Light duties and men

A seaman was already in Edrington's cabin, checking that things had been stowed, and the fastenings on his chest. Edrington stood back to allow him to finish, merely removing the book that the man had picked up from the floor. If he was going to sit here for any length of time he would at least have something to read.

After some time, when the sound of things crashing and being dragged around had almost died away, Catchpole, the Captain's steward, brought an old, dark cloak, with Captain Bolitho's compliments. Edrington thanked him and sat for a while longer, braced in the corner of his bunk, watching the light from the lantern dart and dive across the bulkheads and canvas screens. Reading by that light would almost certainly induce a headache, if not actual nausea, but having obtained the Captain's agreement to his return to deck he decided not to presume on it too swiftly.

Finally everything was stowed or secured. The movement was slightly less violent down here, but the seas were obviously still getting up, and the motion and sounds of the ship working were increasing. There was nothing for the Marines to do now but sit there and hope for the best. Even the sentry on the Captain's cabin had been sent below, leaving only the man in charge of the bell.

The bell was rung no matter what the conditions. Even if the ship were settling in the water, as full of shot holes as a sieve, the bell would be struck till she went, near enough.

Thompson looked around, wondering if there was anything else he could do to make himself useful.

The middie kept his eyes trained on the thin line where the sea touched the sky. He listened for the calls of summon, and glanced over his shoulder to see that much has been completed on deck. Most all things were now secured, hopefully to remain so even if the storm would bring itself to greatest rage. He still wasn't convinced. Was the spot, a figment of his imagination, a play of light of the incoming storm, perhaps a cloud that set so low it seemed that he was seeing something else, or was it actually something.

He bit his lip. Couldn't call for an alarm if it turned out to be false. But if he was right, would waiting upon it and hoping it would go, be the proper decision or did he need to make haste? The captain was surely busy and, it was probably nothing.

But was it? He frowned and lifted his glass again. The waves obstructed his view often enough. The winds had become stronger, and he had to settle for gripping onto the railing every so often, to steady himself against the combined roll and blow.

Tell, or not tell. Maybe it was nothing, but it could be something. If it were nothing the captain could possibly be enraged. His former captain (whose name I forgot -.-;...) would certainly be. THERE.

There it was again! No.. gone again. He looked over to Dunnock and Fletcher. He saw one of the middies, and they were busy. Their eyes not averting to that direction. He lifted and then lowered his glass. Think of what were to be best for the ship. If there was a vessel in sight, it would be best that they knew, for it was a great chance it could be the enemy. But if it weren't then the ship would not care, he would be shamed and..

Hesitantly he made his way in the direction of the captain. He staggered and stopped. Then went on a few steps and stumbled somewhat, the fabric pulling at his bruises. Torn between duty and fear. He was passing ahead more in daze than in certainty, as if wishing that there would be a distraction, a sailor falling at his feet so that he could have excuse to halt again.

Somehow, the ship's motions seemed more bearable if he was tucked up against a lashed-down cannon. So, naturally, that was where Branning settled himself after helping Higgins secure their shared sea-chest. Most of the other Marines were finding their own places to sit and wait as well. Higgins had perched atop a nearby cannon, yawning as though he was bored.

"Think this'll be a short one?" Branning asked, to whoever might care to answer, and poked a finger idly at the slight blemish on his hat.

That idiot midshipman looked as though he was walking in a daze. Johnson had spotted the boy a short while after the lad came on deck and mostly kept an eye on him. He wouldn't put it past De Guarde to try to stir up more trouble even now there was a storm about to break over the ship.

At least it felt marginally better to be in the open air. Below, it would be closed and cramped. Better to stay topside as long as he could.

He was granted the wish for there was a sailor that stumbled past, in haste perhaps to tie the last knot, or bring the last rope to secure a piece to it's place. He nearly fell, hardly by it's own meaning.

The boy's face brightened then darkened as soon. "Bloodly buggard." He hissed at the sailor, who had by inches missed the boy and was apologising profousdly, till he saw whom he was talking to. There and then he looked unkind and yet fearful of the young'un.

The rest were busy enough not to notice, and the boy had .. indeed had kicked the sailor. It may have been spurred on by the next rise of the ship so that he'd slipped up himself, but it seemed done with intent." Pick yerself up, yer good for nothin'.." He hissed at the man. Courage was one thing he gathered with that little event, while the sailor was stunned, and stared so. "What's yer name." The youth snapped, all else forgotten.

That worthless blackguard. Johnson straightened right up as if he'd been kicked and he started toward the midshipman at once. Not even the caning had been able to teach the boy.

"Chicken Dyer!" Johnson snapped, unaware that he had provided the seaman's name to De Guarde. "Move along there, back to work!"

Mathew stiffened at the familiar voice. The last man he wished to see for a long while and now he was there sending another of his sailors away. This had to stop somehow! He continously meddled in his business!

He turned around to face the Corporal. A mock pleasantness in his demanour and voice. "..most gracious of you to join us on deck." He knew better than to strike this man again. His bum throbbed painfully enough to know he did not want another caning for it.

"I take, that the crammed spaces below were too much to bear." He spoke sweetly, overly so. "..fright brings the rats on deck,.. and so I see.." He took a step back and winced. "it is true."

Dyer was quick to scamper away, leaving Johnson to face down De Guarde alone - but that suited him just fine.

The remark about rats very nearly made him snarl in reflexive anger, until he caught on a way to turn the intended insult back onto its speaker. Johnson curled his lip. "Seems very true, why else would you be on deck?"

Stew on that one, you brat, Johnson thought.

His cheeks turned red and scarcely out of embarrasement. His hands in fists, he felt that same urge to smack the man as he did before. But now he should know better. He did know better!

"Why, to observe a rat at it's finest." He answered acidly, his eyes trained on Corporal:".. and I must say.. a rather fine speciment I have before me : filthy, flea ridden n' daft. 's a wonder it wears red though. Thought rats came in grey only." He smirked at the man.

Clever. Johnson forced himself to shrug. "Maybe a rat, but rats know where there's rubbish 'round, right enough. Better a red coat than the blue one you're disgracing!" The corporal scoffed. "Cap'n Bolitho oughta turn you before the mast. That'd set you right."

There was no good ending to come of this one, but Johnson could hardly retreat from it without good cause. Even then, he'd hate having to break away from the confrontation. Somebody had to put this boy in his place and make sure he stayed there!

Before the mast? How dare he even imply such a thing. Even think of it! The blasted man, who knew no better. That's what he was. Before the mast, he shuddered inwardly at the thought. No, the captain may do many things, but he would not usurp authority from his midshipmen. He knew it to be so, it had to be so!

"He'll do no such thing!" He snapped ruefully. He didn't even consider life being if that were to be done. No, he was a midshipman and there was not a chance he would be different. Not for a month, not for a day nor hour! "The only rubbish I see is that tinted in red... "A moment where he thought of Quinn and agreed that the man was an exception to the rule:" And the filthy blaggards of Tars." He spoke harshly, remembering the name well, for he knew that it would be that man he would seek out and he would be certain to finish with him, what he started! He'd nearly tackled him down, so clumsy he was. And if he had, curse him, that man would've hanged!

"But perhaps I ought to try using simpler words. I surely cannot expect that you would understand others...with such a simple mind as you have. Why else would you have turned marine?" He smiled coldly, viciously. "...all drills..no brain. A dog could do it, and be better at it too!"

Chandos and Lieutenant George had checked that all was well, and collected Peter before reporting to the quarterdeck. The sight of de Guarde, facing the Marine Corporal made them all stop, George to the fore. De Guarde seemed to have totally lost control this time, and was unaware of their presence as he poured out abuse on marines and sailors alike. "Mr De Guarde," snapped George.

The boy was about to retort something to the voice behind him, but had luckily turned around first. And came face to face with the lapels of a dark blue coat. It took him no longer than that to close his mouth sharp, words lost where they should've been said.

"..s..sir." He looked timid all of a sudden. " A..aye sir?" he tried to make himself look completely free of blame or any relation to the words he had just said. How long was the lieutenant behind him? What did he hear? He had wanted to bring Johnson to his breaking point but right now he feared he'd not done it right. Not right at all.
He saw Mr. Yates to the side of the lieutenant, and cursed the boy for being present. The damn cretin. He had unfinished business with him too.

George stared at the boy. The look of innocence was as convincing as if it had been on the face of a shark - or a rat. "Mr de Guarde. You have been warned, by the Captain and the Second Lieutenant. You have been beaten. None of this seems to have had the least effect on you. I am relieving you of duty. You will go below, and confine yourself to the Midshipmen's berth until Captain Bolitho has time to deal with you. Do I need to ask the Corporal to arrange for a Marine to guard you?"

He stared at the lieutenant. "S..sir." relieved of duty didn't sound at all promising, nor pleasant, nor right. " D..Doctor Crozier has given my light duties to. attend to b..but I am still able..." To do something. To do his duty on deck. He felt a cold chill down his spine. His mind was blank and that lost speck at the horizon was furthest from his thoughts now.

"S..sir." He spoke bleakly. His voice wasn't made to sound like it did anymore. The weak, fearful, pleading tone that his words carried was real. "W..with the storm a..all hands...." Were needed. But he could not finish his sentence. There was something he wanted to tell the captain. Something, but.. but what was it? He couldn't remember, and the gaze of the third lieutenant had him feel more wretched. Why did Yates have to be there to witness it as well, and the Corporal.

"Won't he?"

Johnson knew he'd won a small victory over the boy with that. Whatever it took to get the boy to straighten out.

And of course he wanted to soundly box the middie's ears in the next moment. An endless back and forth of sharp remarks and insults, this, but Johnson had never truly lost such encounters.

This one was about to take a sharp turn in his favour as well, it seemed. Lieutenant George appeared as if magically summoned and Johnson held his tongue. This was too precious. Relieved of duty and with the chance of a Marine to guard him in the midshipmen's berth... far too precious. Maybe it was possible for the boy to be set right after all.

"All hands will do their duty more willingly and more efficiently if they are not being constantly abused, threatened and terrified. Your presence on deck is a hindrance, your manner to others is atrocious and your language a disgrace to the name of gentleman." George looked across at the Corporal, an expression of apology on his face, before turning back to de Guarde. "You will not even be required to do light duties - you have no duties. You will remain in the berth, and speak to no one. Is that understood?" And when the boy did not move, he said: "Go now. I will inform the Captain, and you will await his decision on your future."

Like a fish thrown out of the water, an animal cornered at the point where it had no hopes of escape, so felt the boy at the last words. His spirits were lost. The lieutenant's word was as much the law as the captain's. His heart cried. He had to say it. The spot.. the spot at the horizon. The future, their future. That spot that they needed to see even if it were nothing.

But it wasn't his duty any longer, was it. "..Sir... with permission... ..I ..urge you solely....to keep .. keep an eye on the horizon.. larboard side.." He spoke and with this it was clear he had accepted his fate. Fearful, as white as chalk, with his hands feeling so cold, he dared not spare a look at Johnson. He must've been grinning by now. He was trembling as he began to take his first steps. No,..he was at the verge of tears,.. no.., bitting down emotions. How could this have gone so deathly wrong?

"Why, Mr de Guarde, should you suggest that? Is it your view that the officers of this ship need to reminded about the value of looking at the horizon? That they cannot remember to do so unless you prompt them?" Lieutenant George looked him up and down. The emotion was surely as false as all his expressions of regret had proved to be.

"N.. no sir. I didn't mean to! " He shook his head hastly. "No sir. I didn't mean to.." He looked nervously at the floor."...I.. it's probably nothing... .b..but I , when I came into discussion with.. the corporal.. 'ere.. I.. was on my way to.. ." He felt his heart beat painfully strong and fast. It was making him physically ill.

"... I.. there might, might be something there.. sir. Could be nothing...probably .i..is nothing." He hung his head. He should've kept his mouth shut, now George thought he did not think the officers were capable of keeping watch.

George continued to look at him. "You believe you saw something of interest, and so of course you reported it immediately to the officer of the watch, or to the Captain." Irony was probably lost on the boy, as was compassion or even discipline.

"...I..." He looked desperate and terrified. "..I.." He struggled to find the right words. He was going there, but he was interrupted by a sailor and the corporal. That wouldn't sit right even if it was true, even if he was glad it happened.

"..was.. about to.."He managed to blurt, fidgeting uncomfortably at his spot. "..p..please, sir. I wasn't sure. I ..I thought it might've been jus'.. jus' me.. thinking I saw somethin'... but.. but I went to tell anyway but..." He wanted to run and hide and have all of this pass over as if by some magic. But he stood planted to his spot instead. "...I wanted to. I really did sir."

George sighed. It got worse. "You are not only a waste of space as a midshipman, you are also it seems a dead loss as a lookout. You might have stayed to make more sure of what you had seen, or immediately asked someone else to check. You did neither. You stopped to bully the men, and then to exchange insults with the Corporal."

He dropped his voice, stepping closer to the young man, out of earshot of the interested observers. "Mr de Guarde, there is a bad storm coming. During a storm a man - or a boy - might easily lose his footing and fall into the sea. The ship would not be able to turn around to pick him up, do you see? Or he might fall down a companionway - easily done with the ship pitching and rolling. A Marine guard would not only keep you in, it would also keep others out."

To hear those words from a marine was one thing, to hear them from a fellow midshipman with less experience on his back was the same, but a lieutenant to tell it so cruelly had the boy feel the stab deep. Deeper than a knife could sink, or a bullet bury.


"...whatever.. you see most right.. Sir.."He whispered. His voice sounded hollow. He didn't want company, even if it were to guard him below. But he could not ask that of the lieutenant. What he said was law now, what he suggested would be. Perhaps he was right. He felt something warm on his cheeks but barely registered it. His face face left void of emotion, flat, empty.