July 19th 1809: Water

"Yes, sir." De Guarde answered dutifully and then looked at the man. He wondered if he was needed for anything more or if he could not be excused to return on deck.

He shifted around to look at the path which they had taken to get here then again at the officer. "Do you need a midshipman called sir?" He inquired, having caught himself before he would suggest that he goes report this. He was not a midshipman any longer even if old habits died hard.

Mowett wavered on the lad's suggestion for a moment.

"Yes, please. That would be helpful," he nodded in confirmation, still ruminating over what he was going to say, should the captain want a report on the damaged casks.

"Helpful indeed..." Mowett sighed, tapping out a tune on a cask thoughtfully - seemingly lost to his troubled thoughts.

Mathew de Guarde saluted quickly, turned on his heel so fast that he nearly made a whole turn again and managed to stop himself at the vary last moment too and then he was up the companion way and out of sight, searching for a midshipman who could be of a greater assistance to the lieutenant. He bolted past several seamen once he reached the deck, ducking around the few that had just stepped or unintentionally moved into his way.

The midshipman did not look at all happy that day. It might have been that his morning lessons did not go as planned, or perhaps that he had been caught reading a booklet that held no educational value, when he should have been studying, but he was pouty and he was surly. His booklet was now confiscated and he did not know yet when he might recieve it back.

It was then that he spotted a former midshipman and presently a barefooted seaman, run towards him as if the ship had been on fire. He did not see any smoke, so that made him relax a little, but his mood it certainly did not improve. Great, more trouble?

De Guarde grinned and ran for the midshipman. He explained to him rather hurriedly that Lieutenant Mowett wanted him to come below - well any midshipman, but this one would do - and then turned to lead the way again forgetting himself a little though hoping the semi urgency would have the other moving in the right direction.

With an annoyed scoff and a grunt, and a mutter which the other youth could not hear, the midshipman followed suit wishing he had not been the first to catch the lad's eye as then he might have still been left at peace.

The two descended easily into the dark of the ship, and this time the seamen who were not on duty but had been below or in various states of movement, made sure to stand out of their way and only continue, once the pair got past them. It did not take them long to descend again into the hold.

George was one of those who were below when the two moved past.  After letting them by, he made to follow them but stopped just before descending into the hold.  From where he stood, he could hear the sound of voices coming from below him.  

It was not that he expected to learn anything of value.  Most likely rats got into the ship's biscuits.  But he was curious and he had nothing else to do at the moment.  So he made himself comfortable as he listened.

"Mister Bailey, sir." De Guarde introduced the midshipman that he had brought with him and then stepped to the side and a little out of the way. He had not noticed that a seaman had followed them, nor the silhuette that lingered still close to their present whereabouts,, though for a moment he might have thought that somebody had been watching. This thought though he abandoned rather quickly, as a pair of rats bolted past them and disappeared into the dark as quickly as they've come.

Mowett hadn't anticipated the arrival of the midshipman to be quite so quick. De Guarde was a good and capable lad really, perhaps a bit shy and underestimated by most of the crew. He did as he was told, however and he had to praise him on that.

"Well done, de Guarde. You've done well today." he smiled at the boy.

Mowett went on to nod at Bailey. "Now, we have an issue here, Mister Bailey." he pointed in the general direction of the water casks, a slightly grimaced look on his face.

The 'issue' was more thoroughly inspected by the midshipman once his eyes got more used to the dark. He felt the dampness and the tautness of the ropes, and nodded slowly. "Are there more damaged?" He asked, having not been able to inspect all. He was already certain that if they wished to shift them, they would need some help.

Mitchell, by now in urgent need of something to clean out his head, since his writing was going nowhere, was heading down towards the orlop deck, partly because he wanted to stretch his legs, partly because he was just too curious and had just seen the coattails of Bailey in that direction. In his experience, a midshipman hurrying anywhere but the head was always a source of either entertainment or concern, so he felt completely justified to follow.

What he found first, however, was not Bailey, but instead an obviously lounging Braxton. Looking around, he asked:

"Braxton, have you seen where Mr. Bailey has gone to?"

Issue ... damages ...?  His first thought must have been correct.  Rats.  At least that was what it sounded like.  He couldn't help but feel a little bit disappointed.  A voice suddenly came from behind him.  George jumped.  His heart must have skipped a beat.  He had been so intent on listening to the voices drifting up from the hold, that he had not heard Mr. Mitchell's approaching footsteps.

"Yes, sir.  He went down into the hold, sir, with de Guarde."  He paused, debating whether to say anything more.  But he couldn't resist.  "I think some millers have got into the biscuits, sir."

"Blasted blighters! Can't they start being a bit patriotic and only harrass French ships?", Mitchell muttered under his breath. He began to climb down into the old as well.

"Well, come on then - let's go do some hunting. The more the better."

"Thankfully, the other casks are unscathed. We might have another..issue, however." Mowett explained, almost waveringly.

"Thing is, there's just three of us. We need more hands to get these out." he motioned his hand at the offending casks.

"Two pairs of hands coming up - where di you want them?", Mitchell asked cheerfully. "Although for hunting rats, I think some of the boys are of more use. I'm positive I saw some of them practice with a sling. They could at least do something practical with their skill then."