The Storm

Billy clambered back up to the top to more easily carry on his shouting conversation with Chase until Danny Jones, captain of the maintop, came to investigate.

"What are you lads doing here?" he shouted. "Cob, I thought you were below. No need to get yourselves soaked yet."

This is getting close to madness. Chase loved it.

"Horseshoe, Danny!" Chase cried, pointing at the half-oval of iron in Barrow's hand. "Good luck fer Samuels."

He looked again at Barrow. "So didya get him t'spit on it?"

"No. Westdale took it."

John, now clambering back up again, laughed at the gathering occuring above him, "And I managed it- just. I'd say we better hurry lads, he still looks green to me."
He waved the hammer enthusiastically, climbing as he did so.

Below decks, things were worse. After twelve years at sea, Thompson reckoned he could handle most bad weather, but he preferred to be up on deck where he could see what was going on, even if it meant he would be soaked through when he came below. He managed to smile back at Colonel Edrington when he came past and nodded at the Marine.

He wondered curiously where Everett was going, a few minutes later, but even that was put out of his mind.

It wasn't as though he could do anything to pass the time other than watch the lantern swinging from its hook in the deck beam, making the shadows dance across the decking and up the bulkheads. It was the boredom more than anything else that got to him.

In an aside to Billy, John added "You know that guy Thompson? he looks pretty green as well, maybe we could charge for the putting up of horseshoes?"
He came up alongside the other two and balanced, slightly pacariously.

"Give that horseshoe here then," Chase said and looped one arm through the rain-slick shrouds for support. "I'll hold it an' y'can hammer it inta place."

John passed it over carfeully "Just let me get a better footin, mate." He yelled, swinging on the ropes. Carefully he set his feet and wrapped some lines round himself. "right. Now hold it steady...."

"DECK THERE!" Billy was surprised by Tommy Edwin's sudden bellowing next to his ear, but he immediately turned his head to see where the topman was staring. "Sail, broad on larboard quarter!"

In his surprise, John knocked the hammer not into the mast but into an empty space, letting go accidently as he toppled over, hanging on only through a quick reaction. "HEADS" he bellowed, watching as the hammer fell down onto the deck. Immediatly he dropped down, trying to see the sail as he slid, dripping wet, into the mass of people suddenly around the man on deck, hammer lying nearby.
"Did I get you, sir?" John asked, holding back his babbling and looking at the confused man before him.

Billy saw the hammer accident without registering it, seeing only enough to know that Westdale and Chase hadn't been hurt. But where was that sail? He could barely make it out in the rain as he tried to shield his eyes with his hand. Possibly there was a lighter grey speck among the darker greys of the sea and sky. What kind of sail? A cutter, a brig, a fisherman, a man of war?

"There!" he cried, his eyes penetrating the grey at last. Just a speck above the rolling waves, but certainly a sail.

At the cry, John leaped from the presumably unhurt man, racing back up to see.
"Big enough" he called to Billy, "reackon thats a frog ship?"

[ooc- sorry. Now I'm off till tomorrow]

"You could have killed me, Westdale," Chandos yelled mildly as he hurried up after him. He was too eager for the sail to care much about the hammer. "Edwin, where away?"

"There, sir, just on the roll... there."

Bolitho had been on the quarterdeck, wrapped in his boatcloak and weathering the storm, when he heard the sudden cry from above. At once, he ran towards the rail, peering out into the distance. With the crashing waves and driving rain, it made it much too difficult to discern anything from the deck-level vantage point. But obviously the topmen had seen something.

Hurrying over to the base of the mast, Bolitho stared up at the men high above, rain pelting his face as he gazed skyward. Realising he did not have his speaking trumpet at the moment, he settling for cupping his hands to his mouth and calling up to the men.

"Edwin!" he shouted to the lookout, "Where away?"

"Broad on the larboard quarter, 'bout 3 miles nor'east!" he answered.

Followed Edwin's direction, Chandos raised his spyglass to his eye and, after a moment, did indeed spot the sail in question. It appeared to be a ship quite similar in size to their own, meaning it had to be another frigate. But it was too early to tell if the ship was friend or foe.

"Well done Edwin," Chandos said, lowering the spyglass.

Having heard the captain shouting up from the deck, Chandos quickly made his way down to make his report.

"A ship's been sighted sir, broad on the larboard quarter, 3 miles nor'east, as Edwin said," he told Bolitho, "It looks to be a frigate, but I cannot say if she's one of ours or...not." Perhaps it was the added anxiety of the storm, but the midshipman chose not to voice his fear that the ship might be French.

Bolitho listened to the boy, nodding as he presented his information. He kept his face neutral, not letting on any of the concern he was feeling. He hoped the ship was one of theirs. If the ship was French, they would have a fine time trying to defend themselves, caught unawares in a violent storm. Though he wanted to be prepared, he hesitated to give the order at once. Then again, most of the crew were belowdecks. They would not know the ship was there until it was upon them. And if it was an enemy vessel...that settled it. The time to act was now. And if it turned out to be nothing, then the men would gain some practice at the very least.

"I see. Thank you, Mr. Chandos," Bolitho said. He paused, then added, "Now go and tell the men to beat to quarters."

"Ha!" Chase had to laugh when Westdale dropped the hammer. So much for Samuels' horseshoe. The other two were working their way back down to the deck but he stayed where he was. He'd heard the cry from the masthead lookout and was interested to see for himself what the unknown sail might be.

But of course the captain down below had thoughts of his own. Tinny voices thundered through speaking trumpets, calling hands to quarters. Chase grimaced and scampered back down the shrouds. What was the sense in beating to quarters in this mess?

"Good time for it, lads!" He cried as he tumbled down the companion ladder. If he was going to spend more time on deck, he wanted to have his jacket with him as protection from the rain.

There was a Marine outside the midshipmen's berth and he smirked at the man as he hurried past. Well, whatever had caused the captain to come to such action, Chase was in no position or temper to question.

(Continued in Beating to quarters)