After the Battle

"No better time ter learn than now, then." said cheerily, at least, though without the ease which he'd use normally.

He grabbed his own rope and moved a few steps away, ready to watch the lesson.

How was he supposed to teach this boy? Chase set his jaw and picked up a thick bone needle.

"Like this," he said, unwinding the strands of the two torn rope ends. He separated the loosened strands and paused to see if De Guarde was paying attention. After waiting a moment to let the boy mimic the arrangement with his own halves of rope, Chase went on to begin re-lacing the strands together so the break in the rope was closed.

"Gotta work 'em back together, like this, so's the rope ain't gonna pull apart when it's stretched taut again. This one's a short splice," Chase explained. He stopped and looked to see how De Guarde was doing.

De Guarde was paying attention, which was atleast a good thing. He followed Chase's example with a lot less skill but did more stubbornly. He didn't need to do this, he shouldn't have needed to work on the ropes like some common sailor, and it made him feel even more unhappy.

He did a slower job than Chase, but it was this time not because he wanted to do it slow, but rather because he was still working with the concept and coordinating his fingers to do the job alonog with the bone needle.

He didn't ask if it was allright, not seeking confirmation from a sailor. Instead he decided he did good and showed it to Chase as if to tell - there, see. I'm not daft -.

He glanced towards Westdale and fixed him a glare, as if to silence him with just that.

Not a bad job for a boy who'd never spliced rope before. Chase unlaid one strand of rope and tapped it with his bone needle. "Good one, jus' mis-tucked this one. Goes this way, see," he said and showed De Guarde what he meant. The lad had only missed by a bit, not a bad job at all.

"That's hard part anyhow," Chase added. "After that, 'tis jus' tuckin' in the ends an' testin' the splice t'see that it'll hold."

John kept his own eyes down, glancing up only to see the mistake Chase had pointed out. He knew de Guarde still thought his thumb had been on purpose, and didn't like him anyway...but he didn't know why.

He eyed the other groups of men scattered around, many doing what they were doing here. his fingers kept up the steady rhythm they always had, not the fastest, but not the slowest, either.

"..Aye." He didn't say thank you, nor did he aknowledge any gratitude for the help, he did however pay attention and he did begin to tuck in the ends as he was told. He looked at his rope again and then at Chase.

"I've finished... it'll hold." He mumbled. And thought - Else it will be your fault -.

Chase gave De Guarde's newly-repaired rope a good tug and nodded. "Aye, it'll hold. Now onto these others."

His own rope was finished and he set aside De Guarde's to set his bone needle to work on another length of rope. He'd have to put this one into an eye splice.

"Better if y'keep workin' with that short splice," Chase added thoughtfully. " 'Til y'can do it in yer sleep."

John looked over, cautiously adding, "When ye've done it a few times, you'll be able to sit round and do it while yer watching the weather...and having a conversation like this, all civilised like."
He didn't add it was also the perfect way to do something almost restful, get some sleep and laugh at the officers while they thought you were just working.

"What's t' difference between..." He caught himself saying and shut himself up looking back to the next rope he needed to repair. He didn't want to ask! Asking a sailor made him feel daft, as sailors in his mind were just that.

So instead of continuing with the sentence he turned and began to splice the next piece of rope. "..'s not hard fer me.. can' do it like it now.." He muttered annoyed.

He nodded at Westdale's comment. "Ain't it the truth. Jus' like now!"

He gave the heavy rope in his hand a twist and curled it back on itself, so he could start splicing it into a secure, tight loop. "Difference?" Chase caught the question, even though De Guarde cut himself off. "This here," he indicated the rope he was working on, "is called an eye-splice. Makes it up inta a nice, sturdy halyard line, once it's done. Bit harder than that, 'cause it don't need cut or torn rope t'do it, like."

He eyed Chase and nodded with a faint shrug. He glanced at the rope shown and then turned to splicing and retying his next piece of rope. He wasn't doing it quick, most with the reason he didn't ever before do it. Only the tiny part was that he loathed that he had to do it, and thus did feel resentment in each little twist he made on the rope, so far so that he'd begun to take it on that instead of working it right.

"..I'll get firs' dibs on ter ..food. Bein' as I'm ..was an officer." He spoke, eyeing Chase.

John grinned at that. "Ye was...but that's gotta be all behidn ye now, or ye'll not last the night, let alone ter next feed."

He kept his fingers working at the rope, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. "And if yer used ter officers food..well..ye mightn't want too much of ours anyways, first night."

Chase had to grin. "He's right, y'know. Ain't no soused hog's face or nothin' like that fer us!"

"But," he added as he worked his bone needle down between the strands of the solid rope and tucked the shorn ends firmly into place. "A pound of salt beef two days a week an' salt pork another two days ain't bad in itself."

"Bu'... I'm gettin' it first." He insisted stubbornly. " N' I'd watch those words, Westdale. I don' intend ter stay like this ferver.." He smiled coldly.

John shrugged, "I know, de Guarde...but t'captain said he wanted ye ter know what it was like with us...and we do laugh a lot, ye may have noticed."

He licked his lips. "soused hog face...been forever since I've had that."

He nodded at the rope in de Guardes hands, "Not too tight, i hope...ye'll hurt the fibres, else."

"Ya'll be down on the lower deck a right long time, y'know, wi' an attitude like that," Chase observed. "We likes a happy time, even workin', ain' bein' sour won't help us wanna see ya do well. Face it, De Guarde, y'needs us, if y'wanna be good 'nuff fer the cap'n t'move y'back to the middies' berth."

He hadn't really wanted to say that, but it apparently needed saying.

Giving a sharp tug to the finished eye loop in his lap, Chase shook his head. "Ya'll get yer plate after the lads seated 'gainst the bulkhead get theirs. S'how our mess works. The lads closest to the mess kid get their food last. An' we usu'lly sit in the same spots every meal, too."

"Ye also lie, n' find ter make joke of t' officers.." He responded to Westdale somewhat angrily. He looked at his rope, and was about to snap at the man that he ought best to mind his business, but instead eased up the tension he was placing the rope's fibres under instead.

He flinched at the mention of time. Chase was right and this day, or part of the day, not even an hour at best, was just the beginning of it. And next had him seethe with anger. The nerve of the sailor! They'd not help him of course, because they could choose. And he could not have them flogged for their choice. He couldn't even complain to the captain, midshipmen or lieutenants. Or to anybody else, come to think of it.

"...Where am I to sit then.. with... you?" His eyebrow was raised, and he placed the done rope onto the ground reaching for the next. He wasn't sure if it was allright, but to the strength of his hands, he tested it and it didn't break.

"Mebbe we make fun of the officers some, but there ain't nothin' serious to it," Chase said. "An' we ain't lookin' to make Terpsy an unhappy ship neither."

He stood up. "Ya'll find a spot, there's an openin' in the mess. Donahue lost his number. C'mon, I gots an idea fer ya."

He stood up after Chase, lowering the rope he was mending back to the ground. Dusting his slops and rubbing his feet against the floor he took a few steps to the side. What was Chase up to? "...what would it be?" He asked suspiciously.

John watched him stand, witholding a few choice comments he could make to de guarde.
"yeah, where ye taking him?"

"Gonna show him summat," Chase said flatly. "See if he got the same 'spect us lads do."

On the foc's'le, several men were going about the task of bundling up dead seamen in their hammocks. Chase had spotted the grim activity when he'd changed ropes. He turned partway back toward De Guarde and pointed at one hammock that held a smaller form than the others. It was poor Mister Dunnock's, but De Guarde wouldn't recognise that until he got up close. "Go there an' help."

He shrugged his shoulders to show Chase that he wasn't much phased by the task he was given. Quite ignorant of what he was yet to do, he walked to the smaller hammock and body that lay in it.

He halted a moment and turned to look at Chase questionably. Then slowly he turned again and walked all untill he reached the place where Mister Dunnock lay. He lowered his gaze and saw first the outline of the young boy's body and the lack of an outline where his arm must have been. Why was Jacob Chase showing him that? He recognised the young midshipman, but knowing him so little he was more moved by the injury than by the boy's deathly face itself.

"Give way, Fingers" Chase said to the scraggly-looking ship's boy who'd been about to sew up Mister Dunnock's hammock. To De Guarde, he said, "Finish that up. He was a midshipman, nearly same's yerself. But he went out fightin' fer his ship."

"..I wanted ter fight. ..I would've, if I wasn' sent below." He looked more sober as took the needle where Fingers left off. He looked away from the face and busied himself rather with the fabric frowning. "What is ..yer wanting ter show me. Him?..Mr. Dunnock? Or him bein' dead?" He was confused at Chase's intentions and the sight of the dead boy wasn't much more pleasant either.

"There y've got it," Chase said, his tone oddly fierce. "Dunno how yer old ship was, but here we honours our dead. Mister Dunnock was in yer berth, weren't he? Parta yer mess? Ought be yerself what puts him inta his hammock one last time, since yer here. Rights of yer mess. Ya'd want summody t'make sure y'was looked after proper if y'got kilt, right?"

He moved away a few steps, to where Donahue was being sewn up into his own hammock. Williams gave way to him without speaking, but helped hold the edges of the hammock closed while Chase sewed.