Light duties and men

"It meant the loss of the whole ship, if he hadn't acted, if I understand you right. He could hardly have made any other choice." He glanced up at the masts as if judging whether they were at risk in the coming storm.

"Sometimes you have to decide, whether to risk a company, or more, or a ship, to gain an advantage. You may lose the men you send in first, but the hope is that fewer will die in the long run. That is a worse decision than not saving a man fallen overboard, since you must select the men who must risk death - this company, not that."

[OOC: I am going to practise my swimming before the storm sets in]

"I'm still glad I don't have to make them sort of choices though, sir." He saw where the officer was looking. "Perfectly sound, these masts, sir. Though they'll send down the topmasts if the captain reckons it'll be a bad blow. Surprise's mizzen mast was damaged in action afore the storm blew up."

(OOC - have fun swimming)

"I have no doubts," Edrington said with almost audible doubt. "It is a nuisance, though. I thought that we were having too easy a crossing."

Midshipman Peter Yates wrote:Peter smiled at him. "Thank you, Branning," he said. "I will fight alongside you - you hit them over the head, and I'll stab them in the ... in the stomach." He looked up as a cloud blotted out the sun for a moment - white clouds scudding like ships or sheep across the blue. From here, looking south, he could see the darker edge of more clouds gathering.

"Be glad to, sar," Branning said. The young middie was a good one, sure. Better than that new one, whatever his name was. The big Marine offered a knowing grin and added, "Stomach's a right place t'skewer summody too, it is. 'Less yer the one gettin' skewered."

Then he looked skyward, belatedly. "In fer a bit of a blow, seems, don't it."

Already the ship was beginning to roll with the long swell coming to them from beneath the clouds. Dark, threatening, a bank of clouds that were spreading across the sky. The sailors who had been enjoying a moment's peace on the ship had already gathered their things and gone below, to stow them safely. Probably, Peter thought, they would be called up soon to prepare the ship for the coming blow. "It looks like it," he said to the Marine in a lofty tone, "though of course I have not seen the glass this watch." Then he grinned and added: "But I'm sure the Captain has, and will know what's coming."

Branning lifted his broad shoulders in a casual shrug. "It'll be damp work, sure."

Then it struck him that he'd be down belowdecks during the storm, where the rest of the crew would be. Or at least all those who weren't required to be topside working the ship. He shuddered.

"Better t'be up here topside fer it, I thinks," Branning said.

From his place on the quarterdeck, Bolitho could see the growing line of ominous clouds. Judging by the sudden increase in swells, as well as the darkening sky, it seemed they would be in for a rather fierce blow. Quickly, he began to give orders for the men to prepare the ship. The topmen needed to go aloft at once, to take in the sails, and they were already up and climbing the rigging as soon as he gave the command.

Looking out across the deck, Bolitho saw that Edrington was still out on deck. He had noticed that the colonel had been having a conversation with Private Thompson, but now that a squall was brewing, he thought it best if Edrington went below. Once he was sure the men were going about their tasks properly, Bolitho crossed the deck to where Edrington and Thompson were standing.

"Your Lordship," Bolitho said, "As you can surely see, a storm is brewing, and I think it would be advisable if you retired to your cabin. It is your choice, of course, but I doubt you wish to be out here on deck when it comes up."

The roll of the ship was becoming more prominent. ".. Ser'nt." The youth began, as the last musket was placed into safety. "I believe I'll be needed on deck soon." His eyes were serious and intent. "When the storm is over, we can continue with the task.. should my duties permit it." He straightened some:" And my watch, else later. But now I best be on my way." He looked at the mug that stood empty and picked it.

He began for the exit and turned briefly to Quinn, then turned to head above.

Chase hadn't been down from the masthead more than a few minutes, it seemed, before the order for the topmen to go aloft was being roared down the hatchways by the boatswain's mates. He scampered back topside alongside his fellows at once, despite the motion of the ship in the rising swells.

"C'mon lads!" Chase cried as he went up the shrouds. Even with his back a little sore, he was keen to apply himself to his duties just as the other topmen were, especially with a storm bearing down on them.

"I was just saying," Edrington spoke over the rising sounds of ship, sea and wind, "that seasickness seems less likely in the fresh air. But I do not wish to be in anyone's way, or distract them from their essential tasks, to look after a stray passenger. So I will go below for now, Captain. Perhaps I may be permitted to come on deck later, once the initial preparations are complete."

So there was a storm driving up. Johnson looked out over the increasingly angry sea, his face expressionless. A storm meant constant, swift action and dashing about. Most of the Marines would keep belowdecks, out of the way of the seamen. But not Johnson. He had long ago found that he preferred being on deck and active, even if his knowledge of sailing was limited. He could still heave on the braces and pass messages as needed.

"Marines below!" Johnson called out roughly, turning away from the deck-rail abruptly. "Secure the messdeck!"

They'd better make a swift job of it, too. Johnson didn't want to find anything strewn about the deck or damaged when he inspected the messdeck after the storm.

"You may come on deck whenever you so choose, Your Lordship," said Bolitho, "I simply thought you would want to keep out of the wind and rain. But you do have a point. I have found that seasickness can be more likely belowdecks. So you may feel free to return at any time you like."

Edrington heard the command to the Marines to go below, said "Excuse me," to the Captain and then to Thompson: "Thank you for your time and the informaton, Private." He turned back to Bolitho: "Thompson was telling me of a storm he experienced in the Surprise, and why this ship is better prepared to meet a storm. Although I hope it will not be as fierce a one. And thank you for permission to return to deck when I get tired of being confined to my cabin. I could only wish I had my loden cloak with me, instead of uselessly packed on a troopship somewhere to the south of us."

"I should hope it will not be too fierce, but one can never be sure," Bolitho said, glancing out at the looming clouds, "As to your cloak dilemma, I have a spare boatcloak that you may use if you wish. It is rather weatherbeaten, but it would be better than nothing."

"Thank you," said Edrington, touched by the offer. "I will be most grateful. How long do you think it might last?" On land storms passed over one; a ship often had to run with them, making them last much longer.

Thompson had straightened to attention when the Captain came over. Like the Colonel, he too would prefer to remain on deck, but his duty was over and he had no reason to be here; he had only stayed, in fact, because he'd been talking to the Colonel. He found the man surprisingly easy to talk to, for an officer and a landsman at that. He wouldn't hold that against him, though.

He hoped he might be given a task that would allow him to remain on deck, but accepted that the chances were he'd have to go below. He stayed where he was; the Captain was not five feet away, and he couldn't dismiss himself.

"It's difficult to say at this point," Bolitho said, "I should hope...it will not be too long."

He was afraid to guess at a time for fear that the storm would end up being of quite a long duration. He had known storms at sea to go for several hours at least. Judging by the look of the clouds, this squall could take quite a while...

Not wanting to worry his passenger, Bolitho abruptly returned to the subject of His Lordship's cloak.

"I shall have my steward bring my spare cloak down to your cabin right away," he said.

Glancing at Thompson, he added, "Corporal Johnson has called the marines below. You'd best join them, Thompson."

"Bloody anglers, the lot of you! Handsomely now! Secure that proper. You call that a damned knot?!" He snapped at the men that were under command to secure anything that could shift and tumble with the ship's ongoing climb of the waves. He had just yelled his throat raw at one lad who was not particularly fast, and had turned to another, whose tying may have been average but not up to the boy's expectations.

"Secure that, damn you!" A sailor had stumbled and near tumbled into the boy. The middie's eyes widened a moment, and the next they were ever darker." Watch your step, or it can bloody turn ter be your last one!" He physically pushed the man backwards.

"I said, watch your cursed step, ye blackguard!" And the ship kept on rolling, riding the waves higher now, than it did just moments ago.

Bother. There was nothing else for it, however. "Aye, aye, sir," he said, saluting. "My lord."

Dismissed, he turned and clattered down the companionway, heading for the arms locker, where he found Sergeant Quinn securing the last of the muskets. He handed his in and headed to help secure the messdeck.

He thought back to Quinn for a moment. He would be returning to the task once the danger has passed, but now:" Are you beetle-headed?" His eyes narrowed on one of the boys of the name of powder monkeys. The boy halted, his eyes wide.

"Answer me." He spoke coldly to the boy, who trembled under the scrutinizing gaze.

"Are ye daft, boy?" He asked again. Most of the articles have been secured by now, and some were still being tightened firm into it's place.

".n..no.."The boy stammered. The others observed, though many where more in haste to prepare the ship for the oncoming storm. "We'll see about that.. now get on with it!" The boy near tripped and fell, when he moved away in such haste. The young middie turned pleased. The chests were secured, and so were the cannons. Firmer now, and casks. Nothing was left to chance, especially if it could damage the ship or it's crew. And the storm was approaching fast.

John, who yhad been happily resting, had sprung up to secure along with everyone else, leaping into the rigging to do his duty with a zeal which was matched by the other men. now, he was looking with some interest at the growing storm, judging it to be a decent blow, but hopefully no more.
Still in all of this, he had managed to excape Mr de Guardes notice, somethign which, he assured himself, was to do with chance, not design. he was not one to put his mates in danger for his own feelings.

It was with a grin on his face, then, that he checked his knots and sorted out his shirt, whipped round from his foray up the ropes.

Thompson emerged onto the Marines' part of the messdeck to find everything in confusion, with Marines seemingly running here, there and everywhere on the increasingly unstable deck, roping down sea-chests, stowing personal items in them or in their ditty-bags and generally preparing for a bad blow. He stowed his own hat and helped Vining secure their shared chest to the ringbolts provided for just such an eventuality.

The last of the Marines - or what few of them had been left on deck - had gone below. Johnson looked over the now mostly-bare weather deck before hurrying below himself. He had to lash down his own dunnage before returning topside.

As could be expected, the messdeck was the picture of chaos. Johnson frowned but, unusually, held his silence as he made his way toward his small space on the deck. It was easy work to get his sea-chest secured then he was clumping back up the companion ladder topside, though this time without his hat. Losing that over the side in a gale wasn't high on his list of things to do at all.

He came on deck in part out of curiosity to see how strong the storm was building and in part as much of the work below had been completed. Kinsella had been supervising the remaining proceedings, the sailors relieved when he had replaced the other boy.

The sky was an uncomfortable shade of gray, and the waves no longer small and soft, had grown so that keeping balance was essential. He looked to the tops, where the men were still busy at work to prepare the ship and its sails for the oncoming danger.

He gazed to the sea and placed a hand at the railing to steady himself. What was that? Perhaps a trick of light. The storm was close. Again for a brief moment, when the wave dove. Lifting the glass with his other hand, he leaned against the side and raised it to his eye. Steadying himself, rolled it into focus. Now it was gone, whatever it had been. Perhaps it was a mere play of light after all.

Peter was supervising the men who were preparing the gun-deck for the blow, double-lashing the cannon and checking that the shot would not break free no matter how wildly the ship moved. He knew his presence here was a mere formality - he was of no practical use, and the men were working as surely and swiftly as they could. All he could do was stand out of the way, and watch for anyone not doing all they could. Chandos, busy on the other side, had told him not to worry. "Mr George and I will check all, before she really starts to move. And you've got a good team there." Which seemed to be true.

As the guns were secured against their ports he went to examine them - not to see if they had been done properly, but to see how it was done at all.