21st July; Man o' War Bird

OOC - Takes place concurrently with Marines Aloft.

IC -

This was as close to absolute freedom as a man could get on any ship, Chase thought with distinct satisfaction. He sat comfortably perched in the main royal top, his legs swinging freely on either side of the yard, leaning casually against the thin spindle of mast that continued up another few feet. Only the masthead pennant was higher than he, and it was fluttering easily out ahead and half a point to starboard. Chase had drawn lookout duty for the afternoon watch. Not that he minded. Way aloft here, he was out of reach of officers and the boatswain alike, which suited him just fine. Unless he spotted something anywhere on the horizon, of course.

Grinning to himself, Chase wiggled his bare toes and relished the fresh topsail breeze that whipped against his loose shirt. Terpsy was sailing well, he thought, carrying almost a full press of canvas. He tugged absently at the chin-stay of his tarred hat - his one concession to the glaring sunshine - and looked around. The sea was empty save for them. Nothing out there to spoil a glorious day for sailing. The warmth of the sun on his back was more than adequate compensation for the chill of the wind. Sunlight made the light ruffle of waves far below glitter like thousands of diamonds as they rolled lazily up to meet the frigate's bow, where the water curled over onto itself in a creamy froth. Chase glanced aft and down, to where the long shimmering stream of wake eventually smoothed out into calm sea once again. A fine day indeed.

Only one thing could spoil it and that was clash of cheers and shouts below him, in the maintop. He leaned out over the yard a little and peered down, heedless of the unsteady spiralling of the mast at so elevated a height. There were two bullocks on the maintop platform, with more gathered on the weatherdeck. What were they doing? From this height, he could only see the scarlet blobs of their jackets, but that was enough. Blasted Marines. It would be! They were bound to ruin the afternoon with that racket. They were all too good at spoiling things, really.

"Whyn't you stow that noise, you cakey sods!" Not that they were likely to hear him way up here. Especially since he was not foolish enough to shout so anyone could hear.

The commotion below was hard to ignore. He had his duty to attend to but his previous idle enjoyment of the afternoon was all but gone now. Damn that red-jacketed pack of lubbers. Chase's only consolation was the sight of a Marine halted and motionless on the shrouds far below, with two others hovering close around him.

"Lo, that'n's a bitter-weed!"

Lubbers indeed. Some of the bullocks knew how to go up and down the rigging but that one certainly didn't. Chase looped an arm around the thin spindle of mast and leaned out a little further. He couldn't tell who was down there, but judging by the ongoing calls and shouts, whoever the idiot Marine was had frightened himself into immobility. Shaking his head and smirking, Chase settled back into his previous position. It just proved the truth, didn't it? Marines would never be the equal to seamen.

For some minutes, at least by his estimation, he had been able to ignore the noisy Marines far below. This was managed more by him singing an old fisherman's tune to himself than anything else, but in due course, the clash of voices rose up to assail his ears again. Scowling, the foretopman leaned out away from the yard and saw one man begin the descent from the maintop to the deck. The hint of white on the man's sleeve betrayed his identity and Chase curled his lip.

"Don't you have a down souce, lubbers!"

Though it wouldn't bother him much if any of them did. Like as not a tumble from such a low part of the mast would not hurt them anyway. Hardheaded bastards as the bullocks were.

Thompson paused and looked up, squinting against the bright blue of the sky to see the sailor perched high above him. "Cheese it, that man!" he bellowed, as much as he could from his position. He thought - though he couldn't be certain - that it was Cob Chase. Didn't the man have anything better to do than heckle him and his men?

Ah. Oops. Maybe he should be more mindful of his volume. Even though he could not really help it that his voice was naturally loud and thus carried further than he usually intended.

Still. Chase smirked and shook his head. "Aye aye, duffan." It was almost worth answering that idiot bullock in kind. Almost but not quite. Instead, he made a quick, rude gesture, then turned his attention back to the endless expanse of sea the ship was sailing so briskly through.

"Chase! You dunnock – you ain't supposed to let 'em hear you callin' 'em names!" Sam's position on the topgallant yard had let him hear both Chase's friendly abuse of the Marines below them both, and the Marine Corporal's reply.

"You's gonna get yourself on a lee shore, you keep that up," he added, finishing up with his whipping the tail-end of the particular piece of cordage the bosun had sent him to tidy up. He grinned, standing up to scan the horizon, the wind teasing his hair.

"Bah," retorted Chase, "sod him, he's nothin' but a vellan." What could the bullock honestly do about it, anyway? Climb up here to box Chase's ears?

"He's a Marine," Sam retorted. "'Course 'e is!" Though what they wanted to do, playing at sailoring, was beyond him. They weren't likely to head any higher than the maintop, though, which was something at least.

That said it all, in Chase's opinion. He grinned and looked around at the shimmering sea, squinting a little against the glare of sunlight on the waves. There was no doing anything with the Marines. They could barely make their lads climb to the maintop, for pity's sake.

"Aye, they're a parcel of poxy landsmen, an' no better. You been watchin' 'em down there? It'd be funny but whisht."

"Course I bin watchin' 'em, when I've had a minute," Sam said with a grin. He couldn't join Chase all the way up on the royal yard, not with Chase's being lookout, but they could still have a bit of a chat like this. "Never seen such a palaver about nothin' before," he added with satisfaction.

"Aye," Chase agreed, tugging his hat's chin-stay clear of his ear, where it had been started to chafe. "Mebbe it's them tryin' to be like us!"

They'd need to do a far sight better than they were, from what Chase had observed. He grinned. Not that Marines were ever a patch on true salted foremast Jacks.

"They ain't tryin' very hard, then!" Sam saw another rope's end that had begun to fray and sat down to deal with it. Anything that could legitimately keep him busy up here had to be a good thing.

Chase shook his head. "They ain't, neither." He leaned out a bit and raised his voice, unable to help himself. "Better, mebbe, if they kept to the deck, where they belongs!"

"You're gonna get yourself in trouble, baitin' 'em like that, mate," Sam remarked, grinning. Though with the Corporal's now being on deck, chances were he hadn't heard what Chase had said, even if he had spoken a bit louder this time.

"Sod 'em, what's he gonna do? Climb up here an' stop me?" Chase retorted. He'd like to see that great dobeck try!

"Like to see him try," Same said, grinning up at the sailor above him. "He's likely to collar you once you get back on deck though, if you don't stop yammerin' at 'em." He shrugged. "Dunno what he's thinkin', though, tryin' to get all them bullocks into the top, though. Everyone knows bullocks stay on the ground."

At that, Chase simply grunted. Promotion had gone straight to Thompson's head. Even Johnson, grumpy as he always was, knew when to leave the seamen to their own devices.

"Mebbe one of 'em'll miss a step an' near to do a header," he remarked, choosing to ignore Oxley's mild rebuke. In a way, the other topman was biassed, having a brother who was a bullock himself.

"Mebbe," Sam replied easily. "Won't be me swabbin' that mess up if they do, though." He grinned; he'd seen his brother playing around in the rigging as though he were a Tar himself, very nearly. Which was something none of these idiot lobsterbacks could boast of being able to do.

Chase laughed. "Make 'em that work their own selves! They'll be good at it, I'd wager, all the polishin' an' pipeclayin' they does."

Sam laughed. "Like I said: won't be me swabbin' it up." He made himself comfortable. "Oh, we're leaving sunny Mexico, round the corner, Sally! Around Cape Horn we're bound to go, Round the corner, Sally!"

There was another good thing about being so far removed from the weather deck. Up here, there was no boatswain or tight-wound officer of the watch to stop a lad singing. Chase grinned.

"Round the corner is a long, long way, to Valipo and Callao Bay!" He did not have much of a singing voice but it had never stopped him before. "Round the corner we must roam, we don't care if we never go home!"

"Oh, were you ever round Cape Horn, Round the corner Sally! Where your arse is never warm, Round the corner Sally!"

Up here, he could sing and who cared - this was the life, after all.

Taking up the chorus was easy. Even though the Navy frowned on shanties, there were few lads indeed who didn't know them. They were an age-old part of sea life. Chase had learned many of them, including this one, while in his first ship. And he only a ship's boy in those days!

"Round the corner is a long, long way, to Valipo and Callao Bay. Round the corner we must roam, we don't care if we never go home!"

This was fun. And it wasn't as though he wasn't working, either. "There's ice and sleet and sleet and rain, Round the corner Sally, You'll meet them coming back again, Round the corner Sally!"

"Round the corner is a long, long way, to Valipo and Callao Bay. Round the corner we must roam, we don't care if we never go home!"

Strangely, it was easier to keep an eye on the sea and horizon all around with something else to do. Like sing the chorus to the present shanty. The partial distraction was one Chase relished.