Working Ashore

"On the contrary. Would you not obey the orders of an officer of the navy..." He turned to the men that were probably also merely standing there and waiting. He had the urge to snap at them to go and make themselves useful, but rather he turned again to the corporal. ".Any... if your own weren't present." Not that such a threat held much, if he had no such officer to speak of.

Johnson realised the trap he'd walked to the instant the provost officer finished speaking. Damn. He looked at the sailors and Thompson, affected a shrug, and replied, "Stupid question, ain't that? If there was a Marine officer close 'round that had his head on right, sure I'd mind him."

Stupid Army bastard.

"..A marine officer, or even a navy one. After all, you've said that those fine gentlemen... Other officers, and I'd say you don't have as many of the marine sort." The provost officer motioned to one of his men to come closer. He had an idea, though it would only work if the party involved was willing. He knew at the very least several ships, that had been there in port. The reason for it, was the search for other culprits and the delivery of some. Perhaps.

"Whyn't you come to your point?" Johnson asked, determined to regain the offensive. " 'Less your point is to let these lads waste time standin' around while you harp on from your soap-bucket?"

The officer crossed his hands over his chest and looked at Johnson. "You'll be squeaking a different tune... very soon. " He said and nodded to the other man, the provost hearing his order which though had been spoken much more quietly.

The man left, while the officer looked towards the corporal. "..Perhaps we shall wait.. just a moment more."

It was better, Johnson thought, to just ignore this smug fool. "Back to workin', lads," he said. "This ain't no sorta holiday."

Thompson shrugged and straightened up another chair. He was going to back Corporal Johnson up in front of any smarmy Army bastard, no matter what he thought of it all in private.

There was no way he was taking off his shirt in front of any provost unless directly ordered to by Mister Cartwright or one of Terpsy's other officers.

The provost officer shrugged. It was a small victory. Very small. He hadn't yet achieved that they would do exactly as he had ordered, but that corporal's authority wasn't as untouchable as it had seemed a moment ago. He had to wait of course.

"What was that 'bout a shanty, Joe Preddie?" Taylor asked, after casting a cautious glance toward Johnson. The corporal nodded curtly at him, just once, and tipped his hat down over his eyes. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing amiss here.

Preddie paused, thought a moment, then obediently launched into "High Barbary" as he sloshed a mop into the bucket Chase had used.

In his tipped-back chair, with his hat safely covering his face, Johnson grinned.

"Aloft, there, aloft there our jolly bosun cries
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we
Look ahead, look astern, look a-weather, look a-lee
Cruisin' down the coast of High Barbaree..."

That was a good way of working, to Thompson's mind. And if it riled the provosts, so much the better... so long as they didn't decide to try to make things hard for Corporal Johnson, who looked as though he couldn't care less.

Thompson threw a piece of junked table onto a growing pile of scrap wood near the door, paying no attention to the provost standing by it, who he missed by only a matter of a couple of inches.

The officer looked at the corporal. Of course Johnson would've agreed to the singing, it was something that they have wanted to silence the seamen for earlier. it seemed that the man wanted to make a farce out of this punishment. It wasn't the men that were punished, it was the provosts that were ridiculed.

He looked to the door impatiently. It could take a while, and it could not even be successful.

Impatiently he watched the men clean and sing. Already the song was near over, and there was no sign of his young subordinate. Just as he was to complain inwardly about his absence though, the door was opened, and through it a pair of figures entered into the dull gloom of the room.

One figure stood proud, the other was just their provost. "..is what I could find sir. ... He's from the ship Confidence. " The lad, no he looked older than that, stood eyeing the Tars in the room with a look of disdain on his face.

A midshipman. A worthless bleeding midshipman. Johnson listened to the light tread of shoes and grimaced under his hat. And one from Confidence no less.

"Carry on, lads," Johnson said, pushing his hat back to a more proper angle as he let the chair thump down onto all four legs. He wasn't yet prepared to stand up.

"Corporal." The youth spoke, his voice steely, uncaring. The air about him was that of a creature that was formidable and dangerous, sneaky and yet he could strike as swift as a snake and just as deadly. "It has come to my attention.. that you disobeyed the command of this . .gentleman." He indicated the officer, whom he greeted smartly.

"Let's remedy that, now, shall we." There was a slight curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he said that. "Mops to me, you miserable good for nothing slobs will use your filthy shirts for the rest. "

That was not good. Thompson scowled, but didn't move to obey. Midshipman or Lieutenant, whoever he was, he had no business in interfering with Terpsy's business - he wasn't from Terpsy. And until they got confirmation of that from one of Terpsy's own officers, the provosts and tihs mean-looking bastard could go whistle, for all he cared.

But it would be so very nice if Mister Cartwright or someone could walk past right about now.

"Keep your shirts on, you lads," Johnson said, eying the midshipman with a bland expression on his face. "With respect, sir, our cap'n gave us orders to come ashore and work, not disgrace ourselves. There weren't any word said outta his mouth 'bout usin' our own shirts for swabbin' nothin', or anythin' of that like. Sure weren't these lads workin' just fine 'fore you came in, sir."

He remembered Bolitho's warning against misbehaviour, but he'd be damned if he caved in to a jumped-up provost and a snotty-faced midshipman.

"With all due respect..., you would be wiser than to openly disregard an order given by an acting lieutenant.... corporal." Mister Hollow averted his gaze briefly to look at the provosts, then as hie spoke, his voice was sweet, but with an underlining cruelness. "I have heard what you did.. disgraced the provosts here. All of them merely doing their duty. ...disgracing yourselves though?...these men would need to have worth in the first place, for that to be a possibility. And working?" He barked a laugh. "...i've seen blind men with half an arm and a leg do more, better work.. more proper and efficient work than these. If you do call this work, corporal, I pity the captain whom you do serve. For he must wish you were all killed in battle already... were you not to shy from it.."

Now Johnson stood up. "I reckon a post-captain's orders overrule an acting lieutenant's, sir."

Confidence. He remembered now where he'd heard of that ship from. Trust a tyrant in the making to take about disgrace. The Marine glanced at the provosts and shook his head. "Like to see you say that to our cap'n's face, sir. Dyer. Run and fetch Mister Rutland, he'll not have shoved off yet. The cap'n oughta be hearin' this his own self."

Dyer scampered out before he could be stopped.

"Make that two drinks, an' termorrer's tot," Thompson said under his breath, as Dyer went off. Johnson really was a good sort, and even the Tars would be able to see that after this mess was dealt with.

He'd like to take the middy - acting Lieutenant - and shove him face-first into the biggest pile of horse-dung he could find.

The cheek. He was not used to be talked to in that manner. This was a clear indication of a poorly led ship. The men were there to follow orders, not to decide whether the order was good enough for them or not. If the standing order from their captain has been, to be under the command of the provosts and do as they were told, disobeying that said order became an offence without the need to explain what the said orders entailed. But of course it was the men of a ship which couldn't be anything but a disgrace itself!

"Disrespect of an officer." He spoke coldly. "..That should earn you.. a fine. Talking back to an officer, another offence you should consider, corporal. Defying the orders of your own captain....without the specifications that you have yourself made to imagine. I should like to see you a mere private, flogged."

"I ain't defyin' the cap'n. He said to come and work, and that was it. Nothin' at all said 'bout playin' dancin' monkeys to this lot." Johnson indicated the provosts with jerk of his thumb. "Keep to your work, you lads. Y'know, sir, this all weren't a problem 'til they wanted a shanty. There's nothin' better'n a Terpsy lad at his work and what's it matter if he sings a bit at it?"

The corporal shrugged. "Must be somethin' awful to be a soldier."

Bastard. At least the Corporal had the right idea - and what did it matter if they wanted a shanty or two while they were working? They were Terpsies, weren't they - and there was no sense in sulking over the task in hand, or it'd take twice as long, or more.

He threw a few more bits of wrecked furniture onto the growing pile, wishing he could throw them at the middy or any of the provosts instead.

Terpsichore. Just as he had been informed but wasn't quite certain to relate this motley crew with the name. Now he knew, and he also was certain that he had heard this ship to be the one that one of his own late 'mates' had gone to. He hadn't seen him exactly during the battle or since the arrival of that same ship in port here, though he was still not quite convinced about that.

"Certainly." Was all that he said. "You were as right as roses." His sarcasm was hardly concealed.

That did not merit a response. Johnson folded his arms across his chest and turned away from the midshipman, showing his lack of concern for the boy's supposed authority by taking up a study of the pile of ruined furniture.

"Chips might find uses for some of this lot, d'you think, Taylor?"

The carpenter's mate glanced over, thought a moment, and shrugged. "Prolly, Corporal. Might take some back with us, like. Can't hurt!"

There were battered tankards on the floor, and Thompson bent to retrieve a couple, putting them on the bar for the barkeep to deal with, even as the corporal moved past him to look at the pile of wrecked furniture.

The bullying midshipman could go to Hell, for all he cared: they'd been told to do a job, and they were doing it, so what was the problem? Mopping up the mess and putting down fresh sawdust should sort it out - and he was fairly certain that the large red stain near the bar wasn't from the fracas of yesterday. So why should they have to clean that up?

He heaved a broken chair onto the growing pile.

While the elder lad, an acting lieutenant that should've been more than that years ago stood to the side, bored and possibly contemplating just leaving then and there, the provosts observed the Tars annoyed. They were not afraid of the captain coming though a few had wondered if it would've been better to send someone to stop that Tar. After all, they were only half way into the punishment. If stopped now by the captain, it would only have turned into a farce against them.

"You will leave everything here.." The officer said simply. "Unless you are willing to pay for the splinters.. as you should've for the damage you and the likes of you caused here."

The midshipman studied each of the men. He smirked. Whatever he might've been thinking would not be shared with any of the present. Yet.. it could be that some of them might best watch out for the Confidences. The men were no better than their officers,.. worse even.