The Passengers' Cabins

"Some," Raoul smiled in return. "Others I found distressing, of course, but - they have cleared my mind. We will have time on the ship for more of the first sort - conversation for pleasure." His lips twitched. "If not about cricket."

"Pray spare me - I shall toss myself overboard. It is bad enough watching it, but dissecting past games..." Stephen shook his head. "Something else then."

Raoul looked at him and smiled apologetically. "Something else - you can tell me about ships, and why you are happier on board one."

[OOC: Must go now]

Stephen went into his own room and immediately measured out a generous dose of laudanum into the tin mug he had found for the march, knocking it back distractedly. Padstowe seemed determined to eradicate any trace of friendship between the two of them, and he could not understand why. A hundred suggestions immediately presented themselves to him, none of them particularly kind to Padstowe or to himself. But laudanum was a balm to the shattered ego as well as to tired eyes, and he eventually fell into a dreamless, restful sleep, delighting in the softness of his nightshirt and the heavy warmth of the blanket and the familiar, soothing rocking of the cot.

He awoke late the next morning, and dozed happily, his mind carefully kept free of any thought but immediate sensual awareness, and he slowly emerged into full lucidity feeling much more well-disposed to the world in general, especially the naval world, if not to Captain Padstowe in particular.

There had been breakfast, some time after that first awakening, a leisurely meal for some, but soon everyone was gone, pulling hats on and adjusting swords - not for a battle, but for some ritual inspection. Raoul stayed in the wardroom, listening to noises from above, and wondering when everything would settle down, and it would be safe - polite, rather - to go upstairs and smell the fresh air.

Dr Maturin had not appeared for breakfast, confirming Raoul's hope that the doctor would at last be getting the rest he needed. Captain Padstowe's needs for food, and coffee, had been met by the steward, and a Marine*, given the duty of waiting on the Army Captain.

[OOC: the identity of the Marine - and his existence - is still under discussion in Another Place]

He would spend the morning - what was left of the morning - continuing work on the papers stolen from Prideux, but he would never be able to cope with the codes without coffee. He dressed quickly and went into the wardroom, to see des Sablières sitting at the table.

"Capitaine," he said with a wide smile. "Good morning to you. Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, thank you," Raoul wondered if that was a lie, but what sleep he had had was good - it was just that he had repeatedly been woken up. "You look rested. Did not the noise disturb you?"

"Noises?" Stephen asked with a grin. "I am an old salted seaman now, my Capitaine - they are as natural to me as a horse's noises are to you."

"Horses do not generally ring bells, all through the night. Nor run around overhead. But if you are used to it... "

Markham came out of his cubby hole to ask the doctor what he would like: "We've coffee, and bread - fresh aboard yesterday, or I could do the gentlemen some tea..."

"Some coffee and bread would be grand, thank you," Stephen said with a smile. "Bells all through the night? Were you awake for much of it?"

Raoul handed his cup to the steward with a quick smile, and then turned to Dr Maturin. "I lay awake for part of it. There are many noises, and I found myself trying to identify them - and to count the bells. But I did sleep well, for part of the time at least." He took the cup back from Markham. "As for the bells, it is like being quartered next to a church - one soon becomes accustomed."

"Thank you," said Stephen as he took his cup and sipped the coffee with a satisfied sigh. "If you find it very difficult to sleep through the bells, I can give you a few drops of laudanum; you are sure to be rested then."

"Thank you, but no. I shall see first how I sleep tonight." Raoul leaned back in the chair. "Will you be going upstairs this morning. I was waiting ..." A prolonged thumping and crashing from the deck above as if there was a thunderstorm raging just overhead. Raoul managed to restrain himself and did not duck his head down, but swore, and looked at Dr Maturin with some alarm.

"Do not worry, soul," said Stephen reassuringly. "They will be 'running with the guns' or somesuch martial exercise - if there is a real battle they will tell us, never fear."

"If there is a real battle..." Raoul mused, and wondered what they would do with him, if they did meet a French ship. And what an actual battle would sound like, if a routine exercise sounded so fierce.

"It is strange," Stephen answered, guessing where des Sablières' thoughts may be leading him, "to be a captive on a ship that is fighting a battle against a ship of your own side. I remember once Captain Aubrey and myself were traveling from Gibraltar in an Indiaman, the Lord Nelson, and we were captured by Bellone. I took a ball out of their captain's shoulder, so we were allowed on deck - Captain Aubrey was told that he was quite welcome to walk about, but if he were to attempt to signal or sabotage, he would be shot immediately - but then another ship came upon them. We had to go down to the brig, and could only hear the cannons above us."

"I think that that is best - it would be embarrassing, to say the least, should this ship be taken, and I were to be found wandering freely on deck..." Raoul looked at the doctor. "It must be terrifying to be a prisoner like that. You are not only powerless, as any passenger must be, but also - you cannot wholeheartedly will your own nation's ship to victory, for fear that the ship you are on will be sunk with you still in the brig."

"I was more attached to life then," said Stephen, thinking about Diana with a pang, "but we had just completed the single most arduous journey of our lives in order to escape Bonaparte, and imprisonment in France for the rest of the war. I was helping the wounded, but Jack - Captain Aubrey - told me that he counted shots throughout."

Raoul sat in thought for a moment, as a hush fell briefly over the ship. "All this exercise will help the ship in action - to make it more accurate and faster than its French opponent. But I suppose the aim is not to sink your opponent, but to take it, without inflicting too much damage. Was the Bellone taken?"

"That is the aim indeed - your country is full of master shipwrights. A brig tried to, after a British privateer, the Petrel - no, the Seagull - and was damaged. We were close to Cape Prior, and we sailed straight into the path of a British squadron: HMS Colossus, if I remember correctly, and HMS Tonnant, and... two others." He waved his hand. "The Bellone did not have a chance, and surrendered with no fire, thank the Dear."

Raoul looked up at the ceiling as the noises began again, with renewed vigour. "To surrender without a shot - a sensible thing to do, but I wonder how the Captain's superiors would view it. The lives of those on board are of less value than the ship itself. Honour might demand that a few of those at least be sacrificed before the ship is surrendered. Even if you do not fight to the last man?"

"I do not know what happens in the French navy, but in the British, a captain is court martialed if he loses his ship." Stephen smiled wryly, remembering their last conversation on this subject.

Raoul remembered them discussing that. "I wonder if the court martial would accept that the Captain had done his best if he had not fired a shot. Perhaps they would find him at fault pour encourager les autres."

Stephen smiled again. "Il n'y avait aucun autre à l'encourager. No other ships, in any case; four against one, and the one already wounded from previous engagements. I know that suicide was decriminalised during the Revolution, and to my knowledge Bonaparte has not reinstated the laws, but it would not only have been suicide but murder as well, and that is still illegal. For the most part. In some parts."

Raoul winced as there was a particularly loud screech from above them. "But is that not the way heroes are made? And reputations. To take on impossible odds and win: The fewer men the greater share of honour. Does that not count for ships too?"