8th June; On-the-Job Training

"Mebbe t'ere's hope fer ya yet," said Boyles, producing a ha'penny from his pocket which he held out to Button. "Which of 'em d'ya work first fer changin' tack?"

Chase made a noise sounding rather like a cough. "Dontcha reckon that's a bit beyond him yet, Boyles?"

A ha'penny, for getting it right? He took the coin, a little shyly, but answered the next question without hesitation. "Braces."

He'd seen this, and worked the braces himself once, sweating on the fore-royal brace with someone tailing for him - keeping the rope taut around the pin to help the yard move round in a seamanlike way.

"Beyond him, Chase?" Boyles wanted to know, a knowing grin on his face.

To his credit, Chase made a show of looking abashed. "Well, aye, mebbe not."

The sharp squeal of boatswain's calls rent the air, accompanied by a harsh shout for the yards to be braced a point around. Grinning, Chase nudged Button before leaping to work.

Terry grinned, shoving the coin into his pocket before taking the royal - it might be the highest of the yards, but it was also the smallest and therefore the easiest for Terry to work. He might not have the weight of the older seamen, but he still knew how to use the natural movement of the ship to help and the best way to use what little weight he had.

Boyles had gone, joining the men of his own mast crew, leaving the foreotpmen to their own devices. Happily! Chase had begun to resent the petty officer's sticking his nose in.

"Haul steady, mate," he said cheerfully to Button, tailing on to the line the nipper had chosen.

"A-course!" Terry was affronted. As if he wouldn't!

Now beaming, Chase spared a heartbeat to tweak the lad's ear before putting both his hands back onto the foreroyal brace, where they belonged. Davey Hobbs had come in just behind him so it was easy work to get the yard hauled around to the desired position.

"Secure, cully, smart-like!" Dyer called over his shoulder, from the tops'l brace. He too was grinning.

The coils of Terry's rope were far smaller than those of the other braces, which was only natural because his arms were so much shorter. "There," he said, pulling the last bight through to hang the coil from the belaying-pin.

That was much better than trying to remember half a hundred different knots.

"There's a lad," Chase said approvingly. "Don't need a maintopman buttin' in to teach you!"

"You allus bin a foretopman?" Terry asked, a shy grin on his face as he looked all the way up at Chase.

"Aye, ever since I were rated Able." Chase grinned. "Was a waister 'fore that, of course. So'll you be, due time!"

"Ahoay, bohs," a stocky, dark-haired seaman greeted as he picked his way toward them with a broad rolling gait. "Thou look gennal an' fitty. E'n the nipper theer. He's a' gone away, the look'a him!"

Terry looked up with a blank expression on his face. What the hell - that didn't sound like any sort of English he knew!

Chase grinned. "This here's Eghan, cully. Don't worry, we can't unnerstand him our own selves, half the time."

"Augh-augh," the dark-haired seaman said, making a show of great disbelief. "A' thou's frum across, sure, not knowin' th' oul' Manx glare." Then, beaming, he thrust out his hand at Button. "MacShemine's m'self."

"T... Terry," Terry said, looking stupidly at the offered hand for a moment before realising he was supposed to shake it. "Um, Button," he added. Most folks would probably know him by his surname eventually, anyway.

"Aye, thou ha' twa names, lek e'rybidy. Theese bohs learnin' ye? Gotta be keerful wi' 'em. Himself 'specially. Bit'a gallaperoo, he is, mind."

Chase rolled his eyes. "You'll put the lad off, you will."

"I's doin' me level best," Terry said. Why on earth did everyone think there was something strange in a boy trying to learn some sailoring - wasn't that why he was here in the first place, after all?

"Nah, mate," Davey Hobbs interjected. "What he means is, be mindful of this'n, 'cause of him bein' crafty."

Chase put on an expression of innocent bewilderment. "What, me?"

Terry shrugged. "He ain't no bully-fop, an' if you think I's a go-alonger, well, I ain't," he said stoutly.

"Augh-augh," said MacShemine with a knowing look, "ye foretop bohs is tarrable thick, aye! Thou'll do a'right wi' Himself, mind, he's a right skeogh hand. Fine fer learnin' nippers."

Chase and Dyer exchanged glances, then Chase said, "I'm goin' off forrard, 'fore me brain boils itself tryin' to unnerstand you, cully!"

Terry looked up at the sailors apologetically before scampering after Chase.

"Don' mind 'em, they's jus' joshin' you," he said. "I like learnin' wiv you."

The topman shook his head. "Oh I doesn't, us'ally. Our Hector's just a Manxman. He couldn't talk decent English if it belted him round the ears! Here, whyn't you bide with Dyer a minute? Make him show you a rollin' hitch."

"Jus' wanted to say. An' you showed me that, 'member? Round me hat?" He put his hand up protectively in case the older sailor tried to swipe it again.

Terry would rather practise the ones he did know before trying to learn any more, he thought, though Chicken was nice enough. And knew the cant, too, which was kind of... homey.

"Aye, so I did. But you ain't done it your own self. Mebbe later. Tie him all up in bowlines, then! He deserves it." Chase grinned, midway through slinging himself over the bulwark to the Marines' walk. "Might need the foreroyal brace for it though!"

"Gotta practise them ones I does know, ain't I?" Terry said, and shrugged. "He ain't that bed. An' fanks." He didn't know quite why he thanking the older sailor, but gave him a shy grin and headed back to the others.