Day Trip

"They don't exactly know, but we tell them when we call them. .. or tell people in t' crown like Thompson here said. But.. if we want to call them.. I think they said you type this number.. on this.. weird thing that makes people's voice come out of the....top. And well, you tell them voices what you want, n' then these things just come. Like..." He looked around thoughtfully. "Oh, like this!" He pointed at the phone.

That was sensible enough. Coachmen that did not need to be given directions were always good. But... voices? "And what is... that?" Blackwood asked.

"It's called a 'telephone'," Vickery said, coming in. "I beg your pardon for interrupting, but I couldn't help overhearing some of what you were saying."

Having heard voices out in the hall, Bolitho wandered into the room, and saw a whole gathering inside. He was not entirely sure what was being discussed, but he thought he had heard something about going on a trip.

"Planning an excursion, are we?" he inquired, peering at the assortment of papers spread on the table.

Oxley stiffened as Captain Bolitho came out into the hall, though he couldn't suppress a grin. "Yessir, please, sir" he said, and held the Portsmouth Historic Dockyard leaflet out for him to see.

"Telephone?" There was a name for it at least, but... "What does it do? That sailor mentioned you can hear voices through it."

This was a strange place, right enough.

"Hoi!" Chase burst out, poking his head up from behind the bar. "We goin' som'ers on them big rollin' tubs again?"

"It's some sort of new-fangled signalling thing," Vickery replied. "Instead of sending letters, you can just say what you want and have it delivered in only a few minutes."

Pye appeared behind Chase with some food, unsurprisingly, in hand." March, sir?.. are we dispatched ter fight t' French again?" He said and quickly scampered in.

Bolitho took the paper Oxley had offered him and looked it over.

"'Historic Dockyard'? But that is HMS Victory, if I'm not mistaken. Surely she is still in service? Do they already consider her to be outdated?"

Well, at least it looked like quite a promising place, at any rate.

"Oh, hush, Cob," Oxley said, crossing to him. "They've found summat out 'bout Vict'ry, an' we might be goin' to see her, if the officer let us. The Cap'n's lookin' at the pamphlet 'bout her now."

"Ol' Victory?" Chase grinned and clambered up onto the bartop. "When we goin', then?"

Bush had been following the sound of voices, and now he too found himself among the growing group.

"What on Earth is going on out here?" he asked.

"Ah." Blackwood nodded slowly. Not having to wait days or weeks for letters to reach their intended recipient was fortunate. "So it will let us send for carriages, instead of having to march?"

Not that having to march was a bad thing, except when in an unfamiliar place like this. Another man came to join them and Blackwood turned toward him. "Seems we are to go and see the Victory, somehow. If a manner of travel can be arranged."

Even if the captain's arrival was intimidating, it was Bush who had De Guarde squeak: "I didn't do it!" Before more quietly add. "We's plannin' to visit a ship."

"Apparently she is at this 'Historic Dockyard,' Mr. Bush," Bolitho said, showing him the pamphlet. "I think it would be a worthwhile trip."

"Ah, I see, sir," Bush said, glancing at the pamphlet.

Upon hearing De Guarde's outburst, he shot a look in the boy's direction. "Did not do what, praytell, De Guarde?"

"Um.. nothing sir..anything sir. We found these leaflets.. n'..." inches to Thompson's side. "...wos' sayin'..we need to.. to. .call them, and get t' big.. thing wotever' Chase calls it."

Vickery took the folder from Thompson, and took the phone off the hook, before pressing the numbered buttons as directed by the sheet of paper.

"Oh, hello. I would like to reserve a coach to take a group to Portsmouth Dockyard, please. About... twenty or so. Yes. The Crown. Ah, Vickery. Yes, we have an account. Half an hour? Yes. Thank you. Good morning."

There was a click at the other end, and he replaced the receiver. "They will be sending a mini-coach for us in... half an hour or so."

Blackwood watched with fascination as the greenjacket picked up and used the thing called a telephone. Simply incredible.

"Half an hour to prepare?" It seemed almost like a luxury.

Thompson swallowed. "He's, well, nervous of you, sir, that's all." It wasn't as thought Thompson himself was entirely easy where Mister Bush or Captain Bolitho were concerned. They were the figures of authority aboard Terpsichore, after all.

"Yes. That's the quickest they can get here from... from wherever it is thay're coming from." He smiled, then frowned. "I beg your pardon for my rude manners, Captain. I'm Captain John Vickery, of the 5th Battalion 60th Rifles." He offered the redcoat officer his hand.

"Hmm. Well, if you say so, Thompson."

Bush raised an eyebrow at De Guarde, but said nothing else to him.

"Come off there, Cob," Evans admonished. "What's them rollin' tubs you're on about anyway?"

Obligingly, Chase hopped down off the bar. "They're grand things, Mister Evans. Don't need no sails or oars to make 'em go. Oh! We'll need some of those sandwich things, like we took last time. Anybody seen Perkins?"

"Sandwiches? What about Pete's pies?"

"Oh them. Sure, those'll do. C'mon."

The two sailors vanished into the kitchen, chattering about the strange food available in the Crown.

"Benjamin Blackwood, First Battalion Second Guards." Blackwood gripped the man's hand. "My own manners are clearly not as they should be, either."