Coming Aboard

"Where you takin' me?" he asked, a nervous edge sounding in his voice.

"Below, to the irons. 'Til the officers're ready to bother with you," the Master-at-Arms answered gruffly. "Now move, or we'll move you."

Perry was not inclined to move.

The Master-at-Arms exchanged glances with Colburn. All right then.

"Up." Colburn said. Both men seized hold of Perry and heaved him up off the deck. It was easier to move along now.

And now he kicked and voiced his protests all the way down to the gun deck.

What on earth was all the ruckus that the arrival of the landing party had brought up to the ship. He'd thought they'd have been quieter if not unnoticed as they returned aboard, other but for the usual call of an officer - midshipman - aboard. He'd been by the horses, having helped to give them a final scrub before they'd have been fastened up and heaved out of the hold. Not even so the walls of the ship could've blocked the protests coming from the deck. A mistake, not Brit, want to speak to the captain, a startled yelp when he was at last struck, the sounds of more protests.

With a glance to the more dangerous of the horses he scampered forward and out enough to see a man kicking and protesting as if there was no tomorrow. He noticed the grinning faces of a few sailors who'd also observed the scene. With what he was causing, he was mad not to know that he was digging himself a hole and heap of trouble! He'd ask later, Thompson there, who was the marine on guard or it looked he would be, and some of the sailors who'd come from land. THey ought to know what and how this happened.

That kicking and shouting was going to put Colburn in a proper temper. Thompson hoped that nobody else ended up down here because of it. Why did it always have to b him who ended up on sentry down on folks in irons? Not that it happened very often, of course; Bolitho was one of the better captains in the Navy for that, but it still happened often enough.

"Please!" Perry begged, finally deciding on a change of tack now that he was belowdecks. "Please, let me explain to the captain. He'll understand it's a mistake. Please! I don't belong here, it's a mistake! That boy Kinsella... please just let me talk to someone...!"

"That boy is a midshipman.. and MR. Kinsella to you." Was a boyish sounding retort with a hint of command in his voice.
There were a couple of other ship boys that were curious to see what the cat dragged in, or in this case rather, the Lobster and Tar. They peered at Perry then backed a little. A deserter from another ship? Maybe! A new pressed man, certainly! One who'll get himself in a heap of trouble with his earlier retorts and would succeed in nothing with his present pleadings, also quite surely.

"Bugger off!" he said disdainfully, giving the boys only the briefest glance before turning his attention back to the bosun, pleading and cajoling while at the same time kicking his legs away from the irons. "No, no no no, I won't be locked down here like some criminal! Please, please, please if you'll just let me talk to an officer for two minutes..."

"lThat's 'nuff outta yer," Colburn sneered, helping the Master-at-Arms force Perry's legs into the irons. "Officers'll talk to ya when they feel likes it."

And now his feet were trapped. "Please!" he cried one more time, grabbing at both of the men before they could leave him.

The boys watched for a few moments longer and then quickly scampered back into the bowels of the ship, knowing full well that to stay too long might test their luck and have a starter on them quicker than they could say Aye.

But as far as news travelling was concerned. The whole ship would , if it didn't already, know of it give a little time.

"Lemme just explain," Perry said desperately, clinging to the bosun's jacket, "I'm sorry I was so shirty before, but he thought - that young midshipman Mister Kinsella, he thought I was British, but I'm not, I'm American - easy mistake to make, but I live here and work and I'm married--"

Colburn scowled and prised Perry's fingers loose. "I don't care if yer a Frog, the young gennelman says yer a deserter so yer back on the lower deck where ya oughta be."

"Welcome to Terpsichore," the Master-at-Arms said before heading back topside.

"Come on, mate, leave 'im be," Thompson said. "You're here now, and that's it, ain't it. Make the best of it like ever'one else has to, that what you ought to do."

Perry tugged at the irons and tried to slide them free of their bar as soon as the boatswain's mate was out of sight. He looked up at the marine imploringly. "Come on, friend, you saw back there - I've got a wife who needs me, a home and good work. You know I'm an American. Help me outta these, eh?"

Thompson shook his head. "Can't, mate. It'd be more'n my life's worth - or yourn, either, for that matter. An' you can send her your pay, like I send mine home. It ain't a bad life, really, once you gets used to it."

"Ain't a bad life?" he repeated in dismay. "It's slavery, that's what it is! Kidnapping, piracy. Thrown in here like a gaol... I ain't never been in the bilboes afore, never in me life."

Coming on deck just moments after the newly-pressed sailor had been taken below, Bolitho was greeted by the sounds of some sort of altercation, though he could see nothing transpiring nearby. He certainly did not condone any fighting, and the fact that there was nothing to be seen at first glance made him even more annoyed.

"Mr. Bush, in the name of God, what is all the ruckus?" Bolitho demanded, his eyes alighting on the first lieutenant, who was standing nearby.

Bush didn't look terribly amused by the noise either. "Mister Kinsella pressed a man while he was ashore, sir. I would guess he's the one creating such a stir. Mister Colburn!" The first lieutenant added, spotting the boatswain's mate just coming topside.

At the summons, Colburn came over at once. "Sir?" He asked, saluting.

"I bin in 'em meself, once. Just stop tryin' to shift 'em though, it'll make it worse." He chuckled grimly. "We're the Royal Navy though, mate, not pirates, nor slavers neither."

"Mr. Colburn, will you please tell me what is going on?" Bolitho said, turning to the boatswain's mate, "Mr. Bush says that a pressed man has been brought aboard. What has been done with him?"

"He's down below in the irons, sir. Little weasel tried swingin' at me. Swore at me an' the Master-at-Arms too." Colburn shook his head. "Proper lively one, he is, sir. Says he's a Yankee."

"Well it sounds as though he's an interesting man," Bolitho remarked, raising an eyebrow, "And he claims to be American? Hmm, perhaps I had better go and have a word with him, though I hope he will be somewhat civil. At least he won't be able to strike at me if he's in irons."