After the Battle

The other topmen paused in their work to either stare at Tommy or to shake their heads in grim, knowing resignation. Chicken Dyer said, "Can't say it's such a surprise, really!"

Chase simply shrugged and went quickly back to work. He wasn't sure how he felt about the news about Mister De Guarde, if he was honest. But the captain wouldn't have done it if he didn't feel it was the right thing.

(OOc - no wonder they woke me up earlier and sent me on all kinds of things to do right out of me hammock ;P *yawn* x.X blast them)

De Guarde looked first and foremost envious of the other boy. Not only was he to remain a midshipman - not even a question there of course - but he was heading to sail on the prize ship! He shrugged his shoulders slightly, as before not quite caring of Dunnock. He neither had known him enough to care nor probably would have even if he did. Not with his present mindset at least.

"...Good for you..... n' a bad thing..'bout Mr. Dunnock..." He murmured, refusing to share his reason there and the fact that he too was soon going to pack his things which would be replaced as he would be moved. Still however he had to change, and waited a short while, glancing towards the lieutenant. He hadn't seen nor noticed the sailor outside else he might've.. well he was not sure what he might have done, but he would surely have been angry.

With a resigned look on his face he placed the crumpled pile of clothing down and upon an order that he should change, he did so with a shaky breath. He had given most care to how his coat was folded and how his breeches were done, as if not wanting a single wrinkle to show itself.

Thompson had managed to change out of his red jacket into the lighter white canvas off-duty jacket, carefully stowing his uniform. He'd have to take his cartridge box down to the magazine at some point and hope that the gunner would accept his excuses. He pulled his stock off, dropping that into the sea-chest as well and closing the lid with a sigh. Wasn't it better that as few people should know about De Guarde for as long as possible? Though already the rumour-mill was at work - and he hadn't said a word to anyone about it.

One of these days Catchpole might learn to hold his tongue. He grinned suddenly. And where would be the fun of that? There was an unofficial competition between him and the Marines after all: out of the captain's steward and the Marine sentry, who could get the best information on what happened in the Cabin down to the lower deck? Catchpole couldn't always hear things, true; today's rumour might just as easily have been started by Beech, who'd been on sentry earlier.

He grabbed the nearest Marine and grinned when he saw it was Dickin. "Come an' give us a hand, mate. There's a couple of the young gentlemen's chests got to go into the hold."

The other Marine scowled briefly and opened his mouth to say something before closing it again. No; he couldn't get a sailor to help, could he? They were all busy helping with the repair work.

Thompson hoped Mister George wouldn't have anything to say about him popping up again as he and Dickin made their way back down to the middies' berth.

George watched de Guarde pack away his uniform, noting the care he took. "Lock it," he suggested. "And if you want to leave the key with one of the officers, it might be safer."

"You'll be in Mr Leat's division - under Mr Chandos. Both of them will be fair to you. I'll take you to Mr Chandos, now. Come, de Guarde."

[I am now out for some hours - please write George as necessary - brusque but not unreasonable]

Bother. If that meant he was going to be given something to do, Thompson wouldn't be able to be nearby, and he had promised. Ah well, a man could only do his best.

"Where d'you want these here chests puttin'?" he asked politely, saluting as he did so.

George looked around. "You again. What are you hanging around for?"

The Marine shrugged. "I... I know what's happenin' sir, I was there when Mister Bush sent the lad below, an' I figured you'd want as few curious folks as possible until he sort of got used to the idea. 'Sides, all the sailors're busy seein' to Terpsy and the other ship, sir." Which was all true, and he wanted to keep an eye on the lad for a bit.

"Fine. This chest and Mister Dunnock's are to go into the hold. Make sure you stow them carefully."

Thompson nodded and stepped in, sending a concerned look at the lad. "Aye, aye, sir. C'm on then, Dickin, let's get these shifted."

They bent to lift the first chest - Dunnock's - start doing what they'd come to do, Dickin grumbling all the while about "never volunteerin' for owt, an' you'm a bloody fool, George Thompson!"

The boy dutifully placed his clothes into his chest and folded his boatcloak in over them then added his stockings which had felt more dry by now. Finally all was neatly packed in, the most valuable things at the bottom, while the less valuable were folded at the top. If anybody tried stealing atleast they could be found by how wrinkled they've left his clothes. He sighed and placed his hand to his neck and took the small key from it.

He saw the marine arrive and heared their exchange of words. He lowered his gaze at the young Dunnock's chest that would be removed. It had a sense of finality, the simple act of taking away that chest. Before, one could still believe the middie to spring from the sickbay, but with that act, his death was confirmed as certain. His family would have to be informed and perhaps another midshipman would be assigned in his place. The captain could decide on that.

He felt a twist in his gut and just caught the sympathetic look that the marine was giving him. He looked away sharply. He had warned him, but it wasn't that, that made him look away as abruptly. It was shame. Earlier he was still a midshipman in power and command and now, he felt ashamed of what he was and how the marine had seen him. His breath caught and he had to stand still for a moment, just to calm his mind. Thompson was there and as private he, the former midshipman, was near equal to him now. It felt foreign and yet rubbed his loss of rank right back into his face.

He knelt beside his chest and turned the key till he heard a click. He stood again and took a step back from the chest on which his name was written along with the new name of the ship. He bit his lip unhappily. Meet Chandos now? He frowned and hesitated at the side of his chest.

"..Sir ..might.."

He wanted to suggest that they wait for the marines to take the chest away and return for his, as if afraid somebody would steal it just standing there. He'd held his key, and wasn't sure if he should give it to the lieutenant or perhaps to the one he was now assigned under. Mr. Leat? Or ask that the key is given to the man. But he trusted neither and nobody. As he was to open his mouth he looked at George and the look on the lieutenant's face showed clear impatience. He straightened and moved from his chest and had to hold in the tears that threatened to reemerge.

Unhappily he pulled at the sleeve of his shirt and looked at the slacks he wore. He quickly walked after the lieutenant, though again feeling most reluctant to leave the berth. It would've been after all, his last time to enter for a long while, if ever.

He halted at the door and looked over his shoulder again. His chest stood there as alone as he was feeling at the moment. He looked at his former hammock and frowned turning around to spot the lieutenant watching him. He gritt his teeth and followed, feeling as if the whole ship was vibrating with hushed murmur even if it was inso far quite quiet.

(OOC - and going for a short while now! See you later!!)

Thompson caught the look the young lad sent him and swallowed. Maybe... Was he making it worse for him? The lad was ashamed, that much was clear, and Thompson just wanted to hug him and reassure him. Though how he could do that, he didn't know. The captain had said he might be re-rated if he proved a willing hand, but when that might be, Thompson couldn't say. If it were too soon, De Guarde would probably slip right back into his old ways and take out his frustrations on those who were now his equals, or even his superiors, like Fletcher and Yates. Captain Aubrey had spent six months before the mast, after all, which wasn't a long time really, but would seem an eternity to De Guarde. And there was no guarantee that Captain Bolitho would keep him before the mast that long - or longer.

They hurried Mister Dunnock's chest down to the hold, being careful with it even as they moved as quickly as they could.

"What's the young gentleman got in here, then?" Dickin wanted to know.

"Everythin' somethin'," Thompson replied shortly, meaning all sorts of things, everything he could need and then some.

They came back to the berth to take De Guarde's chest, each being careful with it for his own reasons; Thompson because it was De Guarde's chest and he wanted to do his best by the lad, and Dickin because, well, who know how long this would last? If he was re-rated in two weeks' time, he'd find who'd taken his chest away and give them an earful, wouldn't he?

Mister Chandos was topside, as far as Thompson knew, and that's where he headed next, though he didn't think there was much he could do up there. It wasn't as though they were going to need men at the capstan, or anything, though he could do his bit by hauling on ropes, if that was needed. Even a Marine could lend a bit of weight here and there, and after twelve years at sea, Thompson knew how to use his meager weight to the best advantage when it was needed.

He looked around, wondering where the lad was, and mentally berated himself when he realised he'd been looking for a middy's uniform coat and not a young lad in shirt and trousers fresh from the slop-chest.

(OOC - that's all right; went for mid-morning coffee... and it turned into lunch. I can only be around for another half-hour or so before I've got to go to work, though.)

His first time topside since he had been disrated. He felt as if leaving the confines of the decks below he was put on display for all to see and that had the boy shrink somewhat, walking behind the lieutenant and near becoming his tail with the effort. He avoided any looks, and faces that may have turned his way. He felt naked, so terrible it felt not wearing his standard uniform.

He looked at Chandos who returned to look at him with mild surprise. He hadn't known of the going on's from earlier though he did learn that the midshipman was sent to remain below during the battle itself. Seeing him in slops and shirt instead of a uniform had him lift an eyebrow. He turned to look at the lieutenant wondering if what he had heard mumbled and whispered was indeed true. Straightening himself up as a reliable midshipman that he was though he had more pressin matters than some midshipman in slops. He saluted Lieutenant George, expecting to be given orders he was to pass onwards or a new task that he was to solve. His face was trained at the lieutenant, confident and serious, yet also wise but not cocky. He was an adult in mind and act.

De Guarde was looking away as if by not sharing a look with the older midshipman he would not be seen there. He turned around. Daring to steal a glance at the deck, he found himself looking for the familiar red. He frowned and shook his head tugging at his shirt. He hadn't worn anything on his feet by this time, and curled his toes up at the unfamiliar and slight unpleasant feel of the ship's floors that were still mucky with sand and blood.

It was that thought that distracted him then as he looked about. The descrution was evident though men were taugh at work to make Terpsy as able as they could. There were some that worked to splice and retie the ropes then others clearing the last of the debree. He blinked and was more and more immersed in the details and ideas of what went on above deck. He could catch a glimpse of the other ship, now no longer leaning her side against their own.

She'd taken a greater beating indeed. He tilted his head slightly and strained himself to see better. Then he turned across the deck. He pulled at his shirt's sleeve again and frowned. The feel of his coat , his middy's coat was missing. He felt for his head and then his neck and his frown deepened, so that he had to concetrate rather again on the state of deck. So distracted he was by this though that he'd not even listened nor heared what the midshipman and lieutenant had to say.

There he was, with Lieutenant George and Mister Midshipman Chandos, looking around a little, as though searching for something. The lad's gaze skipped right over him without any change in expression to show he'd even seen the Marine. Maybe Thompson should have kept his red jacket on, but that would draw Lieutenant George's attention as much as De Guarde's.

If the lad were being left in Mister Chandos' care, he might be able to risk going up and saying something to the lad, though he did not know what he could say that would help anything.

De Guarde looked so lost, though, that it would be worth getting in trouble to try to reassure him he hadn't been forgotten.

Thompson wasn't there, else he could not spot him. There was that lingering sensation of death and suffering that remained after the battle was over. Some of the flesh had been seen on the railing till it was wiped clean.

De Guarde glanced at Chandos and the lieutenant, but less as if he wanted to know what they were saying and more because he just happened to turn in that direction, his others already checked and viewed. He glanced up into the shrouds and then higher to the sails and even so more till the end of the mast. He strained his neck, while observing the men about then shook his head and looked back down.

What was that? Had he been addressed? He sighed, feeling frustrated and angry all the same. A midshipman that lost his station. It was a frightening thought and one that had the boy visibly look smaller even if it was only due to the posture of his body.

"Hsst!" Edwin whispered to his mates. "Take a look down there."

The former middie shifted his weight from left foot to right , feeling nervous and somewhat uncomfortable without his lovely buckled shoes. He felt eyes at his back and so he turned again trying to find the source of that sensation. He pulled at the sleeve of his shirt nervously .

The others spread out along the yardarm paused in their work again and peered down. The former midshipman was down there, sure as sunrise. Grinning, Chicken Dyer was again the first to speak.

"Stupid blaggard's wastin' time stannin' 'round down there. Bos'un'll get after him for it, once them officers let him be!"

Chase said, "Hush! He's lookin' 'bout. Be jus' like him t'fetch Mister Watts on ya, or least try."

"Just hope they don't send him to us," Edwin mumbled.

This was met with general agreement. For his part, Chase didn't truly care which division or mast that De Guarde was assigned to, as long as he didn't disrupt life on the lower deck too much. It would be bad enough having to cope without the men going off as prize crew.

"Let's not give him a reason t'be sour, anyways, lads," Chase said.

Chandos remained standing after George left him, staring thoughtfully at de Guarde. He had heard of this happening, of course, and sometimes it was the making of the man, or at least, not his destruction. With de Guarde, he was not sure that it would work. But something had to be done. He lifted his head and his voice and called out 'Jacob Chase. To me - when all's secure.'

Chase. Jacob Chase. He cursed his luck and looked up where he'd spotted few of the men peering down. There was little doubt where to. For a moment he forgot his new appointment and opened his mouth to yell at them for idling. Then just before sound would have come from his mouth, he shut it. No need to make a fool of himself just now!

He looked sideways at Chandos and stiffened.

Mister Chandos was calling up to him from the deck. The other topmen turned disbelieving gazes his way, but Chase ignored them. He had a bad feeling that he knew why he was being summoned down from the yards.

"Make way then, boys," he grumbled, carefully making his way along the yardarm toward the mast. Clambering over his mates still draped over the yardarm wasn't easy or enviable, but in a few minutes he was hurrying down the shrouds to the deck.

"Sent fer me, sar?" Chase asked and saluted Mister Chandos as he came up.

Chandos acknowledged the salute. According to Mr George, Mr Bush's original idea had been for Chase to give young de Guarde help in adapting to the ways of the Terpsichore, so different from those of his previous ship. And Chase, according to Bush, had agreed - or at least, accepted the order. Just as he was to have acted as mentor to a midshipman, it was argued, he could do the same thing for de Guarde, able seaman.

"Chase," Chandos started, and then bit his lip. But when in doubt, go straight for 'em. "The Captain has disrated de Guarde, put him before the mast, as an able seaman." That was almost certainly already known, but formalities had to be gone through. "He will be in your mess, in Mr Leat's division. Show him where to mess, please, and make sure he knows his duty." De Guarde knew a seaman's duty all right, Chandos knew, but he would be seeing it from the other side, and he would need to be reminded.

The boy looked at Chase and attempted to hold a confident look that would tell the elder man that nothing has changed even if Chandos had just said it different. He felt a sense of fear and fought it by focusing on one emotion only. And that emotion was hate towards the sailors, hate towards Cob Chase, whom he was assigned to follow. Hate towards the likes of him and towards Chandos for speaking of his disrating in such casual manner. It felt easier then to keep his head as level as he could. And then of course not to feel intimidated yet but show himself as stronger than he truly felt, or was.

De Guarde was in his division? Chase blinked and almost didn't hear the rest of Chandos' instructions. What had he ever done to deserve this?

"Aye aye sar,' Chase said, a little belatedly, and saluted. He was to show De Guarde around... well all right then. It was, really, a good chance to get a little bit of his own back against the former midshipman.

"C'mon," he added before turning away. He'd see how quickly the boy could adjust to life as a common seaman soon enough. The only way for De Guarde to earn the lower deck's respect was to be willing to work and, with luck, to avoid arguments. Chase grimaced to himself. Small chance of that.

Chandos nodded dismissal to the seaman - the two seamen. "Carry on, de Guarde," he said, adding, "Learn what Chase has to teach you, serve the ship well, and remember your position. We shall be watching you." Which should serve as warning to Chase, and others who might bear a grudge, or wish to continue what they had started on the night of de Guarde's arrival. They would, as far as possible, be watching.

Bugger. There was Cob Chase, come to escort him below, it looked like. Would the seaman mind if Thompson asked him if he could have a moment with the middy - former middy, he reminded himself. He hoped not. Only one way to find out and if Chase thought he'd gone soft in the head, maybe he had. But he didn't care about that.

They were going to use the for'ard companionway, it looked like, He turned and slipped down the aft companion ladder, moving for'ard on the gundeck and hurried down the fore companionway to the lower deck, pausing at the bottom to wait for them.

The boy felt tense as he opened his mouth to reply. Usually he would have been adressed as Mister, and it felt awkward that the title was missing. Usually also he would have not been addressed as sailor and when he replied, it was forced:"..Aye..aye .. sir." He just barely managed to hide the discomfort at having to say it, and the annoyance and dislike of it also.

The boy followed the sailour then obediently. It wasn't that he was wanting to change at all though, but because he could not afford to show himself differently before Chandos. The moment they were out of earshot, their backs to the midshipman, he hastened his pace to walk alongside the taller sailor and spoke through gritted teeth.

"..Ye'll be more polite towards me. Les' get that straight!" He muttered his eyes sharp on the man. He was frightened perhaps, yet he did not want it to show. He glanced over his shoulder at Chandos. As he turned to look ahead again, he briefly wondered about the marine. Did he get his chest down to the hold safely? Did he make an effort that it came safe or did he haul it about as any ol' day. He didn't seem to be on deck, for there wasn't a speck of red with the familiar face.

What? Chase paused, one foot on the forrard companionway ladder. Polite?

"Ain't no politeness on the lower deck, 'less ya've earned it," he told the boy. "Cap'n says yer t'be one of us now. That means in everythin'. Now c'mon. I'll show ya t'the mess, an' find ya a hammock, then we gotta git back inta the tops. Still a lotta work t'do up there."