On the Gundeck

Shepherd smirked. "I kin go fast 'nuff. Near's good as a Tar, me!"

Mathew tilted his head a little and smiled: "Jus' runnin' n' climbin' wont do." He was not to suggest swimming. Not many knew how, and he didn't know it for certain and loathed water and did not want to fall in it again let alone be made to go in on purpose. "Oh.." He hadn't yet thought what else there was in the aspect of a challenge other than: "Wot's yer head fer heights." The question was for both boys, even if at that moment asked of Shepherd directly.

"Good enough for whatever you're plannin'," Oxley retored with a grin. He'd never have made it to the foremast crosstrees if he didn't have a head for heights. He cocked his head at Tom Shepherd, curious as to the other young Marine's answer.

What was his head for heights. Shepherd rolled his eyes. "Plenny good enough," he answered disdainfully. Really. What sort of question was that?

"Yer marine drummers, can't think yer as skilled as t' Tars in t' tops." He answered with a smirk at Shepherd then paused hearing some shouting.

"They know!" He shut himself up the next moment, then grinned. "Is a Frog. Did yer hear? Is a Frog!" He tried to contain his excitement and voice. And he hoped he'd not miss this engagement as he had the last. They would fight though, would they?

"I heard. Ain't deaf like you lot 'parently are," Oxley said, holding the wooden cartridge case a little tighter, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Don' ye make me box yer ears." De Guarde answered and grinned. There! He shifted a bit, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Come on now, Terpsy." He murmured to the ship almost as if she could hear. "Be quick, lass. Have us some Frogs fer dinner."

"You wouldn't," Oxley said, grinning. "So there. An' i don't much fancy eatin' boiled Frog for dinner, neither. That'd be all sort of... chewy, I reckon."

"Wouldn't now?..las' I remember that.." He nodded to Oxley's eye, while speaking quietly enough that no officer would hear, but mostly just Oxley himself:" That didn't come from a fish, flippin' out of t' sea n' givin' yer a kiss." He grinned back and made a face. "We can jus' feed 'em ter t' fishes. If yer really that picky." He shifted from his left to his right food a couple of times.

"Got you back though, din't I?" Oxley said, just as quietly. "You can have boiled Frog for dinner if you want. I'll stick with beef, me. So there."

How long was it going to be before they caught the other ship up, he wondered, staring up at the blue sky through the grating above them. He'd like to get back up there some time soon - or have something to do down here. Waiting was something he'd never been good at, ever.

"Only, cos' ye were lucky." The boy teased, knowing full well Oxley had had a lot more than just a lucky strike. He followed the boy's gaze up to the gratings and frowned. "..t' wors' part of a sea fight' is t' bloody long time that yer need fer t' ships ter actually come around together." He murmured.

Couldn't the ships just somehow, magically appear at just the right distance - and obviously in favour of Terpsy - though that was possibly too much to ask.

"Lucky, my eye," Oxley said, wishing he could see what was going on up there. "Hate waitin'," he said. "It's just so bloody boring!"

Where was the other ship, who had the weather gauge, could they catch her up... or would the chase take so long that the Captain would decide it would be best to turn around to pick their men up?

"One of em, certainly." He answered distracted and then:

"Aye. 'up there 'tleast you see wot's goin' on. It's still a bloody long wait'!" He frowned. And they could do nothing either. They had to wait to be told what nationality the ship was. They still had no bearings where it was at the moment, nothing. Just guessing and waiting, which could be between.. long and longer.

".. bu' atleast you know how long." He just hoped they wouldn't stop the pursuit, before they engaged the enemy. He didn't want to miss it again. Not this time. "..I jus' hope we don't turn before we get t' fire at 'er!"

To turn away, without firing even a single shot... the Captain wouldn't! Would he...?

He couldn't leave his station to go and look, of course, though he was itching to do just that. He found himself drumming his fingers on the cartridge case again, the rhythm of Hearts of Oak that was the signal to clear for action.

"I just wish they'd hurry up and make their minds up," he said.

"Hurry up altogether, that would be fine." He glanced at Oxley's fingers and shook his head."..Yer want me t' get yer a drum with that?" He asked glancing along the gun deck as far as he could see and then back the other way.

"No, I'll be all right," Oxley said and put his hands behind his back. "Sorry."

A cry came from above, then: "Westdale! Able Seaman Westdale to the quarterdeck!"

Oxley frowned and passed the message on, hoping the seaman wasn't in trouble for something. "What does the Captain want him for, anyways?" he said, turning to see if he could spot the man.

"Hm, Wes'dale?" He shrugged. He didn't remember that man getting in no trouble last time he talked to him, and even if he had it would really not be the right time to call him up. Not when and if they would engage the enemy. He'd thought about that earlier though. The importance of the...

... oh, was it that? He remembered the man dressing his eye in the evening of the previous day. They had no surgeons, no surgeon's mates and they were heading into battle. So they..

"Think I can give a good guess." He grinned at Oxley.

"A good guess?" Oxley said. He'd slung his cartridge case over his head so it sat pretty much as his drum would do, though a bit higher up than his drum did, and began tapping out Roast Beef of Old England, the usual call for the officers' dinner, on the lid of it. "Why, then?"

" Ol' habits die hard, don' they, drum boy." He smiled, the subtle sound was pleasant to hear.

"Well.. yes , a good guess. " He added, tilting his head a little, as if asking whether Oxley wanted to know, rather innocently.

Oxley nodded. "Better me doin' this than tryin' to strangle you 'cause you won't tell me nothin'," he said lightly. "I'm sure it's a good guess, but seems like you're goin' to keep it all to yourself."

He studied the beam above his head for a moment before looking back at de Guarde with a grin. "Oh, you want me to ask what your guess is! All right, then, Mister Buckles, what's your ever-such-a-good-guess about why the Cap'n wants Westdale, then?"

He struggled to keep his face straight and serious.:" Why, it is indeed a very good question to ask, Mr. Ol' Tom." He answered in a manner far exaggerated.

" Do you recall noticing anything about mr. Westdale in the duration of his stay aboard?" He paused, grinning at Oxley. "Any certain skills that the man may harbour? " He stiffled a chuckle. " To keep you from twistin' me neck jus' now.., fer I know yer fingers are itchin fer it. " he looked at the boy's fingers as if to prove his point.

" Westdale knows summat about injuries n' how ter treat them. No surgeon by any means, I'm sure bu'.." He smiled and shrugged. "My guess is, he'll stand in as a surgeon terday, or that's wot' our cap'n is thinkin'."

Oxley nodded. "Makes sense, a bit, that does," he said. "Hope he ain't needed, though, that's what." It wouldn't be like having a proper surgeon aboard, after all, and he wouldn't even have a mate to help him, either. Though maybe they'd rope Jemmy Ducks or somebody in to help.

"I'd trus' him. " He answered and shrugged." Thou' if it were any limbs ter cut off, i'd want a second opinion." He grinned and then turned to the cannon infront of him.

"But would like it better t' not need any surgeon, though still fight' mind! I'd like if we did that." Could feel nervous and excited and... he didn't know what, but it was better than waiting here, or shying away, or running. "N'... you?"

The tapping stopped. "I don't want to end up having an arm or leg chopped off. Dunno what I'd do if it came to that." How would he live? What would he do? He'd probably end up begging or something, and he didn't think he could face that.

"I'd fight, ' course. I ain't shy. But I dunno what I'd do if came to havin' to go under the knife." He shivered at the thought of it.

" Nobody want that." A drummer loosing an arm would've been.. well, a midshipman could still yell commands with just one, but a drummer's treasure was the pair of his hands.

" Shouldn't think of it like it'd happen n' worry 'bout it." He touched the cold surface of the cannon, which hadn't yet fired a single shot to gain any of the warmth on it.

" Yer won't be loosin' none of yer limb! If I wasn' able ter twist one off, yer think a Frog would be able?.. Tch!"