Up before the Captain

That... that was it? No flogging? Chase stared, open-mouthed, at the grating and tried to comprehend what he'd just heard. A working party ashore. Not a dozen strokes. How...?

"Cor," Dyer breathed, sounding absurdly relieved.

Billy stared about him in general confusion. "What?" he asked no one in particular, still not quite understanding the whole situation. He ignored De Guarde's comment about the sick berth. Chase and all in a fight ashore, arrested by provosts and put in irons by the captain? "Whole ship's gone arsy-versy," he exclaimed softly, marveling that so much could unfold in his absence from duty. He had better not return to sick berth at all, he thought, feeling strangely guilty. He did not notice that he was tightly gripping De Guarde's arm with his free hand.

"..Ow." De Guarde noticed how strong the grip on his arm was becoming very well though, even if Barrow's distraction had him unawares of his strength. " Ey., mind lettin' go? " He asked sharply, and pulled on his hand a little. His voice did soften , if barely a little. ".. It hasn't.. but t' provosts have gone mad.. to come 'board....least they get a work detail. You heard that, didn't you?" And then he placed his hand to Barrow's own. "Leggo, will you? I need that'un!"

"Oh. Sorry mate," Billy said quietly, catching a reproving glare from the bosun who could hear their voices. He transferred his hand back to his chest where its mate was pressing on his bandage. Damn, but blood was spotting his shirt again, and it had only just been cleaned, with fresh water too instead of salt.

De Guarde looked at Barrow, and frowned as he saw blood on his shirt coming through where his wound lay beneath. With a scowl, he took hold of his hand. "You oghta go to sick berth, n' that's an order!"

He stared up at the man, making himself look taller than he was, though even if he were to stand on the tips of his toes, he would still have to look up to Meet Barrow's gaze.

"..please, Billy? Your shirt looks awfully like you's leain' beneath it. N' ..it.. ain't rum." He whispered.

"You ain't nobody to be givin' orders," Evans remarked evenly, appearing behind Billy. He'd carefully made his way over to the pair and was now watching the coxswain intently. "Better get this on, 'fore that new sawbones spots you," he added as he slipped out of his jacket. "There'll be no end of trouble, else."

"Nah, I'll bleed it!" Billy protested as Evans offered his jacket. "Hush now, lads, or we'll all get into trouble like them."

"Hush you an' puttit on."

The sawbones knew they were about, too, Evans realised abruptly. Why else would he be looking dead at them?

Billy's hands were bloody as he slipped them into the sleeves, but he mutely obeyed and tugged the jacket as close around his chest as he could, cringing at the stares his activity drew. What ever happened to eyes front?

Work detail? Not a flogging?! Oxley had to fight not to turn to look at the Captain to make sure he'd heard that right. From the looks on the prisoners' faces, they couldn't quite believe it either. Oxley saw Thompson drop his hand from where he'd raised it to start unbuttoning his jacket, obviously expecting a sentence of a dozen lashes or something.

There was some sort of kerfuffle going on with the sailors and he frowned. That couldn't be Billy Barrow. Could it...? He was supposed to be in the sickbay, dying of a musket wound or something.

"Whoever are ye ter be tellin' me who I ain't." De Guarde muttered through his teeth gritted, glaring at Tide. He glanced up at Barrow then. "..you faint it'll be all your fault." He then turned back to look at the men that were in arms and probably just as stunned how the grating would not have them each strewn up and flogged. Probably they were very relieved to learn that too. He was glad the ones he knew weren't being flogged. Not only would his mess had been lacking quite a few Tars, and the marine would've gone to the sick bay again but... well, tere was no good in having them flogged. Funny how a changed perspective, changed..... the perspective of things.

Now that he had delivered the sentence, Bolitho saw no need for the men to still be lingering on deck. Enough time had been wasted already by having to assemble them for this aggravating dispensing of "justice." They needed to return to their duties. Turning to Bush, he said, "Mr. Bush, you may dismiss the hands."

"Careful wit' that tone when you talks to a warrant, boy," Evans said sharply. He had no tolerance for lip from sailors with reputations like De Guarde's. The order to dismiss was being shouted, at least, which provided him with a handy distraction.

"Better git, Billy," he added, slipping an arm under Barrow's to help him back down the ladder.

"Yes sir," Bush nodded, then he called out, "Hands dismissed!"

As he watched the men begin to disperse, he noticed that Billy Barrow was on deck. What was he doing there? Barrow had been badly wounded; he needed to be below in the sickbay.

"Sir, I believe Billy Barrow is on deck. Should he have left the sickbay so soon?"

Bolitho followed Bush's gaze and saw that Barrow was indeed on deck. While he was glad to see that the coxswain had recovered enough to be on his feet again, he was not pleased that he was up and about so soon. Surely he still needed rest.

"You're right, Mr. Bush. I thought he was supposed to be recovering," Bolitho said, frowning slightly, "He should be back in the sickbay."

De Guarde looked stunned momentarily, than took a step back giving the other man a quick. "'pologies.. " That did look atleast half meant.

He hadn't seen the man well when he retorted at him, and regretted it now. He was startled enough that he didn't know whether he was told to get Billy and help him bellow, or whether Tide Evans had been talking to Billy when he said his last words and to took the other arm of the Tar firmly in hand to do atleast a part of the job he was uncertain of needing to do. And quickly, before any officer went and came over.

"My thoughts exactly, sir," Bush said.

They could both see some of the sailors trying to usher Barrow away. Sadly, it was too late for that.

"Barrow!" Bush shouted as he descended down from the quarterdeck, with Bolitho right behind him, "What in God's name are you doing out and about?"

Damn. The officers were looking too intently at them.

"That's us made," he muttered. "Let's shove off, Billy. 'Fore the cap'n says - " Too late. It was the first luff who'd hailed them, not the captain, but both officers were moving briskly toward them.

"Stan' up straight!" Evans hissed, just before the two officers got close.

Oxley stiffened as both the First Luff and the Captain passed him. What on earth...? Oh. They'd seen Barrow. He bit his lip. This did not bode well - and what was de Guarde doing with Barrow and Tide Evans, anyway?

Billy froze on the spot, then offered a hasty salute with his blood-tacky hand. "Sir!" was all he could think to say at first.

De Guarde froze, holding one hand still on Billy's , though he needn't have really. The Tar was so stiff that he could easily stand on his own, and fairly straight too. He did so himself, wishing he could have bolted while he had a chance. But it was Billy they were after, so if he were to be quiet there, they might not even notice him. He hoped that, gazing towards Oxley. There was that 'didn' do anythin'!' look on his face, before his eyes were lowered and he just stood there praying that the officers would pass. Or just look at Billy Barrow!

"Why did you leave the sickbay?" Bush snapped, "Did the surgeon give you permission to do so?"

He hoped that was not the case. Otherwise Bush was going to have to have some serious words with their new surgeon if he was going to allow injured men to wander about the ship at their ease.

Billy gulped. He was unaccustomed to receiving or especially deserving harsh reprimands from his officers, but he knew he was guilty this time. "Sorry, sir. I heard the pipes for all hands, sir, and... figured I oughter come on deck, sir." He decided to leave the surgeon out of it, if at all possible.

"The piping for all hands does not mean you must come if you are incapacitated, Barrow. Surely you know that?" Bush was flabbergasted that a sailor such as Barrow would think he needed to present himself when he was badly wounded.

"Yes sir. Sorry sir," Billy replied, too aghast and ashamed to explain himself. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, his desire to know what was amiss with his ship and her company. He met the lieutenant's chilling eyes for a moment. "Which I didn't think I was incap- too poorly off, sir, just to stand for muster." He was standing now, of course, with his hands down at his sides, and he hoped the borrowed jacket was staying closed and hiding his wound. He didn't dare look down to check. Best not to draw the lieutenant's attention to it.