Day Trip

If that idiot boy was any sort of lucky, he'd get away with only a light flogging, Tom Mayden thought sourly. He bent his knees the barest bit to keep them from locking, so he wouldn't end up falling over while he stood there at stiff attention.

Bolitho had heard the drumming stop a few moments earlier, and now he was really beginning to wonder what was going on. Finally, he made his way to the ladder and came down to the gundeck--and found a very interesting scene indeed. Several of his own crewmen were gathered about along with one of the army officers and quite a few other people. In the midst of all this, Bush was reprimanding De Guarde. As much as Bolitho hoped that the boy had had nothing to do with the drumming, he feared that hope was in vain.

"Would anyone care to tell me what is going on?" he inquired as he approached.

"It would appear, sir," Blackwood replied flatly, "that this young fellow saw fit to test the drum he carries, to learn if it functions as drums are meant to do."

Just as he had thought. Bolitho sighed. Somehow he had known he would regret going on this trip, and now he finally did.

"Thank you sir," he said to Blackwood, "Please allow me to apologise for the boy's behavior."

Blackwood inclined his head. "I am not terribly ill-affected by it, but the same cannot, perhaps, be said for others of your crew. Poor fellows had an awful fright - so to these other visitors, I believe."

"I'm sure they did." Bolitho glanced around at the other people, all of whom looked rather disturbed. That surely was due to De Guarde's drumming and the crew's reaction to said drumming. However, judging by the way Bush was glaring at De Guarde, Bolitho feared that the first lieutenant may have frightened the people even more with his usual forceful method of reprimanding.

"Do forgive the conduct of my men," he said to the gathered group, "They can get rather...rambunctious...on occasion."

"Terribly sorry, sirs n' fellows." De Guarde piped in very quietly, and without a smile on his face. Now that the captain was here as well, they both knew what just happened. But it still looked fun and funny when all came running. It only was funny to the boy, because he knew there was no danger of course, and because there were even some modern people now entertained by this. Perhaps they finally understood what had happened and were whispering in hushed tones to their counterparts, friends or children.

Of course they all thought this was something of a show and that the men here, though strangely inconsistent in their uniform - some were land's people! - were paid actors or some such. "The uh.. drum works." He added just as timidly, holding his hands on it and resting them there.

The two seamen had realised another problem, as they worked to prepare their chosen gun. There were no powder cartridges appearing from the magazine. Too, there did not appear to be any slow-match anywhere around for them to use in place of the missing lock.

Bewildered, Mister Evans had sent Chase aft to fetch both. Neither of them could understand how a fighting ship could possibly be without such necessary gunnery instruments.

"Beggin' pardon, sir," Chase said, knuckling his brow to Captain Bolitho as he came scampering up. "Mister Evan's wantin' to know if we can beg use of some powder and slow-match, for the guns. There's no powder monkeys no place around, sir, if y'can believe it!"

De Guarde decided to be quiet as a mouse, although the arrival of the eager sailors made him barely keep a straight face, and any laughter from escaping. One look at Bush and Bolitho though was a better medicine to have him pale, serious and seriously considering that men should've been born with powers to just disappear every so often.

Oxley glanced at the two sea officers and sidled over to the seaman. "I c'n do the powder-fetchin' bit for you...on'y, it was just a silly prank done for no reason." He shrugged. "I'd've done Roast Beef of Old England, me, 'stead of beatin' to Quarters."

It would have been far better all round if Thompson hadn't stopped him, thus giving the young Tar the opportunity to panic everyone.

"There's no need of any powder or slow-match, Chase. We are not clearing for action." Bolitho shot De Guarde a look before turning back to the sailor. "You may tell Mr. Evans that there is no threat. De Guarde was merely 'testing out' his drum."

Chase's face went blank. "Aye sir. Thank'ee, sir." Without looking even askance at De Guarde, he turned on his heel and dashed back toward the gun he and Mister Evans had been attempting to prepare. It was bad luck to raise a false alarm aboard ship, it was!

No alarm? Sam Mayden frowned. "So it was just an exercise, sorta, sir?"

Bolitho watched Chase run off, then he turned towards the rifleman who had spoken.

"Yes, I suppose you could call it that. Though I might use a rather different term..." This last comment was accompanied by an extra glare at De Guarde.

"As would I, sir," Bush said, his eyes still fixed on De Guarde, "'Foolishness' certainly seems to apply, among other words."

An unsanctioned exercise, by the sound of it. Mayden almost felt sorry for the lad who held the drum.

"Could put him 'fore a company court-martial for it, sir," he suggested, a trifle hesitantly. "Let them lads what he marches with come up with a punishment, like."

"Not a bad suggestion. Thank you for that thought...." Bolitho broke off as he realised that he did not know the rifleman's name. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Mayden, sir. Sam Mayden."

"Thank you for your suggestion, Mayden."

The Rifleman nodded. "You're welcome, sir."

Upon hearing the greenjacket introduce himself, Tom Mayden frowned. "You can't be a Mayden," he said in disbelief. "There's only me, my brother, and our da. Ain't none of us called Sam, neither."

Sam stared at the funnily-dressed Marine. " 'Course I'm a Mayden. And born a proper Englishman, too - me da was one of them filthy colonists, y'know."

"What're them two old bats natterin' on 'bout?" Chase wanted to know, as he and Mister Evans returned from securing their gun.

"No idea," Oxley told him cheerfully. "Let 'em natter, they ain't hurtin' anythin'."

Evans lifted an eyebrow at the long-coated Marine, then shrugged. "Still don't unnerstand why he's wearin' that ol' thing."