In the night on Terpsy

Peter had been watching, admiring the competenet way in which everyone had done exactly what was needed to retrieve the man, but realizing how incredibly lucky it had been for the unfortunate that someone had seen him go over. The discovery that it was de Guarde shocked him - he had been charged with looking after the drunken boy, and clearly de Guarde had got up and, still confused perhaps about which ship he was on, fallen overboard while looking for the heads. It was the only explanation Peter could think of.

"Mister Yates," Leat said calmly to the youngest midshipman who happened to be standing near him. "Who was it that sounded the alarm?"

"I don't know, Sir." Peter looked worriedly at the officer, and then glanced back to where de Guarde was being pulled on board. "I was asleep. I didnt' hear anything until they called 'all hands'. I don't know how..." He looked back. "He must have woken and gone to the heads, Sir."

Thompson had helped Branning and Higgins get the seamen to move away as Lieutenant Leat appeared on deck and asked Mister Yates who had raised the alarm.

He swiftly knocked the dottle out of his pipe, still clenched in his hand, before tucking it into his jacket and coming to attention in front of the Lieutenant.

"It was me, sir," he said, hoping to God he wasn't going to get into trouble for anything now.

Leat glared at the Marine.

"It was you?" he repeated.

The last of the boat crew had clambered aboard after stowing their oars, Chase amongst them. He couldn't help staring in bewilderment at the midshipman lying in a puddle on the deck.

"I don't bloody believe it," he muttered. "Weren't he sleepin' belowdeck?"

Thompson swallowed. He did not like officers glaring it him. But then, who did?

"Me who raised the alarm, I mean, sir," he said, standing to attention as stiffly as he could, though he would have preferred being able to merge anonymously into the crowd of sailors and off-duty Marines who had come topside to see what was going on.

"You saw Mister De Guarde fall?"

One of the sea faring fellows looked to Chase, seeing as he'd come with the others to bring t' young gentleman back 'aboard.
"'s ee dead?"
He stood at a distance permitted, not wishing to have Higgins nor Branning at his neck. He glanced at the youth lying motionlessly on the ground, an eyebrow raised.

"I didn't exactly see that, sir, no. I were talkin' to me mates and heard a splash and realised someone had gone overboard. Didn't know who it was, sir, just sung out."

So it was Mister De Guarde, was it? Not even aboard a day, and someone had already tried to do for him... the state he was in after dinner, Thompson would have been surprised if the lad could walk straight, let alone climb the companionway to get back on deck. Without help, anyway.

Had Leat not known any better he may have suspected Thompson of doing the deed himself; but the Marine was a generally honest man, singularly lacking in guile, and it was Leat's opinion that not even the best Drury Lane actor could reproduce the look of horrified innocence on the private's face.

"Where was Jacob Chase at this time?" he asked, his voice low and full of warning that the man had better tell him the truth or at least point him in the right direction of it.

A slight frown came onto his face upon hearing Leat's question. Did the lieutenant think he was responsible for the middie's fall over the side?

"I was on the foc's'le, sar, wit' Williams an' Chicken Dyer. We was tossin' dice." His eyes went wide. "But we weren't playin' fer coin though!"

Chase wouldn't do a thing like that... would he?

"Below, sir, I think." Or was it Chase's watch on deck, this watch? How was Thompson supposed to know that, anyway? That was down to the Lieutenant, wasn't it?

"It was me and Private Branning, and Seaman Barrow up here, sir. And Private Higgins came a bit later, just before... before..." He trailed off, keeping his eyes focussed on the middle distance, hoping that Chase hadn't had anything to do with it.

Leat gave the topman an angry glare and strode over to him, gripping his shoulder and steering him away from he captain and the other officers.

"Now listen here, Chase," he said, his voice low and venomous. "I want it known along the gundeck that I am not best pleased with this. I don't want to know names, I don't want to see a grating rigged, but I damn well do not want to see this happen again! De Guarde may be a tyrannical little s---, but an insignificant little s--- and it puts shame to the Terpsy that anyone even thought of doing that to a boy!"

His eyes flashed angrily.

"I am telling you this, Chase, because I want you to tell your mates. And I trust you would not lie to me, so for now I will believe you had nothing to do with this."

It was a measure of how angry he was by the fact he had physically taken hold of Chases arm, gripping it tightly.

Peter had gone over to where de Guarde lay on the deck, and was concerned with how still he was lying. "Has someone gone for Dr Crozier? He..." He gave the youngster an experimental shake. "Come on, wake up!"

Thompson glanced around and saw young Danny Milburn, watching with the group of adult sailors, a look of shock on his face. The Marine grabbed the boy, not harshly, but urgently.

"Danny, lad, go an' find Doctor Crozier. Smartly, now," he said, and smiled reassuringly at the youngster, who bit his lip and nodded. "Good lad," Thompson said, letting him go.

He crossed the few feet of deck to where Mister Yates was kneeling over De Guarde.

"Just sent Danny Milburn to get 'im, sir," he reported, looking down at the still white figure on the deck. "I... I hope he'll be all right, sir."

"Did he fall?" Peter asked softly. "He must have come up here - though how he could, I don't know. He was absolutely... " For a moment he hesitated, then he remembered that the Marine had been there, at the dinner, and had seen what happened. "I thought he would be asleep all night. But if he woke, and decided that..." He stopped again. What he was thinking was - well, unthinkable. De Guarde had made a very bad start, but he was still arrogant enough to think that he could carrry on. He wouldn't have jumped - he was not the type.

Chase returned Leat's angry glare evenly. "Aye aye, sar," was his reply. Blimey but the lieutenant had a strong grip. "Me'n'Chicken'll pass the word directly."

His head swayed gently with the motion, a bit of water trickling from the corner of his mouth. He gave no indication that the slight shake had woken him. His face was still pale, glistening softly in the light, his hair clinging to his skin, glued across his forehead. Eyes closed, while his lips had parted thanks to mr. Yates's disturbance.

"I don't know, sir," Thompson replied to the boy's question.

He'd been vaguely aware of men moving around, but hadn't really seen anything.  And Marine or not,  he wasn't going to go randomly accusing fellow Terpsies of trying to do for a young gentleman.  Wouldn't be right, that, 'specially without proof.

Because that would be mutiny, of sorts, and the punishment for mutiny was hanging - or flogging round the fleet, which was worse.  He remembered the Great Mutiny at the Nore, the year he'd 'listed, and wouldn't wish that punishment on anyone - and then there had been the mutiny aboard Temeraire, back '02. He shivered a little at that memory.

"Let me through, let me through," Dr. Crozier said sharply. The men were all gathered around the two seamen, gaping and staring. "Move, there!" He looked across and saw Billy Barrow, coughing but alert, and he turned to the motionless smaller figure lying on the deck. The new midshipman. He looked up at the nearest sober-looking man. "You, please, Thompson, kneel here. Give me your knee. Take his hand." He rolled the lad onto his side, elevating his chest slightly against the marine's leg. He rolled him forward, and there was a sputtering cough as the lad expelled most of the water from his lungs onto the marine. "Good, good," Crozier said gently as he repeated the action.



[ooc - mutiny? nah, he was probably sleepwalking. That's what I'll say.]

Peter breathed a sigh of relief, and looked up at the doctor. "I didn't hear him get up," he said. "He was fast asleep, when I woke up earlier."

He was coming to himself, and felt the pressure thrust water from his lungs. One.. two times, another more, he did not count. He breathed in sharply then coughed more, the water bubbling up on his mouth. His body felt numb and freezing cold, so that the knee had felt much warmer to his chest and even through the soaked fabric, he could feel the pleasant heat. He tensed, his hand weakly squeezing on the marine's cuff, fingers entwining themselves in the coarse fabric. Pulling, though it may not even feel like a hold to the owner of the clothes. A small groan escaped the young gentleman, the next breath he took, more fulfilling than just one before.

Never ever ever stand near an officer looking like you're doin' nothin', he reminded himself, too late, as the Doctor got him kneeling on deck before rolling the middy against him.

"Oh, for...!" His trousers were soaked through and Thompson didn't want to even begin to imagine how much water the boy had swallowed.

"Will 'e be all right, sir?" he asked, hoping the boy would be. If not, there was going to be serious trouble, and he didn't want to find himself in the middle of that.

(ooc : The 1001 ways of how to use a marine . Without them, the navy would be so lost!)

He would never have thought to see a side of any marine's trousers up this close. It wasn't quite a dream that any would have.
Panic was about to grip him, till he realised he was no longer in the water, while the voice behind him belonged to the doctor. This was the very man who had offered the marine against which he was perched, some medicine earlier. By the sound of it, mr. Yates was here too, and with the grounds firm beneath him, it was certain he was back on board. Either that, or his afterlife had a strange collection of chosen memories to forever accompany him on his last voyage.

Shakily he reached up to his eyes and rubbed them, wiping at the salt that was begining to dry there. The strain on his body was real, his muscles twitching tiredly. Most the water he's drank had been expelled from his body, a second time that night that he been in such a situation.

"..m'..fn'.."He mumbled, a small cough, dry.