In the night on Terpsy

Now they were alone in the sick bay, Crozier eyed De Guarde skeptically. "You weren't on deck, you say. Are you sure you couldn't have been sleepwalking? The effects of alcohol can vary. And I must tell you, Mister De Guarde, you were drunk at dinner. No, don't try to deny it, lad. You were drunk. But tell me, do you often drink that much? Don't be sullen now - I'm asking as your ship's surgeon. If perchance you rarely overindulge, your body might not be used to it and might react strangely. That could explain the sleepwalking."

(Yep! 's also the safest place not to be stolen. Hidden nicely under his shirt and all! Either that, or.. we will need a good hammer soon XD.)

"...I've drank my s-share... doctor."His eyes wandered from Crozier, thankful that he did not make the same request again. Surely the fabric was cold and wet, and he found himself unable to warm it even with the heat of his body. Still he did not wish to remove it, not before the midshipman earlier, or the doctor here.

"...'m know...it's n-not sleepwalking s-sir... I'm s-sure of it."As convinced as his words sounded, as harsh as was his voice in whisper, was he really sure to know what happened? The implication of a wanted attack was a serious offence, and could not compare to a light accusation of uncleanness or drunkness while aboard.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, pulling his legs slowly closer.

"...s'..not ..n-not me first t-time drinking.. s-sir. B-but.. I wouldn't... 's not me.. old ship.. b-but... I wouldn't l-loose footin'... on 'er. N'.. I..I ..wouldn'.. g-go climbin' when...f-feelin' like this. ...'sure deal, sir!" He hoped the man would understand, unwilling to admit so boldly that his drinking had been more a late found companion.

(and with this I have t' be going! Good night yeall! )

Crozier nodded and made noncommittal sounds, waiting while the midshipman swallowed what was in the glass. "Well, we'll talk more in the morning. But now you should rest. You should sleep here tonight. Are you feeling warmer at all? Come now, breeches off, lad, before you catch cold. Oh, thank you Mister Yates. Here are your dry clothes, Mister De Guarde. I'll wait behind the partition."

Being only half drowned rather than three quarters drowned and having been looked over by Dr. Crozier, Billy was left to the care of his friends. Spencer helped him stagger below to find some dry clothes, and Bristol Joe somehow managed to obtain a hot reviving drink made with rum and some more rum. Billy felt a bit strange, but he was becoming himself again as he warmed up.

"So - what happened? What did I miss?" he asked with a grin.

The world had gone mad, Johnson decided. All the bustle, shouting, and shrilling boatswains' pipes had disturbed his work, which of course put him in a right poor temper. His sewing now lay carefully stowed in his sea-chest and he was belatedly stomping on deck to see for himself what all the fuss was about.

"What's all this noise for?" Johnson demanded of the first man he saw upon reaching the weather deck.

Jim Samuels jumped to hear the sour-tempered marine corporal singling him out. "Oh, um, well, two men went overboard, the new midshipman and Billy Barrow, and the boat just brought them in. Sir," he added tentatively, not yet knowing how to address the marines.

Johnson puffed up like a snake about to strike. "Sir?" He overlooked the first part of the seaman's reply for the moment, belligerently singling out the wrongful address as the only thing worth responding to. "Do I look like a bleedin' sir to you?"

He took his dry clothes from Mr. Yates and with his arms still shaky, he began to dress his shirts. He then took the stockings, observing both the doctor and the younger midshipman till they would move out of sight, while pulling the long and warm material up to his knees. It was only once they were both behind the partition that he changed his breeches quickly. The wet pair was undone and pulled over his knees, very quickly replaced by his other , dry two. He had been in such a hurry, that with his limbs still not at full control, he nearly fell.

Last came the coat that good Yates had brought, and he dressed it with greater ease."..Doctor..where should I l-lie?"He asked, feeling the warmth slowly liven his limbs, the stutter itself was almost gone. "Mr. Yates.. my key."He added.

The other midshipmen have mostly returned to their berth, with the exception of Fletcher, who remained on deck. Kinsella and Chandos were in deep discussion, young Dunnock tailing behind. Their conversation lasted all up to the their mess table, and it took a great deal if inward persuasion, that they did not remain right there instead of taking what precious sleep they had left.

Thompson saw Corporal Johnson come on deck, looking more sour than ever, and ask something of one of the sailors. His response to whatever the sailor had said made the Private wince.

Sounded like he'd just been called 'sir'. Not good...

Thompson didn't know what made him cross the deck towards the pair. He stood to attention, and said, "Beg pardon, Corporal, seems to me he's just an iggerant sailor who don't know no better, not bein' a Marine."

Samuels was looking nervous and confused, and he gave Thompson a shaky smile and nodded in enthusiastic agreement. He had been pressed only a few weeks ago and still scarcely knew who was who. "Sorry, uh, corporal. I didn't mean..." But then he decided that the corporal probably did not care for an explanation. Returning to the earlier subject, tentatively, he said, "Thompson saw the whole thing, from when the midshipman first went overboard. He can tell you better than I can."

In the sickbay Dr. Crozier emerged from behind the partition, joined by his assistant who had been attending to Barrow. "You'll sleep there," he told De Guarde, pointing to one of the hanging cots. "Feeling warmer? Good. Oh, thank you M'Clure. Here's an extra blanket, and I'll see you in the morning." He gave the lad a brief smile of reassurance before departing. M'Clure remained a few minutes collecting the discarded clothing items and putting the sickbay in order, and then De Guarde was left on his own to sleep.

Mathew climbed into his new bed, curling under the warm blankets, which were slowly bringing life back into his body. His arms were squeezed between his knees, hands flat on the skin, so that the warmth was properly shared. Tucked in up to the neck, and in some places, even higher, the boy began to feel more at ease. He waited only to have his small key returned, the chain on which it rested pulled over his head, and the key tucked neat under his shirt. As young Yates had earlier carried it in his hand, the small piece of metal felt warm to touch. "...night.."He murmured, and it was meant both for mr. Crozier as also for Yates.

It didn't take long then to fall asleep. It was neither the time, nor his condition, to worry and think, deliberate and fear for the dreadful event to be repeated.

It was hard to make such an impression in such a short time. Not many could boast to have had first drunk themselves silly, and then had a whole ship jump to their aid all in the same day, let alone evening. Perhaps, it was true that one would not boast about that either... Or wish to be found doing it or being the cause of the frustration.

Colour returned to his cheeks, yet it remained somewhat sickly.

Somewhere aboard the ship there were the men that at this moment worried,no longer as drunk or as foolish. After all ... the boy was still alive.

Peter came back to the mess to find the oldsters getting back into their bunks. They looked at him with eyes that questioned, but did not ask anything. Six bells. It would not be long before Peter was on duty, and although he slid under the blankets he did not think he would sleep again. The only reassurance he had was that the officers had their own suspicions - he did not have to do anything, since he had no knowledge.

Despite himself he drifted into a light sleep, and dreamed of sounds, voices whispering, that he could almost recall on waking, as Chandos shook him awake, with his usual firmness. "On deck, you slugabed. The excuse that you were up half your watch below will cut no ice with Mr George."

[I can't find the watch list! Is this right?]

(List is here, and that looks good to me)

Mentally, Thompson cursed Samuels up one side and down the other. Trust him to step in to help a lubber, and then get dumped in it by that same man. He stiffened, waiting for Johnson to turn his attention onto him. It was not a good idea, risking the Corporal's attention when he was in this sort of mood, it really wasn't.

Luck for the poor seaman came in the form of Private Thompson, though of course that didn't help Johnson's temper any. The corporal scowled at both men in turn, his mind working furiously. So it had been a midshipman who'd gone over the side? The new one most likely. Stupid child.

"Pure good luck he was fished out then, wasn't it," Johnson grunted, the seaman's unintentional slight forgotten for the time being. "Pure good luck. Carry on then," he added abruptly and turned away, already disinterested. His true opinion was exactly the opposite. It was damned poor luck that the boy had been saved. There were sure to be future repeats of that afternoon's flogging, instigated without doubt by that uppity snot of a midshipman.

Below decks, two men sat huddled near a lashed-down cannon, conversing urgently in low tones. Their plan to be rid of the new midshipman had gone completely awry, no thanks to Barrow the coxswain. Now it would be impossible to get near the boy, since the captain would take a very close interest in any man who seemed overly attentive to Mister De Guarde.

"We gotta try agin, 'fore gettin' to Lisbon," one of them said. The other shook his head vehemently.

"Too chancy. Cap'n'll be watchin' alla us like hawks, he will. Damn Barrow fer goin' after the boy!"

The two men talked for a bit longer about other things before drifting away to their respective hammocks. At least there was little danger of the whole affair being tracked back to them.

[OOC: I'm sorry, I forgot to add the watch list. Problem has now been rectified, and the updated list is here. But Mr. Yates is correct. He's on watch with George and Chandos.]

"Good."

Leat released Chase and let him go about his business. De Guarde had been carried below and the crew was now dispersing, the drama for now being over. He was about to go below when he caught the captain's eye across the deck. From what he could tell from Bolitho's expression it seemed he was not the only one who suspected foul play - but whether Bolitho would wish to speak to him or even dare voice an opinion on that matter (even in the comparative privacy of his own cabin) he did not know - and half prayed that the captain would not wish to.

Thankful to have escaped without being chewed out by Johnson, the damp Marine Private hurried below to strip off his wet trousers and pull on his second, dry pair. They were mighty creased from where they'd been shoved into the corner of the sea-chest he shared with Private Vining, but at least they were dry and comparatively clean.

He wondered who had decided to try to do the middy in, because he'd been in no state to get topside by himself - he'd had to be helped out of the Captain's cabin earlier, after all.

Thinking about it would help nobody, and that was down to the officers to sort out anyway. Right now, it was Thompson's watch below and he pulled off his jacket, folding it neatly and stowing it carefully in his seachest. He shook his head over the state of Vining's spare kit, shoved in any old how, before closing the lid/

As he turned away from the rail, Bolitho glanced across the deck and met Leat's gaze. He had caught a glimpse of the lieutenant talking to Chase, which meant that Leat was having similar suspicions about De Guarde's mishap. But surely Chase could not have done such a thing. He had not seemed to be a man who would want to take such a vicious revenge, even with the provocation of the flogging. Yet, even if Chase had had nothing to do with the incident, it still seemed too suspicious to have been merely an accident.

For a moment, he contemplated calling to Leat. But then, he thought twice and instead turned back to stare out at the water again. It was much too soon to be throwing such strong accusations about. He would save that conversation for another time, when his mind was more clear. God willing, nothing else would happen in the meantime...

Mercifully Bolitho turned away, and Leat felt somewhat relieved. He had received the impression that the captain was a man of tact, and this seemed to prove the case. Making his obedience (not that Bolitho would see it, but that did not matter) he headed to the aft companionway and returned below decks.

Peter had been fidgety during the watch, so much so that Lieutenant George had told him to take himself off and learn something useful. He had accompanied Chandos on his morning tour, and then been deposited with a grizzled sailor who would, it was explained, teach him to tie knots. He was not totally sure at that point why he would need to tie knots, but at least it occupied his mind, and he found he no longer watched for the return of de Guarde or - and this he found disturbing - for signs of someone having a guilty conscience.

While some aboard the ship have still wondered, how the drunken midshipman was able to fall into the chilling seas, the youth was found sleeping peacefully back in the sick bay. No longer trembling, he had a healthier colour and temperature to his skin. Still he remained with arms tucked carefully under the blankets, not to allow any of his warmth escaping.

It was about two hours later, that his arm had finally wormed its way from under the blanket, exposing itself in the darkness. His hair needed a sure time of setting it back straight. Still it had become mostly dry, allowing the boy a more comfortable kind of rest, without the unpleasant dribbling of water right behind his collar. He moved and turned , lowering his blanket a fair deal, sighing softly, and nuzzling the coarse fabric that kept him suspended in the air. There had been a worry at the back of his mind, to face his superiors after the dinner's ordeal. A thought that had wormed itself into his dream, which by it's own had been short and frail, his mind not ready in it's induced state, to proceed to make well with his sleeping.

He jerked awake at one time. Startled at his surroundings, for they were not as those on his former ship, nor even as the ones in a middie's berth. With the darkness he could struggle to make out anything of the space. Instead of attempting an investigation though, he merely shifted around to his other side, closed his eyes again and tried to sleep. He felt hungry now, for his belly had carried no food, since making most of it find it's home in the first lieutenant's lap, while a part has become fodder for the fish. His mouth felt uncomfortable, the taste itself rather unpleasant, his head throbbing and turning for worse, when he attempted to heft himself to sit. With his luck it was still early.. so that the majority of sounds, did not come from men, but rather from the ship riding the waves.

It took a while longer before sleep seemed to abandon him completely. He sat, and did this with a small sound of protest. His muscles felt as if he had been pulling the ship in becalmed waters, all on his own. Shakily he touched the floor with the tips of his feet. He eased himself fully out of the hammock, his movements slow and strained. He wasn't sure where he wished to go, or if he even was in permission to depart the sick bay, so he decided first to cross the distance to the closest wall. There , with a few heavy breaths, he rested wishing that the day would never start, which to his regrets it was doing. "m'.. head."He whispered hoarsely to himself and touched a hand to his temples. With the palm facing inwards, he slid the hand across his eyes. He felt the slickness of the scar, it's unusual texture that did not fit with the rest of his skin , and it's firmness, with which it held the rest in contact.

"..."He dropped his hand to his side, gazing in the direction of the exit.

(OOC: 's a lil' good night for you all!)

Once released by Leat, Chase didn't linger on deck. He paused only long enough to call out for Chicken Dyer and then he was gone below. The second lieutenant's suspicion had made him a little resentful but such a negative emotion wouldn't last long. Only long enough for him to pass Leat's sentiments on to the others on the gun deck.

"Cob, there y'are!" Billy called to him. "What happened? I feel like I missed most of the excitement by bein' in the water. Did I see you in the boat? Did you pull an oar with your back all in stripes, man?"