Light duties and men

De Guarde nodded sharply. "Go!.." He spoke to the boy. He could have wanted to pull another middie into trouble with him, but oddly he chose to agree with Mr. Yates. With whom he now stumbled entangled. "Go already damn you." He repeated as the young boy hesitated a moment and then with a small faint nod, clearly not happy that he was to go, he turned and was leaving them without alerting any other sober face.

De Guarde turned his attention to Mr. Yates fully then, and shoved against him harshly for he wished to have him crash hard against the wooden wall right behind him. If he were to stumble or fall, it would delight De Guarde even more.

Boxing lessons would clearly be of no use for some time, Peter thought as the wiry midshipman barrelled into him, trying to push him back against the side of the ship. A hard shove, but Peter stepped back again, settled his footing and drove himself head first at de Guarde, aiming his hard head at the boy's chest. His fists were ready to pummel once contact was made.

"I'll make a point of it when I speak to the Captain," Edrington said, and smiled briefly. "I only have a hundred shot for it, but I'm sure more can be cast in Lisbon. One magazine holds twenty balls, and you could fire them all within a minute. Of course, at sea the enemy would be firing at you with their big guns well before that point, and on land... If it were a truly practical weapon, we would be using them already."

WIth some experience on him he still was in no state of mind or body that he would be free in delivering punches as well as avoiding them. His force had brought them together, so that he grit his teeth and coughed, for a moment short on air. The collision was rather fierce, but as was the look on their faces.

Two boys fighting at last. With a heavy drag of air, which one could actually hear, the boy grabbed at Yates's hair. He twisted a handful in his fingers and while he yanked with one hand backwards, his other had moved in to strike at the boy's face. It was pulled back as much as it could, to take a good swing, the youth still coughing a breath or two.

"We've got a forge, here, sir. Might be able to cast more bullet afore gettin' to Lisbon, if you've got a suitable mould. Ain't like forgin' proper ironwork, after all."

He was curious, but had not expected to be offered the chance to see the weapon mentioned at dinner.

"Have you fired it yourself then, sir? What's it like?"

That was so, thought Edrington. There was a mould in the case - all the tools and equipment that the man with the rifle would need. Including the foot-pump, to recharge it. He gathered that it took a considerable time to recharge a cylinder, which could then be expended in a two or three minutes of rapid fire.

He shook his head at Thompson's question. "I picked it up in London, just before leaving to board the Terpsichore. I opened the case, of course, as soon as I could, but firing it out of the carriage window did not seem a good idea. And I was already delayed."

"Be interestin' to see you fire it, sir. If it can fire twenty rounds in a minute, that ain't like any gun I've ever seen. How does it work?"

He'd tried to follow the explanation given last night, but hadn't been able to picture it properly, or to ask questions himself. Waiting at table often meant you heard interesting bits of conversation, but of course you weren't allowed to talk. Good servants didn't, did they?

"You..." De Guarde's hand in his hair hurt, and he could see him gathering himself for a punch. Peter pushed himself forward, moving with the pull on his hair, his shorter but stockier frame giving him just enough weight to use against de Guarde. He made a grab for the drawn back hand, but that was less important than the other hand, driven low and hard into the other boy's ribs.

He released the grip of the middie's hair and doubled against the punch. He felt himself stumble backwards. His balance had turned poor with the strike, grunting at the force the boy had given to his arm when it hit. He reached for Yates's shoulder trying to steady himself before he would fall back and were he to get hold of it, his fingers were sure to dig deep and hard into the gotten flesh.

"..bastard.."He managed through gritted teeth, his voice harsh, hoarse and quiet like still.

There were crates behind de Guarde, which their stumbling struggle was pushing them towards. It was unfair fighting, Peter knew, but he continued to push forward, even as de Guarde's fingers found his shoulder and dug into it, as they had before. A couple more steps, and de Guarde's back and abused rear would hit the crates.

With the middie's movements toward him, he could not fully regain his footing. It did not mean he didn't try. His hand that was not holding and causing the painful discomfort to Mr. Yates waved through the air as if trying to catch onto something or merely just his balance.

He did not notice the crates in his way and wouldn't have for his eyes were locked only on Yates whom he was holding the argument. It wasn't till he felt a jolt of pain, and he gasped sharply and uttered an anguished sound of distress. A higher crate shifted back a small bit with the boys' press, so that De Guarde was half sat half pressed against them. His breaths turned hitched the struggle to get away from the pain overshadowing that with his fellow messmate. "Get back! You bastard.. get back!"

Billy had heard the commotion and come running, expecting to see a couple of the ship's boys playing or fighting and ready to give them a scolding. But he had not expected to see two of the midshipmen, fighting right here on deck!

"Mister Yates! Mister De Guarde!" he shouted, trying to distract their attention and make them stop fighting. He knew better than to lay a hand on either of them, even if it were only to separate them from hurting each other (or valuable stores).

Someone was shouting at them. Peter stepped back, as de Guarde released his grip. He rubbed at his shoulder. It had not been a proper fight, because he had used the morning's beating against the other boy, but he now felt more confident. He had landed a couple of decent punches, and thought that he would be a match for de Guarde at any time. The boy might be taller, but he was thin and drank too much.

It was not one of the officers, but Barrow, the captain's coxswain. "It's all right, Barrow," he said, "We were just..." He could not think of what they were doing, and gestured in a vague manner, before leaning forward to help de Guarde to stand up.

He dropped his voice into as threatening tone as he could manage, for de Guarde's ears alone. "Keep away from Fletcher. And keep away from me. Because next time I'll punch your damned head in."

He turned to go.

The boys had ceased their brawling, so Billy just nodded and knuckled his forehead for good measure, addiing a cautious "Yes sir," before walking away. They would probably be displeased to have spectators, and Billy knew better than to displease a midshipman just now.

He glared angrily at Yates and pushed his hand away as soon as he was on his feet. His breeches had stained a deeper red, his cuts reopening with the abuse. He was struggling to stand. "We sleep in t' same berth , Yates.. " He spoke and sounded shaken. He saw the sailor arrive and leave, and for a moment he was frightened that the other middie would have thrown an accusation at him. But he kept it neutral. They did nothing wrong. They weren't fighting at all.

" I'll..have you pay when I am better." He muttered wincing again in discomfort. He felt beaten even if he knew that it was not right his fault.
No, he would not let this boy believe that he had done so well, that he had won. The sailor went away now! They were alone again and proper. He waited for the youth to turn as if to leave and then he lunged at him with intent to tackle him to the ground, just as he was, face first.
Oh how he wanted to pummel that look of the youth's face. Strike him till it was he who pleaded for mercy.

Billy had stepped down the companionway and was out of sight but not out of earshot. He heard the lads take a tumble again and rushed back up to investigate. Bloody little gentlemen! This wasn't something he was qualified to deal with. But in the gloom of the gundeck below he saw someone who was. "Sergeant Quinn! Trouble on deck with a pair of the young gents!"

Peter heard the movement behind him and was already bracing himself when de Guarde jumped on him from behind. He threw his head back in the hope of catching the other boy in the face, and at the same time jabbed backwards and sideways with one sharp elbow, aimed for de Guarde's ribs.

Quinn heard the sailor's shouting, and poked his head out from the screened-off area where he messed with the bosun and carpenter.

"What is it, Barrow?"

Billy gestured for him to come up and look for himself.

The elbow had skimmed past him for the majority, though some of it's force had still come to come in contact with his side. He had gripped at the boy and used his own weight in full to have him pulled downwards.
His lip burst red and he saw some stars but he managed to obtain that hold. Distantly he heard a call, and so he thrust one elbow at the small of Yates's back and then gripped at the hair, to yank the middie's head back and strike the boy's face forward into the floor, once, twice, if all went to plan.

He knew he would have to scamper to his feet right after that, before any other person came.

Thompson had asked about how the rifle worked, and Edrington welcomed the opportunity to try to explain it. If he were going to show it to others, someone would be bound to ask. If there was someone more knowledgeable than he, then they could explain it.

"It uses compressed air - air held under pressure in a cylinder. When the trigger is pulled, a jet of air pushes the ball along the barrel in much the same way as a powder charge would do. To reload, however, you only need bring another ball down into the chamber - there is air enough for thirty shots or more."

He turned his head as a shout came from the other side of the deck.

He shook his head. "All right then," he said and climbed the companionway ladder to be confronted with two midshipmen locked in a fight that seemed to be more serious than the usual rough-and-tumble the boys engaged in.

They seemed unaware of his approach, however.

"Right then, young sirs, break it up now!" It wasn't as loud a bellow as he was capable of, but it was quite capable of being heard even over the sounds of a ship at sea.

Peter felt his elbow connect, but not with the force he had hoped for, and de Guarde was pulling on his hair - fighting like a damned girl! - and trying to smash his face into the deck. Peter was trying to heave himself up onto his elbows, but there was a pain in his back, and he managed only to turn his head to one side as de Guarde pushed it down.

His cheek hit the deck at the same time as he heard a loud voice telling them to stop.

"Air, sir?" he asked, incredulously, before turning as Sergeant Quinn bellowed something across the other side of the ship. He automatically straightened to attention before seeing it wasn't directed at him, and went to turn back, before realising two of the middies were fighting.

He reached out and grasped De Guarde's collar, pulling him off the younger boy, Mister Yates. He grasped his collar as well, unceremoniously pulling him up off the deck and setting him on his feet.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, looking from one to the other.