By Cape Mondego

Raoul stood up, and pulled the door open. "Captain Padstowe. I ... Is there any news?" he asked, trying to sound unconcerned - concern could so easily be misunderstood.

"None," Padstowe said, leaning in the doorway with a sigh. "I am afraid Mr. Bush's continuing disapproval left me with a burning desire to leave the deck before any positive identification could be made. I may grab hold of someone and ask in a while - or else the officers might be considerate enough to let us know of otheir own volition."

Because if she was French then they'd definitely want to make sure they knew where Raoul was...

"The fact that she fled... but that proves nothing. Perhaps she is British or Portuguese, but cannot see our colours. Or does not believe them. I understand it is quite normal, at sea, to lie about one's nationality, until you are close enough to fight. For both sides to lie, in fact." Talking was a relief. Possibly no one would tell him, but Captain Padstowe would certainly learn what was going on.

"I am sorry about ... I did not mean to insult the Captain, but I was concerned about the Doctor. I still am..."

Allen glanced at the army captain, then looked away as the Frenchie opened the door. He was still annoyed that he was acting as sentry, and now he had to listen to the passengers' conversation to boot. And on top of it all he still was wondering what was going on up on deck. Were they ever going to see any action?

"I do not believe it was the Captain that was insulted," Padstowe said, cynically. "For all Mr. Bush's protests. Bolitho understands your concern - as any man with a conscience would - and I cannot do anything but confess I am also worried. However, I do take some small comfort that we did not leave them defenceless."

Despite having just ordered Westdale to act as surgeon, Bolitho was growing more doubtful that they would be experiencing a battle. The French ship was getting much too far away for a short chase. If they did follow the ship, the pursuit would likely end up being long, and they simply could not afford that. They would have to abandon the pursuit and go get the shore party.

Bolitho glanced around the deck. He hated to appear as though he was letting the men down, but they had to go back.

"Call off the chase, and adjust course," he ordered at last, "We must return to fetch the shore party."

(comes from here )

Appearing on deck, along with the sailors who hadn't gone to the shore party, the resigned crew - for they have abandoned chase, had an enemy escape and with it the prize money - climbed the masts according to the shouted orders of their officers, and else took the ropes in the same fashion when so told.

De Guarde peered over the railing observing the disappearing sail for a moment, pulled himself into the shrouds. Did so again when at the first platform, cursed under his breath and moved to give space to the next in line.

"Move aside! Stop slaggin'." A slight shove had done noone wrong, but it was simply how the tension built earlier was to be relieved.

" Shut your gob." A moment of fierce glaring, and then the men returned to their task. There was more grumbling of course. And there would be more later. It was quieter, perhaps since the wind took much of their edge.

De Guarde near lost his footing a moment, and reached out to steady himself, a hand on the shirt of the sailor beside him. As quickly he'd placed both his hands where they were at, assuming quite well that the men were not to be as much as brushed with a hand let alone gripped.

He was of no different mind himself. Resentment for the ship at the horizon, which did nothing but move further away, till it would be lost out of sight. That was all they had for it.

[There is clearly some telescoping of time here - but I think Raoul and Padstowe must notice the change of course]

Raoul nodded at Padstowe's words. "They had Marines - that is true. And it is I think country that is firmly in the hands of the British - or of the Portuguese, which is much the same thing. They will be safe - but if they were left there... I do not think it would be good for Mr Crozier, even if the operation were successful."

The cabin shifted, the door which Raoul had left ajar suddenly swinging to behind him. The light coming down the companion way, bleached by sails, swung across the cabin, brightened and then faded again.

"We have changed our course," Raoul said. "But that might not mean...." ... that they had abandoned the chase: it could instead mean that they were manoeuvring for position, or whatever one did on a ship.

With the effort - which was less than liked, though the orders were followed dutifully - the ship was turned about. There might've been last longing looks in the direction of their enemy, last curses of those, though muffled by some, for the escape. Not a single shot fired. Not even one of warning. Though it would have made no difference in the loss, it would've been a good deal more to some.

Changing their direction had meant that the abandoning of the chase had been more real, more true. It wasn't a lie to say that De Guarde had hoped, for long or short, that perhaps the orders would change. It was so all the way up till the ship itself was no longer pursuing. It was final. The turn made it so.

He cursed again, damned Frogs, cowards, fleeing to safety. He'd thought of that marine, Shriver and thought him a good man for attempting to show atleast one where his place was. He failed though, so no points for him. He'd had a slight rope burn on his left hand, nothing he cared to aknowledge. He'd snapped a:" Watch where yer stickin' yer bloody..."There was more, but atleast the wind had taken it away.

Padstowe gripped hold of the doorframe again, glancing up at the swinging lamp and frowning. It was difficult to tell below decks and without a horizon, but he thought...

"We may be turning round," he murmured. The manouevre was taking some time - but it certainly felt sharper, longer than just a move to the side. Or whatever it was properly called.

"She may not have been French after all."

"The wicked flee where no man pursueth... But perhaps it was more a case of fearing that we were the wicked. And they have now exchanged signs to show that they are friends."

Presumably there were such signs - the army had passwords, but did not, as a rule, go round pretending to be something other than what they were. Even Raoul's Hussars, miles inside enemy territory, had worn their own French uniforms.

"Shall we go on deck? If we are no longer in pursuit of my countrymen, for whatever reason, the Lieutenant may not object to my presence."

A rattan struck a back or two, starting the men. There had to be more than one strike to silence them again. Some Tars were loosing their patience with the landsmen, nothing personal at all. Nothing that would last till the next day. For it was this one, or rather the events or rather the lack thereof of the one that brought on the mood.

The ship was turning back into a well worked body of men, the grumbling had subsided to be replaced by purpose. The purpose at the time was quite obviously, to have the ship brought about and then return to their randevous point. See where their party was and if perchance the boats were no longer there possibly search for them elsewhere, hoping that they haven't been taken prisoner all in the while.

But first, even taking the ship towards land would take effort, hope in some good wind of the right direction and the currents serving in their favour rather than against.

It was fairly interesting to observe it all happen though for the Tars it was far less just watching and far more of the actual work, throwing their weight about, some in the tops and others, landsmen, below where strength meant more than just skill.

"Hold yeself up." A hand grasped another and prevented the latter from slipping into the cold, dark, depths below. What might've looked as disarray to an untrained eye, had looked as proper order to a knowing one. De Guarde took a firmer hold of the ropes. He was lighter than the others, yet he was a lad well attached to the heights and worried none to add speed to his ascend or descend when needed. Slid along a rope even, though less used with his bare feet and hands.

Raoul des Sablières wrote:"Shall we go on deck? If we are no longer in pursuit of my countrymen, for whatever reason, the Lieutenant may not object to my presence."

"Maybe," Padstowe said. "In a moment, after they have completed their manouevre and we are sailing in a straight line again."

He would not wish to go on deck to find them both in a mess of men and ropes and irate officers. That would not help anybody, least of all them.

"That is if the sentries will allow us above."

He did not mean the private at the door specifically, as he knew from experience that sentries guarded the hatchways during action; chiefly to guard against any unwanted personages going below, but also to stop any going up.

Raoul raised an eyebrow at that, and moved further into the wardroom. It would be good to go on deck, and see that they were indeed heading back. But the Captain was right: no point in getting in anyone's way, and possibly sparking the undeniable resentment of a Frenchman, at liberty, while they were unable to bring a French ship to battle.

"Perhaps, when the ship is steady, you - or someone - could ask the Captain for permission? And make certain that we are..." Padstowe was concerned too, after all. He could leave it for him to speak to Bolitho. "There would be nothing I could add to any arguments you might make - except to give them an excuse to ignore them," he said. "Mr Bush - I have not had the chance to get to know him, but he seems to be a very different man from the second - or indeed Captain Bolitho. How much he represents the feelings of the crew..."

Anitclimactic in the extreme, to be turning away, but such was life, with a fair amount of grumbling thrown in.

Grimly he joined in the general rush to work her back round towards the shore, hauling as he looked about, the sail disappearing from veiw as they parted at even more speed than before.

The ship had at last finished the turn and began to level itself to sail in a straighter line. As before, the lieutenants would shout, the middies would follow and the sailors would do, what all prior to that had been shouted at them.

The wind had died down a little. "Westdale." De Guarde recognised the man easily amongst the sea of faces. "Get a move on." He'd said without thinking it wasn't his place, then moved aside just as a few sailors had gone past in a hurry.

Westdale frowned, breaking his work as he called back, in what he hoped was a cheerful voice, "ANd yerself, de Guarde."

No point in making a big deal about it, if it had been a slip. Though tonight they'd have a talking, perhaps, or if it happened again. It wasn't exactly the first time de Guarde had tried to order someone, but it wasn't as if he'd been doing it all the time, and he hadn't done it for a while, so maybe...

He realised he'd been standing there for longer than was good for him and hurriedly got back to work, lest he should be encouraged.

The wind hadn't turned. It had however lessened even more. Which, had they attempted to proceed with the chase might've had them make very little leeway. The Frenchman, further ahead would have benefited fully from it, and so they might as well have jested and taunted the other - slow moving - party.

De Guarde paused and was again in the shrouds going up. He glanced in the direction of Westdale. Still stand..... ah and the man at last moved! Was about time too, he thought to himself.

(If I am at any time doing something wrong , ignore the mistakes ^.^ and imagine the correct version!)

Raoul des Sablières wrote:Raoul raised an eyebrow at that, and moved further into the wardroom. It would be good to go on deck, and see that they were indeed heading back. But the Captain was right: no point in getting in anyone's way, and possibly sparking the undeniable resentment of a Frenchman, at liberty, while they were unable to bring a French ship to battle.

"Perhaps, when the ship is steady, you - or someone - could ask the Captain for permission? And make certain that we are..." Padstowe was concerned too, after all. He could leave it for him to speak to Bolitho. "There would be nothing I could add to any arguments you might make - except to give them an excuse to ignore them," he said. "Mr Bush - I have not had the chance to get to know him, but he seems to be a very different man from the second - or indeed Captain Bolitho. How much he represents the feelings of the crew..."

"We did not perhaps catch him at his best moment," Padstowe said diplomatically, though he doubted how many 'good moments' Bush ever had. "As to representation... there is always a difference of opinion in any crew or regiment; so long as men exist there will be disagreement. Perhaps the senior officers are proportional representation?" he mused, smiling wryly to himself. "One lieutenant for every viewpoint within the crew? But seriously that does not matter to us that much, so long as the captain and two of his Three are not outright opposed to us; though I do not believe it would do to unnecessarily rile him either."

Westdale glanced upwards. There was de Guarde, looking down at him for a breif moment as he started moving again. He smiled back at him.

Less wind, now, so even more time making their way back than they would have thought a moment ago. And more work for those hauling and changing the sails, too, trying to get her to move as well as they could.
More directions were called up to them, and again they shifted, trying to make the most of the fickle breeze.

"I did not set out to rile him - if I have understood that correctly. But I felt ..." Raoul smiled. "I hope they have done no more than spend a few worried hours, waiting for our return. But I cannot be confident. Dr Maturin can only have taken part of what would be available to him on the ship: if Mr Crozier's condition worsened, the absence of the ship could cost him his life" He sat down at the wardroom table, as the ship leaned a bit further over. "But we are surely returning now..."