Working Ashore

He did not get to finish for at that moment, Lieutenant Deverel entered again with a look of urgency. "Mister Provost, there's a disruption in the square where a man insists your horse will be shot."

The officer provost gave a deep sigh. Could things not work without him present? He had a mind to send Law, - what an appropriate surname he had - but decided to deal with the problem himself. Quickly, efficiently and then return here, hopefully to conclude the matter of floggings.

"..If you shall please excuse me, captain Bolitho." He nodded to the man. "I shall be with you presently." And then with a sharp turn he went to the door, swearing that if it would prove that it was due to the incompentance of his men that he had to leave, they would certainly hear of it.

Deverel watched with satisfaction as the provost exited the tavern, leaving behind only the naval group.

"Bit of a ruse de guerre, sir," Deverel said, giving Bolitho a light salute. "No harm done. I thought a moment's respite wouldn't come amiss under the circumstances."

He looked at the captain with curiosity, not yet fully understanding the circumstances but knowing better than to pry. One of the provosts had already told him all he needed to know when he had explained that the men were being punished for "poor behaviour during the night." If that was the sum of their offenses, they had already endured enough from the provosts. And since when did the bloody army provosts have any sway with the navy?

"If I can be of any use, I can give your men some more seamanlike work with the boats we've been taking back and forth on the river." He eyed the seamen in question, now recognizing one or two from the fort or from his brief time aboard Terpsichore.

Now this was something Bolitho never would have expected to happen: that he would actually be pleased to see Deverel. But since the lieutenant's timely arrival had sent the remaining provosts off, he was very happy indeed.

"The respite is certainly welcome. Thank you, Mr. Deverel," Bolitho said, "And I appreciate the offer. I would much rather have them at work at some more seamanlike duties."

This suited Deverel as well, for the sooner he and his men finished their work, the sooner they could enjoy what was to be had of the city's hospitality. He was not about to suggest that the captain surely might find seamanlike duties enough on board the Terpsichore. If the captain had chosen to give his men punishment ashore, then who was a mere lieutenant to question him? And after all, the Terpsies seemed like decent men as a whole, hearts of oak and true British sailors and the like, and Deverel expected it would be no great burden to have the added responsibility of their supervision.

"Glad to oblige sir, particularly if it shows up the army lads. I rather disliked their tone."

At last. The provosts were gone. Johnson let out a relived breath and turned away toward the men who were still industriously working. The tavern was already looking much better than it had when they'd arrived.

"Good lads," he muttered.

"You did not hear the half of it," Bolitho said to Deverel, "'Disliked' does not begin to cover how I feel, after having them insult myself and the crew both here and aboard ship." He paused a moment to calm himself, knowing he was becoming angered simply from discussing the idiotic antics of the provosts. "They seem determined to punish my crew for offenses which I do not even believe they committed."

At least it wasn't just Thompson who was feeling pissed off with the provosts, even though he was the only one they'd accused of lying, even though they hadn't managed to say so in so many words.

But the Captain believed him, which was something at least. He glanced up, curiously, as the lieutenant mentioned something about setting them to more seamanlike duties. Right now, Marine or not, Thompson didn't mind what they did, as long as it took them away from right under the provosts' noses.

Or he was likely to deck the man who'd called him a liar three times now.

"But surely they have no authority, sir, to make demands of you or your men," Deverel said, wondering why on earth the captain did not just tell them to bugger off and have done with it. "Not that it's any business of mine, of course," he added diplomatically. He did not in fact care about the captain's reasoning at all. The whole thing seemed ridiculous and he was glad to be free from the ship involved. But he was always willing to irritate the army in any small way that he could. "We have boats to be rowed and boats to be repaired, if your men have need work."

"Sadly they do have the authority, Mr. Deverel. I wish it were not so, but that is the way it is." Bolitho sighed, still too angry about the provosts to have a proper discussion. "However, as to the work, that sounds like a much better task for the men. Would you care to lead them over to where you are working?"

Deverel hesitated, considering the possibility of yet getting a drink. He could easily send the men off in midshipman Docker's care. The lad was not particularly competent, but even the barest minimum of work from the Terpsichore's men would be a boon to their progress. But, Bolitho was a captain, and although he was not Deverel's own captain, it was always wisest to be seen to take responsibility in the presence of one's superiors. "Of course, sir. If we leave by the side, we may be less likely to attract unwanted attention."

Rowing boats? That wasn't exactly Thompson's strong point, being a Marine. But anything would be better than this stupid charade of work with the Provosts after them to start using their shirts as floor-rags. He half-heartedly threw another piece of wood onto the heap of trashed furniture, wishing he was throwing it at the provost officer's head instead. The man was totally unworthy of holding the King's Commission, in the Marine's opinion and the sooner they got away from here, the better.

If the provosts wanted the floor scrubbed, they could do it themselves - it was about all they were good for.

Johnson wasn't sure how he felt about this sea officer. He seemed the sort to have a sodden sort of brain, but his was not a disagreeable idea either. Still... being put to use as a boat crew was a far sight better than carrying on as pawns for those bloody provosts.

"Sir," he said mildly. "Shall I fall the lads in for movin' duties?"

"Excellent suggestion, Mr. Deverel," Bolitho said, "Let us leave by the side so that we may avoid any further annoyance from the provosts. Do lead on, if you will."

Turning to Johnson, he said, "Yes corporal. Have them fall in."

"C'mon then, you lads," Johnson rumbled, turning toward the working party. The seamen were struggling to contain grins as they shuffled into some semblance of a single rank, abandoning their work with no small expression of relief.

Finally, Johnson thought as he turned back toward Bolitho again. They'd get put to duties more befitting men of the sea. Devil take those provosts and happily.

Thompson dropped the remains of the chair that he was holding to the floor, ignoring the pile of wood near the door and pulled his forage hat on before moving over to where the sailors were getting into a ragged line. The contrast between the sailors' comfortable slouch and Thompson's own soldierly bearing could not have been much greater. At least they were going to get away from this dump and do something much more suitable - even though Thompson was no sailor, he could still manage an oar. He was going to get some blisters by the end of the day though; his hands weren't toughened in the same way the Tars' hands were, of course.

It was about time the provosts returned, their horses all caught and returned to the stables. They were breathing fast and were red in their cheeks, as they were returning to the bar where they've left their keeps. Some had opted to ride the horses there and did so in an elegant, confident stride. The officer was one of them. He was angry and swore that when he found out who released the horses and set them to a run, would bee punished severely.

Slipping of the back of his horse and handing the reins to one of his men, he was shocked to find that the sailors were no longer moving the furniture about, but were standing in an excuse of a line. Slouched, with only one man actually standing erect and stiff backed. "What is this? Where are you going?" He demanded, for he saw that the place hadn't been even half cleaned yet.

Deverel silently cursed when he saw that all his good work had been for nothing. But no matter. By now his blood was up, and it felt like rescuing another ship's crew from an enemy's hold. "This way men, on the double!" he called, rushing out the door.

The provosts' return was signal enough that it was time to depart, a fact happily recognised by this Mister Deverel.

"Move, lads," Johnson barked, even as he leapt forward directly into a brisk trot. He would not run outright, not ashore. It was undignified. But a quick, purposeful jog? Absolutely.

Move? Well, that was a different sort of order, but Thompson was quite happy to comply with almost anything that would get them out of here and out of reach of the provosts. He turned with the sailors and hid a grin as they filed out of the door to run - well, double-march - to wherever their new duty was. He didn't spare the provosts even a glance. They were a disgrace to the jackets they wore, in Thompson's opinion.

Whatever work they were bound for, it had to be better than this. Chase padded along after Taylor, who had fallen in behind Thompson. He remembered Mister Deverel from the attack on that Frog fort, but the Deverel that appeared today was, it seemed, far more agreeable than the Deverel he'd seen then.

"Got us some proper work, sir?" Chase called out, uncaring that he was probably speaking out of turn.

"Aye, if we can shake these provosts," Deverel called, now in high spirits. He looked down a side alley and then back over his shoulder to see if they were being pursued. "This way! And quietly!"

"Hey!" The provost officer was in ill spirits at the sight of their keep literally running away. " Halt ! " He shouted, even as the men had been quite far already. He looked at the pair of the men who had been seated on horses and nodded sharply in the direction in which the Tars had disappeared to. "Fetch them. With force if you must." He spoke and then, with his outer expression changed, he addressed the captain most amiably.

"Sir.. you have given us command of those men for the duration of the punishment, for which we have, though it would've been rightfully ours, not demanded neither a flogging, nor a hanging. Would you order them back then...for it is not what we have given order for, nor what we have agreed to." His eyes did betray that he was upset.

++

In the meanwhile the pair of provosts, sped ahead, to get ahead of their pray, and to herd it back to their master.

Bolitho had had his fill of the provosts and their antics. He had given in to their demands once; he was not going to do it this time. Not when he knew that, if they got the men back under their command, the provosts would simply make them do some foolish, menial tasks again. No, this had all gone far enough.

"No," Bolitho said firmly, glaring at the provost, "I will not order them back. I ordered them ashore for a work detail, and work they shall. They have already worked under your command cleaning up this tavern. Now they are going to do work more suited to sailors, and I have given them permission to do so."

Run? Thompson was quite up to running, especially when encouraged by an officer, whoever he was. He thought the Lieutenant was from Defiance, one of the other ships whose crews had taken part in taking the fort not so long ago.

What was even better would be getting one over on those provosts.

What he would like to do, but knew he never could, was to deck the man who'd three times flatly accused him of lying.