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| Taking Her A Prize {Mutiny}; Proserpina, Marines/Navy | |
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| Topic Started: 14 Dec 2007, 12:01 AM (480 Views) | |
| Royal Navy & Marines | 14 Dec 2007, 12:01 AM Post #1 |
Master of Puppets
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  When the lone cannon on the fort's ramparts fired, Corporal Hancock was the first to leap up the ladder from below-deck, his sword drawn. His marines followed him immediately, bayonets fixed to their muskets and yelling to a man. The seamen working on deck barely knew what to do, as the marines fanned out around the weather deck and quickly engaged the marine sentries who were springing forward to oppose them. A brief but fierce scuffle broke out, that ended when the mutineers clubbed their former mates down. "We're takin' this ship in defiance of the damned East India Company!" Morse cried, standing at the poop deck rail. "All lads who're with us, grab yer arms!" The seamen wasted little time obeying, especially after Hancock jabbed his sword at the sky and roared "Boardin' party on me, t'the great cabin!" A great cheer rang out as seamen and marines alike surged after Hancock toward St Montgomery's cabin. Precious little urging was needed to draw such enthusiasm. Hancock fairly kicked the screen door down in his eagerness to enter the cabin and more than a dozen men, mostly seamen, were quick to surround the hanging cot in which St Montgomery, miraculously still asleep, lay. "Turn 'im out! Bring up the irons!" Willing hands grabbed St Montgomery and dragged him from his cot, many men laughing heartily when the Navy officer hit the deck with a thump. The captain had awakened and was flailing blindly, roaring obscenity-laden threats and indignations, which only added to the mutineers' amusement. More men crowded into the cabin, helping to keep the enraged captain subdued while Hancock and Morse wrestled the man's wrists into the shackles. A heavy length of rope was produced, which was used to secure St Montgomery's arms and legs. One quick-thinking seaman shoved the captain's own cravat in St Montgomery's mouth, thereby quieting the man's booming protests. The hated captain was lifted bodily and carried out onto the weather deck, where the waiting crew cheered the sight. Hancock and Morse directed the grinning, laughing seamen to deposit their burden in the brig, where St Montgomery had sent men on more than one occasion. Cheering marines and seamen pelted the Navy man with bits of hard-tack crust, only too happy to see him trussed up and defeated. The other officers of the ship had made no resistance, having stayed stubbornly in their tiny cabins. Proserpina was theirs. |
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| Frederick St Montgomery | 24 Dec 2007, 03:51 PM Post #2 |
Rear Admiral of the Fleet
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To say that St Montgomery was pleased was to say that the whole world had overcome their differences, and that they had decided peace was a far better alternative to war. Likewise, one could always hope for such, but the likelihood was so slim, that one would be better off hoping for a mythical saint to come by and drop off presents for children. St Montgomery was anything but pleased. Angry, wrathful, irate, incensed, seething, indignant, riled, infuriated—all were fine words to describe the Navy Captain's mood. In fact, simply picking up a thesaurus and looking up all the possible synonyms for raging would have managed to capture all the complexities of the simple man in his foul mood. Not that were we in his place, we should not feel the same as he did. Sitting in the brig, hog-tied, gagged, and having just been paraded around on your own ship's deck, where your entire crew had joined in the mutiny, or even worse, stood by and did nothing to stop it, you would no doubt have some inkling of what it was like to currently be Frederick St Montgomery. The rage was so great, that he could scarcely form a coherent thought, other than to try and vent his rage, as his favourite avenue of shouting rude, and revolting remarks, questioning the parentage and sexual practices of those all around him was not possible given his current predicament. Not that shouting would have made him feel much better...a good flogging may have done some to make him feel better, maybe a hanging. Seeing a man drawn and quartered was up there on that list, as well. Given his bloodthirsty ways and habits, and his cruel nature and sadistic bent, it was no surprise that not one man stood up to defend his captain. Not a single man—no sailors, no marines, and no officers did their duty to prevent the mutiny—a good number of them opting instead to join it. St Montgomery and his style of leadership given this outcome, should serve as a warning to all about how one commands men...and how one should not command their men. St Montgomery had never been a patient man, but now, with nothing else to do, but rage, and await a rescue, he should have spent his time in acquiring the said virtue. But St Montgomery is not a man of virtue, and sees acquiring virtues to be a vice that he made sure long ago to rid himself of. *** Holed up in the first lievtenants quarters, the two next most senior officers on the vessel—Cummings and Smith, were to busy planning what to say were one of two events to happen. 1—the men break down the door and prepare to kill the officers who enacted St Montgomery's cruel discipline, or 2—the Navy triumphed and put down the little insurrection. Neither one promised pleasant things for either men, since given their actions thus far, they were in the wrong no matter how you looked at it. Damned for following orders before, and damned for not doing their duty now. “We're in trouble no matter what happens,” Smith observed, the First Lievtenant, Cummings nodding in agreement. “Maybe we should write our wills now?” "What? In case the mutineers get in here? I hardly think they'll bother to save them," Smith said, darkly. Cummings shook his head, "no, I was thinking for once this gets put down. I imagine that eventually it will be put down. Mutinies always are...and we certainly weren't captured like and all...we could face some hard questions for not doing--" "--what we're supposed to be," Smith finished. "Yes," Cummings said. Smith reached into a bad and removed an inkwell and two quills. He handed one to the superior officer. "By all means, sir," he said, starting to scratch out a will of his own. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 31 Dec 2007, 08:01 PM Post #3 |
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Master of Puppets
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With St Montgomery subdued and safely locked away, Corporal Hancock went in search of the other officers. They had hidden during the short action, which was perfectly fine with Hancock. Now, however, the victorious mutineers needed to make sure the remaining officers would not pose a threat to them, as they prepared their next venture. Morse was attending to the preparations, selecting and arming the boat crews. Only the two corporals knew the full details of their next action, but it would soon be revealed to everyone. The low murmur of voices was concentrated in one cabin, and was there that Hancock headed. He had taken care to leave his musket leaning against the screen of the last empty cabin, knowing that the weapon would only be a hindrance in such close quarters. Whatever the officers were discussing, the topic would shortly be changed. "Morning, sirs," Hancock said, stepping into the cabin without bothering to announce himself. "The noise din't disturb ya too much, I hope." ~ "Lower away!" The frigate's longboat was being swayed out and its designated crew was standing by the entry port, well armed with muskets, pistols, and swords. Marines and seamen alike had been chosen for the two crews, each one having been given specific instructions about what was to happen. Corporal Morse watched the proceedings with a reasonably-pleased feeling. Things had gone well thus far. Once the boat crews reached their different destinations, things should go even better. "Boat crews away!" Feet, shod and unshod, rumbled over the deck as the men moved to clamber down into the two boats. In a few minutes, the boats pushed off and began pulling in opposite directions, one heading for shore, the other going round Proserpina's bow. Morse grinned. What he wouldn't give to be aboard Dauntless when the jolly-boat hooked on to the second-rate's chains and its crew swarmed up the side. It would be a marvellous stroke for the mutineers to seize control of the squadron's flagship. There was work to do here, before he could entertain thoughts of victories yet to be won. "Get these bodies cleared away, lads! We got to be ready to help the lads up in the fort!" (Go ashore with the shore-party, as they begin painting the town.) |
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| Frederick St Montgomery | 3 Jan 2008, 03:32 AM Post #4 |
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Rear Admiral of the Fleet
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Cummings and Smith looked up at the Marine Corporal, Smith hastily dropping the quill and parchment as Cummings simply looked at the marine. In any other situation he'd yell at the marine and have him flogged for presuming to enter his quarters, but situations being what they were and all, he knew that would just be tempting fate. "The noise din't disturb ya too much, I hope." Cummings knew that they were in a dangerous situation. Once the Royal Navy loyalists overcame the mutineers, and or reinforcements arrived--whichever was the one that would result in the inevitable Royal Navy victory...that they'd have to account for their actions. Which at the moment...were already not going to look good. The best thing to do, was give some difficulty--as much as he thought they could get away with, that would not result in any sort of harsh...repercussions from the marines. Oh God, Cummings thought, please don't let them choose to have us punished for St Montgomery's commands...don't have them...repay us in kind. "Err..." Cummings started, "What have you done with the Captain? Where is he?" "You didn't kill him, did you?" Smith asked, butting in. Neither of the officers enjoyed the role reversal, and being the ones not in charge. Or the ones lacking in the information. There was...even without the powers to enforce punishments, and granted by the rank, a certain power that came with information, and having specific knowledge. Knowledge like what had happened to the captain, exactly, and what was about to become of them. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 15 Feb 2008, 07:45 PM Post #5 |
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Master of Puppets
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 "Err..." Cummings seemed nervous. "What have you done with the Captain? Where is he?" "You didn't kill him, did you?" The other lieutenant asked. Hancock grinned. "He ain't so lucky. The bugger's safely locked up in the brig, where he oughta've been long ago." He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned casually against the doorjamb, regarding the two lieutenants impassively. The fates of these two lieutenants was, as yet, undecided, but their inactivity during the brief action would figure prominently in the corporals' final judgement. "Don't reckon a lad could invite you two fine fellows topside? There's some business needs lookin' after." ~ Up topside, lookouts were perched in the yards, keeping watchful eyes on the goings-on both in the harbour and ashore. Corporal Morse himself was on the foremast platform, a telescope in hand and a musket across his back. His focus was on the jolly-boat that was drawing close to Intrepid. The lads had to pass the sloop in order to reach Dauntless, unfortunately. If the sailors crawling all over the weather deck and the cluster of red coats on the sloop's foc's'le were any indication, Intrepid was back in loyalist hands. Damn. "Larboard bow ahoay!" The lookout's cry coincided with Morse nearly dropping his telescope, as the faint snaps of musket fire were heard. Below him, sailors and marines were rushing to the larboard rail to see what was happening. The corporal peered through the glass and was sickened to see the haze of spent powder hanging on the air around Intrepid's bow. His lads in the jolly-boat had been fired on by the marines on the sloop's foc's'le and were clearly coming off the worse for it. Damn those blackguards! "Pull fer Dauntless, you idiots!" Morse yelled uselessly, even as he unslung his musket. Those lads were in trouble, no matter what they did but he was determined to help them in the only way he could right then. The distance between Intrepid and Proserpina was almost beyond the flintlock's effective range, but he was confident enough in his marksmanship that he could compensate for that. "Spotter!" The corporal shouted at the men on the weather deck, then he settled his aim and fired. Somebody below him cheered but the moment of success was painfully shortlived. "Sail, sail just passin' Intrepid! She's a packet!" The lookout in the foretop above him was a keen-eyed one, apparently. Morse looked up from reloading his musket to see a bowsprit glide into view on the leeward side of Intrepid. It was indeed a packet, dammit. Trying to flee from the madness... Morse's eyes widened. She was intercepting the jolly-boat. "Bo'sun!" The marine slung his musket off his shoulder and grabbed for the nearest backstay. He was back on the weather deck in a short few moments, though he was positive it was nearly too late to save their mates. "Quinn! Pipe up them boys, the larboard battery!" Quinn appeared, looking at him like he'd gone mad. That was until Morse pointed toward the packet, which was in the process of hooking on to Proserpina's jolly-boat. The boatswain stirred into loud action, bawling at the larboard battery to get to their divisions almost immediately. Morse grabbed Anson and directed him toward the frigate's bowchaser, while the seamen scampered to their assigned guns. "One warnin' shot!" The bowchaser boomed. Though the shot fell short of its intended target, the point was clearly made. Morse sought out the boatswain at once, already planning his next move. "Get her ready to sail, Quinn. We can't let them blackguards spirit off with our mates thataway." To his surprise, Quinn shook his head. "Can't, mate. By time we get the anchor weighed, that packet'll be on the horizon an' runnin' fast. She's built fer speed, we'd never catch her," the boatswain added, when Morse opened his mouth to protest. "Ain't there somethin' we can do?" Again, Quinn shook his head. " 'Cept to fire on her, an' she's a Navy packet, look there, she's run up her Colours." It was true. Morse spat on the deck, frustrated by his own helplessness. With the men in the jolly-boat now captured, the alarm was sure to be raised beyond Port Royal. They were going to be in for a fight once loyalist forces started showing up. "Send a lad down for Hancock and them officers," the corporal said brusquely. "And stand these boys down, there's nothin' we can do for our mates." Once Quinn had moved away, Morse stalked to the foc's'le and glared at the distant mail packet, which had her stuns'ls set and was running full before the wind. The mutineers were going to be in for it for sure, now. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 17 Feb 2008, 07:44 PM Post #6 |
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Master of Puppets
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The two lieutenants had reluctantly followed Hancock topside, nervous and dreading what might happen once they were on deck. Hancock offered nothing in the way of explanation which didn't help their anxiety. What would the mutineers do to them? Some sort of impromptu court-martial, or worse, punishment for following the captain's orders? What did the corporal mean by "there's some business needs lookin' after"? Cummings barely suppressed a shiver as he stepped on deck, for he saw the mess that was the weather deck and all the crew seemingly lounging around. His first instinct was to call for the boatswain, to spur the slackers back to work, but he remembered that things were different now. The first lieutenant glanced at Smith, who was looking off somewhere aft. Some help he was. "Quarterdeck," Hancock said. The two sea officers obeyed, resenting that a lowly corporal was giving them orders. To Cummings' surprise, however, Hancock made no move to join them and in fact was ambling off toward the foc's'le. What was that all about? "Larboard bow ahoay!" That call was, Cummings would later reflect, the one that began a series of events which ultimately brought down the last of his ordered world around his ears. Both lieutenants stood on the quarterdeck, forgotten by the crew as they scampered around and completely lost as to what they should do. With no other option immediately presenting itself, both men simply watched. Cummings was struck by the quick and sure manner in which the men worked, even without St Montgomery constantly hollering at them. He'd never thought they were capable of such things. Hancock reappeared, as the larboard bow chaser was fired. The corporal looked as though he'd just eaten dirt, so dark and sour was his expression. Cummings didn't dare ask what had happened, lest the marine decide to take his temper out on them. "Yer not to move off the quarterdeck," Hancock snarled and that was all the corporal seemed prepared to say. Well. Something was up. The first lieutenant looked seaward and saw the mail packet, and understood. The little vessel had slipped past unnoticed and now the word would get out about the state of affairs in Port Royal. That was good news for the loyalists, but he wasn't sure what it meant for himself and Smith. It was certainly bad for the mutineers. "Sir," Smith hissed, touching his superior's sleeve. Cummings glanced at him and saw he was pointing toward Intrepid. To his surprise, he saw the familiar movements of sailors lowering boats. There were red and blue coats gathered along the sloop's starboard rail. It was easy to guess what was going on aboard, but Cummings found himself praying he was wrong. Gillette was mad if he thought his smaller crew would stand any chance against the frigate's company. At most, he figured the sloop's captain could field seventy men for a boarding action. It wasn't anywhere near enough to make a good showing against the nearly-three-hundred men on the frigate. The attempt could only end in failure, with terrible loss of life. "Billy!" The voice belonged to Corporal Morse, who was dashing toward the quarterdeck looking positively wild. "They're comin' fer us!" Chaos erupted on deck, punctuated yet again by the shrill call of the boatswain's pipe. This time, however, the sailors were moving to their respective divisions in deadly earnest. Cummings had little doubt that they would put up a stiff resistance, though their motivation was hard to judge. Could it be as simple as wanting to keep boarders from wresting control of their ship away from them? He watched the three boats start their journey toward Proserpina and felt the dread rising again. The crew were ready to receive their unwelcome guests by now. The first cannon fired, falling short of its mark. The second shot, however, struck home. Cummings winced when the launch splintered and broke, knowing he would be indirectly held responsible for those mens' lives once this unpleasant affair was over. Then there was a frenzy of shouting and clattering steel, as the crew grabbed up their small arms and prepared a harsh welcome for the Intrepids, who were already clambering up the side. One marine had no sooner set his feet on deck than he was cut down by Corporal Morse's sword. "At 'em, lads! They wanna put St Montgomery back over us!" Corporal Hancock cried. Cummings mdae a snap decision then, as Hancock lifted his musket in readiness to fire down at one of the boarders. He pulled a belaying pin from the side-rail and crossed the deck toward the marine. Hancock went down without a sound, allowing Cummings a moment's respite in which he grabbed the unconscious corporal's collar and dragged the man aft. It had occurred to him that he ought to at least make a show of trying to fighting against the mutineers. Now the boarders from Intrepid were fully on deck and fighting with a will that impressed him. Perhaps it was wiser to simply allow the battle unfold whichever way it was meant to. The first lieutenant kept his grip on the belaying pin, but stayed where he was near the taffrail. It was probably safer to stay out of sight, anyway. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 19 Feb 2008, 06:46 AM Post #7 |
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Master of Puppets
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Despite the pain in his leg, Johnson heaved himself over the side and levelled a charging seaman at once with a hastily-thrown right cross. Marines and sailors were boiling over the rail behind him, most of them howling like banshees as they clashed with Proserpina's mutineers. Somebody leapt at him from the left and Johnson met the man sword to sword. A brief exchange of blows later and the sailor was sprawled on the deck, a crimson stain spreading around his middle. There were a whole bloody lot more mutineers than there were loyalists, but Johnson knew something those treacherous bastards didn't. "Bell, Haverson!" The corporal bellowed. "To me, lads!" The two marines he'd yelled for fought their way toward him, neither one showing mercy to any mutineer who happened to cross their path. To Johnson's dismay, however, Captain Gillette was not far behind them. What the flaming hell was that Irish ponce's issue? The corporal ignored Gillette, knocking an already-wounded mutineer aside with a sharp elbow to the jaw. "Below-decks, quick like. Once we turn out the cap'n, I reckon all the fight'll go outta these bastards." Bell and Haverson nodded stiffly. Wasting no further words, Johnson lifted his sword and led the way toward the companion ladder, cutting a swathe through the crush of bodies where he had to. One marine tried to push his bayonet through Johnson's ribs, but a quick slash across the face from Johnson's sword put an end to that danger. Behind the three marines, Gillette couldn't help but wonder what the devil Johnson was up to. He'd seen Bell return the shoulder knot, it was impossible not to have. The act had disgusted him. Bell's promotion had been perfectly justified, yet he publicly refused it by giving the white mark of rank back to the man Gillette had taken it away from. If that wasn't idiocy, he didn't know what was. Yet here he was, following that damned cheeky bastard Johnson below-deck. Was he mad? Moreso than Johnson? He hadn't heard what the supposed-to-be-demoted-corporal said to his two lackeys, but it was probably some rubbish about helping themselves to whatever they could, while they could. In that, Gillette was determined to stop them. " --kin' hell!" Johnson suddenly fell back, one hand curling around his side. One of his lackeys fired his musket from the hip and the previously-hidden attacker went crashing down the lower companion ladder. "I'm arright, dammit, help me up!" The two marines heaved the corporal to his feet, during which delay Gillette was able to catch up with them. Johnson favoured him with a sullen glare but said nothing and turned away. Unacceptable. He had had quite enough of the marine's insolence, both spoken and unspoken. "What are you doing, Private?" "Springin' out the cap'n, sar," Bell replied. Gillette scowled. "I don't recall asking you, Corporal." "Just what he said. We're springin' the cap'n out. He'll put the fight outta them bastards sharpish." Johnson peeled his hand away from his side and grimaced. He hated to admit it, but the marine had a point. It rankled even more that Johnson had been the one to come up with the idea first. "Better get on with it, then," he told them curtly, stepping carefully past the bleeding Johnson. They weren't too far from the ship's brig at least. The Irishman led the three marines the rest of the way, his pace quick and urgent. The sounds of combat above was hard to ignore and in fact was a great motivator. The sooner that St Montgomery was freed and gotten up on deck, the better. The post-captain was, to Gillette's great amusement, lying completely trussed up on the deck. His captors had taken especial care to gag him as well. He allowed himself a quick grin, then forced himself to contain his amusement until later. "Keys, sar," Bell tossed a heavy iron ring to him, which Gillette used at once to open the iron-barred door. St Montgomery was glaring daggers and hellfire at them and making muffled noises that were probably obscenities. Gillette himself cut the ropes binding the captain's limbs, stepping quickly enough out of the way to avoid knocked down when the big captain flailed his way to his feet. "You!" The three marines scattered when St Montgomery burst out of the cell, tearing the gag away from his head as he went. Gillette barely avoided getting flattened against the dirty iron bars and stared in complete bewilderment as the enraged captain chased the unlucky red-coats up the ladder. Well! That certainly wasn't something you saw every day. He hurried after the unlikely group, morbidly curious as to what St Montgomery would do to the marines when he caught them. Or, even better; what he'd do to his crew once he got on deck. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 20 Feb 2008, 03:02 AM Post #8 |
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Master of Puppets
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Quinn, the boatswain, was the first one to hear the animal-like roar rolling up from below-deck. He had just barely managed to knock aside a powerful slash made by one of Intrepid's sailors when a great bullish blur came bursting on deck. The boatswain didn't even have time to draw in a breath to scream before two bear-sized paws closed around his neck and shoulder and lifted him straight off the deck. Brutton, one of the carpenter's mates, stared in saucer-eyed shock as Quinn was heaved against the mainmast in a single, fluid swing. It was like a flurry of rats fleeing from a cat, as the mutineers scattered away from the captain they had risen against. Gillette made it back on deck in time to see one unlucky marine go flying over the side, arms and legs flailing wildly. Of Johnson and his two marines there was no immediate sign, but that was probably just as well. St Montgomery had gotten hold of a sword somehow and was using it to deadly effect, tearing through a cluster of men who couldn't throw themselves over the side fast enough to get away from him. It was amusing for only a few moments, before Gillette realised that one of the sailors that the enraged post-captain had just cut down was one of his own. Enough was enough. The mutineers were effectively defeated, if the number of them flinging themselves into the harbour was any indication. "Sir!" The boulder-built captain was almost beyond hearing, but he caught sight of the slighter officer as he whirled around to grab for the red-coated traitor who was trying hop toward the deck-rail on his one good leg. Ahh, so that milk-sop had come to gloat over his misfortune, had he? Well! He was only another one that would be dealt with as he deserved. It was a fair bet that the junior officer had had a hand in this devious mutiny as well. Just like all the others, conspiring to keep as much power for themselves as they could! His lip curled back in a wordless snarl and St Montgomery started across the deck, his pace surprisingly quick despite the twinging pain in his leg. "It's over, sir," Gillette said loudly, scuttling backward and hoping he didn't trip over anything that might be lying on the deck behind him. It was bad enough that he was forced to retreat before what was left of the frigate's crew, he couldn't fathom the indignity of catching his foot on something and taking a fall. He was in no hurry to tempt fate by crossing swords with the captain, not the least because the man was in such a state that defeating him would be a nigh impossible task. The words appeared to have no effect, but an unexpected blur of scarlet in front of him did. A musket hammer clicked back and somebody said, "That's bloody enough, sir." There were a few other metallic clacks, as more of Intrepid's marines recovered from their momentary terror. St Montgomery glared at them in turn, his sword twitching angrily in his hand. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that he wanted to see every man lined up and hung, then and there, guilty or not. Gillette took a moment to regain his own slightly-shaken composure before stepping around the idiot marine who'd interposed himself between the two sea officers. "They're clearly beaten, sir," the Irishman said firmly, waving a hand at the various crew who were more or less cowering around the weather deck. It was shameful to see grown men reduced to such abject fear, but even more so to know the cause of that fear. "The ship is yours again, but the prisoners are not." This brought the spark to the post-captain's limbs and he reached forward, as if to grab hold of Gillette's cravat. A slim-bladed bayonet appeared as if by magic, borne on the musket belonging to the marine who'd stopped St Montgomery's initial advance. If looks were lethal, Gillette decided, that marine would be dead a hundred times over. "I shall keep the worthless scum - " "No." Gillette shook his head, knowing what fate would fall on the unlucky souls who remained aboard after the Intrepids departed. Mutineers or not, maverick justice was not something they deserved. "They shall be tried - " "You will not take men who are too damned cowardly to - " "- a court of officers appointed by - " " - I will be the judge of - " " - and given the benefit of - " " - whether or not they are guilty, which - " " - under the Articles of War!" " - damned Articles of War!" The two officers finished almost in the same breath, their voices each having risen until both were shouting. Every man on deck was staring at them in unabashed bewilderment. Was it even possible for the day to yield any more surprises? "I will be taking these prisoners, sir, and you would do well to attend to your officers," Gillette added stiffly, casting a pointed glance aft, where two blue-coated men were huddled. The remark was enough to send St Montgomery stamping toward the two lieutenants - who, the Irishman surmised, were about to endure a most distasteful verbal assault. At least the wild-eyed captain was distracted. "Get these men over the side, quickly," he told his men. "Fill the boats to capacity and then some, if you must, but get them out of here." |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 20 Feb 2008, 08:41 PM Post #9 |
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Master of Puppets
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The unconscious marine corporal they were harbouring was going to get them into worlds of trouble, Smith realised. St Montgomery had come thundering on deck only a moment ago, freed from the brig by some deranged idiot and was now loose on the crew, sending men literally flying in almost every direction. What would he do to his two lieutenants when he found out that they had done nothing to stop the rising? "We have to get rid of this, sir," Smith said, indicating Hancock with a nudge of his shoe. "We're already in for it as it is." The point was a good one. Cummings nodded and helped drag Hancock back toward the quarterdeck rail, where they let him drop partway on the stairs. This task done, they retreated quickly back toward the taffrail. That was perhaps the wisest action they'd taken all day, for suddenly the fighting on the weather deck was over and was replaced by a positively angry shouting match. Cummings was completely stunned to see Captain Gillette facing off with the wild-looking St Montgomery, with a handful of marines loosely surrounding them. What was that madman thinking? Then St Montgomery turned toward the quarterdeck. Cummings felt his blood run cold and he stood up at once, scooting backward toward the taffrail in a vain attempt to flee from his slowly approaching captain. Smith let out a whimper from behind him, having already begun his retreat. Their captain knew of their inaction - he had to - and they were about to be brought to task for it. On the weather deck, the mutineer crew were only too happy to clamber down the side into the two waiting boats. Capture and confinement aboard the smaller Intrepid was infinitely preferable to remaining on the frigate with that brutal captain back in charge. Corporal Johnson had to be helped into the longboat, his wounds making it too difficult for him to manage it on his own. The men who'd leapt overboard had figured out what was happening and several men who were knew how were swimming for Intrepid. Others had latched onto the wreckage of the sloop's launch and were kicking toward shore. Martin Bell helped pass down the body of a sailor and felt disgusted at the waste of life. The bottoms of the two boats were being carefully lined with the dead, in addition to the living. What a cursed mess. The longboat pushed off and began its slow, tenuous journey back to the sloop, its gunwhales barely four inches above the water. It would take awhile to get all the prisoners off the frigate. Bell wasn't sure there would be enough space for all of them on Intrepid, either. Captain Gillette was out of his mind to think there was. "Bastards're gettin' it laid on proper," Bartlett snickered, glancing toward the frigate's taffrail. Half the town could probably hear St Montgomery's obscenity-laden thundering. The remaining Intrepid marines grinned. They didn't know what had brought the tirade about, but it was amusing to witness since they were not on the receiving end. "We can't take all of these men," Captain Gillette said, looking annoyed. "You marines will stay here with the remaining prisoners and make sure nothing happens to them until I come back to collect them." The marines stared at him, horrified. Gillette had turned away to descend into the jolly-boat, however, and there was no chance to dispute the point. Leaving them aboard this damned ship, where they could be subject to St Montgomery's wrath? It was no better than a death sentence. Bell recovered himself first and waved at the bewildering-looking mutineers. "Get below, quick-like, 'fore that captain takes notice of ya!" |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 17 Mar 2008, 01:02 AM Post #10 |
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Master of Puppets
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By nightfall, all of the prisoners and their guards from Intrepid had been retrieved from Proserpina. The marines were only too happy to get away from the frigate, having spent the day constantly quarrelling with the vengeful St Montgomery and more often than not being forced to present a wall of bayonets when the captain attempted to get past them to the brig. It wasn't easy, of course, because the captain was a large fellow, but they were able by pure unmoving determination to send him off each time he came at them. None of the Intrepids could say what had become of the frigate's two unlucky lieutenants, though niether were they in a hurry to ask any questions. Their main concern had been getting the hell off the frigate. To their surprise, the clear, high notes of a bugle calling mess came drifting down on the twilight breeze. The sound gave pause to the harried work of prodding their prisoners over the side into the waiting boats. There had been no bugle calls made all day, owing to the disturbances ashore, and hearing the call to mess was a tremendous relief to the marines, even though the timing of the call was very much off. The return to their sloop was a happy one. It was familiar and welcome surroundings. Many of the prisoners already aboard had been ferried ashore in Dauntless' boats over the course of the day, which made room for the last boat-loads of men from Proserpina. These men were sent ashore at once, to get them to the fort where they could be more securely locked up. The wounded loyalists had been the first ones moved ashore and some of these men were returning to the docks when the boats with the last group of prisoners hooked onto the dock. Despite the wreckage that covered the docks and the adjacent streets, the prisoners were marched up to the fort without excessive difficulty. The dungeons were close to capacity once the last of them were delivered, which amused the marines from Intrepid to no end. The captured mutineers would be kept in the crowded cells until the time for their trials and, later, their executions. The word was passed to them as they paused outside the shot-splintered door of the barracks that Corporal Southerland, temporarily assigned to Intrepid, had finally succumbed to his wounds. No one knew what had happened to Sergeant Myles, but the news about Southerland was sobering enough. The Intrepids returned to the docks with that and other pieces of news, feeling that the day they'd just endured had to have been the closest to hell they would ever get. In a lot of ways, they were right. End of thread. |
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4:17 AM Jul 30
