The Captain's Quarters

Peter was watching what happened without grasping the significance. The doctor's byplay with the bottle did not make sense - unless it was drugged, to achieve a quicker, less painful collapse into unconsiousness, before de Guarde did something that would humiliate him and the rest of the midshipmen. He tried to catch the eye of Kinsella, who was sitting next to de Guarde, but he had turned half round in his seat so that his back was to the boy. Deliberately, Peter thought. On the other side Bush was eating as if he too remembered the hunger of the midshipmen's mess.

Beyond Bush, the army passenger clearly could not help - this was a Terpsichore problem, not one for the Army. The Marine behind him had been watching de Guarde, with something that might almost have been understanding, but although his eyes met Peter's briefly, he looked back down, clearly more concerned about his colonel's drink than the midshipman's.

When he looked back de Guarde had hold of his servant-boy's arm. Peter, who had felt that grip, winced in memory. "Mr de Guarde," he said loudly enough to penetrate the rising sound of conversation. "We were talking about my fight. The first time, when I lost, I was just happy that I had not screamed or cried. The next time, I beat him. And then I could forget him. Papa did not actually like us fighting, but boxing, he said, was a sport gentlemen could indulge in, and would have us learn the rules."

The young servant boy was at the verge of tears, fingers digging painfully into his shoulder. He put up a brave fight of emotion and did not let the tears get the better of him, just managed. He nimbly nodded, eyes dropping to the back of Mathew's chair in what could only be a form of utter submission. His lips were pressed stiffly together, to keep out a sound of protest at the discomfort and pain. Mathew heard his name be spoken, and his hold on the boy slackened a little. For a moment his eyes started fiercly at the source of his calling. Then he smiled to Yates so kindly, that he was like an angel brought into shape by one of those artists of church. The lad was utterly relieved when with a final nod, Mr. De Guarde released him.

"Good." The midshipman spoke to the boy, stirred from him in part also by Yates's interruption as much as the servant's fearful submission. The younger gentleman had saved the servant from more of the unpleasant temper, while providing the elder midshipman with something to discuss.

" 'learnt boxing then?"He asked, considering this gentleman's story. "Have you fought a few of those then?.. 'tis a useful skill, but often one disadvantaged..'tleast if you are mismatched greatly in height and strength to your opponent... I think so atleast."He reached for his glass, and neared it to his lips, then just as he was to drink, he settled it down again. "Your father was a considerate man, eh?... allowed you plenty of things that were of your heart's desire..'tis not so on the ship..I hope you've learnt...and your mother? You haven't spoken of her." He was struggling a tad bit to keep focus, but for the colour of his cheeks, and the look of his eyes, he was doing admirably well. Yet, how long would it last?

Peter leaned forward, his arms on the table, his dinner and the wine forgotten. While he was talking, and de Guarde listening, the other boy was able to control himself. Perhaps they could get through the dinner after all. "My brother learned it when he went to school - Charles, I mean the oldest. And he taught us younger ones. Then they went to school, but I decided to go to sea instead. I wish I had thought of it earlier!" He cocked his head on one side, thinking, and then said: "But I would have been too young then, to decide for myself. And Mama would not have agreed, I think, while I was a child. She is a dear, but would have stopped us doing things, if she could. She is pretty strict with the girls. Which makes one really thankful that one was not born a girl!"

Then he shrugged. "It is different here, of course. But you are not to think that we had it all our way. I have not talked of being taught our lessons - by Papa, or by his curates - because that is not as much fun to talk of. But there was a good deal of studying, and helping my parents. Much like on board ship, really."

"Right.. pardon me for making poorly based assumptions."He whispered. Subconsciously his hand had gone for the glass. He drank it this time, but to moisten his throat which felt dry to him. He laid the glass down again, glancing to his servant boy who gazed at his glass, as if ready to refill it the moment he was given a signal to do so. He looked frightened, timid and ready to do exactly as De Guarde wished. The boy's shoulder still ached, and he reached to it to rub the pain away, squinting and wondering if there would even be some bruising left behind.

De Guarde's grip was surely strong enough.

"'s not a fine life for them ladies.. though in ways they are but queens of their own make."His voice did carry a bit of scorn at that:"..'s preferable. A ship. That's a fine lady that doesn't fret about her looks, nor play about with men as toys."For one so young he surely had a rather surly opinion of the women. Not that he yet understood the love that made men forget themselves for the sake of their favourites.

"Have any of your sisters married yet?"He emptied the glass and tapped it lightly. The boy behind him hurried to pour it full, keeping his gaze down for fear that the doctor would incline him to do different. If he did not see, he could not be blamed for disobeying either of them.

On that account, young Mathew's words were becoming more slurred, and he found more to be amused by, more to be distracted by too. At this moment it was young Yates's cuff and button, which was on it. Nothing special for any common, sober man. But to young Mathew, it held some grave secrets he needed to figure out.

Peter grinned. "No! Dora - Dorothea - is the only one older than I am, and she is only... " He thought for a moment and said "She will be seventeen in June. She will not be married for years yet, if anyone can be found to take her. She is very bossy. Her husband would live under the cat's foot."

He thought about what de Guarde had said about the ship, not worrying about her looks. "The ship might not care what she looks like, but the Captain does. Everything just so, and the men cleaning and painting and polishing up the brass all the time. Was your previous ship as smart as this one?"

"Sma...."He wished to say that it was even smarter than what he had seen of the ship he was presently aboard, but to say such in the company of men most proud about their lady, in the company of the captain that was having them dine in such a pleasant company of wine, would be inviting trouble. He dropped his voice into a whisper, bolder with drink laced in his mind, than before."..much smarter."

"..she was a beauty."He then spoke in normal tone nodding to herself."... well manned, perfect ... each order was performed to it's finest detail at an excellent speed."But then that was because of fear, and men did just as they were told almost as machines. What they learnt, they knew and needed little thought to perform. Thinking was not for the sailors to do after all.

He did not spare Yates with the details of his ship and went so far as to describe much of what the boy hadn't even asked. From the most basic of the number of guns, to how she would act in what weather. All that he knew and cherished as a young child, naive in his belief that a stiff atmosphere with little kindness was an art of perfection. "T' captain was a true proper one."And he still loathed him as before.".. Stern and mercyless but a master of his art!"And paranoic, cold hearted.

He drank from his glass, to allow him a moment of thought, or atleast to catch his breath. "She was a beauty.. "He concluded somewhat somberly. "..n'.. we had punishments aplenty.... less sometimes... but they right. 's had to happen, else she would not run so right."His eyes on Yates.

"It sounds - it sounds as if she was a cold ship." And a cold Captain. Peter glanced towards the head of the table. The Terpsichore's captain was not cold in that sense, or was he? What did Peter really know? Perhaps de Guarde was right, and it was necessary to rule by fear. But no, the captain should be rather aloof, even stern, but not tyrannical. No one should be merciless. "If the ship was running so well," he asked, looking from his clasped hands to de Guarde's face, "why did he need to keep punishing the men? I do not understand that."

"He..."He paused, the question that the midshipman brought up, was valid. "...well.. men forget. T' memory is a terrible thing. See.. even if ye are punished n' it works a while.. the sailors are too often forgetting their punishmen'... so they needs to be reminded!" He emptied half the glass and nearly toppled over the rest.

"s' how we are reminded.. who's where in rank. S' as lieutenants n' capn'."He nodded again, sharply both times, and looked as if the motion had gotten him dizzy. "No punishment.. n' the rank wouldn' matter. Even middies would run wild amon' their own. Differn' people , we are. Mind. Very differen' fr'm them." He stood to emphesize his point.

So sharp was his motion that he felt as if the room had spun out of focus and shape and he had to take hold of the table to steady himself. Even so he looked still ready to fall. "n'.. 's why we punish them...'s right. Strengthens t' character.. makes them rememb'r.. "He had repeated himself again, said quite a similar thing to what he did before."So s' why our ship was right. Not cold.. no. Right...!!"He felt at unease, but feared that if he tried to sit, his chair would slide from under him of it's own free will. Caught inbetween standing upright and sitting, he now looked like a lost pup.

The sight of the other boy, unsteady on his feet, clinging to the table to prevent himself from falling brought Peter up into a similar half-standing position. Separated by the table there was nothing he could do - he could not reach de Guarde without drawing the very attention that he hoped the other boy could still avoid.

Lieutenant Bush gave a critical eye to the midshipman struggling to keep on his feet. The boy should have behaved according to his station and not like a drunkard just starting his tour of the town. Learn the ways of this ship and respect and honour it as you should its crew. This boy's blatant disregard of that had the lieutenant very close to the point which De Guarde could regret.

The doctor's plan had been a fine one, up to the point where the youth scared his servant witless so that now he was as useful as the fly on the wall.

"..Sit down..Mr. De Guarde." Kinsella has finally noticed his younger messmate swaying uncertainly at the edge of the table. Half turned, he held his arm across the back of his chair, eyeing the young boy.

"And you too. Mr. Yates."He said this, without even looking at the boy who stood to help the drunk, before he found the desk to be too much in the way. A few glances were cast their way. Curiosity reflected in the dark and lighter coloured eyes of young boys. His voice held authority even without the need to be raised to a volume that would attract attention.

Mr. Fletcher looked uncomfortable as if he felt that it was each of their own faults that one of theirs was acting so poorly. His cheeks were also not as pale, yet his glass sat beside his hand, filled only once and even now no less than half full. He didn't particularly enjoy the taste and couldn't see why the new boy had managed to drink so much of it. He worried enough to have his food forgotten on his plate. A treat that would show how terribly Fletcher was concerned. Dunnock, seeing that, slid a small bit lower in his seat, and so Fletcher uttered a stiffled gasp of surprise, when he felt a light kick against his leg.

Mr. Dunnock motioned to his plate, as if to tell him to eat now while he still had a chance, as it was possible that the events would escalate into disaster. He leaned closer and murmured something to Fletcher, which had the boy smile uncertainly.

Master De Guarde felt a hand guide him not too gently back onto his seat. When he turned he came face to face with Kinsella's back. The boy was irritated, still he did his part and did not need to see this further. The midshipman visibly relaxed, reaching for his glass. His coordination was poor enough that he nearly toppled the wine right into Bush's own lap. With luck on his side, it did only tremble dangerously, making a sound only a tall glass could make when in peril, and then stayed put in its' place.

He attempted this venture again.
Mr. Kinsella reached forward and took hold of Mathew's wine filled glass placing it to his right and thus furthest from the midshipman. Mathew scowled and reached for it.".. Keep yourself seated, Mr. De Guarde."The boy whispered loud enough for his peer to hear. It didn't seem like the addressed one was amused. He struggled to stand to retrieve the glass, which had exchanged hands one more time.
He took a step forward, then it seemed his feet fumbled, caught perhaps on the chair or on the other foot. Without a single sound to confirm his distress, the midshipman fell flat on the wooden floorboards. Kinsella's eyes narrowed and for a moment his own displeasure was as same as that of Bush. Unlike him though, he stood and reached to get Mathew back on his feet. If there was anything to judge by his expression, he most certainly wished that De Guarde would disappear in thin air, and nobody at the table would take notice. "I told you to sit."He murmured into the boy's ear, Mathew's glossy eyes blinking once. Atleast he did not faint.

Dr. Crozier had witnessed the fall with something akin to shock. He was shocked by the affront to decorum, and surprised that the lad could have ended up so very drunk in so little time. He felt ashamed on the boy's behalf, and apologetic to the captain, and embarrassed for the army guests having to witness such a spectacle, but at the same time he wanted to laugh in a most uncharitable manner. It would do the wretch some good to be laughed at. But now was not the time.

His voice working slightly faster than his brain, he turned and said, "Mister Yates--"

A growl on the opposite side of the table interrupted him. Mister Bush had seized the drunken lad by the collar and was holding him upright in his chair. "Mister Yates," he said in a low and dangerous voice, "After you take De Guarde to the midshipmen's berth, you will give my respects to Mister Tadcock and come back with a full report on our rate and spread of sail and the condition of the wind." He gave Yates one final ominous look before releasing his grip on De Guarde's collar and returning to his roast beef.



[ooc - I know it's godmodly, but I know that Bush would have gotten angry and taken action by this point.]

Until the thump that was the young midshipman falling to the deck, Brandeson had been happily lost in a warm haze of wine-induced bliss. The sudden growl of voices after De Guarde fell, however, made him blink and shake himself, like a dog stirring itself awake.

"Ho! The boy's learnin' the joys of wine," the Marine lieutenant slurred, peering at the disturbance with an expression of keen interest. "Good lad!"

Behind him, Hardy made a face. He would have to make excuses for his officer and very soon. Then there was the unpleasant task of shepherding the man out and to his cabin. Dammit.

Crozier rolled his eyes in unusual exasperation. Everyone had tactfully avoided mentioning the boy's disgraceful behaviour until now. It would be Brandeson to shout it out to the whole table. There could be no pretending that everything was fine and normal now.

"I think Mister De Guarde is perhaps overwearied from the excitement and strain of his first day on a new ship," Crozier suggested. Though perhaps that was worse. "Major Findlay. Another potato?"

"Bu'.. I dun'.. wan'ta go." He would not have been this bold to give such an answer to his lieutenant if he was sober. A simple, Aye sir, would have had him packing in the proper direction fast, even if inwardly he would've disagreed.
However, he was drunk and with that the inhibitions of rank did not look to matter. The fall had shaken him somewhat, but in that he felt as if the food he has eaten was now threatening to burst free. Being held upright on command, the collar tightening it's hold around his neck, worsened how the situation.

His glazed eyes were turned to Bush, never realising that he was waving his hand deep into the lion's den by daring to speak now. Sober, and that look the man had would be enough for him to come to full submission and tremble like a leaf in the water.
He overheard the cheer to his recent experience and found reason to smile near proudly thinking that it was a compliment. "m' a wishin' to stay 'ere.. M'a'right!" He sagged somewhat into the chair, when Bush had earlier released him. Struggling to pull himself upright, his hand reached briefly to his lips. He felt an unpleasant rising sensation up from his belly. Had he not been drinking so fast and took time, ate more first and then consumed a glass, perhaps this would not have reached such an unpleasant form of drunkness.

Peter was already on his way round the table to obey the lieutenant's instructions when de Guarde, his face now a most unpleasant green, vomited. The contents of his stomach, made liquid by the wine, spewed out over the lieutenant. Peter gave a horrified gasp, and caught at the other boy, pulling him upright. The chair toppled over. The ship's boy stepped back, but managed to catch at the other arm, and between them they got de Guarde away from the table. Peter grabbed a cloth from the table and pushed it into the boy's hand. Bush was on his feet, and the Army officer, with a look of complete contempt on his face, was moving away from the unpleasantness.

Peter looked briefly at Bush, but continued to obey the last command. "Take him out on deck first," he whispered to the boy, as they left the cabin. "Let him throw everything up into the sea. We don't want that in the berth!"

The midshipman gave no protest when he was lead from the cabin, feeling miserable enough, since the moment he fell.

This would not bode well at all. Right at the captain's own dinner, before a select number of guests, as it happened. It would be no less right if it happened amongst their own peers of the navy, but right before the army it was a whole ship's size worse. Quite the kindest thing it was, for Mathew now, that he was so drunk that he was not yet aware of much but the twisting of his belly.

Most of his weight lay on the hands of the two boys, his feet dragging a part of the way. He did try to attempt a step or so himself but the two boys' desire to get him out at a fastest speed, left him mostly unable. There was a small exchange of looks between the helping midshipman and the young servant. The latter looking timid shy and fearful too as if it was his fault, when too he knew it wasn't.

De Guarde felt another wave of nausea before they even managed to reach the outside. A pitiful sound left him as warning.

His servant boy noticed it and called to the sober midshipman in alarm. Just out the doors, with a fresh sap of wind greeting the three boys, Mathew succumbed to the ill sensation again. With a pause in between he was hefted up hurriedly and lead in the shortest way possible to ship's side. Making sure that it was not one where the wind would have all that the youth let out of his body, fly right back, they allowed him to lean over in a safe manner.

His hands were planted onto the railing, held on one side by the servant boy, and on the other by Mr. Yates, who had a certain concerned look on his face. Who knew if it was about De Guarde really, or was it lieutenant Bush's misfortune that worried the boy.

De Guarde retched again, his body tensed up, his face pale with an unhealthy greenish hue. All that he has eaten before was now seen flying out into the sea. A short trail of vomit was followed by the boy's coughs. His eyes were squinted tight shut, knuckles white, his legs nearly giving up from under him. A few hitched breaths were intercepted several times with the jerk of his body forward, his muscles contracting without even having him vomit. When he did do it again, there was much less of the food than before. He was shaking softly, trying to catch his breath, his skin clammy, cold sweat appearing at his brow. He did feel a hand on his back, but could not tell to whom it belonged.

Peter patted the sweating, heaving back beneath his hand. "Better out than in," he murmured in the words his mother had always used when they had been sick as children. "The sea won't mind." He did not add that Mr Bush had looked pretty furious though. That would have to be dealt with later. He spoke to the ship's boy, standing back from de Guarde as if he expected to be beaten for interfering. "Go and get some water from the butt, and a clean cloth if you can."

"You'll be all right," he said to de Guarde, as his back heaved again. "You won't die of it. But ... Thank you." He poured some of the water onto the cloth and offered it. "Wipe your face," he suggested, "and there's some here to wash your mouth out. Then we'll get you down to the berth."

He was aware of Lieutenant George, the third lieutenant and officer of the watch, keeping a sour eye on them from the quarterdeck. But most of his attention was on the other boy.

The dancing seamen and Marines had drifted apart, enjoying a respite from their merriment and rest their feet. Chase himself was leaning against the boat tier, a slightly weary but satisfied grin on his face. His back wasn't paining him greatly and he was pleased with the present situation over-all. As could be expected, the sudden appearance of two midshipmen and a ship's boy had not gone unnoticed and in little more than an instant, it seemed that the entire crew on deck were surreptitiously watching to see the already-despised Mister De Guarde disgrace himself.

Chase grinned darkly and looked away after a moment. Served the boy right.

Shakily he took the moist cloth. He squeezed it in his hand, fingers smothering the coarse fabric. Still he felt another rush of ill feeling and turned to the water who took what was cast to her without retribution. Perhaps there were a few fishes below that were even now taking what came from above, feeding in merriment.
It was over. He had heaved once, twice, but it was barely a dry attempt. He coughed and breathed in heavily. He spat and fought the urge to vomit again, feeling as if he had run a mile or two, rather ten perhaps and had done a dozen times of day's work just in these few minutes. Even if his body would heave, it had nothing more to bring forth. So exhausted he felt, and just so weak right then. Numbly he touched the cloth to his face. First drawing it across his forehead and then his eyes and cheeks. At the very last he wiped his mouth, feeling and in part even smelling, the foul scent of it's contents.

He looked at Peter, his face contorted as if in pain and took the water from him. He had to lean against the railing again and fumbled with the container, till he was able to take a small sip just to have it run it's course about his mouth and then spit it out again. He did so a couple of times and had to wipe his face then, with the clean part of the cloth, and then he was finished. It was in no way perfect, for the taste and the uncomfortable burn that was in his throat, remained, lingering behind. Still, it was a start.

He looked to Yates then lowered his gaze. He looked at pitiful as he was feeling."..I...I.. guess.. we can go..now."He whispered tamely, timidly. His voice was low and shaken, cracked ever so slightly. He did not see Chase, though perhaps, even if he had, he would do little then. He felt miserable and his only wish was to curl up in the hammock now, try to sleep and leave it all behind. His eyes could outline the shapes behind Yates, which seemed to have the boy only shake a bit more. "..a..are they..watching?"He whispered, the most of thought that he could achieve in this state, and the most of conversation too.

"It doesn't matter," murmured Peter, meaning that whether anyone watched or not, every sailor would hear about it by the change of watch, from the servants at dinner if not from those who had stopped their dancing to observe the three boys. "We'll get you into your bunk, and you'll feel better in the morning. It does happen. The Major - the younger Army officer - has been sick for days, and no one thinks any less of him for it. Come on." He offered de Guarde a hand, to help him from the rail and down to the midshipmen's berth.

"..The major's... not an officer of the navy.."He took Yates's hand slowly. He didn't even give the little servant a threatening glare, although at any other time, he would've wished to. He stumbled and nearly fell, both of his arms taking a weak hold on the other midshipman's coat. He steadied himself.

"Why..?"He pushed the hands of the servant away, when they came forth to help him. the deck was as uneasy before his eyes, as it was to those of land, having to travel aboard. He tried a step, yet his coordination was still not up to par. So before he could sag onto the floor, it was the younger midshipman's task to bear a portion of his weight. And just help him walk, step by step, that he could do. "..Why'd..ye pat.. my back?"He whispered, the shy servant boy remaining a good distance from them. He though did keep looking at the sober midshipman not to miss an order from the boy. He just did not want to get in trouble, he feared he was in. Even if, it was just child's logic that had him think so.

Edrington had been paying little attention to the midshipmen's end of the table, until his attention was attracted by Brandeson, whose drunken stare had seemed unfocussed until it recognized a fellow toper. These things happened, on land as well as on sea, although he would not have expected it at a dinner hosted by the Captain. Steps should have been taken earlier, and not only in respect of the youngster.

The noises from beyond Bush had given Edrington just enough time to move out of the way as the young midshipman emptied his stomach contents over his first lieutenant. Bush was rising to his feet, calling immediately for swabbers, for someone to clean up the goddam mess, and the freckled midshipman from the far side of the table was there, pulling the drunken boy away, with a firmness underlined by compassion and horror. The servants were moving quickly, and almost as soon as the boys had left the cabin, a small group of men with buckets and swabs and repressed grins had come in to clean up the floor. Edrington checked himself swiftly to confirm that he had avoided contamination and, with a glance packed with meaning directed towards Thompson, he sat down again, looking attentively towards the Captain.

Peter supported de Guarde's steps across the deck, aware of watching eyes. "Take it easy," he said as they reached the companionway, and he slid down past the other boy to ease his way down. He hoped that de Guarde would forget his question, because it seemed silly to say that he did it just to show that he was there, as a kind of reassurance. You patted animals, or sometimes children - his mother had always them a comforting pat and a rubbed back when they were unwell; you did not pat your messmates, not when they were as prickly as de Guarde.

(Now that's the third time I press the wrong button to post.. one would think.. *slaps forehead* My. )

The descend was slow yet safe. The young freckled gentleman had gone beyond his duty in his attempts to help his fellow to his hammock. He was indeed a true borne gentleman. Not a single misstep or a moment where Mathew would have stood in danger of falling. He did quite the same on the next ladder. Squeezing themselves through the small spaces left for the men to walk while below, they had finally reached the mid's berth where Mathew asked for a moment of rest. He breathed in sharply, leaning against the wall heavily.

"...are y' goin' t' return?"He asked, after a nod was given as a simple signal that he could continue to his hammock. Slowly he began to climb into it, the lines of his 'bed' stiffening under the added pressure. He was so tired that his eyes were closing even before his body was in position ready for sleep, and his hands held on solely by need. He did not inquire further about the pat, perhaps forgetting the action or that he asked Yates about it at all.

[I couldn't stop posting as Edrington earlier, despite checking the heading! Argh!]

Peter stood for a moment, watching as de Guarde slid immediatey into sleep. As the first day in a new ship, it had been a disaster. Whether the damage could ever be repaired, he did not know. Whether de Guarde would hold a grudge because of Peter's actions was also unclear. The boy who had come aboard, who had tried to bully Peter in those first few minutes, who had ordered the flogging - he would not like to feel under any obligation to another boy. But Peter now thought there might be another boy in there, too frightened to come out and be friends. Well, he would see.

But now he had better do as Mr Bush had ordered. He straightened his coat, and tried to smooth his hair before going to ask Mr Tadcock the Master for a report on the progress of the ship. That was all right - Tadcock was a decent sort. What Peter was dreading was the return to the Cabin to make his report to Mr Bush.