Beating to quarters

"Aye sir." John saluted, thoroughly confused now, and turned away to clatter down the companion way and between decks.
Carefully, he braced himself against the ships, moving with her, and peered round into the sick bay. "Dr?" He called, "I was wondering how Mr Yates was?"
He took a good look around as he came in, seeing all the empty beds he knew would be filled, though he hoped one wasn't there for him. At least, not through his own supidity.

Peter turned his head on the pillow at the sound of his own name and saw Westdale. "Over here," he called. "Westdale? How is it on deck? What is happening?" His arm ached, his head throbbed and his hand - the right hand - hurt, where the rope had burned it as surely as a poker. He did not want to move, but he did not want to feel quite so left out as he did.

Edrington huddled in the Captain's cloak, glad of his boots - even if they were not as sure on the wet surface, they kept the water out better than shoes would have done. He left the gun deck as the gun crews rushed into it, coming down from the masts. He glanced up into the rain - a much reduced array of sails, but nevertheless the ship still seemed to rush, parting the rain and sea with equal indifference. After the heat of the cabin, the fresh air, spiked with salt and cold water, stung as it his his face, and he bowed his head and made his way towards the quarterdeck.

Seeing the dripping man come haring into the room, Philip pottered over. "I hope ye won't be exciting 'im none" he grumbled, balefull eye on this new encounter, "'e won't be up for a while yet, I wouldn't think... best he should stay lying down." Philip accompanied that dour promise of no action with a light push, sending the injured man back to his former position of lying down, flat.

Bolitho looked away from the French frigate sailing ever closer, and glanced along the deck. Through the sheets of driving rain, he could see a figure approaching the quarterdeck. As the man came nearer, he saw that it was Edrington. He was not surprised to see the colonel, recalling that he had earlier expressed a desire to come back on deck. Yet Bolitho could not help feeling that this was not the best place for Edrington to be, even less so now that an enemy ship was approaching.

"Your Lordship, it would seem we have some unexpected visitors," Bolitho called, jerking his head in the direction of the encroaching ship, "She's a French frigate. The lookout spotted her not long ago. Thankfully that gave us enough time to prepare. What with this storm, it would have been easy for her to sneak up and take us completely by surprise."

He wanted to tell the colonel of his concerns, that it might be wiser if he were not on deck now. But Bolitho decided to remain silent. He had a much more pressing concern, for the oncoming frigate was now quite close.

The sounds of the storm helped muffle conversations, though of those there was little enough. Chase leaned on his sponge-rod and gave the cold iron of the Number Four gun an affectionate pat.

"Think the cap'n'll let us take a few cracks at that Frog?" The topman asked, leaving the question open to whoever might care to speculate. In this weather, opening the gunports could result in disaster, but of course the prospect of combat temporarily outweighed any fear of the storm.

Down on the main deck Leat grasped onto the rail, leaning over slightly and squinting at the fleck of dirty-white in the distance, denoting the Frenchman's tops'ls. He loved foul weather - could not help butfeel exhilerated by it, and he smiled as the wind and spray whipped his pale face. He had left his hat below, and his long red hair was soaked through and stuck to his skin. The sail was definitely coming closer.

"We're closing, sir!" he called, turning from the rail to look to Bolitho. "She's running only tops'ls now!"

Edrington kept silent while Bolitho did what had to be done to prepare the ship, his eyes turned in the direction of the French ship, although he judged that more by following the focus of everyone else's attention. In a slightly less busy moment, he asked: "Is there anything I can do? I have some skill with small arms, and with fighting. And I remember how to follow orders."

As the sailor descended below the young fellow returned to the captain's side. There he saw another man, and for a moment he wondered who it was, till he recognised him as the guest. He glanced down at his boots and wondered if he was aware how swiftly he may be sliding down the floors in those.

He looked across the deck, and held himself upright, following the roll of the ship, so that he seemed unphased even if inwardly he was starting to envy young Yates, who had gone below. He looked at the approaching ship, and he felt worried. But he willed his emotions in place. He glowered at the deck below. and at the sailors seen there, by the cannons. Who was it. Who was that cursed man? Or the pair of them. Were they watching him now, could he pick them out. Perhaps they would be slain by the French. That would be good, though a pity. They'd be better of suffering the punishment. No, dear Frogs. Leave them alive.. so that once they were discovered they'd be choking their lives out.

He smirked to himself, and released a short breath, gritting his teeth. Cold, drenched and hurting. Lucky Yates. He hadn't known that the boy just broke his arm, he might've thought differently then.

John touched his foread once. "Well sir, It's hard to see with all the raing, but the frogs coming alongside, though I don't know if we'll get any shots in, with the weather and all."
He braced himself on a particularly nasty roll, not wanting to cause any further harm. "Mr de Guarde asked for you special like, anything I can do? what should I tell him?

Peter cursed his stupidity, to be stuck down here while there was the prospect of action. He tried to imagine what it would be like, with the wind and the rain making the firing of the guns quite as dangerous to their own ship as to the enemy, and ... But the Frenchman would have the same problems. They must not allow it get into a position where it could fire a broadside at them.

He could not believe that de Guarde was asking about him from friendship: he probably only wanted to confirm that Peter was suffering. "Tell him I have a broken arm, but not to worry. And that I hope he survives whatever happens." He then smiled more warmly and said "And you too, Westdale. Thank you for the information. I will probably be able to hear what goes on from down here!"

"We are indeed, Mr. Leat," Bolitho said, nodding towards the lieutenant. The ships would be alongside each other in only a short while now.

Once Bolitho turned away from Leat, Edrington inquired if there was anything he could do to help. Though he would not have asked the colonel to put himself in danger, Bolitho was glad that he had made the offer. They would be in need of all the help they could get, and Edrington's skills as a soldier could be put to good use.

"Of course. We will need as much effort as possible when the time comes for close action, thus I greatly appreciate the offer, Your Lordship."

Leat's grin broadened and he laughed, turning back to watch the distant ship. He had been somewhat surprised to see De Guarde standing next to the captain, but had he not wanted him there then doubtless Bolitho would have sent him away.

The swell was growing with each passing moment, the treaturous Bay that had so far been unusually calm rearing its ugly head. Some men, he knew would be doubting whether they would make it to Lisbon, that is would be madness to continue a chase in this weather and that they should continue as best on their original course.

John smiled, though sorry for the arm the man would certainly be able to hear whatever was happening- probably better than he would, given the weather.
"I'll tell him, sir. Thankee, sir." and turned again, making his way back to the, probably now dripping, de Guarde, who was now near the captain. Quickly he made a suitable motion of his hand, trying to encompass willingess and politeness while also in a hurry.
As his business was with de Guarde, he faced him and talked, quietly but clearly, under the sounds of the sea
"Mr Yates reports he has a broken arm, sir, but not to worry. He wishes ye well and hopes not to see you down there after this too, sir."

"What did Westdale say?" Crozier asked generally, looking over his shoulder after stitching up Stenhouse's scalp. "Will we be in action soon?"

Seeing the sailor reach the upper deck, he turned and excused himself to the captain, and shivering from the cold he descended the stairs to meet with the man. He listened to his words carefuly and nodded. So the boy has broken his arm? How bad was the injury? Was it such that he may loose it, or a simple break of bone that would mend, give it time?
He did not worry about Yates, though he was surprised to see him at last, injured and hurting. Perhaps he felt a small bit of satisfaction, almost a revenge payed back, for when the youth pushed him against the crates. He still remembered the anguish and pain of that action. Still of other feelings he was unsure. The boy deserved it sure, but..

"How bad is the injury, Westdale?.. He'll keep it, won't he?" Only the doctor would know for sure, but a look at the arm may say enough whether it was in tiny shattered pieces or clean. He considered his next words and added:".. did he say anything more?"

John squitched slightly, though he told himself it was more due to the interogatory tone than from any lingering whiff of sickness he had brought with him. "Well, I'm no surgeon, sir, but it isn't festering or anything, so I don't see why it should come off. He hadn't much of a fever, sir, the break seemed clean enough." He wondered what the man was driving at with his next question. A forgiving message? an offer of a swim later? a titbit of information about where to get the best girls, come shore? He almost smiled at the last one, though witheld it manfully.
"I reported it word for word sir, the only thing I didn't say was he..." John fearfully looked de Guarde straight in the eye, feeling this surely was of no consquence, "he wished me luck too, sir, and noted he'd be able to hear everything from down there, too, or near enough. He's right you know, sir." John squitched again, remembering how he himself had followed a few battles from the sounds only. Not enough, his sore back told him, but he pushed that thought to the side.

De Guarde's cold gaze turned into a glare when he felt challenged by the sailor with that insolent look, right at his own eyes. As if he had permission to stare at hm so. There was of course fear there, he could sense it well enough, but the man still dared a bold look, and the boy, shivering and uncomfortable took it wrongly.

"I know he is right." He spoke and his tone helf stiff." I did not ask your opinion about your superior officer's convictions. And were he to tell you that the sky is bright yellow, and a rainbow grows right out of our ship, he would STILL be right and you would so agree." He snapped. He gazed towards the quarterdeck.

With a calmer, though not any more pleasant voice, he continued:"..Where have you been assigned to..at present?" Which cannon, which task, what use." And pray do tell, how is your finger?" And it was clear he hadn't asked because he cared.

Dr. Crozier wrote:"What did Westdale say?" Crozier asked generally, looking over his shoulder after stitching up Stenhouse's scalp. "Will we be in action soon?"

"He said that the Frenchman seemed to be coming into range, or alongside rather, because he doesn't think we can fire the great guns in this sea. So there probably will be some action. Only - I wish I hadn't slipped. He said Mr de Guarde had sent him down to enquire after me..." Peter looked at Crozier, with doubt in his eyes. He still did not believe in the good will of the other midshipman.

"I see," the surgeon answered distractedly. At the moment, he had little interest in Mr. de Guarde or his feelings towards Mr. Yates, whether friendly or antagonistic. For now his main concern was in treating the patients who would soon arrive. "Right, Stenhouse, M'Clure will take care of you, and mind how you go on the stairs, my boy. Bridgens, clear off those things, and where are the mirrors, man? We must have more light."

Hastily John nodded, droppin ghis eyes and holding as still as he could. "Aye sir, indeed he'd be right, sir. 'Twas wrong of me to say such a thing, I'm sorry, sir."
John bit his lip slightly. Why did he alwys throw in all these sirs whenever he was attacked by de Guarde? it always reinforced his own feeling of uselessness- which, he reckoned, might not be far wrong. "I'm fine, sir." he added, though witholding his stinging thumb. Salt in an open wound had never been his favourite, but he'd had much worse, and would soon if he didn't get to answering such a list of questions.

"What use, sir? By rights I should be standing by a cannon, preparing to wreck any havoc we may in this weather."

Richard Bolitho wrote:Once Bolitho turned away from Leat, Edrington inquired if there was anything he could do to help. Though he would not have asked the colonel to put himself in danger, Bolitho was glad that he had made the offer. They would be in need of all the help they could get, and Edrington's skills as a soldier could be put to good use.

"Of course. We will need as much effort as possible when the time comes for close action, thus I greatly appreciate the offer, Your Lordship."

"Shall I speak to the Marine Captain, or possibly to his Sergeant. I have no artillery experience, but muskets ..." And he would need to borrow a sword - the dress sword he wore would serve no offensive purpose at all.

"Yes, it would be a good idea for you to speak with Sergeant Quinn," Bolitho said, "I'm sure he will be more than happy to get you a musket and whatever else you may need."

He looked back out at the French ship again, now almost upon them.

"And it looks like we'll be needing everyone to pull their weight sooner rather than later," he said, more to himself than to Edrington.

"Then go, and take your station. If you survive, I shall expect to see you later." He spoke and gave a slight nod. He saw how nervous the sailor was, and the man twitched earlier and he had used so many sir's in such a short time, that it actually brought a smile to the boy's face.

He hadn't had the time to stand in idle chatting. "You are dismissed. Now go. And don't get yourself killed."

Heaven knew how the other ship had been able to get so close in this weather. She was running under reefed topsails only, but seemed to be a good sailer, from what Thompson could tell.

He tightened his grip on his musket, wondering if the weapon would fire at all. The Marines were gathered on the weather side, under the lee of the bulkhead but there was still a deal too much water for his liking.

He noticed Mister De Guarde talking to one of the sailors, who didn't look too comfortable at having the middy's attention. He frowned a little. What was the lad doing, behaving so badly where the sailors were concerned? He watched, trying not to look as though he watching, until the sailor turned away, attempting to work out why the lad seemed to have such a down on the sailors.