat about the purser once he was directly under the officer's eye, with the hope that he might not end up back as Mister Foxley's servant.

Chase shook his head, this time angrily. "Nah, see, officers ain't always s'posed to be told there's somethin' wrong in the crew. Not when it happens right under their noses."

It hardly needed saying that a lad like De Guarde, whatever he'd done, shouldn't have to tell anyone that he was... he was what? "Hang on. What's your meanin', then?"

"Ain't jus' Seward, izzit," Terry said flatly, feeling a dull, hopeless sort of anger. "Folks don't like 'im, so we've - well, me an' the boys - we've bin tryin' to keep folk off 'im. 'E ain't telled anyone 'bout Seward or... or anyone else." He wasn't sure who it was who had caused those bruises to Buckles' side, but he was pretty sure it wasn't Seward... and there had been a second man there that night.

"What about Seward? Or 'anyone else'?"

This was sounding like something even he wasn't aware of, and that simply was not on. If there were more blockheads like Seward having a go at the smaller lads... clearly a better watch would have to be kept on that one!

"'E made me promise not to tell," Terry said, belatedly recalling that small detail. He took a breath and carried on anyway. "It was... dunno when it was, 'zackly. The uvver day, any'ow. 'E needed to... to be somewhere, um, private-like. An' 'e showed me... 'E got the most awful bruises roun' 'ere." He indicated his own chest and side. "Like... like someone bin 'ittin' 'im an' didn't want folks to see it... Could only see the bruises when 'e pulled 'is shirt up."

The seamen around the mess table exchanged glances, a couple of them frowning, then most of them shifted to look toward Seward's mess. Seward himself was not there, but this was probably just as well.

"That so," Chase growled, wishing more than ever that he'd been allowed to pound Seward flat.

Nat pulled his arms tighter across his chest, his face uncharacteristically grave. "So how do we sort him out?"

"We tell the captain," Billy answered. "Captain'd probably know already if it warn't for everybody been sick, and the whole ship gone arsey-versey."

"You ain't gonna make me tell 'im, you ain't," Terry said, a look of horror appearing on his face. Telling the captain something once was bad enough, but he had a second thing to tell him now - a name. Adding this on top... There was no way he could do that.

"Tell the cap'n?" Chase sounded disbelieving. "An' then what?"

He grimaced and pushed the tankard away, his thirst abruptly gone. "You ain't gotta do a thing, neither. 'Cept for keep outta the way." This last was directed at Button.

"An' then," finished Nat, "It's De Guarde's word 'gainst Seward's and we're back where we bleedin' started. Only worse."

Well, that was true enough. And the bit that Terry knew didn't cover this. He shrugged, taking the opportunity to snaffle his mug back and have a couple of mouthfuls of the grog in it.

And that was the heart of the problem.

"Rather not go to the officers, m'self," Chase grunted. It was better, and more simple, to keep this business on the lower deck.

"But Buckles has them awful bruises," Terry put in. "Seward an' 'oever else 'e's mates wiv won't 'splain them away - they's worse'n if he'd fallen an' knocked hisself."