Light duties and men

"Then go below." George dismissed the boy and turned at once to Chandos. "Go and tell the Captain about the possible sighting, although 'larboard' 'some time ago' is not quite as specific as one would expect, even from a new lad like Mr Yates." And then he turned to Corporal Johnson. "Corporal."

"Sir."

Johnson gave his heels a light stamp together and waited. He expected to be sent below and find somebody to stand sentry on the midshipmen's berth. It would be too perfect if he were to instructed take such a duty himself but he knew the chances of that were dismal at best.

Lieutenant George studied the Corporal. Not a man to put up with abuse, but on the other hand, he was trustworthy. "Arrange for a watch to be put on the midshipmen's berth. And have me informed if he becomes abusive. Dr Crozier may be required to ..." Could the boy be insane? His behaviour suggested that he had no control over himself, which must surely indicate something seriously wrong with him. "I'll advise the doctor anyway," he concluded.

Johnson saluted. "Aye aye, sir."

Then he turned away and hastened below. Whatever else Mister George had a mind to do was none of his worry. It was enough that he was to place a guard on the midshipmen's berth, and he knew just the lad for it.

"Branning!" Johnson called out when he reached the Marines' messdeck. If there was any lad who could dissuade a small midshipman simply by size, it was Branning.

Peter had kept behind Lieutenant George as he dealt with de Guarde, in the hope that his presence there would not attract the other boy's attention and spite. Once he had been ordered below, and the Marine Corporal had gone to set a guard on him, George said loudly. "There is a storm on its way. Get about your duties, men." and then, in a lower voice: "Mr Yates, take over here. I'll ask Chandos to come down, but - " He then made his way towards the quarterdeck while Peter stood back and let the men get on with making everything fast. Little knots of men kept forming, and dispersing, and Peter found that he had to say "Stop talking, there is no time to be lost," several times before Chandos came down to join him.

He left the men and boys behind, and was barely aware of reaching the
middie's berth. Everything was pulled and tied down even here, so that
the place looked a great deal less cluttered. He stood there a moment,
then sagged to the floor. Unable to sit, he found himself lying on the
floor, staring silently at the opposite wall. He knew a marine would
come down later. How dearly good would a drink feel now. Escape from this madness. He felt like curling up , yet were he to try it pain would have him as quickly uncurl.

He didn't know many of the marines and though he wished it would've been Quinn to come below, he doubted the man would be given that duty. He sniffled and rubbed his eyes with a tissue, wiping away tears. He shouldn't have done it, again. But.. it was normal before. Silent payback was normal. Getting others in trouble so that you would not be.. was normal. And here, it bit back. On Confidence it worked, here..instead it did not. And he got burnt, and told he was trash, rubbish, no good, worthless. He heard himself sob, his breaths hitched, fast, pained. Perhaps they were right. He may have been the devil to them, but he cried like a child.

While Peter and Chandos supervised the men preparing for the storm, Lieutenant George made his way onto the quarterdeck and waited to speak to the Captain. At present, before the storm struck, everything was going to plan, but already the rising winds and heavy swell made handling the ship a delicate operation, in which Captain Bolitho excelled. George greatly admired his Captain, and hoped that he would approve what might be seen as high-handed action.

The storm was fast approaching, and Bolitho wanted all to be in readiness well before it hit. Thankfully, the sailors were all doing their tasks efficiently, and everything was running smoothly. As Bolitho watched the men going about their duty, he noticed that Lieutenant George had appeared on the quarterdeck, and it looked as though he had something to impart.

"Yes Mr. George. What is it?"

"Sir. I have ordered Mr de Guarde to confine himself to the midshipmen's berth. He was bullying the men again - and blackguarding Corporal Johnson" George chuckled. "Going at it hammer and tongs, they were! Calling each other rats and what have you."

Bolitho shook his head, in disbelief that the boy had been going after the corporal yet again. Judging by George's report, he was quite glad to have missed the exchange between De Guarde and Johnson. Well, at least there had not been any physicality this time, although there may well have been if George had not interceded.

"Well done, Mr. George," Bolitho said, "Well done indeed. I think Mr. De Guarde could use some time alone in order to calm himself. That will make things more tolerable for all of us."

He really was quite grateful that George had sent the midshipman below. The last thing Bolitho needed was De Guarde making a nuisance out of himself with a storm coming up.

George hesitated. His fears that the boy would be killed under cover of the storm were real, and supported by the events of the previous night. "I've asked the marines to guard the berth," he said heavily. "Not against him escaping - though I can see him deciding he's spent enough time in his room and going back 'on duty' as he sees it - but in case someone tries to use the storm as cover for murder. It's been done before, with unpopular men or officers."

"You have a vaild point," Bolitho said, "Mr. De Guarde already has made some enemies I fear, and whether his fall overboard last night was an accident or not still has yet to be determined. I think you have done the best thing by having marines put on guard outside the berth. Thank you, Mr. George."

Branning started at the unexpected summons and lurched to his feet as quickly as he could. "Here Corporal!" He answered, just barely keeping a grip on his hat in the unsteady movement to stand.

He blinked in surprise when Johnson told him gruffly that he was to stand sentry outside the midshipmen's berth and keep all but midshipmen out, and to get there yesterday at the least. Higgins was to relieve him when the watches changed as well. Both Marines chorused a quick "Aye Corporal!" and Branning clomped toward the midshipmen's berth, wondering just why a sentry was needed there, of all places.

[ For some reason i read nightmares ..where it said marines. *is confused at that]

He wiped the next bout of tears just ashe heard footsteps coming his way. He looked up and straightened, thinking perhaps that it was captain that was arriving, or one of the lieutenants. When he went to stand and see who it was the view had his eyes grow as wide as a pair of plates. The man, the marine that just arrived was huge. To him, as a small middie Branning must've seen like a walking mountain and just as intimidating. At first he thought the man to have come just by chance, but as few moments passed and the man remained, he learnt why he was here.

Even if he wanted, which at the moment he actually didn't, he wasn't sure he would dare speak against this man. Well not atleast for the first few moments:"... Who .. are you?" He asked, disappointed that it wasn't Quinn. But then, it was logical that way. And the name he asked for, didn't mean much to him, but he asked any ways.

A grin tugged at Branning's mouth. The poor middie seemed spooked by his arrival.

"Name's Branning, sar. Tom Branning," he replied, folding his hands in front of him as he didn't have a musket yet. "An' yerself, sar?"

"..De Guarde. Mathew.. Amadeus..."He made a face at his middle name, but continued. " De Guarde, midshipman." He looked awkward, as it was obvious what he was, uniform n'all. He eyed Branning suspiciously. The man was kind and that on its own was worth the worry. Who knows what he was planning in his little greedy mind!

"You are here.. ter guard me?" He asked, though again he already knew the answer. The man was sizeable enough for two. And probably just as strong.

"Happy t'meetcha, sar," Branning said cheerfully. "Ain't often a lad gets spoke to by the young gennelmen, an' so nicely besides."

He shifted his stance to keep his balance as the ship rolled and added, "S'pose that's so, sar. Corporal said t'keep 'all out but the midshipmen', so here I is."

Kind again, and giving a compliment where, hm, he was sure that was a compliment or the lad was mocking him instead, speaking in sarcastic tone? But nay, he did not seem to do so, and he was a cheerful fellow, by far not carrying the disposition of one wishing to trick another till their true plan was revealed.

He had to even his own stance against the shifting floors, and placed a hand against the wooden partition careful to keep himself safely balanced. " That's the whole of your orders?" He asked and studied Branning again. If there was a battle.. well THIS was the kind of man one wished to cover their back for them. If not by skill, the sheer size could be a good safe shield for a middie.

He was glad he had wiped his cheeks free and dry, though his eyes did sting a little from the salty feel. Nothing a bit of few minutes couldn't cure. He wanted to ask more, but wasn't quite sure what to say. The man felt somewhat calming , for he did remind now more of kind teddy bear rather than that of a ferocious wild kind.

Branning glanced over his shoulder at the middie. The boy seemed like a decent sort, even though he'd heard plenty about him in the form of rumour and chatter. Sometimes the lads got it wrong.

"Aye sar, there were all." Branning shrugged. "S'pose it mebbe t'keep ya in too, but I'll ask when Corporal fetches me musket fer me."

"Aye.. was told ter confine myself to the middie's berth." And not to talk to anyone, of which the second rule he'd broken. Still he doubted they meant that he was not to converse with a marine, just that he was not to yell or provoke any other sailor or man. And, he wasn't doing that. He was being civil. "Won't cause you any trouble." He said reassuringly, even if the marine's own body would have confirmed he was not to be able to do much trouble as was.

Then he was silent and some moments passed where he studied and judged the man. He was reminded again of Quinn and had wished that the storm hadn't happened. If it hadn't then he would still be playing around with Marine's muskets, or perhaps would be now working with other fire arms or edged swords. He had his own dirk still on his person and wondered if he were supposed to hand it to the Marine or could he keep it. If he were here as prisoner than it would have been wrong to keep, but if he solely had a guard, an extra protection could only serve him good.

Finally he spoke again, for a strong rise of the ship had him near tatter over and he had latched a hand onto the binding rope, swaying slightly. "..You've experienced... many storms?" The man's stance seemed well adapted to the movement of the ship, and he was glad he was not one of them landies. Seasick, in a stuffy environment it could get unpleasant.

Ah. Branning nodded slowly. As long as both of them had their own orders, he was confident that there would be no problems.

"Don't figger ya will, sar," he said. "An' I've known a few storms, like. They can be fair wild in the Med, sar. But in ol' Billy Ruff'n there weren't nothin' t'fear from 'em."

"..aye. lost any men over board in a storm?" Not the merriest of topics to start, but idleness seemed to be getting very swiftly to the boy. For to do nothing, not even to yell, and not know what was going above, not knowing if they will sink or swim, was unnerving. "Will ye stand there all yer watch?" He asked for he still observed but the man's back." ..You'll fall, yer know."

"There's been some, sar. Unlucky devils, them."

One of them, Branning remembered, had been a gunner's mate. A real unlucky devil, that one. He shrugged at the middie's question. "Prolly will, sar. I ain't gonna fall though. Never done 'fore."

If ye'll be wanting.. you can sit on me watch..I won't be runnin' or summat." He answered simply, but didn't care whether Branning would stand, sit or lie on the floor if he so wished.

He began to pace and tug at his sleeve as he'd done before. He felt restless and he did wish to go up there and be of use, but then he remembered the third lieutenant's words and he was back here again. Safe and sound from his own crew.

He stopped again, for the fabric was riding just too uncomfortably against his posteriors. "... How long will you be here fer?" He asked and turned to look at Branning. He moved again, he himself not sitting for obvious reasons. But to lie right with this man standing guard felt beneath him. He frowned and leaned against the wall. "Have ye anything... with ye to shorten our time?" It was a bold question, but the boy was still a child and.. one bored. He was somewhat afraid too that the storm would take their lives, another reason to keep his mind off and on something else.

He could sit if he wanted? The notion was utterly foreign to him. Why should he sit while on sentry? Branning frowned slightly. "Rather stand, sar. Easier t'keep balance like."

The next questions made him pause even longer to think. Other than his bayonet and cartridge box, he was carrying nothing that could easily be used for amusement. And he'd be there for a good bit, until the watches changed. "Be here 'til eight bells, sar," he answered. "An' I got nothin' fer boredom neither. Sorry sar."

Branning thought for a moment after that. He didn't have anything, but he knew Everett usually had a small pouch of dice tucked in his coat somewhere. "But I think I knows a lad that does, sar," the Marine added.