Aboard DEFIANCE after the battle

Waiting. Why does it take so long?

He was not in a good mood - he got a swordcut on his left arm in the last battle and he barely could move it now. Of course, he didn't show his pain, but he longed for a little rest.
Well, at least the sailor who made it had a way worse wound. Way more painful, and way... lower. That French bastard wouldn't sire any more bastards.

This thought was quite satisfying.

Deverel returned looking impatient and irritable, and soon after the men appeared with his sea chest which they set about lowering into the Terpsichore's boat on the larboard side of the ship. He made his final farewells, not that he was in any way attached to his Defiance shipmates.

A young midshipman saluted him, and he returned the salute half-heartedly.

"Take us away, Mister..."

"Slater, sir, James Slater," the young man answered.

"Then carry on, Mister Slater. Into the boat, you men," he sighed to Oxley and Claggart.

Sam scrambled down Defiance's side before Claggart - Navy etiquette dictated that the highest ranking man (or officer) was last into a boat and first out of it, putting up with the hard thwarts and cold, wet spray for the shortest time. He sat there with his ditty bag at his feet, and gave Mister Deverel a grateful grin. How the officer had managed to persuade the Captain to let him go, he didn't know, but he was grateful that the officer had managed it, somehow.

"You all right there, sir?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm splendid," Deverel answered in a sardonic tone that did not invite further conversation. Not that that had ever stopped Oxley before.

"Well, that's good, sir," Sam said, standing up to help Deverel into the boat. He scowled at the back of Claggart's head. Shame the bastard couldn't fall over the side and drown.

Deverel acknowledged the assistance with a sulky grunt before turning to the midshipman to say, "If you please, Mr. Slater." The young man gave the orders and they pushed off, bearing towards the seemingly tiny frigate.

"How old is the Terpsichore?" he asked the lad, breaking the silence several minutes later.

"She's nearly new, sir. Only a couple of years old. Captain Bolitho's her first captain, sir." The midshipman steered confidently for the other ship, heading round the stern with its elaborately gilded gingerbread work and bringing the boat confidently alongside.

Deverel cast a critical eye over her. "Fast, is she? Do you catch many prizes?"

Slater grinned. "We've taken one, sir, before we got to Lisbon. We saw another ship, but we couldn't engage her because the surgeon and surgeon's mate were ashore at the time. I hope we'll see her again, because it'll be good to be able to take another prize. She can do twelve knots, sir, in a stiff wind, Terpsy can."

Still looking up at the sails, Deverel did not answer. But perhaps it would not be so bad. Flying along on a fast-moving frigate could be a fine thing. But then he had a sudden horrifying thought, remembering the sternness and sobriety of the captain the few times he had met him. "Slater, Bolitho's not one of those blue-light captains, is he? Psalm-singing, no alcohol and all that?"

"What, sir? Oh, no, sir. He's a proper good captain, Some of the sailors think he's the best captain they've had, sir."

Sam Oxley breathed a sigh of relief at hearing that.

"Oh." Well that was a relief at any rate.

//Sorry for being late//

Claggart climbed down to the boat quite easily, despite his arm. He was experienced enough to climb down using only one arm, and only pretending to use the other.
He clearly felt the midshipman's hate. It was something he got used too, and, because he usually felt the same for his fellow men, was familiar with.

He didn't speak but listened curiously. What kind of man is this Captain Bolitho? He hoped not some "no flogging" type philanthropist. He once sailed with one and it was pain. That fellow should've preached in the demmed Sunday school. But on a man-o'-war, you need the lash - and you need to be strict.

"A good captain... at least, his sailors love him" he thought. "I hope at least he be a great warrior."
Well, to be honest, fight was something Claggart loved. He was almost madly brave in a battle, and he loved killing. When it was possible, he tried to lenghten the enemy's suffering - he liked to stab them in the stomach or castrate them, or cut their limbs and let them there, to die slowly...

Sam hoped that it would be better on Terpsy - he had been right, they did call it that - than it had been on Defiance, though it was hard to see how with Claggart joining the frigate as well. Sadistic bastard, he was. At least it sounded as though the captain was decent enough.

"Toss your oars!" Slater called, and the seamen raised their oars as the bowman hooked on. He looked at Deveral. "After you, sir!"

Deverel braced himself mentally before climbing up the ladder. He was a bit relieved to see that the captain was not there to meet him; the man was no doubt very busy, already having new duties to oversee, ferrying the army across while the bridge was reconstructed. Instead, he presented himself to the officer of the watch with a salute.

"I'm Lieutenant John Deverel, late of his majesty's ship Defiance, come aboard."

A beautiful ship she was. Oh, yes. Claggart loved ships better than women... ships never cheats you, and never makes a scene. That's why he never got married, besides he couldn't feel love for humans. For the sea, for ships, for killing... for his sword, yes.

He climbed up after Deverel, and saluted too.

"Master-at-Arms John Claggart, also from HMS Defiance, come aboard."

Leat returned the salute neutrally.

"Edward Leat, second lieutenant. Welcome aboard, gentlemen. I apologise, but Captain Bolitho is somewhat enagaged at the moment and so cannot greet you personally. If you would care to follow me- Mister Fletcher, pay attention to that crate! -I will show you to your berths."

He signed to Dyer and Chase, who had been loitering with intent since the call of "Which boat?" had been heard, to collect the dunnage that was being hoisted aboard and follow them below. He did not, very much on purpose, catch Bush's eye forward, as Bush very carefully did not catch Leat's eye. Both of the Terpsy's original lieutenants resented George his luck, even though it was for him a promotion well overdue. Leat had been aboard ship during the capture of the fort; but Bush had fought hard, and bravely, and had been as much deserving of attention as George - in fact as Premier more deserving. It was for this reason and no other that Deverel received an initial coldness in his greeting.

Deverel returned the coldness with apathy. They were no happier than he was to have him aboard. Well, it mattered little.

He had caught sight of Bush, but the man had not favored him with any acknowledgment. It was Bush who had ordered him away when he would have presented himself to the admiral after the attack on the fort. If the admiral could have seen him with his bleeding wound after that magnificent explosion, perhaps it would have been himself and not George commanding the prize and taking the news back to England. Perhaps Bush had hoped for that glory himself and had ordered Deverel away as a rival. And now he was in a bitter mood again.

"This way if you please."

Leat turned and led the two men to the aft companionway, stepping over a coiled pile of cordage before making his way down the steps. Below was as busy as above, and he had to call for the men to "Make a lane, there!" before they could get to the aft cabins.

"Mister Claggart, you are next to the clerk here; first one on the right. You are a little further on, Mister Deverel; next to me."

The news traveled fast, but there was no other way faster than seeing it with one's own eyes. Which alas was how the young Tar had seen it this time around. Lieutenant George was to be replaced, leaving to set sail on another ship. Some sailors were sent across to the Defiance, which though did not seem to diminish the crowding feel all that much.

The old lieutenant was to be replaced as was clear when - albeit busy - the ship's hands could cast their eyes on the new arrivals. Lieutenant Deverel and another man whose name they didn't yet know. Some knew the first though, for he had come to fight - or a version thereof - at their side.

De Guarde was holding a hand to his head, feeling quite as sour as he looked. He gazed up as Mr. Leat passed and stood aside, mild curiosity mirrored on his face, as his eyes followed the remaining, advancing figures.

"Thank you, sir; I'll just drop my bag in and will be at service."

He entered the cabin, and opening the closet, he hanged his uniforms and shirts in; the rest wasn't that important for now, but these needed to be handled carefully so they don't crinkle. And Claggart liked his uniforms be perfect. Call that vanity.

He exited the cabin a few minutes later.

"See, told you is true." One of the younger boys murmured as the small crowd gathered, shifting and squirming out of the older sailor's way. "He looks rather..." One began but was quick to silence himself as if thinking the man was breathing right down his back. "Can't be all that different from our ol' one. Rest his soul." One of the elder boys murmured.

"He's from t' same ship as that lieutenant ,'s what I heard. What's his name?" The more informed of the lot, Johnny Black muttered.

"You mean.. the one that was with us in the tunnel? Deveral. Mr. Deveral, his name was I think." De Guarde joined in. Since the skylarking he'd felt more at ease with the other boys and certainly didn't stand off and keep to himself as much. His head still hurt, but atleast the ringing had stopped.

"Aye, uh.. he's.. well probably is that one." Johnny hadn't been sure of the name.

"That's from Defiance then." De Guarde staggered a little and pressed himself against the wall with an annoyed grunt. "..not too impressive, really." He added in a mutter remembering.

It had been a while since Deverel had served on a frigate. The wardroom seemed so small, but he was glad to see a couple of stewards moving about, and he was relieved to see that his cabin was not impossibly small, though it could barely have been called a cabin if it had been any smaller. He looked back at Leat and nodded his thanks.

He caught one of the stewards as he was returning from the pantry. "What's your name, man?"

"Kane, sir."

"Kane, see that my chest is unpacked when it comes down, and give me a glass of brandy."

"I would make it a quick glass, if you would, Mr. Deveral," Leat said coolly. "Like I imagine every other ship in the squadron, we are somewhat preoccupied with getting ready to be underway. You input would be valued."

It was a somewhat barbed comment, but Leat did not like the cheek of the man - calling for a drink before he'd got two feet under the wardoom table; before he'd got two feet inside his own cabin even. Leat pushed the door to George's old cabin and indicated to Deverel.

"This is yours. Any problems, see the carpenter."

Deverel looked at him, unmoved. "Thank you, Mr. Leat." The steward brought a glass on a tray. Deverel downed it immediately and set it back on the tray with a clink. "I am at your service now."