17th July: The vile tempest

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.
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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.

"That's how it was reported to me, sir," Thompson said. He'd been a little more concerned with seeing to Gunn, and it was quite enough to even be standing upright belowdecks to listen to a report. Besides, if Whyte couldn't tell the difference between 'passed out drunk' and 'asleep' there was no hope for the lad, in Thompson's opinion.

Either that, or... Nobody could be as naive as that!

"Probaby either casting up his accounts himself, or helping those who do", MacTavish suggested. The possibility that there might have been a more serious accident he banished from his thoughts - it would just jinx things to say that.

"There ... sit down there. Uh, what shall we do now?"

"Alright.. I'll report this to the lieutenant.." Which? He was going to go with the closest or the easiest to find, have the information climb up the ladder itself then.

"How is the man assaulted fairing? Are his injuries grave?" That was the last bit of information he needed before he would report. Later, Thompson could make a full recollection of events himself, of course.

"He'm awake an' talkin' to us, though if his head ain't ringin' like a church-bell on Sunday, me name ain't George Thompson, sir! I've sent him to the surgeon to be looked over." Thompson gave a very slight shrug - Gunn must have the hardest head in the detachment if a headache was all he was suffering after that crack.

"Send him my good wishes..Thank you, corporal. Is there anything else..?" Tobias nodded. Thompson was dismissed to return to his duties unless there was something that he had not said before. Tobias would go quickly to report.

He gazed up. The skies looked threatening and dark. "Take care not to get swept over board." He said, with a light smile.

"Thank you, sir, I will... and no, sir, there ain't." He managed a salute and glanced up to the sky before giving the young gentleman a quick grin. "I'll do me best not to, sir," he said, before heading below to see how his Marine was faring with the surgeon - and what was going on with the drunkards.

The wind had grown in strength. It was much harder now to keep hold, the wood and the ropes have become slippery with the wetness the wind had brought up from the sea and the clouds had brought down. It was cold, clothes clung to their frames, turning into distorted layers of 'skin'. Fingers were becoming number which made climbing the harder.

There was another near miss. The seaman had managed to use the momentum to his advantage and grasped at the ropes with the roll of the ship. Wind whipped around their ears and commands were even harder to hear.

"She's a wild one." De Guarde had thought as he shifted his footing. A little further below a midshipman was shouting, his voice carried away.

"We'll wait here. If he don't come, we'll just go back to our duties. I'm fine, just the head's thinkin' it is on a different roll to the ship." Gunn responded in gaelic again, since it was easier and the fellow that was keeping him company, knew it. Thew were alone here now. Not too surprising if one considered the number of men battling the storm, more so, that not too many were brought in with injuries. "When was it last we checked on the surgeon. Could'a well been washed over board. Think of that!" Somehow it held some humour.

He touched his head tenderly. "We should be back there, sorting out the drunkards..." He muttered annoyed.

Thompson clattered down the companionway. Despite his years of service which meant he was usually as sure-footed as the most able-bodied of seamen, he had to hold onto the rail because of the erratic storm-tossed motions Terpsichore was undergoing.

He headed for'rard to the sickbay, stopping just inside the door and holding on a bulkhead in case of any unexpected lurches the ship might make.

"How's the head, Gunn?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the creaking of the old wooden ship. It wouldn't surprise him if the other Marine had a head like a blacksmith's forge after the knock he'd been given, after all.

Gunn had just barely fought the initial instinct to straighten up quickly and possibly have that head knocked in yet another beam at the sound of Thompson's voice. Even the amount of sudden movement which he was quite unable to stop had him cursing quite soundly. It was not in English though, and he just as abruptly quieted down.

"Fine, corp'ral." He answered more quietly. "Not seen the surgeon yet." He raised and dropped his shoulders in a shrug. His head was pounding still. "But we are both needed with those drunkards, not here." He said gazing at the NCO.

The instinctive jerk of Gunn's straightening up didn't escape Thompson's quick eye.

"At ease, man," Thompson said, the words sounding strange in his mouth even as he spoke the ages-old formula. "Them drunk sots are bein' seen to, don't you worry about 'em - that's my job, why they give me the stripes." He grinned, still a little self-conscious even after this time. He was getting more used to it, though.

"When you've seen the surgeon you can come back an' we'll see if there's anythin' you can help with, where them drunk bastards're concerned. But not till you've seen the surgeon, got it?"

"A'right corp'." James answered. He did not particularly fancy waiting for the surgeon, but if the order was such, he was not going to argue it. "...is it..going down now? The storm? How is it outside?" He inquired judging the storm only by the rocking of the ship from the inside, and hoping against all odds that perhaps the worst had been through. The wood made the unpleasant creak and whine that never promised good things, especially as it meant their 'tub of wood' had been exposed to terrible stress.

"Still pretty much as ever it was," Thompson told the other Marine. It wasn't as bad as some storms he'd been in - the one back in '05, in Surprise's journey round the Horn was about the worst in Thompson's experience - but it was quite bad enough. "Terpsy's a good sailer, though, there ain't nothing to fret over. This is just a bit of a blow, nothin' like the Horn, or even Biscay in winter."

And he had to go and find out what Mister Sewell wanted to do with the drunkards. As if he hadn't got enough to do anyway, without having people add to it.

"A'right corp'ral." James nodded slowly and leaned back. He was not quite sure it was not a bad one, but there was no arguing with an officer, even if a non commissioned one.

He glanced at the other marine. "Well.......we be here if surgeon decides t' show up."

MacTavish came back without a surgeon or even the loblolly boy, just catching the last bit, and shook his head.

"He's nowhere to be found - and from what I hear, somebody slipped and fell on the fo'c'sle and needs him too."

He frowned.

"We'd better not leave you alone here. My mother always said you shouldn't sleep with knocks on the head!"