Crozier's Operation

Bridgens, having spent at least part of the night sitting up with Crozier, had started nodding off. Red Whisker Jones was tending to his plaited pigtail. Preddie was telling a tedious tale about waiting on a beach when he was shipwrecked in the Newfoundland fisheries, though of course someone else's shipwreck was worse, and someone else's wait was longer. Billy was drawing a map of the coastline in the sand and arguing with Butcher about the unknown ship. "Mister Yates, sir," Butcher said, speaking quietly out of respect for the unconscious man next to them, "Did Terpsy signal which way they'd seen the sail?"

They were getting up to move? Branning shifted his bulk from where he'd been sitting, partially-burrowed, in the sand and quickly brushed as much sand off his trousers as he could. Maybe they were about to pile back into the boat? He hoped so. Or maybe they were going foraging. That would be interesting too.

More waiting. Lovely. Chase had flopped back onto the sand, just outside the awning that had been rigged up. The sun might be beating down but the topman was feeling too lazy to shelter underneath the cutter's sail. Instead, he tipped his hat down over his eyes and folded his arms under his head.

"They ain't gonna be gone long," he said matter-of-factly. "Can't leave their best 'ands behind, can they?"

"They can and they will, at least for the chase," Preddie grumbled. "We'll miss all the fun."

Peter looked round. "The signal said to the North West - that would be beyond the headland. But it didn't say how far - so ... They will be back, I'm certain, they won't go far without us - how will they sail the ship?" Or treat the injured? The doctor had smiled when he examined the Terpsichore's surgeon: but he was a seaman himself, odd though it seemed. He would know how long an 'investigation' that might turn into a chase could take, particularly if they ran with the wind, and had to beat back against it.

The confident smile that he worn speaking to Butcher remained on his face as he went to tell Dr Maturin that, although the Terpsichore had indeed disappeared from view, they were in no danger of being abandoned, and they were, moreover with in easy reach of both allied villages, and British garrisons.

"I know," replied Stephen with a smile. "I worry only for Mister Crozier, but in truth on board it would be a matter of waiting until he wakes, which can be done just as easily here." It was a lie; he worried about his stolen papers, in the knapsack in his cabin, but Padstowe had enough sense to hide them if they were victorious and to destroy them if they were not. And he worried about Raoul. He worried about this group of men with Yates officially in charge, wearing the rictus he probably thought looked confident, but that could never be said.

"So it were comin' down the coast towards us," Butcher decided. "It were probably - hey! What about the prize money? If they take a prize without us, they'll try to do us out of our share!" This thought seemed to alarm him more than anything that had transpired so far.

"No they won't," Billy replied patiently. "Though you'll just drink it all anyway or throw it after wimmen - beg pardon, sir," he added with a grin for Mister Yates. But at least if they were talking idly they wouldn't be causing trouble for the lad on his first mission away from the ship. "Hey, maybe it's a ship come to take off the admiral. Terpsy ain't a proper place for an admiral. Needs a ship o' the line at least."

"I heard of this admiral," said Stephen, curious to find out the lower deck's reaction to his appearance. "From what I gather, he took breakfast with you this morning."

Preddie smirked. "Tried to." Young gave him an elbow and he added, "Sir."

"He just come down to inspect us, more like. While we was eating, sir," Young explained. "Only he sat down and asked for a share of our food!"

"We woulda been glad to share our food, sir," Butcher interjected, lest the doctor should think them mean with their provisions. "But... admirals can't eat burgoo with the men! It just ain't proper."

"Admirals eat, just as any other men do. I have even seen them do it, on occasion," said Stephen with a small smile.

Peter listened for a few minutes to the men's talk, but his eyes kept straying along the coast - west to the headland, or east up river. The tide was still going out, he could tell: if the Terpsichore didn't return they could take their surgeon in the boat, possibly to this Figueira de Foz, and it would be easier to do that once the tide had turned...

"But they don't eat on the messdeck with the men, sir," Spencer cried.

"It is unusual, to be sure," said Stephen, looking out towards the sea.

Billy saw the look, and he saw Yates looking out to sea as well. Misinterpreting their gaze he said to the doctor, "Don't you worry, sir. She'll be all right out there, the Terpsy. She'll be back for us in no time and we'll get Mister Crozier back on board, safe and sound."

"I am sure of it," said Stephen, forcing a smile as he looked back.

Billy noticed his unease as well as the young midshipman's, but it was out of his place to say more. "Shift over bit, Spence. You're wasting the shade."

The shade was nice, m'Clure decided, settling himself so his head, at least, was under the awning. Watching Dr Crozier was much easier with a group of men having a conversation behind him. It seemed more communual somehow. And, of course, there was better lighting, and lovely fresh air, hot though it was.

He heard Spence grudgingly shift, dragging over some sand, and the inevitable day-dreaming about exactly how much drink they could get, if it was a prize Terpsy could take, began.

Stephen reached into his pocket to let the mouse run into his fingers; he lifted it up to examine it. Male Arabian dormouse, just mature; it stared at him for a moment and then began grooming itself. He let it curl up in his hands and turned back to glance at Crozier's face.

"What is that sir?" M'Clure had no wish to join in the discussions going on behind him, and doubted he'd be welcomed much anyways. and the little mouse seemed quite happy to sit there, though M'Clure didn't know where it'd come from.

One of the men shifted, suddenly aware that the sun had moved and the shifting shadow had left part of him exposed. The movement roused Peter from his thoughts. He had been watching birds on the bright line of sand that marked the ebbing tide, birds that darted in and out with each new wave, trying to keep their feet dry while also venturing out to where the sea had uncovered... What did they eat?

That meant that the tide was still going out, and the decision about what to do could be delayed for a while longer. He stretched and moved down towards the sea, keeping away from the birds to avoid disturbing them.

Stephen looked away from the mouse when the midshipman stood up and wandered further down the beech; he coaxed the animal back into his hand and thus into his pocket, and trotted for a few steps. "Do you mind if I join you, Mister Yates?"

Peter looked round and gave a small smile. "I was looking at the birds," he said. "I'm not sure what they are... " Dr Maturin was interested in birds - something of an expert on sea birds, even - which made this a good neutral topic.

"I think maybe the doctor and Mister Yates need to talk alone, like," Billy said quietly to M'Clure whose question had gone unanswered. "They're worried. No, Preddie, sit down and leave 'em be. They'll know you're trying to listen."

"COurse" he was used perfectly willing to accept that, knowing he was neither well versed in politics or leadership.
He twisted round so he could see Barrow as well as Crozier, checking the Doctors pulse again, "Reckon tis easier ter get along without all that thinking, sometimes?" it was half statement, half an invitation to talk, now there wasn't even a mouse to watch.