Preparing to sail

Stephen offered a smile to the younger man. "There is really no need, dear sir. The soldier will be neatly sat in the chair and hoisted up; no need at all for a demonstration or a sop for his pride."

Crozier smiled uneasily. "Very well, doctor." He diplomatically changed the subject and the language back to English. "You travel light, I see."

Stephen looked down at his haversack and the worn leather satchel in his lap. "I thought I would be walking," he said, his tone of voice grateful.

"Oh yes, of course." Then he frowned slightly. "But the horses...?"

"A brawl might damage the furniture: the heroic killing of a jack-booted emissary of an evil empire might even increase business." Enough to replace the broken chairs - if the killer had been gunned down later, the drops of blood might even become sacred relics. He grinned at Barrow. "I am glad that you did it, since it led to this offer of a ride to Coimbra or Oporto. Do you know, Dr Maturin was going to make me walk all the way. Me! Capitaine of Hussards!" Raoul struck a heroic posture in as far as the oarsmen on either side would let him. And then winked at Barrow.

The oarsmen managed a ragged chorus of chuckles at the Frenchman's comment. They couldn't imagine being forced to walk any great distance over-land either.

"Walkin' across a country ain't natural, sar!" Chase declared.

"The horses belong to the captains. I really must apologise for them; I had no idea until this morning that it was expected that they would go by sea, not overland."

Crozier heard Chase's comment and grinned. "Well never mind, doctor. As Chase says, walking across a country isn't natural, for man or beast. And as I said before, General Wellesley's own beast is traveling in style with us."

Word traveled fast and with the groom now tending to the stallion a small pair of bare feet to see who they were to bring aboard soon. He ducked past the marines, and stared a moment at the new officer. Hadn't they a different one before, a drunk man.. so it was true as well. Their own drunk marine lieutenant had gotten delayed and they would instead have the one.

He slowed in his step and turned around, eyeing him critically. With the crew returning from their prize ship, the rest of the lieutenants were also present and with them the sailors, midshipmen and the corporal. There was another rumour to confirm later, his time with the watching of the stallion taking him off from meeting and seeing it first.

He sped to the railing and leaned over some, spotting the boat. He knew one uniform, could make out the doctor and the last.. it looked as a uniform as well. He strained his eyes, regretting that there wasn't a spyglass that would make his efforts less trying. Impatiently he trained his eye upon the boat, and then at last could make out more of the colour and design.

Couldn't have been a Brit's uniform! Them French took hold of the boat and were now rowing to get.... but it was just one.. unless the rest of the sailors were not theirs, but only men dressed in their clothes! French,.. several in number! What made little sense though was, why the town would not have raised any alarm, why there wasn't any fighting to have happened and quite clearly there was a rumour they were transporting a French man.

Which was preposterous in his opinion.

"Jolly-boat's comin' off, sar," the entry port sentry informed him curtly. Cartwright had already seen, but he nodded at the Marine anyway. The man had seen fit to alert him and that was a good sign.

He turned toward the aft companionway, about to send a sailor down for Sergeant Quinn, but the man was already topside. Another good sign, perhaps. "Quarterguard, Sergeant, if you please," Cartwright said. He was beginning to feel tickles of excitement that usually came with the impending arrival of important guests.

"Aye, aye, sir!"

He darted below to get those men he'd designated as the Marine guard for the passengers' arrival. Thompson was sitting on his sea-chest, looking a little put out at not being able to do anything because of his sprained ankle. "You'll be all right, Thompson, lad," he said, standing to one side to allow the others up the ladder.

"Hope so, Sarn't," Thompson replied, turning back to pipeclaying his crossbelt as Quinn headed topside to organise the men.

Quinn seemed efficient. He had hurried below quickly enough to turn out the quarterguard. Cartwright tugged self-consciously at his cuffs before realising that he was fidgeting and made himself stand still.

The Marines for quarterguard were tramping up from the aft companionway. They were well turned-out and Cartwright suspected that they were used to performing such ceremonial duties. There was that ill-tempered corporal, looking as though he'd swallowed a handful of lemons. He'd have to be careful of that one.

"Fall in!" Cartwright called, stiffening to attention. He was already in his proper position and he was suddenly confident that these men would perform sharply and well. They looked quite competent and moved smartly. Good signs, all.

The Marines fell in smartly enough, though Quinn wished that Johnson didn't look quite so bad-tempered.

Well, Lieutenant Cartwright seemed to be more competent than Brandeson had been - which wasn't too hard, really, Quinn thought wryly, falling into his own place.

He hadn't let the Marines grow slack while Brandeson was in nominal command of Terpsy's Marine detachment, but he had no idea yet of how Cartwright would shape up and what he would make of the Marines who had, after all, been practically under Quinn's command for the duration of Terpsy's commission so far.

It was unusual to have another officer appointed to a ship once she was under commission, without the previous Marine officer being killed in battle. So far, though Cartwright seemed as though he would be a good officer, which was something in his favour.

Padstowe did not make a sound as he was handed down into the boat, his feet barely touching the floor until he was sat wedged between two large sailors in the stern sheets. He smiled wanly in reply to Crozier's introduction and murmured he was 'honoured'. He had so far suffered the moving well, yet he could tell by the speculatively and conerned looks directed his way by the Terpischore's surgeon and her sailors, he must not be bearing up too well physically? Did he really look so much like death warmed up.

He gave a longing glance towards the ship, praying that they would reach it soon so he could hurry up and lie back down again.

"Are you all right, Jonathan? How are you feeling?" Stephen asked in Portuguese to give the solider some privacy.

"Ready to fall down," Padstowe murmured back in the same language. "Why can't they damn-well hurry up? I don't know how I shall stand to salute the quarterdeck..."

"You can lean on me, my friend - I will make any excuses for you, and we will go straight below and get you into a cot. Do not worry about ascending the side; we have organised a bosun's chair for you."

Padstowe frowned at Stephen.

"A what?"

Stephen frowned, searching his knowledge of Potuguese. "It is a plank, to form a chair, attached to ropes. You sit in the chair and thus can be levered up quite happily - you need only hold on tight. If you think you will fall, I am sure you can be lashed in also."

Padstowe groaned softly - not only from his illness, but chiefly from the thought of the indignity of it.

"Bundled up the side like a bag of old washing! Oh, God... in front of sailors too..."

"Like a patient, Jonathan. We are all tired, and strained; be of good heart."

Padstowe's expression did not suggest that he was any more inclined to be of good heart, but he straightened his posture as much as he could, putting on a visible effort to sit as dignified as possible between the sailors and kept his blue eyes fixed on the ship they were fast approaching. Another quarter of an hour before he could lie down, it could only take that long at the most...

Stephen leant back, suppressing a sigh. He had noticed an insensitivity in Padstowe since his injury, a certain ingratitude, this same selfish petulance. It could never be said that he was much better as a patient, but he hoped it was an effect of his recuperation and nothing more.

At last the boat pulled up alongside the Terpsichore, and it was with some trepidation that Padstowe looked up the set of slippery, shallow steps cut into the hull of the ship all the way up to the main deck. He paled a shade more. Perhaps there was a tiny spark of gratitude blossoming in his breast that he would very soon be reduced to the status of a bundle of washing?

The boat was here! The boat was set alongside Terpsichore! And judging by the preparations and obvious orders, there will be atleast one of their guests brought up 'like a bundle of dirty clothes'. The rest, they didn't know about yet. Perhaps two? They were of land, all but the doctor who was said to have traveled by ship quite a few times. The very doctor that fell into the water last time he came up alongside the ship.

It could prove to be an interesting morning. Full of excitement and perhaps even a splash or two. Mathew felt he couldn't wait for the loading to begin. For one, it was a lot different than the loading of the two mares. Which were safely stored below, as was the stallion.