Afternoon Aloft, 1st July

"I go out first, 'cause I'm a yardarm-man. Then you lays out 'bout to mid-yard. Button can go after, if he wants. Feathers-head here stays put 'cause he's got to see that the new horse is secure." Chase swept his brush over the splice Dyer had just finished, then dropped the brush carelessly back into the bucket.

"That'll need a minute or two to set," he added with a wink at Oxley. "So's you'n'me goes out now, an' start castin' the old horse off."

"It ain't goin' to drop us alla way to the deck, izzit?" Oxley wanted to know, feeling cautious out of self-preservation - if anything was going to snap, he was staying right where he was, on the solidly comfortable foretop, thank you very much.

"'Course I's comin' too!" Terry put in, a touch of scorn in his voice, though he was just as nervous as it seemed the drummer was. Let a lobster go out on the yard and not go himself? Unthinkable.

"Nope. 'Cause we'll be sittin' on the yard, like. All we gotta do is pull the stirrups up an' cast 'em off from the old horse. Dyer'll get the new horse out to us an' we just puts the stirrups on it, an' there you got it, we're done."

He wiped his tarry fingers on his already-grubby working trousers and grinned. "Nothin' to it."

"Says you," Terry muttered darkly. Standing on a foot-rope, able to brace against the solid heft of the yard was one thing. Sitting on the yard over the open sea with nothing at all below your feet apart from the water was quite another.

"Right..." Oxley said, looking out at the yard and wondering what in the world had possessed him to come aloft today of all days. "Show us how it's done then, why don'tcha?"

The two topmen exchanged grins, then Chase got to his feet. "A'right," he said and slung himself easily down to the yard. He tested the hold of the footrope by rocking back and forth on it, then with a smirk started out toward the middle of the yard.

There he stopped and, draping himself over the yard, kicked one leg up over the yard and the furled sail so he was straddling it. Both of his bare feet swung carelessly in the open air and he waved cheerfully at the mast platform.

"Nothin' to it!"

"We ain't 'arf so tall as you," Terry pointed out, rolling his eyes. Cob Chase was all gangly arms and like - like a spider or something - and towered over Terry when they were standing next to each other.

"Sit on the yard an' shimmy out that way?" Oxley suggested, though his heart was in his mouth at the thought of it, and he hoped that none of the NCOs nor the officer was on deck to see this.

Oh. Right.

"That'd work too," Chase agreed.

Oxley bit his lip, as he followed his own instructions and edged out inch by inch, trying to keep his eyes on the grinning topman at the far end of the yard.

"Jus' you make sure an' tell me when I'm far 'nough out, won't you?" he said grimly. This was really not the best thing he'd ever done in his life - and he vowed that it'd be a long time before he ever came aloft again.

Chase nodded, then used both hands to sweep some loose strands of hair from his face. This was the best form of living, in his opinion. Being high above the world with hardly a care.

"That'll do, I think," he said presently, judging that the white-faced drummer had made sufficient progress along the yard.

Terry took a breath before following Oxley out onto the yard. Unlike the drummer, he was going to have to learn how to do this properly one day... He tried not to think about that, concentrating on keeping his balance, and waited for further instructions.

"Beats me how you can stand it," Oxley managed to say, through clenched teeth, trying to maintain his equilibrium and maintaining a death-grip on the yard. 'One hand for yourself and one for the ship' had never before seemed like such good advice as it did at the moment... except right now it had transformed into 'two hands for yourself and bugger the ship!'

"Easy as breathin', once you're used to it. S'far 'nuff for you, Button. Now. Haul up the stirrup what's nearest you an' work the knots loose, so the horse hangs free."

To show what he meant, Chase leaned forward to haul a stirrup up, and then started picking at the knot in the short rope.

"That's if I can," Terry muttered. "Be a sight easier with a fid or summat." Grown sailors always pulled knots far too tight for him to be able to untie with any ease. At least when picking oakum back in the Foundling Home, the rope had been practically falling apart of its own accord.

Oxley concurred with that assessment, too, but stubbornly kept working at his own knot. It was something to concentrate on, to keep his mind off exactly where he was, after all.

"Ain't you lads done yet?" Chase teased, letting the unstirruped horse drop from his hands. He'd probably have to help both of them get the knots loose, but this was no bother.

"Got it," Oxley said, finally working the knot loose enough to untie.

Terry, meanwhile, shook his head. "It's bin pulled too tight fer me t'do anyfing wiv it," he said, though he kept picking at it.

"Budge up, green head," said Dyer, as he got down onto the yard. He grinned and patted a hand lightly against Button's woollen lump of a hat.

Terry budged up, shifting forward a little to let Chicken get to the knot he was having problems with.

"You's a proper bene cove an' no mistake," he said gratefully, grinning over his shoulder at the older sailor, though he made sure to get a death-grip on the yard first.

It only took him a moment to prise the knot loose, though it was hardly a surprise that Button had had trouble with it. Whoever had tied the knot had apparently made sure to pull it particularly tight.

"There. Easy's a buzzard." He shinned backward a bit to he could reach for the new footrope. "Mind yer fingers on this, now."

On the yardarm, Chase had already freed the last stirrup and was busily coiling the loose end of the old footrope so it did not dangle into open air.

"Easy 'nough for you to say, bein' a proper bang-up cove an' all," Terry said. "So, what're we at now, then?" He swung his feet a little as he sat astride the yard, though he still couldn't quite bring himself to look down.

"Now," said Dyer, "we passes the new horse out an' lashes the stirrups to it. Nice an' smart, like."

He passed the end of the freshly-tarred footrope to Button, taking care to keep a grip on the length of cordage so it wouldn't slip or fall.

"Uh-huh," Terry said, shuffling towards the Marine drummer so he could pass the end of the new foot-rope onwards. "Dunno if I can tie so tight as you, though. Izzit a bowline it needs in the stirrup, like?"