21st July; Man o' War Bird

"It's up aloft this yard must go, Round the corner, Sally, 'Cause Mister Mate he told me so, Round the corner, Sally!"

A nice day to be up here and with nobody standing over him with a rope's end... Life couldn't be closer to perfect, right now.

His legs were swinging idly on either side of the yard, almost in time to the tune. "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!"

It didn't occur to him that he and Oxley might be overheard by anyone below, either. Not that he would have cared. Who was going to come up and stop them anyway? Thompson?

"And when we reach Pacific seas, Round the corner Sally, Oh we'll drop in to Madam G'shees, Round the corner Sally!"

He swung one leg idly as he sang, his hands busy unlaying the strands of the rope further so he could whip it neatly.

Nothing on land was a patch on this, thought Chase. What more could a man ask for? A sound home, regular meals, a trade that was the nation's pride... never mind having mates of a kind impossible to find in any work ashore. He scratched at his ear, waiting until Oxley had finished his verse before starting in on the chorus.

"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 - "

He'd never know later, or at least be able to claim what made him look toward the larboard horizon, two points off the bow, but the faint shimmer of something that was not flawless blue sky snatched at his attention. What was it? A sail? Chase squinted against the glare from the sun, his previous mood of idle contentment completely gone. It looked like it could be a sail. Hull down, certainly. No more than royals, even, they were so indistinct.

Hell. Even not positive about what he was looking at so far away, Chase knew his duty plainly enough. He cupped a hand to his mouth and leaned out a little away from the yard to bellow downward. "Deck there! Sail ho! Starboard bow, two points!"

"What the -?" Sam scrambled up, squinting out to the horizon in the direction indicated.

"You've got a good set o' lungs," he commented to Chase, nearly under his breath in anticipation of a hail from the quarterdeck. "Good eyes, too."

It was definitely a glimmer of something that wasn't sea and something that wasn't sky.

The message was repeated and several figures on the quarterdeck took out spyglasses while the order for all hands to make sail was delayed for the moment. The angle was too low, however, to see more than ocean and haze.

Mitchell, who had the watch, shouted up:

"What can you see?"

"Royals!" Chase was staring hard at the distant sail, trying to make out any further details about it. Anything at all that might tell him more about the other ship.

"She's hull down!"

"Stay up there and keep an eye on them!"

So they had enough time to make sail, and would need the best manouverability.

Mitchell gave the order and soon pipes and voices called all hands (or at least those who actually were able to do it) to make sail. No longer than a few seconds after that, the shrouds began to fill with sailors.

A midshipman was also dispatched to inform the Captain.

Sam was out on the main t'gallant yard anyway so all he needed to do was scoot along the footrope to the end of the yard so he could pass the earring - one of the most skilled jobs a topman could do when making sail, and one that took a lot of nerve, being right out over the water.

He was soon joined by the other maintopmen, who all busied themselves with the canvas, though not without sending some scowls in his direction for being up the wrong mast. Who cared about a thing like that though!

Smith came up and before going out onto the yard held out Mitchell's very good spyglass to Chase.

"'Tenant says don't drop it!"

Where the devil did the officer think he was likely to go? And whyever would he give up such a choice seat to watch events unfold, anyway? Even making sail was not enough to make Chase even passingly consider joining his mast crew. He was thoroughly absorbed in his allotted duty as masthead lookout and nothing short of a sudden tearing storm would see him abandon the royal top.

"Sir." Chase didn't blink at the midshipman's appearance, or his remark about the glass which he held out. An instrument designed to aid his purpose was much too valuable to be careless with, whomever it belonged to! The topman took the glass and lifted one leg up onto the yard, bracing his bare foot against the sun-warmed fir. Balancing an elbow on his bent knee helped steady the glass.

Of course, the dizzying sway of the mast made focussing the glass difficult, but it helped a little to have made the instrument part of that same motion. Chase pushed backward against the yard, using the foot he had brought up, and with his back pressed more firmly against the masthead, he was able to see about as clearly as he was likely to.

"Aye, those are royals," he said, more to himself than the midshipman. "Looks like three masts too. Damn her for not havin' even a pennant flyin', though! Dunno who the devil she is!"

Having been given the word that a strange sail had been sighted, Bolitho was out of the Great Cabin at once and promptly came up on deck. Lieutenant Mitchell had the watch, and so he quickly approached the man.

"What news, Mister Mitchell? Have we any inkling as to the ship's identity?"

"No, Sir. She's still hull down and there's no pennat visible. Probably three masts. I send Chase up my glass, but sofar, nothing definitive. Since we have the time and the weather, I just had the hands shake out a reef, Sir."

Mitchell bounced a bit on the balls of his feet.

"We seem to be on a conservative intercepting course at the moment. Should we change that?"

"No, remain on this present course for now. If and when the ship shows her colours, however, that may be a different story."

Frowning, Bolitho took up his own spyglass and peered out into the distance, though he could discern nothing further beyond what Mitchell had relayed. Not that Bolitho had doubted the information. Chase was a good topman, after all. Surely the sailor would spot any flag flying from the ship at once.

"Aye, Sir. Present course it is!", Mitchell aknowledged. He thought for a moment, then informed the Captain about the other deviation from normal business.

"Those Marines in the fighting top are new men going up for the first time, Sir. Gone up, rather. Corporal Thompson is the one in charge."

Sewell, standing a few feet away, nodded, indicating that the exercise was done with his authorization. He added briefly:

"Thompson's idea. Good one."

"Indeed?" Bolitho looked between Mitchell and the Marine lieutenant, then glanced up at the aforementioned men above. In truth, they did need to learn sometime, and this could end up being a very valuable teaching exercise. Thompson was thinking on his feet quite well, then.

"Well, let it not be said that the Corporal lacks any initiative," he said, smiling slightly, "It seems his promotion was a fortuitous one indeed."

"Aye, Sir."

Sewell retreated into silence again, leaving Mitchell to continue on the more technical aspects of their current situation.

When he saw their French guest on deck, however, he felt it necessary to ask:

"An escort for Aspirante Vachot?"

Not that he necessarily thought that the boy planned anything evil, but he felt better knowing it for sure, and there was also the fact that should they need to beat to quarters, somebody needed to make sure the boy did not accidentally get in the way or hurt.