Beating to quarters

"Would a cutlass suit, My Lord?" Quinn asked, pulling a spare one out from the arms chest kept for the use of the Marines. "I'm afraid the balance won't be what you're used to, but it's better than nothing."

The red coated lad was spotted at the copanionway, and the midshipman kept his eyes on the youth, unmoving. He was distracted when a wave gave him a good bathing and he uttered a hitched sound of surprise, grasping at the life line. Then his eyes were bath on Thompson, daring the youth to reach his earlier place. Preparations had been done, men sent to their places and now it was all about whether there'd be a break in the storm, whether they'd fight or sail appart.

Thompson returned topside quickly, but careful of his footing. Did Miter De Guarde want to see him again, or did he just not want the Marine to loiter below? He wasn't sure, and paused at the top of the companionway. There was one way to find out... He went over to the lad and saluted.

"Reportin' as ordered, sir," he said, bringing the musket down to 'order arms' and standing to attention

" You were.." He began, and found himself unable to say that the lad was taking time. ".. adequate.. in the time of coming here." He finished and jerked his head into a nod. The prim and proper manner in which the youth reported to him flattered the midshipman even if knew it was something the private had to do.

"If you carry on in this manner.. there might yet be a proper marine out of you." Well, it was a compliment even if it was given so that it sounded as an insult at the same time. "I am to expect the same, should we engage, correct?" He was nervous. Talking to this lad was taking his mind off of the fact that if the storm might back down the prospect of much blood and gore was quite.. certain. And the possibility of death, well battles weren't sometimes called nothing short of a blood bath.

'Might make a proper Marine out of you yet'? Cheeky thing. He'd been in the Corps for twelve years, after all, since this pipsqueak was in petticoats. And if the lad thought he, Private George Thompson, was shy, he had another think coming.

"Yes, sir," he said, allowing no trace of his thoughts to show on his face.

"Good." The youth murmured ignorant to the thoughts Thompson had running around in his mind. " We wouldn't want ter find any of you quivering under a desk, pleading for it all to be over. We need each and every man 'ere. Even if the Frogs.. have nothing on us." He looked at the Frenchman and he felt less confident about his statement.

It was hard to hold a conversation, or any similarity of it, when questions were answered with yes sir and no sir. "Where were we, before, our guest interrupted us?" It wasn't quite a question, and the boy knew full well, yet it was for Thompson now to reply. And this time, a yes sir just wouldn't suffice.

"Was wonderin' if me musket'd fire in this damp, sir," he said. If the boy wanted to talk to him properly, hold a conversation, he'd have to say so. Thompson could do this all day - had done, before now, with better men than the middy. Though maybe there was a good side to the middy somewhere inside him. Now wasn't the time to try to find it though; the lad looked as though he just wanted to show his authority.

"Did we?" He shrugged his shoulders faintly and looked ahead."..Not that you've got a say... but, were you to. Do you believe we shall engage the enemy?" He had his own thoughts on the matter, so that his questions sounded even less like they really wished to find something new. "..or shall we wait for the storm to end..." He looked to the sky, wondering just how long that may last. "They could be fools. .ye know. Think ter come close n' then..a wave will have us ram into each other. Have both of us sink'.." He bit himself quiet.

Asking his opinion now? But was it a genuine question, or not? Thompson wasn't sure. There was no reason it couldn't be a genuine question, of course. He decided to answer as though it was.

"I think both ships have enough to do copin' with the storm, sir. Best time to engage the enemy is with a decent wind, in fair weather. Which ain't to say we couldn't fight; it'll just be much harder, what with the slope of the deck an' the rain an' everythin', sir."

"Not fully ignorant of the happenings of the ship that may not concern you as much." He voiced his thoughts in a distracted tone.
"And the storm. How long do you think that one shall last?"

He spared a glance towards the captain and then the lieutenants. Still where he'd left them.

"Dunno, sir. Could last two or three days or could all be over in a couple of bells. Never know, here in the Bay, sir."

Did the lad want distracting from the though of action? Thompson had thought he was going to get chewed out, like the sailors who'd fallen foul of the young gentleman. Instead he was getting asked questions about things. He didn't dare relax his rigid posture though, just in case the lad was waiting for him to slip up.

"Sailed.. often 'ere?" First genuine question, for the others sought flaw, sought ways to make the marine feel less of himself by providing himself with opportunities to put him down. The last had even been formed so, that the private could simply answer, yes sir, and be done with it. The youth scowled and looked up at the marine. Let he not dare use solely those words.

Edrington still wondered quite how one would manage boarding in this weather. But better prepared than standing there unarmed. The pistols would be kept for boarding, already loaded, although the chances were that they would misfire in the wet.

"If it's heavier than the sword I have it I would be grateful. If it's needed, it will be weight that counts, not dainty moves and delicacy."

"Done a fair amount of sailin' round here, sir, yes," he said. Did the lad want to know his service history or what? He wasn't going to try to second-guess any officer, this particular midshipman least of all.

"And.. ever thought ye'd be drownin' ..because of ter storm?" He asked, the feeling of the later all too fresh in his mind. It may have shown on his face. He shifted on his spot and fought the urge to adjust his breeches. He would not show this man that he didn't feel comfortable. Pain be damned.

So, that's what this was all about.

"Only once, sir, and it was a much worse storm than this, when we was roundin' Cape Horn in Surprise, about four year ago, sir."

"But.. that's not the kind of storm that you'd think would be drownin' us no? Not in this Bay?" He bit at his lip and scolded himself for asking so many questions and being friendly. He shouldn't have been friendly, for if he allowed others to think that they could actually approach him like he were a friend, they'd abuse it. And it would be harder to intimidate them then too!

Quinn passed the cutlass over. "Certainly heavier than the one you've got there, sir. Just... It ain't made for fencin' with, though, sir. Is there anythin' else I can help you with while we're here?"

"No, sir. Terpsy's a good ship, we've got good masts and spars and the like, and this ain't so bad as some storms. We'll weather it, you see if we don't, sir."

He risked a quick glance at the lad. He was just that, really, a young boy, probably nervous at facing a real storm for maybe the first time. He seemed to be all right, and Thompson wondered how he could reassure the lad without getting chewed out for being familiar.

"Don't want to see if we don't.." He answered a bit harsher than he intended. He took a deep breath and gazed at their present companion. A ship that was as much as unease about the storm as they were. He wondered if they would sail one beside the other, keeping sight of each other, till they could engage, always nervous that the other would think it's time and them miss the opportunity, or would they try it now, cost it what will.

He looked to the sky again, and chewed on his lip, quite subconsciously. "How loyal are ye. To the ship n' capn'?.."He blurted out, and it wasn't at all that he meant ill with that question.

That made Thompson blink and look directly at the lad, startled. "Captain Bolitho's one of the best captains I ever had, sir. Does his best for his officers and men and so we do the best we can for him, sir. And Terpsy's a proper lady, she is, sir."

The words were genuine, and there was no false start or attempt to say anything that the Marine didn't believe was true. And his belief could be read in his eyes by anyone who cared to look.

Mathew did look at the man's eyes, and he was stunned to see the devotion that this private had for the captain. Surprised by how his words were felt and not rehearsed. As much as he tried to find fault, an indication that the man was lying, there was not a sound out of place. Not a single tone.

"..I'll expect you would die for him then, if the need arose.. would you do the same for those, who are under his command?.. His right hand, so to say. His officers?"

"We're shipmates, sir. I would, but I know that they'd do their best so as few of us as possible have to die." He shrugged, not quite understanding that the lad didn't understand about loyalty. "The Captain's a Terpsy, I'm a Terpsy, Mister Leat's a Terpsy. You'm a Terpsy, sir. It's... I'm loyal to the Captain, and he's loyal to me, and you and the rest of us, sir."

"..Not everybody on this ship is loyal." He spoke, his voice growing colder:"...The men who had me nearly killed. Whom they were loyal to?.. Or were you loyal to them?.. do you know them, Private?" His eyes were sharp on the face of the marine, watching for the reaction he'd hoped for.

Thompson looked blank. "I got no idea who they was, sir, and if I catch 'em, they'll go straight in front of the Captain, f'r him to deal with. S'what the Articles says, that."

Whoever it was had made a serious error of judgement doing that - especially to a lad newly arrived on board, who had yet to make a name and reputation for himself.