Beating to quarters

"How much authority over you does the midshipman have? I thought Marines were only under their own officers and the Captain."

"Well, sir, the Lieutenants won't give a direct order, 'less'n it's really urgent, so what they say is more... more of a suggestion. Middies are the same rank as the bosun's mates. Like the lieutenants, they can't give direct orders, like... but then, lieutenants are officers, and the middies are going to be officers, so it's a brave man who refuses an order they give. But any problems are usually sorted out real quick, anyway." He shrugged. "If a senior Navy officer sees summat goin' on that ain't right, he'll sort it out there and then, and if there ain't a senior Navy officer around, we can use our own chain of command to tell the captain there's summat wrong. Though usually it's so small, it ain't worth complainin' about, sir."

Edrington leaned back against the bulwark. What that young midshipman needed was someone to tell him - to tell him forcefully - how to conduct himself. It was not for him - the Captain would rightly resent any interference with his officers or would-be officers - but his presence might at least deter the boy from distracting the Marines. If there was to be any action at all, that was.

He pushed his wet hair back from his face, and leant his musket against his leg under the cloak, to keep it as dry as possible.

"He seems to be... to be all mixed up about things, sir," Thompson said, slowly, trying to find words to explain what had happened and what he thought. "He asked me about the captain, like, and seemed a bit surprised when I said he's one of the best captains I ever had. As though... as though he expected to hear the words, like, but not to hear 'em as the truth. I think there's summat good in him, but I dunno how to make anyone else see it, sir."

He leaned on his musket, steadying himself with one hand on the cannon next to him whenever he felt his balance threatened by the continuous motion of the ship as she was tossed by the waves.

"I don't believe you'll be able to make anyone see any good in him, until he begins to demonstrate it himself. Otherwise, it will be dismissed as wishful thinking and partiality on your part." Edrington flexed his shoulders against the wood behind him. "Like men who maintain that their vicious horse or dog is a splendid animal, and ignore the complaints of those kicked or bitten."

In the gloom the sailors were shrouded figures, and he nodded to himself. "Perhaps the first task is to ensure that he survives. Someone has already tried to kill him, I believe. They will have another chance soon."

"Wishful thinkin', sir? Now, why would I be so wishful as to see good in a middy who ain't goin' to have anythin' to do with us Marines, sir? And I don't reckon I'm so partial to him, neither." He shrugged and ran a hand through sopping wet hair. "I just don't believe that someone that young can be completely bad, sir. So mebbe it is wishful thinkin', at that."

Edrington shrugged. "Then let us hope that he shows some of this goodness, to prove it to others."

There seemed little likelihood that the same view was shared by the boy's officer. If it had been, the Colonel would have been more concerned: this eagerness to see potential good in the boy and make allowances put others at risk, while the midshipman continued to threaten and bully and bring punishment down on the heads of the sailors unchecked. It had not been an unhappy ship - it had been a ship where seamen went cheerfully to do their duty. Now, when danger threatened they had to watch out for a vicious little tyrant who so enjoyed power that he would endanger the ship for a petty victory over an able seaman. And so far nothing the officers had done had checked him - even confinement had been relaxed to allow him to take his station. Had he had an ensign with so little visible merit, he would have been dismissed.

The boy stood a bit appart from the others, observing the Frenchman. He looked towards the captain and then skimmed the deck to catch sight of the lieutenants. Three in all, George, Leat and Bush.

He had felt humbled after the corporal's ordeal. Till that moment he had been starting to get convinced he would not suffer such punishment while on board. It was odd for the youth to think so, yet perhaps the reluctance shown in the beginning as opposed by the eagerness of his previous ship, had formed such an opinion. Ofcourse the ship here had a normal way of things, but for the boy..it was hardly so.

At present he was somewhat confused. He knew what he was punished for and he knew it was right. He struck a man, a corporal and there was no excuse in that. He looked ahead again.

The corporal hadn't been tender when delievering it. He gently reached back and pried some of the cloth from his skin. He bit down a sound and straightened till he felt his muscles tense. He clutched his dirk in his hand and looked at it, briefly and slowly he turned it in his hand, steadying himself with the other arm.

Thompson shrugged. It was only a hint that he'd seen, but it was enough to make him hope that the boy might yet turn out to be a decent lad, once he'd figured out the Terpsy's way of doing things. Still, even if he didn't, the middies had little enough to do with the Marines that it probably wouldn't matter too much to Thompson and his cronies. Though he didn't fancy seeing the grating rigged too often, even for the sailors, who were all pretty decent lads.

"Hope so, sir," he said, and wondered vaguely if there was anything he could to encourage the lad to show his good side. Probably not, though. He sighed a little and looked across at the Army officer. "You all right with the musket drills, sir, or d'you want me to go over it again, just in case?" he asked.

Edrington nodded. "Better if I go over it. Open the frizzen, hammer to half-cock. Bite the end off the cartridge, pour a little into the pan and close the frizzen. Turn the musket so," he pushed back his cloak and swung the musket to rest outside his left boot, keeping one hand over the barrel to stop it filling with water, "pour the rest of the powder down the barrel, followed by the cartridge wadded round the ball. Take the ramrod, and ram it home." He grinned. "Not forgetting to remove the ramrod from the barrel and put it back in its place."

[if this is wrong, please let me know - I rephrased some of it to check whether I understood it.]

Thompson nodded. "That's it, sir. You'll be just as good as us Marines, I reckon. Mebbe you'll need a bit of practise to manage four shots a minute, but I think you could do that easy, an' it wouldn't take you too long, neither." He wished Edrington was his officer, but he couldn't say that, of course, so he just grinned at the man. "Shame you joined the Army, sir. You'd make a good Marine," he said instead.

Edrington smiled back. "I don't think it would do for me - as an officer, I mean. I can see advantages for a private soldier - less marching and manoeuvring, among others. I don't regret my choice." He asked, interested: "Do you ever see senior Marines officers - Majors or Colonels, I mean. They are not normally posted on board ships..."

Thompson shook his head. "I know that Marine Captains get called Major, 'cause there's only one captain on a ship. Never met one who really was a Major, though. And Colonel... Well, senior Navy officers get made Colonel of the Marines if they'm liked. It's extra money for them and they don't have to do nothin' for it. I think mebbe you'd get a proper Marine Major on a line-of-battle ship - a second or first-rate, though even on Temmyrare, we just had a Captain. And a couple of Lieutenants." (He meant Téméraire.)

"That sounds like the Colonel of the Regiment - we have one too, although he's actually a General." Edrington grinned. "I'm just his lieutenant, to go out and fight the battalion. So an officer in the Marines would have to transfer to the Army if he had ambitions beyond Captain. And without experience - I'm not even sure if it would be allowed."

It was hard to tell on a ship, which moved constantly with wind and waves, but it seemed to Edrington as if the rain were less horizontal now, falling in straight curtains, and running from the remaining sails as from a gutter.

"Did two and a half years on Temmyrare, but apart from that, all me sea-time's been on frigates an' sloops an' the like."

It seemed to be easier to keep his balance now, and the deck wasn't sloping quite so much, although Terpsichore was still being battered by the waves. He wondered if it was because the storm was dying away, which seemed remarkably soon, although you could never tell with weather here in the Bay.

Branning leaned on his musket against the lessening roll of the ship, feeling oddly content despite having been sent off from his post at the midshipmen's berth. He wasn't sure quite why but it hardly mattered - not that he ever devoted much time to pondering his feelings.

He blinked away some stinging sea water and frowned. What was that Frog ship doing?

"She's runnin' away!" Branning burst out, disbelieving.

Branning's outburst made Thompson turn to take a look at the French ship. "She bleedin' ain't!" he said, his tone one of total disbelief. "Too scairt to fight in a bit of a blow. Bloody Frogs."

He'd been looking forward to a bit of excitement - not that there was any real chance of taking her as a prize in this weather of course, but even exchanging shots would have added a bit of excitement. Maybe shed' still be there when the weather cleared up, and they could have a go at her then?

"She is, too!" Branning pointed. He couldn't hide his own disappointment. "T'ain't fair!"

"That ain't on," Thompson said. "The lily-livered bastards."

As much as possible, the other ship had hauled her wind and settled on a tack away from the Terpsy.

His thoughts were echoed by those of the other Marines.

"T'ain't right, that."

"Come back 'ere an' fight!"

"Scared of gettin' hurt so 'e's runnin' 'ome to mummy!"

The Frenchman was trying to make a run for it and the Terpsies did not like that at all. The marines were the loudest, perhaps most expectant to have a chance of engagement with the enemy, a bit of thrill and excitement.

He spied for a sailor that would've been as loud. The lieutenants and the captain must've all seen it too. The commotion loud enough to alert anyone to the happenings at sea. Damn them. "Cowards!" He yelled with them, forgetting himself for a moment.

His fellow Marines were vocal in their derision and Branning heard Higgins' voice loud amongst the clash of voices.

"We oughta chase 'em an' steal our fight," Branning grumbled irritably.

Then he wondered how long it would take Corporal Johnson to appear and silence the lot of them. It never struck him that Johnson himself was hollering insults at the distant French ship too.

"Prob'ly took one look at you and thought better of it," Thompson said. "Chicken-hearted beggars, they is. Come an' give us a proper bloody fight!"

Would the Captain give chase? He hoped so; he could do with a bit of action.

There was a moment while the outline of the French ship seemed to fade and turn into rain, and then the calls and whistles summoned the sailors to the yards to trim the sails and to bring the Terpsichore round to follow the Frenchman. They were still close, and it might even be possible, despite the weather, to fire a few shots from the bow chaser into her as the frigate's bow lined up with the French ship.

Edrington shook himself and water slid from his cloak. They were not yet stood down, and it could be a manouevre designed to give the French an advantage (though he did not know how). The Marines, who were experienced, seemed to have decided that the French captain had decided not to risk action in this weather. But that could be rephrased as had decided to postpone action to a more favourable time.

The French frigate was running. Bolitho could hardly believe it. They could easily have gotten the better of the Terpsichore, after having the element of surprise and the advantage of the storm. But now the storm was lessening somewhat, and they no longer had an element of surprise either. Well, whatever the cause, Bolitho was not about to let them escape that easily. The crewmen were ready for a fight, if the shouts of the Marines were any indication, and so help him, they were going to get one.

He gave the order to follow the frigate, and the men immediately obeyed.

At least the Captain knew what was what. Thompson heard him give the orders that put Terpsichore in chase position. They might get their fight after all, though it was going to be a long chase, especially in this weather. The storm seemed to be easing off, though. The rain was still coming down as hard as ever, but the wind didn't seem to be as strong, even though Thompson and the Marines had some protection from the weather, standing as they were by the weather side of the ship, on the gun-deck, instead of being clustered up on the gangway. It should only take a moment or so to get onto the gangway to a position they could fire from, anyway.

The others had fallen silent as they realised what the Captain's orders meant. How long a chase it was going to be was anyone's guess though, but the Marines seemed to be heartened by the renewed promise of action, whenever it came.