Beating to quarters

Sergeant Quinn wrote: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?"

"Thank you, no. I have pistols - and will fetch them immediately." And then he'd go and stand on the deck. The Marines would not know what would happen next, which would depend on the weather as much as on the French. "I couldn't stay below and wait to see what happened," he said, in explanation.

Quinn smiled at that. "I think it would be very difficult for a man - an officer - such as yourself, my lord, to have to keep out of things, and we will be most pleased to have you with us. They will be on the gundeck, out of the worst of the weather, should you get there ahead of me, sir."

He took out his own musket before locking the arms locker again, thinking, and made up his mind. "Would you like to borrow a man, to refresh your memory of the musket drill, my lord?"

Edrington smiled. He had used a musket, and done the drill with the ordinary soldiers, but not recently. He could probably still remember how to do it, but to stand on the deck fumbling while everyone else was firing would be carrying pride too far, if a few minutes reminder would help him do it properly. "Thank you. It would save me making a fool of myself when it matters."

That made Quinn's smile broaden. "Is there any of my men you would like in particular, my lord? Or do you not mind who I choose?"

"I do not mind who you choose, Sergeant. You must deploy your men how you wish." He met the Sergeant's eyes and added: "The only one I know by name is Thompson - he was behind my chair at the Captain's dinner. Unless he has other duties..."

"Thompson's one of our sharpshooters. He's usually in the maintop during action, but he'll be on deck in this storm. I should think he'll be very happy to go through the drill with you, sir."

The thought of being a sharpshooter, stationed in the maintop, was not an appealing thought, but at least the Navy was not stupid enough to put men there in a storm. Edrington nodded. Thompson was a pleasant young man. and it would be better to be taught - reminded - by him than by someone like the angry Corporal. "I'll find him on deck, then. Thank you, Sergeant."

"My pleasure, sir." He saluted and watched the young Colonel turn away towards his cabin.

He had to go back down to the magazine to replace the cartridge box he'd just handed over to the Colonel, but that wouldn't take very long. He turned to head back down to the orlop.

Private Thompson wrote: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.

"..I'll be glad to hear that." He wasn't fully convinced, but he dismissed the thought for now. He rubbed a hand against his drenched coat and felt that when he squeezed water actually came pouring out of it. With a frown he looked up ahead and then added:".. I'll hope to see those men hanging.. by the time we have our guest safely put ashore. Do make an effort in finding them, private." His eyes darkly on Thompson :" Prove your word's worth.."

"Aye, aye, sir," he said, looking back up. Quite how he was supposed to do that, he had no idea, and what would happen if it turned out to be Cob Chase, or Chicken Dyer, or any other popular man, he had no idea, either.

".. As you were.. then." He dismissed the lad, for he had stayed from his post long enough. He looked to the ship and decided that he would go closer to the railing and steady his glass to see it up close. Through mist and through water of the damned sea, if it had to be so. Storm, Frenchman, anything worse that could happen now too?

Edrington came out of his cabin with his pistols tucked into his sash, where they would be protected to some extent by his coat and the cloak. Powder and balls were in a bag in the pouch on his cross-belt, which felt strange, balancing his sword belt, with the cutlass replacing his lighter dress sword. And the musket. He smiled wryly. He was at least ready if they did engage the Frenchman, but could that really be expected? He climbed up the companionway to the gun-deck. Thompson was there, once again detained by the midshipman. The absence of any other activity among the knot of Marines indicated that there was still time.

"Aye, aye, sir," he said and saluted again before returning to the lee of the bulwarks where the other Marines were huddled. So that was Mister Midshipman De Guarde, then. There was something about him that made Thompson wonder... he seemed as though he could be a nice enough lad, despite everything that had happened since his arrival aboard Terpsy. He'd just had wrong training and bad examples, and that didn't sit too well on the nice young lad Thompson had had a glimpse of.

Edrington watched Thompson being dismissed, and rejoin his fellows, while the midshipman turn to the rail to watch the French ship. It was not easy to see at all through the rain, and spray. He stared for a few moments, and imagined that there was a patch of white, and possibly a darker outline - but even narrowing his eyes it was impossible to be sure.

He turned to join the Marines in their sheltered spot.

Someone else came to join them and Thompson turned to see who it was.

"Colonel?" he said, thinking that he was possibly seeing things. The driving rain and motion of the ship made it hard to see, and the figure was wearing a boatcloak as well. He couldn't think of anyone else it could be, though. the captain was up on the quarterdeck and none of the Lieutenants was as tall as this figure.

"Thompson." Edrington pulled back the hood as the wind died away in the shelter of the bulwark. "Sergeant Quinn said I would find you here. And that you would ensure that I still remembered my musket drill." He grinned. "I think I do, but I'd rather find out now that I've forgotten something, than blow my hand off."

"Musket drill, sir?" the Marine asked, slightly puzzled. "You comin' to fight with us, then, sir?"

"If the ship does take on the Frenchman, I am not going to sit in my cabin and wait to learn who won. Nor to stand around like a spectator at a prize fight. I don't know artillery, but I have fired a musket in my time." He shrugged. "Not recently, though - which is why the Sergeant suggested you take me through the drill."

"Oh. Right. Yes, sir."

He hastily collected his scattered wits and brought his own musket up level with his hip. "It's a Sea Service musket, sir, a bit shorter than the ones the Army use, which makes it easier to use below decks. What you need is the frizzen forward and the flint on half-cock." He pulled the hammer back one click. "Then you take a cartridge, bite the end off and pour a bit of powder into the pan. Then close the frizzen and turn the musket about, so's it's outboard of your left shoe, lock outwards. The rest of the powder goes down the barrel, then squeeze the cartridge. Drop that down, with the ball still in it, take the ramrod out, ram it home and return the ramrod."

Edrington nodded. "We'll keep our powder dry, at least for now." He took the musket, aware of the difference in length without totally recognizing what was wrong. He worked the hammer, bringing in fully back before returning it, and repeating 'Frizzen. Flint to half-cock." He glanced down at the hammer to check its position, then pretended to take a cartridge, bite it and pour a small amount of the imaginary powder into the pan. "Close frizzen," and he turned the musket grounding it by his foot. "Pour powder, drop cartridge with ball into the barrel and..." he suited the action to the words, "Take the ramrod, ram it down the barrel and return it to its place." Slow, but some of that was just being careful in front of this man. And he could not be certain that he would do even as well when it was for real, and he had to judge the correct amount of powder for the pan. "If I am slow, or look lost, don't stop what you're doing to look after me," he said. "If I distract you from doing your job, then there is no reason for my being there."

"Better slow an' safe than try to keep up an' end up doing y'rself a damage, sir," Thompson said. "But if you've done it before, you'll remember what you're doin', right enough. Just don't try to keep up if it means you'm goin' to make a mistake. It ain't... it ain't volley fire. We fire in our own time, us Marines." He grinned at the Colonel. "You'll be all right, once you've got the feel of it, sir."

"I do believe so, or I would not have volunteered. At least without volley fire one's slowness does not stand out." Edrington returned the grin and added: "Sergeant Quinn says you will not be in the tops today, so if I may, I will post myself near you - that way, I should be in the right place, at least."

Thompson glanced aloft. "Ain't any way I want to risk me neck up there in this weather, sir, not bein' a seaman. An' even they've got to be more careful goin' aloft. I dunno quite what's goin' to happen - can't have ourselves a proper sea-fight when both us and the Frogs are fightin' the weather as well. Might just end up firing the guns - and it'll take some work runnin' them out, against the pitch of the deck."

He brought his eyes back down to look at the officer. "You all right there, sir? Not findin' it too hard to stand, or anythin'?"

"If I concentrate - butI would be more doubtful about my ability to stand and take aim. But there will not be time for target practice." He shrugged under the streaming cloak. "But if we're not going to come within musket-range..." The guns could do a lot of damage to a ship, which it might not survive in this sea. But that would be no worse on deck than below.

"I don't know if we'll get within musket range or not, sir. Better to be up here in case we do, and find we ain't needed. And a musket's mostly point it in the right direction and pull the trigger. 'Specially in this sort of dirty weather."

He shivered a little. The rain was beginning to soak through the wool of his jacket now, and he - like most of the others - had left his hat below, to prevent it being blown off and lost. At least when they got below later, it would be warm and relatively dry.