17th July: The vile tempest

"I'll be goin' with them, corp'ral, sir?" Whyte said hastly. He had found the drunk, he had come back here and obviously he was not needed here! He looked up at Mactavish, then at Gunn.

He stopped to listen then. The creaking had been different as the sounds of straining would before. Higher up, still however terribly unpleasant.

MacTavish shook his head, looking more relaxed now that Gunn did not seem to be in trouble. Trying for his best English, he answered:

"Some of the new sailors. I saw that Carpenter's Mate, Hodgins, and three others. A dinna ... know their names, Sir."

He looked at Whyte for confirmation or further information.

---

Sew stood motionless, listening, but was already trying to remember where Hodgins fitted in the ship's hierarchy.

Sailors. Thompson felt relieved - he had thought for a moment that it might have been Marines, and was very glad that it wasn't.

"Can't believe you let a bunch of Tars get the drop on you, Gunn," he said. This would have to be delegated upwards, to an officer - especially in this weather. There was no point in having them confined in irons if they might be needed on the pumps or something, after all.

"Whyte, you're to take Gunn's musket and replace him as sentry here until I can get someone to relieve you. MacTavish, I want you to help get Gunn to the sickbay - the surgeon'll want to see to his head."

And then he needed to know as much as possible so that he could make his report to the officer of the watch who would decide how to handle things.

Whyte looked sceptically at the musket, though of course he did not dare to disagree with the corporal. He picked it carefully, lost grip when the ship lurched again and looked up at the sound. "Yeah.. what he says...there was this one.." He went to explain trying to straighten without dropping the musket. He succeeded and looked at Gunn then back at the door, remaining unlocked. "Corporal...what do I do if they come again?"

"They won't be coming again," Thompson told him. "Not if what you and MacTavish said about them gettin' pissed, anyhow." He gave the boy a slightly doubtful look. "You have bin trained about usin' a musket?" he said, suddenly wondering if he was about to be ordered to give the boy extra training in the coming weeks.

"Of course I have!" Whyte exclaimed, straightening up. "..Done it... some of it. Enough of it." He added rather sharply to leave no doubt that he was capable.

"Only... they could come to get some more.. or tell their pals." He glanced at the officer too, feeling he could be up to the task but then looking at Gunn, ..though, he had been told by these seamen that none of them had clouted Gunn over the head. He blinked again.

MacTavish pulled Gunn's arm over his shoulder and gave Whyte an encouraging look, answering nearly at the same time as Thompson:

"The state they are in, you watch them hit the other guy!"

He blushed.

"Sorry, Corporal. Uhm ... taking Gunn to the surgeon now."

Sew told the youngster rather grimly:

"You keep your eyes open, you challenge them, you warn them, and if more than one tries to attack you, you run and inform us or a naval officer. Make sure you get a good look at them."

"Sir I'm 'aright ..." Gunn murmured. His head was hurting and there was blood, but the youngester in James's mind, would not stand a chance against drunk men. Of course, he could not offer himself as a replacement. He had proven to have failed at the job.

He leaned a bit against the other marine. "...The ship's bloody moving like a......like a kicking horse!"

"Storm picked up ... once you have a cold cloth on that head of yours and the surgeon has done his stuff, you'll feel right as rain."

MacTavish more or less gently pulled Gunn towards the sickbay.

"I ain't an officer, I'm a Corporal," Thompson pointed out mildly. "And I don't care. You was out cold and I want the surgeon to see you. If he says you're all right to come back on duty, you can take over from Whyte and finish your watch here."

He needed MacTavish to help Gunn to the sickbay because there was no way Whyte could support the man there, not in this storm, if it turned out he couldn't walk straight.

"It's just a bit of a blow, that's all, nothin' to worry about," he added briskly. "Stop hangin' around here and get him down to the surgeon, MacTavish. Good man," he added as the Scot took Gunn's arm to pull him towards the sickbay.

"Anythin' else, sir?" he asked Sewell as the officer came out of the storeroom.

Gunn decided he did not have the energy to say that with sir, he did mean the same sir that Thompson was addressing moments later.

He nodded to MacTavish and then proceeded with him towards the sickbay, wishing the ship would stop tilting for atleast the amount of time that he needed, to reach his destination. He groaned as they were far away enough he muttered a curse in his native tongue.

MacTavish understood well enough to get the meaning, and grinned. Somebody who could still curse wasn't dying yet.

"There ... sickbay. Don't let them cut your nose off."

He gripped Gunn firmer around the waist to free one hand and shove the curtain back.

---------------

Sew nodded to Thompson.

"Inform the Captain and find me an officer who isn't vitally important on deck at the moment. If none can be spared ... then you ask where these ... men should be if we can get them ready for work. I'll keep an eye on them."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Thompson said, grateful for the direction which meant that he was not left trying to think of what to do about the drunkards.

He turned to head aft to see if there was an officer he could report to.

Bailey gave another shout moments before the wave splashed across the deck. The seamen had all had a good sense to strengthen their grip and but for one who slipped, but held on, not one had been washed into the waters below.

The youth nimbly dropped back on deck. the task had been completed and the sail was secured from the danger of flaying itself to bits.

Gunn hoped to get out of the sickbay as soon as he had entered it. He was not keen on loosing limbs, that should not have been cut and he really though that with a bruise on the head the surgeon could hardly do much. Maybe he would bleed him. He did hear how often people were bled. It for just about anything and everything, though it did all depend of the surgeon and his preferences.

He wondered how little Whyte could do much should the drunkards come for another tot. Well, good luck to the kid!

MacTavish tried to navigate them around without bumping into anything, a task made harder and harder as the storm picked up even more.

"Uh ... Doctor? Sir?", he called out.
---------

Sew couldn't be sure over the sounds of the ship, but ... were there the singing voices again? Closer this time?

"Silence!" he commanded, not loud, but sharp, raising a hand in a descriptive gesture.

There was a midshipman who looked as if he was free to deal with things belowdecks - he would at least have a better idea than Thompson of what, precisely, could, or should, be done with the drunk seamen.

"Sir," he said, holding on to the lifeline as he approached. The salute he offered was not the sharpest ever, thanks to the storm and the movements of the ship under the Marine Corporal's feet.

"Mister Sewell sent me to report that there's a group of seamen as knocked out one of our sentries and broke into the spirit room, sir, and they'm all dead drunk 'tween decks." He had to shout to make himself heard over the noise of the storm.

Whyte straightened at his post. The musket seemed to feel more a hindrance at the moment, than an aid. He was nervous. The seamen were known as a rowdy bunch, drunk ones could only be worse. The moment the officer would have been completely gone, any shadow and turn could hide a potential drunk sailor. He was not afraid, no, or atleast that is what he kept telling himself. He was just nervous because drunk sailors did not use common sense!

He listened, glancing in the direction of the officer. Gunn was gone and that man was big and still left with bruises!

Gunn leaned against the side. He looked up. The ship was still tilting and leaning and making all those sounds that made few people comfortable to stay deep below.

"Is he awake?" He muttered in gaelic, glancing at the other man."What's taking the bastard so long. Sure he isn't hiding somewhere hoping for a miracle?" He was in a sour mood, his head still hurt.

Tobias turned at the salute, taking a firm hold of a lifeline himself. He recognised the corporal but had a hard time hearing what exactly he had said. There were men dead ... something .. beneath decks? Somebody killed the men? There was water rushing in below and they had drowned? The sentries had a brawl with the men and knocked them out?

"What?" Please repeat!" He had shouted back taking a step closer. "Are the sentries fine? There's dead men?"

"Drunk men, sir," Thompson bawled back. "Knocked out a sentry an' broke into the spirit room."

And if the lad couldn't figure what had happened from that bit of information... Mister Bailey was more than capable of figuring it out for himself, though. Thompson hoped.

"Oh." It could not be heard, the boy had not said it loud enough to be heard even in normal conversation, should there be the slightest breeze. His mouth moving however, and the expression of realising what the other man had just said, was enough to know that he had indeed understood this time.

The expression changed again into something sharper and much more serious. Assault on a marine, theft from the ship's stores was no laughing matter. "Have you got the men under arms yet?" He shouted. "What are their numbers?" Good, perhaps they could lead this conversation somewhere where a surprise wave would not have either hacking or caughing and where the wind did not steal half of the words. He glanced over his shoulder after the water had ebbed away. This had to be dealt with immediately and then an officer informed.

"Below deck." He shouted and made the move in the direction. He had turned around a moment later. Kinsella, the other midshipman closest, had been given the signal. The youth would be back promptly.

Thompson shook his head. "They're all passed out, sir!" He took a tighter hold on the lifeline and leaned towards the boy - he did not wish to repeat himself if he could possibly make himself understood the first time. "I dunno what you want doin' with 'em, sir!"

"Have you made certain that they are passed out?" The youth appeared unconvinced. Even if the men had got drunk to that point, he would have it rather to be put under guard. Since it was endangering the ship, should they run free, they could be put in irons and then a lieutenant informed of the action taken.