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| Murmurs of Discontent; Pre-Mutiny, -6 days (Closed) | |
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| Topic Started: 23 Nov 2007, 04:33 PM (280 Views) | |
| Brendan | 23 Nov 2007, 04:33 PM Post #1 |
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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OOC - This thread takes place roughly three days after the flogging in "Pride & Punishment". I'm placing Norrington's written order (prohibiting hostile action against the EITC) as being issued two days after the flogging. The characters in this thread begins in the King's Shilling but will move elsewhere. The talks, however, will begin and end at the King's Shilling.   IC - The idea for mutiny was first spoken of by Sergeant Devlin. He and his friend Sergeant Branning were safely tucked away in a corner of the King's Shilling, sulkily nursing pints of rum. Their topic of conversation was the same topic that was on nearly every marine's lips: the East India Company. Neither sergeant had a pleasant word to say about the Company, but Devlin in particular was fierce in his condemnation of the organisation. Branning, despite being quiet by nature, was proving particularly voluble on the subject, combining it with his deep-running dislike for Captain St Montgomery. The opening for Devlin to voice his own thoughts and the plan that had been forming in his mind all week was too good to pass up. There were enough other patrons in the tavern that the buzz of conversation around them would cover their own words. Devlin dampened his tongue with a brief swallow of rum, then tapped his fingers on the scarred table-top, drawing Branning's attention. "We oughta do somethin' 'bout them other red-coats." The other sergeant grunted, finishing off the last of his own rum and lifting a hand to signal for another round. "Somethin'? Like what McIntyre's lads done? Look what happened after that." "Nah, not like that," Devlin replied, shaking his head. "I mean, we put the lads through the manual arms every mornin', don't we? Why not take alla that an' use it? I know a buncha lads who'd be willin' to help us." Branning lifted an eyebrow. "Do ya now?" "Aye. Bowyer's boys, and prob'ly Morse's, too. They're all right tired of alla this rubbish, you oughta hear some of them talkin'. It'd be an odd one amongst 'em that didn't help." Devlin fell silent until the barmaid had delivered their fresh drinks and bustled away again. "A risin', with those lads behind us. Captain bloody Forsythe ain't gonna do anythin' fer us, an' those two lieutenants can't do anythin', 'cause they're stuck under his thumb. Shit, mate, even the bleedin' Commodore is in that bastard Beckett's pocket. Corporal Bowyer heard that entire meetin', with Captain Collins, the Commodore, an' Beckett. Everybody knows how it went after Collins - cheers to him - left. Norrington might's well be a Company man hisself." "I knows all that. What's it gotta do with attemptin' a mutiny?" Devlin waved a hand sharply at him, his expression annoyed. "Keep yer voice down with that word. It ain't that so much as it's settin' things right 'round here. Somethin's gotta be done. Between those lads gettin' their backs flayed - don't even say it, I know you took over for Myles - an' the Commodore's order to play toady to those Company bastards, there ain't nothin' else for it. At least Collins was lookin' out for us, but everybody else jes' wants to grovel to that Beckett." The other sergeant tipped up his new mug of rum and considered. What Devlin said was true, but he wasn't saying everything. "Those soldier-lads ain't been half's humiliated by these bastards bein' around as we've been, ya know. If we does this, Dev, they'll be the ones to fight back. That's a whole damn regiment against us, an' I don't figure we'll have every lad on our side. A thousand soldiers, mate. We ain't gonna have that kinda numbers." "This ain't a numbers game, it's a fight for our damn lives. That bleedin' Company and its so-called lordship are cuttin' the life outta this town. Lookit what we've already lost! Captain Collins got forced off, Norrington's turned his back on the garrison, Forsythe's as good as sold himself to the Company... face it, mate, there's not an officer in the entire bloody town that cares about us lads. The only ones we can rely on is ourselves. Anythin' that changes is changed by us." "So 'tis a risin'. With what? How's it gonna come off? Where're the lads gonna be when it starts? Ya named Bowyer and Morse, and their two squads. Twenty-five angry marines ain't gonna make much of a risin'," Branning said, frowning. "You leave the recruitin' t'me. For the rest of it, you can work it out. You knows all that tactic stuff a bit better anyway, eh?" Devlin chuckled and took a healthy draft from his mug. "I dunno about it all, really. There ain't no way we can win an open fight." "Ah, that's true. But! Who says we gotta have an open fight, then? If we can take the fort, them soldiers'll have a helluva time gettin' us out. It'll be worth it in the end." Branning nodded slowly. It wouldn't have taken much convincing to get him to join the cause. He lifted his mug. "T'the risin', then." "T'the risin'," Devlin echoed. Their mugs clanked together and the deal was sealed. |
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| Brendan | 23 Nov 2007, 04:35 PM Post #2 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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 "The Captain'll get in the way." The two sergeants had settled into an easy rhythm of back-and-forth discussion, exchanging thoughts and ideas on the best way to organise the rising. For once, Devlin was receptive to input and criticism, which surprised Branning to a degree. Then again, with an undertaking such as this, he would have to be. It was as he had suggested, however. Branning did indeed know about tactics. He had a knack for planning movements and formations. Devlin, however, had a better grasp of the mood of the garrison and how most of the men would respond to the idea of a mutiny. Where Branning spent the majority of time aboard Proserpina in order to keep the frigate's marine detachment under control, Devlin split his time between Dauntless and the fort. The other sergeant's statement regarding their new captain was one that Branning accepted without question as absolute truth. "What can we do 'bout him?" Branning asked. Devlin chuckled harshly and finished off the dregs of rum in his mug. A devilish grin came onto his face and he leaned forward, his hands curling into fists. "Get him outta the way." How Devlin intended to achieve that, Branning wasn't sure he wanted to know. The question, however, needed to be asked. "How?" "By any means necessary. The bastard's not done a good thing for us ever since he took over. Best thing for us is to dispose of him." There was no need to pose any more questions. Branning understood his friend's meaning now. While he wasn't overly fond of the idea, it was most likely the best way to resolve the problem of the captain- in which case, he had no objections to it. The consequences for even discussing this action were death and yet he didn't care. "We have get Bowyer an' Morse inta this," Branning said after a moment. "An' whoever else they think'd be for it. The more lads we get, the better." "Like I said, leave that t'me. Any ideas for placin' the lads we'll have?" Branning shook his head. "I gotta know who an' how many we'll have 'fore I can figure any o' that out, Dev. Our first worry'd be takin' the fort, at any rate. Mosta the lads'd have to be there." "Right." The other sergeant stood up with a curt nod. "C'mon then. Let's get Bowyer an' Morse. They oughta be in the guardhouse." Without a word, Branning rose and tossed a couple coins onto the table. Then, collecting his hat, he followed Devlin out of the tavern. They had taken a pair of horses from the stable, and these were tied to a post outside the tavern. The King's cypher was embroidered on the saddle blankets and no one was foolish enough to steal a pair of horses bearing such accouterments. The two sergeants untied the horses from the post and each pulled himself up into his respective saddle. The journey back to the fort was short, the distance covered at a canter. True to his statement, Corporals Bowyer and Morse were indeed at the guardhouse. In point of fact, the pair were idling about outside, as if waiting for the two sergeants to arrive. Devlin dismounted and looped his horse's reins around an iron ring bolted to the side of the building. He nodded at Branning, who swung down from the saddle and likewise looped the reins through the ring. "Sarn't Foster's off on his rounds," Morse reported. Devlin grinned and waved the three other marines into the guardhouse. "Good, we got about twenty minutes. C'mon then, gentlemen, we have some discussin' t'do." |
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| Brendan | 23 Nov 2007, 04:37 PM Post #3 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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 Bowyer and Morse were in ready agreement with his plan. He had expected nothing less. They had their own offerings to the plan to give as well, which pleased him greatly. When Devlin had outlined the need to be rid of Captain Forsythe, Bowyer suggested McGee as the man for the job. From there, the two corporals took over the task of tossing out names, nominating men most likely to join the rising. By the time Sergeant Foster returned from his walk-around and unintentionally interrupted the meeting, the four conspirators had come up with a working plan to spread their plot. Bowyer and Morse departed to begin making discreet enquiries amongst the men, while Branning and Devlin took their horses back to the stable and then retired to the sergeants' mess. The remainder of the day was spent idly discussing the Second of Foot and the possible consequences of the regiment's presence. Day change, -5 days As agreed, all four marines met at the King's Shilling the following afternoon, each one having invented an excuse to escape their duties for a couple of hours. The topic was tactics, which Branning described with the aid of a piece of parchment and a stub of charcoal. It was simple enough, according to the sergeant. With the tentative number of supporters being at twenty and likely to grow, it was a good time to begin planning and arranging movements. Their goal, as insisted on by Devlin, was to take the fort. It was with that in mind that Branning introduced a bold plan of action. "We're gonna take Proserpina. There's 'nough lads aboard who'd jump in an' help. Sailors an' our boys. That bastard St Montgomery don't got a friend aboard who'd dare stand agains' us. It'd be easy to carry the ship, an' then we'd have a real coin t'play with." The two corporals stared at him, while Devlin simply nodded. Branning grinned. "Don't look like alla that, Morse, ya knows what I'm talkin' 'bout. I'll need both ya an' Hancock aboard to lead things, but I figure there won't be any problems." "What 'bout the other ships? Dauntless an' them. I can't think how we'd git away wi' takin' over Proserpina wi'out gettin' ourselves blasted t'bits." Branning's grin widened. "They'll be havin' their own troubles. Each detachment'll have lads innit t'stir up trouble. Hopefully, anyways. The fort's our main prize, though. Mosta the lads'll be gathered there. We need to take an' hold the place, 'cause them soldier-lads will prob'ly be turned out agains' us. It'll have t'happen fast. Sharp an' fast." Morse frowned. "What 'bout the lads wot don't take our side?" "They're no better'n Beckett's toys, then," Devlin growled. "If they ain't gonna join us, you lads are free t'deal with 'em as you please." "D'ya mean...?" Devlin nodded. "Aye. We can be sure some of our own lads will fight us. That makes 'em the enemy." Silence fell over the table, as the two corporals digested this information. The idea that they would have to fight their mates hadn't truly occurred to them and neither one cared much for the notion. Bowyer, however, was not as bothered by it as Morse. He soon spoke, a grim expression on his face. "I'll be in the fort, I can do the most there. 'Sides... I wanna have first crack at the action." "Good t'hear. You oughta meet with Branning later an' work out things more. We have t'clear outta here, 'fore we're properly missed. C'mon lads." The marines rose and filed out, with Bowyer following Branning. He was already presenting some ideas to the sergeant about how events at the fort might go. Pleased, Devlin cracked a grin at Morse, who returned the gesture with slightly less enthusiasm. The sergeant didn't care if Morse was already having doubts. As far as Devlin was concerned, the corporal had agreed to be part of the rising, and that was the end of it. Branning was in fine form, conversing quietly with Bowyer as the two marines walked ahead of the other pair. He was confident that the corporal could manage well with the operation, if given enough of a plan to work from. "The officers'll need t'be bottled up, an' quick. Forsythe won't be a problem, but them others will be. Ya know which ones I mean. A coupla boys to catch 'em while they're still in their quarters oughta do it." "That'll be easy 'nuff. I knows who ta send fer it. Whaddabout the Colour-Sarn't?" "I'll deal with him meself." Branning sighed. "It'll be a hard job, gettin' him outta the fight, sure!" Bowyer only chuckled and the conversation fell away. Before long, they had come within earshot of the sentries at the fort's gate, and it was there that they paused, with Devlin quietly instructing that the group should meet again the following day, again at the Shilling. The arrangement thus made, the marines parted ways and went back to their individual duties. |
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| Brendan | 23 Nov 2007, 04:38 PM Post #4 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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 Day change, -4 days There were now more than fifty marines willing to take part in the rising. Devlin was greatly pleased by the results of Bowyer and Morse's quiet recruiting. As he'd expected, Corporal Hancock had joined with them, as had one of the permanent Keymasters, Corporal McDavies. There were other corporals with them now as well, a fact which buoyed his already good mood. Almost five full squads of marines, all willing to take a stand against that under-sized git and his Company. Who wouldn't be gladdened to know such things? Branning and Bowyer were oblivious to the rest of the tavern, lost in their discussion as they were. From what Branning had told him the night before, he and Bowyer were getting a fair idea of what was going to happen the day the rising began. They were probably working out more of the details now, Devlin thought. As long as whatever plan they came up with worked and got the result Devlin wanted, he didn't care what they talked about. "...an' there's two o' Jones' boys with us, too," Morse was saying. "Bit surprising, that. I'd have figgered Jonesy had better control over his lads than that. Nice kick inna drawers fer him, though. He's too soft by half." Devlin gave a small smile. Corporal Jones wasn't one of his favourites, and it amused him that Morse had been able to entice a couple of the Welshman's marines away from him. "Well done. Keep soundin' lads out. We need every man we can git." "Hey, Dev. Where're ya gonna be when this comes off?" Branning asked, breaking quietly into the other conversation. "Bowyer's gonna be at the fort, an' I'll be 'round in town, with the lads down there." "I'll be at the fort. Somebody's gotta git a hold of Crawford an' keep him bottled up." Branning nodded. "Aye. Arright then. Bowyer'll be in charge o' the fight itself. I'm givin' him the plan so's he can pass it on t'the lads who'll be with him." The talk ceased when a marine private approached their table, his face set in a studiously blank expression. Branning and Devlin exchanged uneasy glances and Devlin's hand drifted down toward the hilt of his sword. He wasn't about to take the chance that they might be discovered and exposed. To the four conspirators' relief, however, the marine said "I heared there was a action bein' planned, an' yew was the fellas t'see 'bout it. I wants in." Devlin relaxed and waved a hand at the chair across the table. "Glad t'have you, mate. Who're you under?" "Corp'ral Southerland, Sarn't. Off Falcon. Name's Tarwick." "Well, Private Tarwick. I think you've come t'the right place, if you wanna git ridda them Company bastards. Got any mates of the same mind's you?" As it turned, Tarwick did. He agreed to inform them of what was going on and participated a little in the discussion. By the time that the watches changed, Devlin felt they had accomplished a great deal toward the goal of successfully executing the rising. Branning and Bowyer had presented their mostly-completed plan of attack, and Morse had outlined his intentions for the taking of Proserpina. Tarwick had put forward a couple of thoughts regarding action aboard Intrepid, the vessel to which Falcon's displaced marines had been assigned. All of it, Devlin had approved. Anything to assist the rising was good. It was, the Irishman decided after the meeting ended, a very productive day. |
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| Brendan | 23 Nov 2007, 04:39 PM Post #5 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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 Day change, -3 days It was the talk of the entire garrison. Watkins had fallen from his bunk and been carried off to hospital, where it was discovered that his well-flogged back had taken infection. According to Lachlan, the poor fellow was dying. Devlin had nearly laughed when he'd heard. It bothered him that a marine in his company was on his way out, of course, but the only reason Watkins was in such a bad state was because he'd been flogged. He'd only been flogged because he'd taken part in the brawl with the EITC men. That, in Devlin's mind, made the damned EITC responsible for Watkins' fading health, not Captain Collins for ordering the flogging or Sergeant Myles for delivering it. It was one more reason to push forward with the rising. Corporal Morse had been landed with sentry duty in the work-offices, but Corporal Hancock was present in his place. To his credit, Morse had told Hancock everything that had been worked out and thus Devlin was able to carry on planning Proserpina's rising with Hancock, largely without issue. The crowning action for the marines and sailors who'd take over the frigate was to be the capture of Proserpina's hated captain. That was the one thing both Hancock and Morse were looking forward to the most. From the sound of it, Branning and Bowyer had moved on from planning the action to take place at the fort. Given that Branning was going to be drifting about in town when the rising began, it was prudent for him to work out how their lads would act. Toward that end, Corporal Dryden fitted in nicely. The impressionable and bold young marine had arrived from Kingston only a few months before and was considered a perfect candidate for managing the fighting that would inevitably break out in the streets. Accordingly, Branning was laying out his ideas to the young corporal, who was proving to be quite sharp and thoughtful. It all bade very well, in Devlin's estimation. The day's meeting ended on a distinctly positive note, with Dryden and Bowyer departing together, discussing where to go in search of a bit of sport. Devlin was feeling decidedly content with the work being accomplished. The number of disaffected marines willing to take part in the rising kept growing, which of course increased the risk of being discovered, but the sergeant had faith in his marines. Nobody would rat them out. They were coming close to the day when everything would change. Another week, he thought, and then that bloody lordship and his Company would be shown just how unwelcome in Port Royal they were. Whistling to himself all the way back to the fort, Devlin wondered how Private Watkins was faring in the hospital. The Scottish marine was a decent enough sort, if a little quiet. Certainly Doctor Finch was working miracles, same as he always did. It wouldn't be long until the bugle called Mess, so he headed for the sergeants' quarters. Perhaps Foster was there and would be interested in tossing some dice. With the cheerful mood Devlin was in, he would risk losing half a month's pay on pure luck. The remainder of the evening passed quietly enough. Colour-Sergeant Crawford was his usual loud, border-line obnoxious self, to which Sergeant Branning provided stark contrast with his customary silence. Foster maintained a casual sort of conversation with anyone who'd participate and Devlin simply enjoyed the thought that soon, he would be able to shut that idiot Crawford up for good. It was, he mused as he retired for the night, a very good secondary goal to have. Day change, -2 days Dawn broke somberly. Tom Shepherd's bugle seemed to lack its usual energy as he called the garrison to morning parade. It was there that the news of Watkins' death was announced and nobody took it well. Devlin, from his place in front of his company, was forced to both his anger and his excitement, until the fore-noon watch, when he was able to meet with Sergeant Branning and instruct him to spread the word amongst their lads that they were going to avenge Watkins, as it had been the EITC's fault that the Scotsman had been flogged. The truth mattered little to Devlin, when he had a perfect opportunity to goad his soon-to-be mutineers into deeper belief that theirs was the only suitable course. The afternoon watch was his to manage as Sergeant of the Guard, and he began the four-hour stretch with a visit to Corporal McDavies in the dungeon. He had to check that the man was aware of what was expected of him. It was fortunate that they had one of the permanent Keymasters on their side. What better way to create even more chaos than to turn all the prisoners in the dungeon free? He re-emerged from underground and made a brief stop at the barracks, to at least be seen. As he'd expected, the marines were in a properly gloomy mood. Good. He could use that. Corporal Dryden had just been coming down the stairs from the barrack's second floor and Devlin had a quiet word with him about the men who'd be fighting in town, then he left the depressingly-silent barracks. The sergeant reached the guardhouse and entered, pausing only for a heartbeat when he discovered Sergeant Myles sitting at the table, a quill pen in hand. It was a little odd for Myles to be there, as it was not his watch, but it appeared that he had been drawing up his company's watch roster for the coming month. With Devlin's arrival, Myles apparently decided that it was time for him to depart. No exchange of pleasantries had to be made, as Myles' drawn and weary face was sign enough that he wanted nothing more than to escape to his bunk. It was unusual for the normally-lively Myles to look so shattered, but Devlin put it down to a probable re-occurrence of ague. As soon as Devlin had tossed his hat down onto the table, Myles was gone, walking somewhat-stiffly toward the sergeants' quarters. Suitably left to his own devices, Devlin shucked off his coat and sash, tossing the two items onto the table. After unfastening the top buttons of his waistcoat, he claimed a chair in the corner and tipped it back onto its back two legs, which allowed him to prop his feet up on the table. It was time for his customary afternoon nap. Maybe, after he'd woken up, he could see about coercing the mess steward into using fresher meat in the stew-pot. Unfortunately for Devlin, his nap was soon interrupted, when Private Gallagher came crashing into the guardhouse, babbling about how Corporal Bowyer had just been relieved of sentry duty. The sergeant had come awake with such a start that he tipped over in the chair he had been leaning back in. He clambered to his feet with a loud curse and glared at Gallagher, too angry that his nap had been interrupted to realise what the private had said upon entrance. "Sarn't!" Gallagher repeated, his eyes narrowing. "The Cap'n wants Corporal Bowyer relieved of duty. Stupid blackguard disrespected the Cap'n. He's t'be brought down t'the dungeon an' locked up proper." Devlin scowled. "Disrespected that disgrace of an Irishman, did he? I'll buy the lad a drink for that!" The sergeant reached for his coat with a sigh. "Can't ever get a minute's rest round here, there's always something... what the hell are you standing there for, Private? Get back to your post or I'll have you caned!" Gallagher departed hastily and Devlin resumed his relaxed position in the chair. He was not meant to enjoy his nap again, however. Scarcely ten minutes after Gallagher left, Corporal Bowyer himself barged into the guardhouse. Unlike Gallagher, however, the corporal was thundering at maximum decibels about how their captain had sold them out and how Norrington had allowed it. As Devlin stared in stunned disbelief, Bowyer related everything he had overheard. It was both a serious drawback and an amazing opportunity. The sergeant grabbed his coat and sash, a grim smile coming onto his face. "C'mon, Corporal. It's best we advanced the plan. This ain't gonna happen unchallenged." Especially not if he had anything to do with it! |
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