Afternoon Aloft, 1st July

"And," said Chase cheerfully, "that bullock was left with only one shoe, after I chucked the other out a gunport."

"Dintcha get in trouble for doin' that?" Terry said, pulling his legs in a little closer.

"Sorta. Was made to pay fer replacin' it, but that were all."

"That wozzit?" Terry said disbelievingly, frowning up at the Tar. That couldn't have been all, surely? If Terry had done that, he'd have got into tons of trouble - and probably landed up with a caning or something.

He nodded. "Aye. Though he weren't any sorta kind t'me after, I'll tell you!"

"I bet 'e wasn't," Terry agreed. "Ain't worf gettin' on the wrong side of a M'rine, neever."

"Most times, no. That'n din't last too long after, though. Got cut down while boardin' a Frog brig. Sorta too bad, I s'pose." Chase shrugged. "Anyways, there ain't much you can do with the bullocks. 'Cept keep well clear of 'em when you can."

"Some'v 'em's arrigh'," Terry said, thinking of Oxley, who'd been out on the yard with them. He glanced aft, towards the squad of Marines on parade, their coats bright in the afternoon sunshine. "Well. Not that I knows loads'v 'em, o' course." Just one or two, who were near enough his own age.

"Eh," Chase grunted. "Nothin' but trouble, the lot of 'em. Can't keep out of other lads' business an' all."

"Mhmm," Terry responded non-committally. Cob might be more than twice as old as him, but he didn't know everything, did he? After all, Oxley was all right, and he was a lobster.

Whether or not the lad believed him didn't matter to Chase. In time the reality of things would set in. The topman shrugged and glanced aloft. "Wind's gettin' up a bit, mebbe," he observed offhandedly.

"That ain't bad, izzit?" Terry asked, hoping that they weren't in for another blow - the last storm was a bit too recent for him to want to end up in another any time soon. Maybe it would just mean that they'd end up getting to wherever they were going quicker, though.

"Shouldn't be. Happens alla time in the Bay of Biscay, this. Nah, we ain't in for a bad blow. Not yet anyway!"

Chase glanced aft and his cheerful expression slipped a bit. There were Marines parading on the larboard gangway for their afternoon ritual of musket drill. "Lookit that, then," the topman remarked. "The bullocks is makin' like they's worth somethin'."

"They's too stiff by 'alf," Terry said, scornfully. "Don't look like fun, standin' there like... like that."

He held the bit of spun-yarn up. "Show's anuuver one? Do?"

They were at that. "It ain't. But standin' round like all that's all they're good for." Chase shook his head, then drew his sea-knife. Another knot, was it?

"Clove hitch," he said, drawing his knees up so he could hold the knife in place, hilt up. It was quick work to tie the knot around the worn hilt. Once it was done, he held the knife up in one hand and the topmost part of the string with the other so Button could see how it should look.

"Ain't that jus'..." Terry mimed making two loops and putting the first one on top of the second. He vaguely recalled someone showing him that, but they'd only done it the once - the man hadn't been half as patient as Chase, nor half so good at explaining how to tie the knots.

"Glad I ain't one've 'em," he added obscurely, glancing at the redcoats.

Chase held the knife out to him. "Mebbe it is. Try it an' see," he said with a grin. "Better off not bein' like them, too. 'Sides. Us foremast lads is what makes a ship."

Terry gave Chase a shy but genuine grin. 'Us lads' he'd said, including Terry. That made him feel sort of... fuzzy, inside.

He tried it, glad that Chase hadn't squashed the idea as being stupid, the way he was used to having his ideas squashed. "Waddaya know?" he said, holding it up. "It is the same an' all." He passed knife and string back to the older Tar. "What's it used fer, then?"

Good lad! He was a sharp one, sure.

"That's for rattlin' down rigging," Chase explained. "Can be done 'round a spar or another bit of cordage, whichever's there to put the hitch on."

Terry frowned, looking at it. Something there didn't make sense.

"If... if you's doin' it roun' a spar, howja tie it? 'Cause the way I just done needs a end of the... the spar or whatever."

The question needed a demonstration for its answer. With a grin, Chase hopped back down onto the deck. "Wantin' to know that, eh? C'mon then. We're goin' up!"

He sheathed his knife and stuffed the twine carelessly into his pocket. This would be fun.

Up aloft again? Terry quite liked being aloft, that afternoon's adventures notwithstanding. He just wasn't too keen on going out on the yard again - or at least, not the way they had earlier, anyway.

He scrambled to his feet and looked curiously up at Chase. What was the sailor planning?

"C'mon then!" Chase was already on his way to the shrouds, happy as he ever was for an excuse to go aloft.

There was no way Terry was going to win in a race aloft against Cob Chase, but he was going to do his damn best, and scrambled aloft as fast as he could, taking the futtock shrouds like any grown Tar.

Up! There was little Chase loved more than going up. True freedom was enjoyed aloft. He was up in the foretop before he knew it but he had to stop himself going higher. This was supposed to be a teaching session, not an escape from the confines of the deck below.

"Right!" He said cheerfully, dropping down to sit on the mast platform. "Don't be laggardly now!"