After the Battle

As Chase left for Donahue he followed him with his gaze. Right of his mess that he no longer belonged to. Want to make somebody to make sure he was looked after properly..

Slowly he turned back to Dunnock. He hardly knew the boy and heard him telling stories perhaps only once or so. He was a midshipman of his Berth, a confident young lad and kind enough to his peers. Probably he was respected well by the others, Yates who had an arm in sling, Kinsella, who was on the Frenchy, and Chandos, who was busy too. And lastly there was Fletcher who might've found great adoration in this boy.

He slipped the needle in and out of the fabric quietly. Was Chase daft to pick him to do these Terpsy's honours? He glanced at the face, which now lay at peace, pale and with blood dabbed away from his skin. He lowered his gaze to where the injury had mangled the boy and which was probably to blame for his death. Adjusting the hammock just slightly he tightened the fabric around him and did finer line of stiches. "..daft...he mus' be at loss of some.." He murmured as if thinking that Dunnock would hear him and agree.

He covered the boy's face fully and began to work on the last of them stiches.

With Williams' help, sewing up Donahue's hammock was quick work. Chase rocked back on his heels after he was done and regarded the now-closed hammock sadly. Donahue had been an all right sort.

He didn't hold any illusions that De Guarde would be able to recognise the importance of being the one to sew up a messmate into his hammock, of course. But Chase knew that the officers were likely to be watching. Even the barest sign of acceptance of his fate would, he hoped, help the officers change their attitude toward the boy.

The trick was figuring out how to keep the boy open-minded enough to continue working as he had been already. Chase patted the unmoving hammock and said, "Off wi' ya t'the Green, mate."

Then he stood up and looked toward where De Guarde was just finishing up his own sewing.

With the last tug of thread the boy slowly stood. He turned from the dead boy and tried wiping his image from his mind, though it remained as vivid as if he was still uncovered from his hammock. He scowled and wondered if this was the intention Chase had.

He didn't know how to read that man other than his action and request had confused him. What hidden agenda was there behind it. Straightening he nodded to Chase , saying with that that he was done.

He looked back at the small onearmed body, a bundle of cloth and shape. He was dead, but a midshipman while he himself was live and a sailor. He shook his head. "..I'm done." He spoke somewhat harshly to Chase.

The unexpected task had unnerved the boy. Good. Chase sucked on his lower lip for a moment. Soon enough, all hands would be piped up for the burial service. He would see then if De Guarde had been able to honestly absorb the weight of what he'd just done.

"Aye," Chase said slowly, looking about at the hammock-ensconced bodies. "How many times y'done this on yer old ship?"

"Had dead bodies ter 'burry in t' sea'?" De Guarde asked, his voice somewhat softer, quieter. "We've been.. in ter fightin' too ye know.. n' there's been sailors t'at had accidents while t' storm raged..n' such."

He averted his gaze to the hammocks already sewn. "Bu' others did t' sewin'."

Someone had told him that Green had copped it. He hoped he wasn't too late as he hurried for'rard... he'd been a good mate.

He was surprised to see Chase there with De Guarde and looked at them curiously as he knelt by Green's hammock to take the needle from McEwen.

There were only a few more stitches needed - he had almost been too late. He silently completed the task of sewing the dead Marine into his hammock, and wondered if he'd still be alive had Thompson been there in the fighting as well.

Ah. Chase nodded, slowly. He'd suspected as much.

"Bit different, bein' the one t'sew 'em up, innit?" He gestured at Thompson, who'd just appeared to take over sewing up one of his own mates from another Marine. "Even the lobsterbacks do it."

"Even us lobsters are Terpsies, Cob Chase," Thompson said quietly, looking up from his task.

Chase managed a small, knowing grin. Thompson's interjection was perfectly timed.

"An' that's the whole point," he said softly.

"..Aye.." He looked surprised to see how keen Thompson seemed to be to get here in time and how relieved that he was able to pass the last stiches to the fellow marine's final resting 'home'.

"..why's he so eager ter?" He asked before he could halt his tongue and he felt his cheeks turn red as he glared at the floor ashamed. He hadn't wanted to ask , nor be taught by the sailor, and yet it slipped. And only then realised that the 'lobster' was also close enough that he could have heard him talk also.

"...Yer Terpsies." He repeated half heartedly.

Thompson looked down again, torn between sorrow for his dead friend and smiling at knowing De Guarde was in good hands with Chase. If anyone could teach that lad what it meant to call yourself a Terpsy, Cob Chase could do it.

He sighed. "Goin' to miss you, mate. Won't be the same without you. Look after yourself, now, won't you?" He drew the last stitch through carefully and stood up.

"Aye," Chase said, "We're Terpsies, an' we're gonna make ya inta a Terpsy too."

He glanced at Thompson as the Marine offered his own quiet goodbyes to his mate. It was no different than what he'd done for Donahue.

The topman bit his lip for a moment. "He done it, lad, 'cause him an' Green was mates. Same's me an' Donahue was. The rights of mess, 'member. Terpsies look after their mates."

"It's... y'need to say goodbye to your mates, see. Like you would if'n... if'n them or you got posted to another ship, or summat like."

He managed a smile, even if it was a bit sad.

"An' like Cob says, we'm goin' to make you a Terpsy. Him, an' me, an' Westdale and Billy Barrow, an' the others. 'Cause it's a fine thing to be, to be part of a ship's crew, not just a name on a list."

"..Yer sayin' so. But all yer doin' is yer duty. No more. Even if ye hated them, ye'd be sewin' them up like it. N' ye'd be doin' what ye do now." He shook his head curtly. "...s' anythin' more we are ter be doin' here?" His voice was cold again, near impatient. He saw the boy, did his duty and felt that now he needn't stay about. He said no farewells as the other two. He couldn't feel the need to.

He doubted anyone would for him neither so why try for someone who was dead and deaf with that already. "I'm a member of the crew on this ship. Yer not be makin' me into anythin'. N' once .."His voice trailed off. He wished to say once he was a midshipman again, but feared and worried that he really never was going to be, no matter how confident his words might have been.

"There's a difference 'tween bein' a member of the crew... an' bein' part of the crew. An' we want you to be part of us... 'stead o' standin' on the edges, an' watchin' like. We want you..." He sighed. "Hell, we might even want to be friends with you, if you'd give us the chance. An' ev'ryone needs friends."

Chase shook his head. "Not 'xactly. If we din't like 'em, it'd be the ships' boys what'd sew 'em up. When us lads sew up our mates, 'tis 'cause they was our mates an' we wanna see 'em sent off t'the Green proper. They'd do the same fer us."

The boy didn't understand. Not yet. Chase sighed and glanced at Thompson. "Yer parta the crew, aye. But ya ain't a Terpsy yet. That's easy t'tell. An' I'll bet y'don't know why, neither."

The Marines and the sailors might josh and tease each other and make fun of what the others did, but there was always a mutual respect between them. And Thompson and Chase seemed to be in perfect agreement on this matter. He wondered what it would take for the lad to even begin to understand what it meant to call yourself a Terpsy.

"I'm a Terpsy!" He snapped, his voice harsh and rather unpleasant. Thompson and Chase both had said that he was on the crew's list, but not one with the crew, not something he had wanted to hear. It wasn't that he should care, or wished to, but it was something that he couldn't have and thus wanted to. Just to see them be wrong.

"..n'less i be usin' it as t' insul'.." He began then and then he shook his head." Then I'd rather not be at all. Tch." He added. They wanted him as friend? As one of them? He never wished to be one of the sailors and thus it felt like a brash insult to be told so. To be friends, he knew the kind. Give something to get something in return but have no qualm in betraying if the higher bidder offered something else.

No, De Guarde didn't know. Chase set his jaw and looked at Thompson sadly. Was it even possible to teach this boy?

"No, De Guarde," the topman said wearily. "It ain't an insult, but summat y'gotta earn. Thought y'might've unnerstood it, sewin' Mister Dunnock up. Bein' a Terpsy..." he thumped a closed fist against his own chest, "comes from inside of ya. It ain't no insult. Ain't even just 'duty'. It's pride, boy. Pride that yer parta a good ship an' a good crew."

Thompson sighed. Would this lad ever be able to understand?

"Y'saw me musket, earlier, di'n't you? An' you said you'd like t'see it again. It ain't duty that makes me look after her the way I do... it's pride. In meself, me ship. Y'can't belong in a place without havin' pride in it... and that's what we'm talkin' about. We'm Terpsies - we belong to Terpsy, an' she belongs to us. An' that comes fr'm more than just doin' your duty."

"Pride.." The boy shook his head slightly."As long as yer do yer duty it can be what ye wish ter call it. " And he wanted to add something might've, were he still a midshipman. Seeing as he was not, he found himself less eager though.

He wasn't able to grasp why Chase wanted him to sew up Dunnock if he thought of this as so important. Would it not have been other fellow middies that would've come to do the honours? Surely not someone like him. The sailor was contradictory, in his mind and thus , just to keep himself less confused and more trained on his unhappy, bitter existance of the moment, he turned his attention to the bodies which were finally to be sewn and then slipped over board.

"Good crew's debatable." He muttered."..n' I was proud when I was a middie.. can't be proud of bein' a sailor.."He spoke the last with scorn.

"Was ya really?" Chase asked, trying his utmost to keep despair from his voice and expression. "I'll bet on yer old ship, there weren't a happy man t'be found. That ain't pride, an' it ain't right."

The topman bit his lip again. How could he put this so the boy might not take it poorly? "Mebbe y'ain't been dealt wi' proper, is why."

"I was!" Being a midshipman gave power over others, gave an ability to scold a grown man and know they could do nothing about it. He wasn't proud in a sense of his duty, for he did his duty because he was so taught that he'd have to. But he was certainly more proud to be a midshipman than he was disrated. He was humiliated now, and felt that he should still be treated as before even if his title changed.

And the more he thought about it, the more he wished that less and less of the crew would know of it. Even more so, that Yates would never learn of it! That would make the boy laugh and grin and taunt him.

"Me previous ship was a right good one. This wouldn' happen on er, never!"

This was impossible.

He'd been disrated, as far as Thompson could see, to learn to be a Terpsy. But not only did he not want to learn, he seemed to think it was a pretty poor thing to be a Terpsy.

It was going to take time, that much was clear. But if they could turn pressed men into sailors and men proud of their ships, they sure as hell could do it with a middy. An ex-middy wasn't so different from being a pressed man after all, anyway.

At De Guarde's words, Thompson looked at the lad. "Were you proud of her, though? Did you want everyone you met to know you were from that ship? Did the men want to be known that they were from Confidence? Or was it something they kept as quiet as they could?"

Chase turned away. He couldn't add anything without risking losing his temper, and that wouldn't help at all.