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| A Midshipman's Coat; May 1751 | |
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| Topic Started: 22 Nov 2007, 06:57 PM (315 Views) | |
| Brendan | 22 Nov 2007, 06:57 PM Post #1 |
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  OOC - A fun thread for O'Brien and the Shepherds. IC - No good prank could be managed without help. One or two additional conspirators were generally required to make a prank come off right. In this instance, Andrew Shepherd had enlisted the aid of a marine and a pair of sailors. To his surprise, his brother had been willing to take part in the plan as well, which brought the group to a nice, round five. Perfect for what Andrew had in mind. The first part of the prank would be easy enough to accomplish. Sneak into the midshipmen's berth, find Mister O'Brien's sea-chest, and grab the lad's extra coat. And, of course, sneak back out without being caught. The two sailors would be standing careful guard nearby, while Andrew himself crept into the berth and conducted a quick search. It sounded well enough when discussed, but the drummer knew from experience that actually carrying out a prank was very different from talking about it. Still, he was confident that he could manage it, as he ambled easily toward the midshipmen's berth, the two sailors in tow. Thomas and their marine comrade were topside, entertaining the bulk of the crew. The distant, rhythmic drumming of feet could be heard from above, with the lively notes from Thomas' fife. Andrew paused just before reaching the small table that comprised the centrepiece of the berth. There were a couple hammocks slung from the overhead beams, one of them with the lump of a body outlined within the canvas. A slight, wispy hum of breathing indicated that the midshipman hiding in the berth was completely asleep. The drummer stifled a laugh. It seemed that the more junior Navy officers weren't much different from the marines or sailors. Stepping carefully, Andrew crept across the berth toward the nearest sea-chest. There was a name scrawled across the lid, but from what he could make out, it wasn't the one he sought. He moved on to the next one and was again disappointed. Where the devil did this middie keep his chest? One of the sailors outside the berth coughed, a warning that someone was approaching. Shite. Andrew reached the third sea-chest and recognised the writing. This was the one. He had to be quick, if he wanted to avoid being caught. He grabbed the coat and closed the chest's lid. Done. Now to get out. The drummer could hear the echo of shod feet drawing closer. It was probably another midshipman. Very shite. One of the sailors coughed again and his companion chastised him for swallowing the pinch of tobacco leaf. For a moment, the footsteps stopped and Andrew scurried out of the berth, keeping to the shadows as best he could. He was very relieved to discover that the midshipman who had been coming toward the berth was distracted by the two sailors. The well-timed intervention had allowed the drummer to slip quietly out of the other side of the berth. Returning to the safety of the marines' section of the ship was easy, and hiding the stolen coat even easier. Poor O'Brien would have a proper fit when he discovered one of his coats had gone missing. Who would suspect any of the marines of the act, though? Andrew retrieved his two accomplices and returned topside, his beloved drum hanging off his right shoulder. What better way to avoid suspicion than to be in a place where most of the crew would see him? A nod and a grin were all the acknowledgment that Thomas needed to know the deed was done. The brothers exchanged catcalls with the sailors as Andrew unlimbered his drumsticks. It was hard to keep from laughing at the thought of how horrified young O'Brien would be, when he found out. The best part was yet to come for him, however. "A tune f'r th' midshipmen!" Andrew cried, giving a ruffle on his drum. O'Brien would have to show up on deck before long, and Andrew was determined to see every bit of the lad's reaction. A cheer met his announcement and Thomas was already playing. Grinning, the drummer matched the tune his brother had chosen. It was too perfect. |
 
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| Gillette | 22 Nov 2007, 06:58 PM Post #2 |
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O'Brien awoke to one of the other middies shaking him. "I'm up, I'm up," he said swatting at him, before, rolling to the side, and unintentionally dumping himself to the deck. The other midshipman's sounds of mirth were not easy to hide. O'Brien glowered, but stopped short of saying anything to the other midshipman. Already he was starting to develop more courage as he called it, or as that Captain Gillette had termed it, "pluck," but he was still a far way from necessarily speaking up for himself. Or standing up for himself. Speaking of standing up... "You're needed on deck," the other midshipman said, divesting himself of his coat and shoes before he climbed into his hammock. O'Brien picked himself up off of the floor, and ambled over to his sea-chest, opening it to look for one of his primers to take up with him. He was surprised when he couldn't find it where he put it in the chest. He could have sworn that he had left it on top... Finally he found it about midway down, haphazardly lying in between extra stocking and one of his other shirts. He wasn't really a neat kid, hardly any boys his age were, but he took care to make sure that his books were near the top--so that he could work on them. He was determined to learn everything so that he could become a lievtenant early, and that way the others wouldn't laugh at him or make fun of him as much. At least, that was the plan. He grabbed the book and grabbed his coat off of his hammock, quickly stowing it to the side where it would take up less space. Quickly, he donned the coat, and grabbed his tricorn, running a hand through his messy hair before trying to pull the tricorne on just before he emerged on deck. Watches were a dull time...that was commonly agreed upon by all midshipman, unless, by some happy chance, they were given command, but since that rarely ever happened, it was an exercise often in boredom, patience, and the art of looking busy. O'Brien agreed with them, verbally, but could not help but shake the feeling that given the choice between a battle, and another dull event less day, that he'd rather the tedious work, and hours of sighing to the blood and gore. Today however, was not that dull or boring, and it wasn't because of a battle (thank the heavens!). Everyone was so busy preparing for a practice inspection (presumably they were to be inspected by Admiral Heyworth at some point in the future), that O'Brien hardly noticed the passage of time. He was busy rushing here and there, acting the part of a glorified messenger, that one of the older men below decks, completely missed seeing the diminutive boy, and nearly tripped over him as he was carrying his grog, and succeeded in spilling it all over the boy, who took that time to run as quickly as he could to the midshipmen's berth to change into his spare coat. The sight that finally greeted him, as he opened his chest, and rummaged through it for the second time that day, was one that make his stomach drop down to his feet. His coat wasn't in there...he couldn't find it. But it had been there! O'Brien was panicked, ripping things out of his chest and dropping them to the side, until it was completely empty and nothing was left in it, and he stood, trying to think where it could be--he quickly turned around, surveying the area, looking to see if anywhere he could spot the blue of his coat--but it was not there! He was due to present himself on deck again, and he didn't have his coat! He was almost ready to break down into tears. He had to look presentable! Norrington was coming aboard to ensure that everything was perfect, just in case it had been Heyworth inspecting, and he was going to look less than presentable. He wouldn't just be a disappointment to Norrington, but he was going to no doubt be in serious, serious trouble. O'Brien stood there, breathing heavily, sniffling once or twice, trying his hardest not to cry, and blinking rapidly to keep back the tears. There was nothing else he could do. All he could do now, was show up on deck, and face his punishment. Maybe he would have been better off wishing that there had been a battle today after all. |
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| Brendan | 22 Nov 2007, 07:00 PM Post #3 |
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 The lively music drifting down from topside made Davenport wish for a brief moment that he was not below-decks, wielding a needle and thread. He was in the marines' section of the ship, tucked mostly out of sight between a pair of cannons. A dark blue coat rested in his lap, the purloined frock from the midshipmen's berth. At least the gunports were open, which allowed valuable light into the otherwise-dark middle deck. The light permitted Davenport to see well enough to sew, which was his allotted task. Andrew Shepherd had enlisted the half-Spanish marine's help in this prank, because he knew how to sew. An old waistcoat was lying close by, its white linen already marked for cutting. Davenport would use those strips to decorate the frock, sewing them on as if they were braiding, like the Navy lieutenants' wore. The end result would be a heavily-altered frock, quite improper for a lowly midshipman to wear. Before the linen strips could be sewn on, however, Davenport was adding his own touch to the coat. The frock's tails were entirely too long for the young midshipman to whom the coat belonged, so the marine was taking them in. Footsteps came near and Davenport quickly stowed the coat underneath the cannon carriage. He couldn't be caught with the coat. Marines had been expressly forbidden from going into the officers' berths after the prank pulled on Captain Collins. For him to be discovered with a midshipman's coat, it would mean that he had gone into the midshipmen's berth and stolen it - a potentially hangable offence. The footsteps soon passed, however, and he went back to work. On deck, the two sailors who'd helped Andrew steal the coat were entertaining the off-watch with a jig, accompanied by the brothers' instruments. The other sailors clapped to the music and cheered the dancers. It was a carefree atmosphere amidships, despite the preparations being undertaken for the inspection. Off-watch sailors and marines were gathered around, enjoying the spectacle. It was a welcome reprieve from the heavy weight of work that they were meant to be doing. A marine standing near the ladder suddenly called out, "Officer on deck!" His cry was met with a hearty cheer, as the sailors were in a fine, merry mood. They would have cheered any man aboard, officer or crew, with equal heart. Thomas grinned when his brother lifted his drumsticks high and struck them together, drawing a hoot from the marines in the crowd. The marines were in their off-watch dress, yet they still stood out from the sailors, owing to their white-faced grey jackets and red caps. They stepped forward through the crowd and lined up in two ranks, facing each other. To the sailors' loudly-expressed delight, the marines in the first rank joined hands with the second rank and proceeded to dance in partners. The party came to a sharp end when Matheson stomped on deck and began laying about with his starter. Sailors scattered in all directions, driven along by the boatswain's bellowing and his freely-applied cane. Thomas and Andrew found themselves hemmed in by the marines, who had formed around the musicians in a protective barrier. Once the crush of sailors had subsided, the brothers were able to shove past the marines. They hastened below with their instruments, to stow them in their proper places. They discovered Davenport in his hiding-place, halfway finished with sewing the first bit of linen braiding to O'Brien's coat. "Fine work, mate," Andrew said appreciatively, studying the coat's lapel. " 'Ow long d'yeh figger it'll be 'fore yer done?" Davenport shrugged. "An hour or two. It'll look proper sharp once done." "Oi, c'mere, Andrew," Thomas hissed, from his place near the ladder. The drummer joined his brother and listened. Someone in the officers' section was sniffling. It was probably their midshipman. A wry grin crossed Andrew's face. "Trouble in thar, sar?" The drummer called out. "Anythin' we lads c'n 'elp wi'?" Thomas stifled a chuckle and slipped away toward his hammock. He came back a moment later with Davenport's old coat. It was part of the plan, to give the coat to O'Brien as a temporary replacement for his frock. The midshipman was likely to get into worlds of trouble for wearing a marine's coat on deck, but it was marginally better than going on deck without a coat at all. Besides... it was a subtle suggestion to the boy that he had chosen the wrong service. Andrew took the coat from his brother and waited for a response from O'Brien. As soon as he got one, he'd toss the coat toward the midshipman's berth. Then, of course, he would scram. Davenport needed to hurry up and sew, though. The inspection was supposed to be held sometime during the first dogwatch. The Shepherds would have to buy him some time, as far as O'Brien was concerned. "C'mon up on deck, sar, an' we'll 'ave a dance fer yeh," Thomas added. "The lads wants anuvver one, so they does!" |
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| James Norrington | 20 Mar 2008, 05:36 PM Post #4 |
Norrington, James Norrington
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"Trouble in thar, sar? Anythin' we lads c'n 'elp wi'?" O'Brien recognised the voice as belonging to one of the two marine musicians. He quickly wiped his tears and runny nose on his sleeve, wincing when he realised his nose left some residue. He quickly tried to remedy that by rubbing his sleeve on his breeches. At least there, he'd be less likely to notice the mess. He went over to the boys, meeting them sans his coat. "I seem to have misplaced my--" He was cut off as the lad tossed a coat to him. "Coat," he finished. Not thinking anything of the suspicious nature of how they knew that he would need a coat, when he could not find his own. "Thanks very much!" He said. He pulled the coat on and frowned slightly when he noticed that it was red. And slightly too large to boot. "C'mon up on deck, sar, an' we'll 'ave a dance fer yeh. The lads wants anuvver one, so they does!" "Well...I'm not sure that I can really be dancing," O'Brien said quietly, and shyly, "I've got to be on watch and doing stuff." O'Brien wasn't entirely sure that he was needed, but he really wasn't sure about the dancing. He'd never danced before. His mother had tried to teach him, but he had been a poor student. More interested in running and playing with his friends, than dancing or learning his alphabet and numerals. |
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