After the refit

The sudden banging and clattering startled Thompson and he wondered what was going on. Storing ship was never as loud as that in his experience.

Young Johnny Stenhouse poked his head in looking for someoe or something and Thompson hailed him.

"What's amiss, lad, an' what's goin' on up there?"

The boy looked a bit startled at being called by a Marine but approached hesitantly. "They'm got to take some 'orses aboard, an' Chips is knockin' up some stalls f'r 'em in th'hold, sir," he said, looking nervous. He cast a glance at M'Clure. "I dunno what-all else is 'appenin', though." He slipped out again.

Horses. What in the world were they taking horses aboard for? Thompson had never heard the like before and cursed his twisted ankle for stopping him going to find out for his own self.

The words of sailors were confirmed. There it was. A stallion to be lifted aboard. He stared in amazement as the animal was moved, prepared first for her transportation by ropes and other means to secure it from falling into the deep waters below.

And then it was begun to be lifted, the animal seemed at least for the first few, fair calm. He blinked and leaned further against the rail, just to see better. Where would they store him? Ah, they were getting things ready below for that!

And food. They'd have to load that for the horses as well. Splendid. More work for the army. He found himself scowling. And thanks to them there would be no way the sailors would return to land that evening. The later thought made him smile. They were now all in the same boat. Noone was leaving. Splendid!

Peter watched as the horse was lifted clear of the rail. It had been quite docile as it was being lifted striaght up, but as soon as they began to swing it to the side, to position it over the hold, it kicked out. Fortunately, the trip on the transport seemed to have temporarily emptied it, and it swung over the deck without raining any ordure on the crew below. He darted across to wave in a confident way as they began to lower the horse.

Billy Barrow and his team were below - the stalls were prepared, and the temporary slings from which they would suspend this beauty, and the passengers' two horses, had been rigged. Gosling had experience on a horse transport, and had gone down to give Chips the benefit of his observations - though he had been sailmaker than, not groom.

He had to do this properly, but he knew that Lieutenant Leat, who was supervising him, was in turn being watched by Mr Bush, and the Captain, nervous as if it had been the Duke himself in the sling, was standing on the quarterdeck, outwardly calm, and inwardly - he could imagine it - wondering just what unseaworthy scow he would be appointed to if the horse - slipped, or kicked out, or... But none of those officers would blame him... He was, in fact, too junior to be the scapegoat. "Left, and straighten him up a bit, He's top heavy... bring him round before he plunges... Good - now a trifle more left, left , back him two points... Lower" Quite how much notice anyone took of a new Midshipman he did not know - but someone would no doubt tell him that, if they'd done what he ordered the crew would have been eating horse for most of the journey...

"There she comes, there's a beauty, careful now."

"It's a he, you idiot."

"Bit more, bit more, lower!"

"Handsomely now, mind the hooves. Mind the legs! Robbins, stand back!"

"Easy, darling, don't go running off yet. Don't do that!"

Down through the gun deck, down past many hands to the berth deck. They were most afraid when the creature was passing through the opening in the deck itself. If he chose that moment to thrash with his legs or to shake his head, he might cause an injury to himself against the wooden beams. Going through the final opening that would lead to his stall in the hold, he seemed to grow more agitated. As he was shaking his head and voicing his loud protest, seaman Donald grasped his harness to hold him still. But as the horse jerked its head back again, Donald lost his balance and fell into the hold.

"Belay! Belay, deck! 'Vast there!" the bosun's mate shouted to the men above. They made fast the harness and left the horse suspended, it's hooves spinning a foot or so above Donald's face. His leg was broken. Someone pulled him aside and the operation continued smoothly, the horse coming to rest on its own four intact legs a few minutes later.

Thompson had gingerly pulled his stocking back on, and was just reaching for his shoe when a couple of seamen came in, looking bone-weary and carrying a third sailor between them. He scooted off the table so they could put him down, putting his foot down on the deck and snatching it back again with a bitten-back curse. He rested one hand on the ship's side to support himself while he carefully pulled his shoe back on. The bandage didn't make it easy, and nor did the two splints, so it was lucky that the issued footwear was the low buckled shoe, not the higher lace-up boot he knew some infantry soldiers had.

He looked at the sailor. He vageuly recognised the face, but he'd never spoken to the man. "You all right there, mate?" he said.

The sailor shook his head. "Just.. just bust me leg. Fell inta th'hold tryin' to help stop that slivey horse from kickin' out at everythin'."

A broken leg... Thompson was glad his ankle was only sprained, though carrying a heavy flour sack as he had been, he was lucky he hadn't broken his neck.

"Aye, you'll soon be set to rights. An' we'll both go limpin' round the barky like a right pair o' sea-cooks."

The horse was secured, while the harnesses that earlier held him in place and in the air, were being removed. His Reigns were held on firmly, to stop him from backing up and catching a sailor between his rump and a wall. A single kick from the animal could well be deadly. The horse did attempt to bite the hand that reached for him, and the sailor backed, by inches avoiding the bite.

Another stepped from the side. They were told to stay clear of the back of the horse and his rump, else he might frighten for a touch he knew not the source of.

As his reigns were again firmly held, any attempts of a bite were nill, for the hand could well press against his chin, out of range of the mouth.

"Steady now."

The harnesses had been removed and signaled that they could be pulled up.

+

From up above Mathew observed only a part of the scene, and saw the sailor fall in. Once the horse was out of sight, he realised it was better to slip back down below, as the officers were in numbers near up on deck.

Scampering below again, bare feet tapping quick against the wooden floors, he went to feed his curiosity of where they would take the horse now, how they'd store it.. him, and if the horse would become wild with fear being secluded in such a small space. His group had removed most of the bags and casks as ordered. Giving space that was needed.

Mr. Yates had been right in the centre of the works. He shouted orders and suggestions, till the horse was in. And safely the stallion was now too.

There had been a hitch, conveyed by a series of shouts rising up the hatch ways, and Peter peered down into the hold, his heart in his mouth. But the horse still swung there, swaying with the movement of the ship. The activity was below him, where one of the seamen had slipped or been knocked over by the stallion, and had been taken away to the sickbay. There was another shout, and the lowering continued, for the last few feet. Then, once it was confirmed that the sling had been removed, the men hauled it back up.

The officers had watched, and now Mr Leat turned away. Mr Bush nodded to him in his usual stern way, and Peter felt emboldened to ask if he could go and see the horse, and how it fitted into its new accommodation. "Be quick, Mr Yates," Mr Bush said. "There is still work to be done, or do you think you can retire after one successful manoeuvre?"

"No, Sir. Thank you. I will be quick." Peter hurried, sliding down the companionways and acknowledging the salutes of those sailors who waited for him at the bottom of each. In the hold there was no doubt where the horse was - the smell, the stamping, and the small gathering of those off-watch who found the sight of a prime blood horse of interest. He recognized one of them - and gritted his teeth. Their meetings so far had been brief, being on different watches, and Peter knew he had been deliberately ignoring the former midshipman. But he wanted to see the horse!

If only able the young - former - midshipman had avoided meeting with Mr. Yates. Not only because their watches had differed, not only because Mr. Yates went to sleep in the midshipman's berth, while he went to sleep with the sailors, but also because he felt ashamed and the last thing he wished was for the boy to gloat. And that he was quite certain he would.

So when he spotted his face, guiltily knowing that he, himself should not have even been present, yet relieved that Mr. Yates did not seem to know that, he'd faced what he'd least want to.

He quickly averted his gaze, a look of shame on his face, only a short while later changed and hidden. He came to see the horse, he told himself as he observed the animal in the hold. Probably somewhat unnerved by so many men and such a small dark bit of space.

If they began to shout too loud and too many at the time, it was sure the horse would start panicking, like a man seeing sharks gather around his frail body.

Gosling was there, checking that the sailcloth sling held the stallion firmly, preventing it from falling even if it did lose its footing on the unstable footing provided by wet, slippery decking in even a moderate sea. The man looked up as Peter approached, and acknowledged him, sliding out from between the horse and the makeshift stall. "Straps," he said. "It needs straps, fore and aft, to stop it shifting an' hangin' itself upside down. We'll get this one sorted, Sir, and then we'll mack up another couple for them other beasts that's comin' ... " Gosling grabbed Peter's arm as he approached. "Beg pardon, Sir, but he's not a well-behaved horse. Have your arm off - don' know why that old General wants a horse like this: set him on the enemy maybe."

Peter looked at him, with his rolling eye and sweating neck. "Very well, Gosling." The man seemed to have some ideas, anyway, which was more than he did. "All right, everyone, please ... he needs to settle down now. He's not an exhibit in a freak shop, he's only a horse..." He saw de Guard looking at him. "Do you know anything about horses, de Guarde?"

He bit at his lip. His first thought had been to turn and bolt, his second to glare at the boy and act as if he were a midshipman,.. yet he went rather for the third.

A very subtle answer.

"..Not much." He omited the sir, or perhaps he had spoken is soft softly, so quietly that noone, not even himself, could hear it.

Peter frowned at de Guarde. The insolence was not unexpected - the deliberate omission of courtesy was simply intended to annoy him, but Peter was still young enough to find being called 'Sir' mildly embarrassing, and he was definitely not going to start an argument down here. But he had expected the young man to be more knowledgeable - or at least to claim knowledge. Hadn't he come from a fairly well-to-do family? The sort of family which would have horses as a matter of course, and a pony for the children. His papa couldn't have afforded to mount all his children, but they had ridden - a saddle horse, past its best years, that lived in state in the old stables, and Jack and Martin had ridden out on the Squire's horses during the hunting season...

He stared back at de Guarde, wondering if he was going to take his insolence to the point where it could not be ignored. So far, no one had wanted to see him flogged... No, that was probably untrue. Lots of people would really like to see him flogged, but none of the officers - commissioned or with warrant - wanted to be the one to order it. Peter asked himself if he would have the nerve to do so. He decided to leave it: from him, it would look like - would almost certainly be - spite.

"Then, if you are unable to help, you should return to your duties. We've all spent long enough admiring the General's horse." He looked round at everyone. "Back to work, men."

He didn't want to leave, and though he knew it would be a lie, he abruptly added:"...I know some.. enough."

He shifted at his spot and dropped his gaze. Studying his bare feet first and then observing Yates's own, the buckles shining on them, he bit at his lip. He dared to steal a glance at the men, at the horse which was becoming agitated, yet not enough that it would break away and try to run where running was quite impossible for such an animal.

"Carry on," Peter said to the others, and stood aside as they made their way back to their jobs. "He needs to be kept calm, but the men must have access to the hold - we're still taking on supplies, and - it will be a problem. Would you stay here for now? Just ... Until someone comes to relieve you. I think Mr Leat hoped they'd send a groom to travel with it - it's too valuable. I'll have a word with Mr Fletcher. Because Jemmy Ducks knows little about anything bigger than a goat."

"Aye." He felt relief, and he nodded with greater vigour than he'd expected. He looked up at the midshipman and only barely was able to keep himself from smiling.
Mr. Yates had neither gloated, as De Guarde earlier feared, but has also decided to permit him, no.. to order him to stay with the stallion.

"Will keep by him..n'.. have him calm,.."

He hesitated, turned to the stallion then back to Mr. Yates. "..Sir." He added and shifted a little. His gaze dropped. He felt a part confused about the midshipman and a small part grateful.

"Don't let the men gather round it - I know it's something new and exciting and interesting, but if it starts to panic... Tell them you're posted here by the Lieutenant's orders, so they know it's not just you telling them." He reached out a hand tentatively, as the horse quietened, but it rolled its eyes and snapped at his fingers - not yet viciously, but in warning. "Take care it doesn't eat you," he said, withdrawing his hand in haste. "I'll make it all right."

He nodded. His word would do little for the men now. But a lieutenant's command would deter any sailor. Be found going against such an order, and it was certainly going to be the cat, that the culprit might be facing. He felt his chest swell a little with pride. This horse, the stallion was a precious creature that couldn't just be shot. He'd known enough to read the great care given to him for what it was. It wasn't just some horse for some low ranked man.

He watched as the horse snapped at the midshipman's hand, though mildly amused he had not allowed it to show. Careful with the animal, else it may bite or kick. His lip curled up into a half smile: "..Aye, 'll make sure ye don't come ter.. only a strip of slop left in memory." Though he knew many who'd have celebrated and nominated the horse a hero.

He couldn't bring himself to feel spite towards the younger midshipman, nor hate, though perhaps envy was still as strong as any time he saw the young gentlemen taking command.

Still, the task he was entrusted with had been one of the few if not the only, he'd felt he would look forward to. "Don't.. need to make haste with one ter... relieve me of t' post." He said more quietly. He couldn't have said thank you, but this was as close as he got to it. And for the second time, perhaps the last or one of the rarer occasions, he added that little word that made young Yates embarrassed:" Sir."

Peter smiled at de Guarde. It wasn't a triumphant smile, or even particularly friendly. It was almost conspiritorial - See, we can do this, quite nicely, iif we both play our parts, and no one will suffer. "I think you'll have to stay here at least until they let us have a groom for him," he said. "I don't want to try and brush him, or feed him apples." The smile widened. "Not that we have apples. And if we did, I'd eat them, not give them to a bad-tempered horse."

De Guarde nodded. He noticed the smile , and for a moment he thought it would turn into something ugly and mean, yet it didn't. It wasn't a smile of a friend, not that he'd have much known which one was. But it was neither one of victory over another, so he let the smile be joined by a less bright - his own.

"He might not bite if we gave him an apple.. have his mouth all full." He answered and reached slowly to the horse, but as the animal turned to bite he halted his arm where it was. "Be choosin' between summat he wants ter do, n' summat he likes ter eat." He inched his hand closer again, seeing the horse distracted. He was able to touch Copenhagen's chest, yet at the second stroke the animal showed its teeth and snapped in warning, and he retreated again.

"..Apples would be good..ter have." He murmured and looked to be dreaming of having one just now, to bite in. "They might bring 'm up. If t' horse's is real important. 'twon't be jus' hay he's gettin'. No?" He paused. He had talked with the boy with whom they've had such a terrible argument before. He lowered his gaze again, but spoke in a similar manner to the earlier.

"Ye were, any time on land?.. in t' port?" Having avoided the boy so much, he hadn't gone to see where Mr. Yates was, when not seen. So he didn't very well know the ways and whereabouts of the lad through the day. ,

Peter looked at him. "I went ashore with Mr George, quite a lot - to the shipyards, mainly, which is interesting, and will be most useful in future. I didn't know there were so many different types of ropes, and spars and blocks and..." He could see that that was not what Mr de Guarde had meant. "We were lucky, on the Sunday we arrived, there was a special service held by the Army Chaplains. The last one before most of the Army went north. That was..." He drew his brows together. It had been moving, to come there after their own battles, to see the young men in red and green preparing to go to their own war. But de Guarde probably didn't care about that, either, though Peter had written a full description for his father, which he thought would please him, and be a change from tales of battle, and storm, and his mathematics lessons. "We were brought straight back after that," he said with a grin. "The town was quite unruly until most of the soldiers left."

De Guarde nodded. He could have expected that the officers and those in training, would go about the work befitting them. It was a slight relief that they hadn't gone to the town to enjoy its splendors only as it meant it would be of similar nature, would he have been still of his rank.

"Ye'um goin' ter learn about those. t' spars, ropes, the different type of sail and how to tell one from another in t' dark. Some ye'um probably know.. but t' lessons ye'll be gettin' will teach you more 'bout them. Everythin' servin' its purpose. A reason summat is being rigged in this fashion or that, or if it's such a shape.. or such a knot." He smiled, placing a hand to his side ,resting his other a bit across his belly.

" Um..." He wasn't as interested in the service. It might have been moving, though to the youth that may have mattered little. It could've been an inspirational place to start and to continue the war that they were fighting, yet still he hadn't thought that by not attending he had missed such a great deal.

"Mr. Yates,..." He began. " There won't be any leave today fer t' sailors, will it? With t' new horses.."

"Leave?" Peter repeated. "I don't know- we'll be busy loading until dark, and tomorrow, probably. This horse has just delayed everything, but the others won't be loaded until tomorrow - you know we have three passengers, and two horses.." He grinned. "Of course, you probably knew before the Captain." He nodded, and continued: "We can't lose a minute if we are to be ready to sail on the evening tide. Or so they say. So anyone who was hoping for liberty tonight will be disappointed. But we may put in at Figueira, near Coimbra, or even further north. We'll have to, to allow our passengers to disembark, and to deliver the army's stores, and," he jerked his head towards the horse, "that!"

Mathew confirmed Peter's speculation with a nod. Yes, word traveled fast below decks. Perhaps if the men working there had been employed as spies, one would know about a certain secret almost as soon as it left the conspirator's lips. He found the thought amusing. Three passengers, three horses, of which one horse belonged to a different man. A general. He hadn't learnt the names of the other mares but he would hardly be surprised if somewhere in the evening the names would already go about, with a description of the animals to match.

He chuckled as the midshipman indicated their 'pet'. Copenhagen responded with a jerk of his own, his head rising and falling, the short bits of mane between his ears making a lovely arch as he did.

"Will we.."He put emphasis on we, for he hadn't been the part of we, when stationed in Lisbon." be permitted some of our off time on land, then?" Their stallion lifted a leg then slowly placed it down, shifting his weight so that one leg rested only at the tip of the hoof, while the other carried more weight.

"N' .. ye didn' want ter go ter see t' taverns back over 'ere? See t' town, maybe buy yeself something you could send home?" The stallion watched the two little humans for a while, and though he then turned, his ears still twitched in their direction at any time either of them spoke.

"I would like to have seen more of the churches, although they are Romish, of course. But - well, so was York Minster when they built it to the glory of God." Peter hid his smile. It was true - it would have been far more edifying if he could have written about the churches in his journal, than about taverns, and wine, and the sort of women who served the men there, in so many ways. "But from what I saw, it's a dusty place, rather dirty, and the locals just want to cheat sailors out of their money. I don't regret not spending more time ashore."

"The sailors spoke well of it." He smiled seeing the two perspectives of one city. One of a midshipman, an educated man who strived for things far greater than a tot of rum and a girl under an arm. On the other side were the sailors. Simple minded men, who enjoyed a good drink, a fine song and a lass to spend time with. They would hope to get leave, so that they could visit the taverns whereas Mr. Yates would have been a lot happier seeing the sights. The buildings and churches, learning of the culture rather than the insides of a glass.

"but they'd been satisfied with t' drink." And if they were cheated, the ones that were, they didn't quite notice, too drunk as they might have been. "Dusty n' dirty.. ain't it all larger cities that are like it?" He grinned. Their horse has settled, not enjoying to be touched, it however looked to calm at the chitter chatter of two very harmless looking boys.

"s' nothing like t' foreign lands yer read in books 'bout. Aye?" He shifted a little and glanced at the stallion to make sure that the animal was still settled and well. Since it made less sound, that was to be expected. " Got any books yer readin' ..'cept t' teachin' ones?"

Peter shook his head and looked warily towards the ladder out of the hold. Men were returning to their normal work, bringing stores down. "Only the book I brought with me - oh, and one Kinsella left behind when he went onto the Victorieuse - which I finished before we reached Lisbon. But I didn't try to buy anything new there," he smiled, "it would all be in Portuguese, and where's the point of that." The first men were coming down. "Try to keep the horse quiet, and ... Well, you know. I'd better go, or I'll be in trouble for slacking. I'll tell Fletcher where you are. Bye." He left, feeling slightly puzzled about the conversation.