2nd July; Settling Accounts

The watches had changed at last. Cob Chase had been waiting impatiently for the routine of accounting for the oncoming watch to get over with. All he wanted was to get below. When at last the larbowlins were dismissed, he was one of the first down the forrard ladder. There was business to attend to and he wanted to get straight to it.

He flung open his sea-chest and rifled through it, careless of the fact he was disturbing the neatly-arranged contents. De Guarde would no doubt take issue with that but Chase could worry about it later. Ah! There it was. He grabbed up his blue short jacket and checked that the half-candle he'd nicked was still safely tucked inside one sleeve. It was. Good. He slipped the candle out and stuffed it into the pocket of his trouser. Then he tossed the jacket back into the sea-chest and dropped the lid shut with a bang.

Now it was off to the orlop. With any luck, things would go as planned. Chase padded down the ladder and ignored the Marine sentry who stared at him in surprise. It was easy work to light his candle from the lanthorn hanging from the overhead deck beam, and despite the Marine's warning snap, he headed aft. This was too important an errand to let a lowly bullock get in the way of.

Oxley had been poking about looking for something for another pranks when he was interrupted by what sounded like Dickin's voice coming from below on the orlop.

He headed down; there was no other Marine around and the duty NCO was off elsewhere, checking sentries or something.

He didn't think twice that this wasn't the sort of thing he ought to be doing, and that he really ought to get old Cross-Eyes (At least, he thought it was Cross-Eyes who was duty Corporal, anyway.)

"Whazzup?" he asked, skidding to a stop in front of Dickin.

Dickin frowned at the drummer. "You ain't a corp'ral," he said. Maybe it didn't matter. "One of them Tars just gone inta the hold, with a candle - you seen Sarn't Quinn?"

Tom shook his head. "No - reckon he's up on deck with the quarterdeck sentry or somethin' like." Oh. It was Sergeant Quinn who was on duty. Great.

"What's a Tar doin' goin' into the hold for anyhow?" he wondered aloud.

"What? Who was it?" Billy cried, not caring if the marines might be annoyed at his interruption. If he could prevent them from causing trouble for one of his mates, he would do what he could.

Maybe he should have sent Oxley up after the sergeant, but it was too late now.

"That fool Chase, looked like," said Dickin, before glancing at Oxley. "Fetch the sarn't, then! I can't be harin' about after him, can I?"

"Don't fetch the sarn't! I'll talk to him. Which way'd he go?"

Oxley looked between the two grown men. Barrow might be a petty officer, but Dickin was a Marine.

"What if he's goin' to cause trouble?" he asked, looking at Barrow.

"He won't if I get to him first," Billy said with a light rumbling growl. "Where's he headed?"

"It's trouble," Dickin said. It couldn't be anything else, in his opinion. "Fetch the sarn't, damn it!"

From the hold came a short, sharp thud and a curse. There was no trace of the dim candle light that had been visible a moment before, which Dickin hoped was a good thing.

He reached for his bayonet. This was something he'd have to sort out himself, wasn't it? Hell.

Billy grabbed the boy by the collar, about to argue further against fetching the sergeant, but he let go when he saw Dickin's reaction to the sound. "Is that him? Leave your bayonet be!" He pushed forward past the marine. "Chase? S'at you? Come outta there!"

"Agh!" Oxley let out a strangled yelp as Barrow seized his shirt collar, and batted ineffectively at his hand to try to loosen the man's grip. There was a clatter or something and he was almost pushed to the side. He put a hand to his neck to rub where the shirt-collar had caught him.

"I'll get the Sarn't," he managed a moment later. Dickin really shouldn't leave his post - that would lead to awful trouble.

About bleeding time, thought Dickin. "Run, then, nipper. Hold fast, Barrow! The hell you think you're playin' at?"

It was bad enough that the racket coming from the hold was definitely that of a fight. Dickin had broken up more than his share of brawls not to recognise how they sounded. Thrice-damned sailors!

Oxley didn't need telling twice. He bolted up the ladder as though his trousers were on fire. "Sar'nt Quinn! Sar'nt Quinn!"

"Dammit, Chase!" Billy yelled, stumbling against a barrel in the dim dark. His chest felt inflamed around his old wound, making his breath come in sharp, stabbing gasps.



Sam stopped as a red figure nearly collided with him. "Whoa, where you goin', little brother?" But his laughter changed to a frown when he saw the urgency on Tom's face.

"Move it!" Tom said, sidestepping his brother. He couldn't stop, not when it sounded like murder down there.

Where the hell was the Sergeant?

Heavy footfalls thundered over the deck as a couple of Marines approached, drawn forrard by the drummer's shouting. Mallory and Ware weren't armed but had come anyway, and there were others following close behind, Sergeant Quinn amongst them.

"The hell's goin' on down here?" Mallory demanded, being the first one to get close enough to ask.

"It's - it's - " Billy tried to answer, but he could barely get his breath now. All he could do was shake his head and try to wave them away in between spasms. He was going to kill Chase if the man earned himself a flogging again.

Finally!!! "Sar'nt... It's Cob Chase. He's gone down the hold an' it sounds like he's knockin' seven bells outta... someone down there... Took a lantern wiv him an' all."

Again? Did the man have a death wish or something?

"Ware, Mallory, with me," Quinn snapped abruptly, heedless that they weren't armed - in Mallory's case, the man wasn't even wearing his jacket!

Billy could only shake his head, sinking to the deck with something of a sob and pressing his knees to his chest.

Great, thought Ware. Off they went into the dark to stop a fight, without even having a musket in hand to lend themselves some authority. This could not end well. But he followed Sergeant Quinn down into the hold anyway. Maybe, by the time they got up to the brawlers, the sailors would have exhausted themselves.

"Here, um," Oxley dropped to one knee next to Barrow. "I'll get the surgeon," he said, not knowing what else he could do - for sure he couldn't leave the man in this state!

"Bugger off, little'un," Billy whispered, shaking his head as the pain brought hot stinging tears to his eyes. "Go an' tell me 'bout Chase."

"I ain't little," Oxley protested. "You... you need someone, any'ow, not jus' me." This wasn't good; Barrow was supposed to be getting better.