Beating to quarters

Edward Leat wrote:"I'm sure she will live up to her name," Leat said, giving the topman one of his customary small smiles. The to the rest of the men. "All of you; I know that whatever happens you shall do us proud."

The gun crew smirked at each other. Chase said, "Sure we will, sar, an' happily. Ain't we Terpsies after all?"

Chase's characteristically loud voice carried some way along the gun deck, where it was hailed with scattered cheers and affirmations. At the same time, Yates came down the aftmost companionway, and Billy hailed him with an additional cheer.

"Here's our Mister Yates now! You all right, sir?" he asked, rushing over to help him walk if necessary. "Just like Lord Nelson you are, sir. But don't you worry, our doctor can whip off an arm or a leg beautifully." He knew of course that the surgeon would not have allowed him to return to duty if his arm had needed amputation, but his cheer covered his proprietary worry. As Chase had been assigned as mentor to de Guarde, Billy had been given the task of shepherding young Yates.

"Hello, Barrow," said Peter, as the seaman ran over to him. "I'm back - and just in time by the sound of it. I would have hated you to start without me." He grinned at Barrow's joke, and pulled back the coat to show that his arm was still there, strapped up. "I just have to favour it for a while, and it will be as right as rain." He took up a position where he could steady himself with one hand if needed, and looked over the 5 guns under his nominal command. Barrow looked at him attentively, and he tried to look like someone who knew what they were doing.

"We will beat her, if we all do our duty, and perform as well as I know you can. We are the better ship, and our crew is the better. We'll show them!"

John felt his own grin grow at that, and at seeing Yates again. They'd show them, alright.

Number Four's crew flung balled fists into the air and offered a lusty "Huzzah!" at Mister Yates' words.

Chase grinned broadly. They wouldn't fare badly at all, with officers like Mister Yates and Mister Leat and Captain Bolitho in command. They couldn't.

The lieutenant let a wry smile curl at the corners of his mouth, and he turned to give a nod of acknowledgement to Yates.

"Good to see that you are still with us, Mister Yates. I trust that dirk of yours has been given a good edge by the armourer?"

"It was sharpened only this morning, Sir," Peter smiled with real pleasure. He heard the cheers from along the deck, and thought it was worth breaking his arm, if he could come back to such a welcome. He hoped that Mr Leat, and Chandos, would not mistake the slight dampness in his eyes for tears. That wasn't what it was at all.

"It is very exciting," he said, as if he doubted it himself, "but one can't help but wish that it would start."

"It shall soon enough."

He indicated a space up at the rail, seen through the grating above Number Four.

"If you stand by the rail up there you'll see her come up well."

"May I?" Peter asked Lieutenant George, but he was already walking towards the companionway. He climbed up, his cloak flapping about him as he met the wind above, and walked over to the rail. Others were standing there too, watching the French ship, so much clearer now, with its own rail crowded with blue-coated figures. People who were just like them, but who wanted to kill them, as they, the Terpsies, wanted to kill the French.

It would be a valuable prize, he thought, and then shook the thought away.

Edrington watched the small midshipman walk across to the rail, having difficulty controlling his cloak - this was the lad who had broken his arm during the worst of the storm, he realized. He stood a while longer, watching the French ship, as they gradually grew closer, apparently without any deliberate purpose, more as if the sea and wind had decided to bring them to battle whether or not they wanted it.

Then, before either of them had fired a single gun, he made his way back to the station he had had before, with the Marines. Thompson, he noted, was absent, probably stationed elsewhere - possibly even in the maintop, now that the weather had improved. Edrington could remember the Marine's lesson, and he hoped to be a credit to his tuition once it came to battle.

Branning was oblivious to nearly everything in his watching of the French ship, so intent was he on that task. He'd heard the shout for a Marine from somewhere below but somebody else had answered it before he could realise it had been a general summons.

Likewise, he didn't directly notice the return of the fellow that Thompson had been talking to earlier. But then, he wouldn't have been so bold as to address the man unless spoken to first.

"Uh!" The muttered exclamation had been meant to be more useful, but surprise managed quickly to overwhelm his brief happiness. Branning blushed for a moment and pointed eagerly toward the French ship. "She turnin' to, she is!"

He grinned broadly. They'd have their fight after all!

The big marine was clearly excited at the prospect of the coming fight, and Edrington glanced from the ship to him, and then, as he spoke more understandably, back to the ship. It was indeed turning, to intersect with their course, rather than continuing to evade them.

"So have we caught her, or she caught us?" Edrington asked softly. At this stage, he at least would not like to wager much on the outcome.

"We've caught her, dead sure, sir," Branning answered happily. Any other alternative wasn't possible in his view. "Ain't a Frog can catch out ol' Terpsy."

Bolitho saw the new movement of the French ship and he knew now was the time. The frigate was turning right into their sights. They had to strike fast or any hope of success would be lost.

"Larboard battery, run out!" he called, his voice carrying across the deck decently even without the aid of his speaking trumpet. Then he paused only a moment before shouting, "Fire!"

[OOC: Hope I'm right in assuming the Frenchie is still off to larboard...]

"Run 'em out!" Leat hollared in repetition of the captain's order."Make ready!"

There was a pause as they waited for the uproll, then Bolitho gave the word.

"Fire!" Leat bellowed, and several hundredweight of bronze crashed back on the carriages, belching smoke, flame and iron in the direction of the Frenchman.

"C'mon boys!"

Chase and his gun crew leapt to action, heaving eagerly at the ropes to run out their gun. The scene was repeated all along the gun deck and in a bare few moments, the larboard battery was run and ready.

"Fire!"

Like trembling thunder, the broadside roared out from the frigate's side. Chase was at work immediately, his sponge-rod driving down the cannon barrel and back out. Toby Flint sprang forward with another powder charge and the process of loading was begun.

John, stripped and dripping lept out of the way of the gun, then joined the others in readying it again, breathing in the harsh smell of cordite and grinning as he felt the familier bubbling of a team uniting against their enemy.
They'd get them, alright, no question in his mind at all.

Leat squinted to see past the clouds of smoke to gauge the balls' distances. The guns were cold and they fell short - some distinct white splashes where they hit the waves. The next broadside a few would reach, and the next after that perhaps all.

Bolitho frowned as the shots failed to hit their mark. But thankfully the French frigate had not retaliated yet.

"Reload!" he shouted to the gun crews, watching as they swabbed and primed the guns once more. Hopefully, they could get in one more broadside before their opponent had the chance to fire.

Dissapointed not to have hit it that time, but ready to do it again, they eagerly followed their orders, and waited, tensely.

Grunting and sweating, the gun crews heaved at the tackles and ran out their guns again. Some gun captains were cursing, having seen many shots fall short. They'd set that right this volley!

Chase covered his ears, even though his neckrag was wrapped around his head over them already. In only a moment they'd be given the order to fire again, and then they'd really show that Frog.

Peter could only call out encouragement to the crews, as Chandos ran round, setting up each gun so that it had the maximum chance to hit the frigate at the next broadside. It had seemed terrible when the first balls had fallen short like that, but - well, if that was what normally happened with the first shots, it would possibly happen when the Frenchman finally fired.

[OOC question: Why did no one compensate for the guns being cold? I mean, cannon balls don't come cheap, and surely they could wait until the enemy was actually in range before firing.]

[OOC: I was under the impression that the French ship was in range already. That's why I gave the order to fire...]

The gun crews had all reloaded and were ready for another broadside.

"Fire!" Bolitho called, praying that they would have more success with this round.

Edrington had experienced artillery fire on land, but that was in the open, here the thunder in the gun deck as all the larboard guns fired seemed like a physical blow. He could sense the disappointment too as the first broadside failed to hit. There was activity as the guns were reloaded, the lieutenants and midshipmen running around sighting the guns and lifting them.

The distance was still too great for the use of the muskets, but at least now the action had started. He took up a position next to the big Marine.

The Marines shifted anxiously as the first broadside was fired. Some of them were already laying bets about which gun would hit the Frenchman first. Branning would've made a bet with Higgins for the same reason but for the arrival beside him of the red-coated Army officer.

"Lookin' forrard to some action, sir?" Branning asked, his round face cheerful.