With Honours

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With Honours; Post-Mutiny, +2 days
Topic Started: 4 Apr 2008, 01:29 AM (524 Views)
Royal Navy & Marines	4 Apr 2008, 01:29 AM Post #1
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	OOC - This thread takes place after Unpleasant Tasks IC - The blue tabard, with its red horse sewn in the centre, fluttered heavily in the midday breeze from its long wooden pole. On either side of it, the Union Jack and the Blue Ensign curled around their own poles. The colours party held their individual flag-staffs in white-gloved hands, looking unusually sombre even for the occasion. On the parade ground, a few lines of men in long-tailed red dress coats stood motionless, sunlight glinting off their fixed bayonets. Opposite them stood the rest of the remaining garrison. Though every man stood straight as a ramrod, there was an almost-tangible sense of despair and weariness hanging about them. Here and there, the dull white of bandages could be seen peeking out from under hats or shirt cuffs and up from shirt collars. Wounded and unwounded alike stood stiff and motionless in their ranks, muskets held in loose grips. A drum began beating a slow cadence. The quiet rasp of a sword being drawn seeming to echo deafeningly over the otherwise-still parade ground. After a moment came the low rumble of wheels, as the horse cart was driven out from behind the hospital. The lines of waiting marines stamped their heels together when a gruff voice called, "Battalion, 'ten-shun!" The next sound was that of hands slapping against musket stocks, the command of present arms having been given. Eight men walked along-side the slow-moving cart, lacking muskets and crossbelts. The usual cart driver had been replaced by a marine, his scrubbed red-coat fairly gleaming. The thoughts of each marine were varied, yet somehow largely alike. None of them wanted to be part of the parade, though to a man they were determined to honour their fallen mates. Even the more seriously wounded were present, in uncaring defiance of surgeon's orders. Once the cart was past the formation, the two separate ranks closed and faced smoothly toward the aft end of the cart. A space of six paces was allowed, then the formation went forward, the pace slow to match that of the cart. The procession moved out through the opened gates and left, down an often-unused path that ran along the wall. Their journey was brief; fifty yards from the town-facing wall was a small church and graveyard. An entire new section of ground had been broken for graves, which numbered over one hundred. All of them had been loyalists. Even the gruffly-barked orders seemed to lack their usual spirit, as the battalion was marshalled into loose, open ranks in preparation for the formal burial ceremony. Wearing a second epaulette to indicate his new rank, Arthur Cartwright stepped out from the formation, his white gloves hiding his trembling fingers. He walked stiffly toward the cart, into which dozens of coffins had been carefully stacked. Names had been carved onto the wooden lids, to match the carefully-constructed wooden crosses that had been erected at the head of each grave. The nine-man burial party were arrayed on either side of the cart, including the driver who now stood near the open aft end of the vehicle. Every eye was on Cartwright. "We have, in recent days, endured far more than most could imagine," the captain began. "Events and unhappy chance have combined to confront us with trials that, with God's grace, we have managed to overcome. The cost of this victory was high and was paid for in blood." He paused and strove to keep his voice from wavering. "I have seen displays of exemplary courage in these last few days, that I could never have asked for. The conduct and performance of this garrison has been exceptional in the face of great peril and treason. It has, however, cost the lives of many of our fellow marines. These men... these men gave their lives, knowing that they died fighting against those who until days ago were their mates." Moisture glistened on many faces around the formation. Cartwright swallowed hard and squeezed his fingers together in an effort to steady himself. He could not break, not in front of his men. "I would ask nothing of you now except that you offer a prayer for our fallen." Lord, he could not break. He would not. Drawing in a breath, he bowed his head and closed his eyes against the tears that wanted to fall. "Our Father, who art in Heaven..." The Lord's Prayer was recited and ended by a subdued "Amen", punctuated at the last by a heavy intake of breath from several men. Again steadying himself by curling his fingers together, Cartwright rallied his own courage. He nodded slightly at the burial party, who stirred into motion. "Bless us, Lord, with Your grace, as we ask that You keep the souls of these men whose bodies we are giving over to the earth for their eternal rest." The first coffin was lifted down from the cart and carried forward at measured pace. Cartwright briefly touched the lid. "Colin Forsythe, Captain." He brought his eyes back forward as the four coffin-bearers passed him on their way to Forsythe's grave. Another coffin was gently lifted down by the second half of the burial party. "John Foster, Sergeant." And so it went on.



James Gray	4 Apr 2008, 07:27 AM Post #2
Luck just kissed you hello! When you're a boy Posts: 245 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #688 Joined: 6 March 2008	The funeral march was slow and as loud as cannon fire in the perfectly silent open air and the beat almost seemed like it slowed Jemmy’s pulse to match with it just like his feet. He walked by the horse cart with his hands empty and his face wiped all blank to hide everything he felt inside, he could barely see the faces that he was walking by. The marines were just a blank wall of red to him, some of his friends were in that wall for sure but he couldn’t pick them out through the blurring. If he didn’t have the marine in front of him to follow the red coat he wouldn’t have known where to walk at all. He was one of the men on the burial detail, he volunteered for the assignment because he felt like he owed it to the dead men. Jemmy felt that he should have seen what was wrong and what was coming and he should have said something to someone before it happened. Every single man in his squad had mutinied except for him. They were his closest friends in the world, almost his brothers and he didn’t see what they were planning, he should have been able to see through them, after all he knew deception up close and personal didn’t he? Why was he so blinded. He never saw it until it was too late. There were more than one hundred new graves in the little grave yard and they were gaping dark rectangles that drew Jemmys eyes. The cool darkness was soothing because he could look at it without the shape blurring. The faces around him were hard to look at but he could watch the graves and so he just watched them while the batallion formed up and tried to get his eyes to see again until the officer stepped forward. Jemmy could feel the eyes of the others around him move to Cartwright and he lifted his eyes too. He didn’t know much about the officer, Cartwright was even younger than Jemmy was and that was about all that he knew. But when Cartwright began to speak the funeral oration Jemmy listened, he watched the blurry face of the young new captain moving and he heard the words like they were coming from very, very far away. Cartwright was talking to them from his heart, his voice was strong but it also had a love and dedication that Jemmy thought he heard the last of when Major Collins went away. What Cartwright was offering him and to all the marines but Jemmy heard it as if it was coming to him personally was absolution. It was forgiveness for their failure. But Jemmy couldn’t let go of it himself. He built a kind of family in the garrison and it was gone and he couldn’t stop thinking that there was something he could have done to protect it. Was there a time that he could have talked them out of it. Or was there a time when he could have seen what was coming and reported it. Probably the entire rest of the garrison felt the same doubts in themselves but that didn’t excuse it for Jemmy, it just meant that he saw the same guilt in them as he did for himself…they were all wrong and blood paid for their mistakes. Cartwright didn’t have the right to forgive them. God wouldn't forgive him either, he thought as Cartwright called them to pray together. Jemmy hadn’t talked to God in a long time, not since he lost Susannah and he was not going to change that now. God only made it into his head as blasphemy now. But he bowed his head and closed his eyes when Cartwright began to pray and he closed himself into his own thoughts and his memories. What he was thinking of were the names. He was thinking about the names of the dead men and about their lives, the names that were marked on the coffins and the names that were marked on other coffins years before. Captain Colin Forsythe, Sergeant John Foster, Lieutenant Patrick Wagget and Private Samuel Pinkerton. There were a lot of names that he had to remember. He opened his eyes before the end of the prayer and watched the men around him. Cartwright motioned them to move and Jemmy and three other marines lifted the first coffin down, it was Captain Forsythe’s. His eyes went to the name that was carved into the wood, Jemmy was a slow reader when his eyes kept blurring and he had to puzzle it out to see the letters. COLIN FORSYTHE it said all capitals, the same as the wooden cross on the grave they slowly carried it to. He tried to remembered the man that was in the coffin. Many of the men hated Forsythe. Jemmy never had. Forsythe looked out for them when he was in command, the others hadn’t seen it because Forsythe kept it quiet but Jemmy knew that he had to have fought for them a few times. Or else they would have been in much worse situations. He had been watching out for them and they were just blind to it, someone had murdered him because he was too blind to see it. He wondered whether the men that had stayed with their duty still hated Forsythe or if the captains murder had ended that. Maybe they blamed him for the mutiny. But it was wrong to blame Forsythe, there was no one to blame but themselves and all of them were to blame whether they were loyalist or mutineer. They lowered Forsythe's coffin into the grave and Jemmy wondered if Forsythe knew that he was hated, he wondered if the captain could see it before he died. Forsythe would be blind if he couldn't have seen it. He wondered if Forsythe knew that not everyone hated him either. It would be harder to see that. Had Forsythe just been surrounded by the despisal of everyone. The man was light hearted, cheerful and friendly by nature. He had so much optimism, he had ordered the construction of the barracks as a gesture of good faith. What must it have been like to be shut away and isolated from everyone and to just be known as the signature on punishment orders. And in his last few minutes to know that the trust he had in his men had been misplaced. That as the worst of all.



Royal Navy & Marines	4 Apr 2008, 05:15 PM Post #3
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	"Jacob Southerland, Corporal." A strangled, quickly cut-off grunt came from somewhere within the ranks. It was Southerland's half-brother. Jones did his best to shut his ears to everything except the recitation of the names of the men they were laying into the ground. He stepped around the open grave that Sergeant Foster had just been lowered into and kept his eyes down, so he wouldn't see the name painstakingly carved on the coffin lid. He and three others were bearing Southerland to his own quiet hole in the ground, each trying to keep their step measured and their movements steady. At least, Jones tried to tell himself, Jacob Southerland wasn't in pain any longer. Somehow, though, he couldn't convince himself of that. Jacob Southerland had gone down fighting an enemy that should never have been created. As the Major had put it, their mates. Jones closed his eyes for a moment but saw only the attack made by Patterson and Durham, against their own squad. He could hear Vaughan's furious bellow as he knocked Patterson down and swiftly killed him. The angry, disbelieving clash of voices as the wounded Barrett was dragged to safety, where he would shortly die himself. Jones opened his eyes and let out a sharp, ragged breath. It was Barrett next to be lifted carefully down from the cart. Barrett, who had been barely twenty and loved to talk of the girl he had met in Portsmouth before sailing for Jamaica. "Matthew Barrett, Private." The wooden coffin felt as though it had six barrels of powder stuffed inside it. Jones refused to look at it, afraid he'd seen the young marine's face instead of the plain lid with the name carved on it. It was bad enough he could see Barrett's face in his head. More than anything else, he wanted to apologise to the boy, for being blind, for not seeing the warnings presented. In his usual glib optimism, Jones had ignored the rumours and whisperings, and even the sudden odd behaviours within his section, blithely putting it all down to some sort of discord between mates. It was a failing that resulted in Barrett getting shot in the back by men he should have been able to trust. Jones had felt his negligence keenly then and he was feeling it even more so, as he helped lower the boy into the earth. Cartwright's voice seemed dull and distant as he called out the name of a marine from Corporal Johnson's section. Jones shuffled back toward the cart, his head and all the rest of him feeling cold and numb. He heard the names being spoken aloud and yet somehow his ears were closed to all sound and speech. Campbell. Corbett. Cullen. Corbett's face drifted across his mind and Jones remembered the man's angry voice, rising in challenge, as he made a defiant stand over Lieutenant Forster's unconscious form. They'd cut Corbett down as if he were nothing more than a faceless stranger. Perhaps that was how they had been able to mutiny at all. Jones set his jaw and put that thought firmly from his mind. It was done, it was over, and too many men were dead because of it. Alfred Hardy... Jones thought of him next. He couldn't stop himself from it. The Londoner had lost a great deal of favour amongst the garrison after Captain Collins' surgery, but he had done his best to redeem himself, both with his officer and his mates. In truth, Jones could find no real reason to fault Hardy for what had happened. It wasn't a steward's place to curb his officer's habits. Now, of course, it hardly mattered. Collins had been forced away and Hardy was dead. More pieces of what had been a relatively stable existence, now broken and left in the dust. Hardy's death affected Jones the most, as the marine had been hit while running to help his corporal. Another weight of guilt and doubt to add to all the others. What was it that Captain Collins had said? "I'll have you remember that each one of you are men in His Majesty's Corps of Marines." Jones had remembered that, and so had the other loyalists, but it seemed their former captain's words had been for nothing. How ashamed the man would be, if he knew what had happened after he left. They'd let him down, when he had placed the most faith in them. And in Forsythe. There was no reason Jones could find to fault the Irishman, except that he had been too eager to set things right with the India Company. His attempt to mend fences had gotten him killed. A tide of bitterness welled up inside him. He could understand how the mutineers had felt helpless and ignored, even if he couldn't condone their resultant actions. It burned to think that those men had felt their only recourse was to turn and kill their fellow marines, in an attempt to drive out an entity that had nothing at all to do with the Corps. All there was to show for that stupidity was a sad waste of life and an effective expulsion from not only the town, but the fort as well. Jones found himself hating those marines who had risen. They had ruined far more than they were aware. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he realised distantly that the cart had been emptied. He had not been aware of moving back and forth from the graveyard to the cart. The Welshman nodded slightly at the marine who'd brought him back to reality, seeing but not fully realising that it was James Bell. Major Cartwright had not moved from where he stood near the cart and every eye once again was turned his way. Jones wasn't sure what he expected the man to say, but he hoped it would be brief, so the cart could be driven away and Jones could disappear to the nearest tavern. "The names of our fallen brothers in arms are known now to God, where they rest in His house," the captain said at length. "May they be at peace." Then he nodded at Sergeant Myles. "Battalion... 'ten-shun," the sergeant called quietly, his voice wavering just slightly. "Dismissed." Jones ignored the quiet shuffling of the men in the ranks and the movement of the burial detail toward the stack of shovels nearby. He went quickly to the front of the cart and climbed up onto the bench, glad the ceremony was at last over and he could escape.



James Gray	4 Apr 2008, 07:12 PM Post #4
Luck just kissed you hello! When you're a boy Posts: 245 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #688 Joined: 6 March 2008	Remembering faces went with remembering names although Jemmy wished they didn’t, names were easier to deal with than faces and although his eyes were blurry he could see them perfectly straight in his head. He couldn’t drive them away and in the slow process of carrying the coffins it was like they were all walking beside him. Not their ghosts because some of them were men who weren’t dead yet as far as he knew, it was just memories and some of them were talking to him. Henry said "Ya bleedin' weasel, what're ya doin', tellin' fibs like alla that, Sure it were me own thinkin', ya bleedin' gloryhound." Matthew Barret said “She was the prettiest girl you ever saw in your life.” Major Collins said “I’ll have you remember that each one of you are men in His Majesty’s Corps of Marines.” Cartwright said “The conduct and performance of this garrison has been exceptional in the face of great peril and treason.” Pinkerton said “I’ll be braver if you’re there.” He shut his eyes while he carried the coffin but he kept hearing them and seeing them. He wasn’t going mad and he knew that, he knew they weren’t really there at all but he just kept on remembering. It only stopped when they had put the last of the coffins in the earth and Major Cartwright talked again and this time it wasn’t in Jemmy’s head. "The names of our fallen brothers in arms are known now to God, where they rest in His house," the Major said at length. "May they be at peace." He dismissed the battalion and Jemmy knelt down and touched the handle of a shovel, he knew the rest of the burial detail was with him but he didn’t really see them. Probably they would think he was praying but he wasn’t. He was still thinking. Why was pride so important that because of a little insult and the color of a uniform one man had to resign and another man had to be murdered. Was it really only pride…was the mutiny partly his fault. He remembered telling Henry about what happened in India at Devicotta. Had Henry told others and that had spread more of hate? With this new thought in his mind he picked up the shovel slowly and turned to the pile of dirt beside a grave, he squinted to see the name on the cross at the head of it but he couldn’t see it. He had to kneel down and look at it closely to see it said MATTHEW BARRETT. He shut his eyes and stood up and attacked the pile of dirt to push it into the grave, the first few shovel fulls rattled on the coffin lid like drum beats but the sound was quieter and muffled fast. The hard work of shoveling kept Jemmy from thinking about things and it brought him a little release. He just dug in the shovel over and over again until the grave was filled and then he went on to the next and filled that one too until there weren’t any left to fill, the burial detail had finished and his arms and legs felt watery limp. There was dirt on his face. Jemmy wiped the back of his hand across his face and the dirt was turned into tracks of mud with the wet streaks of the tears and sweat that were running down his face. He leaned on the shovel with his hands and put his forehead down on the backs of his hands, he breathed out with his lungs going like a bellows and he just stood there for a while, he thought he heard somebody tried to talk to him but he ignored whoever it was, whether it was another voice out of his memory or someone real. He forgot about the shovel after that, he had shoved it into the ground and when he walked away he just left the shovel standing there upright. He wasn’t sure where he was going at first since he was at liberty now, which meant he was free to go wherever but he found himself going through the fort to the officers offices. After he realized where he was going he went with a bit more purpose, to the door of Captain Cartwright’s office and stood there looking at the sentry for a little bit. “Id like to speak to the captain” he asked.



Royal Navy & Marines	8 Apr 2008, 12:19 AM Post #5
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	As the battalion broke up to drift in various directions, Cartwright didn't linger. He had enough sense to leave the men to their mourning and quietly left the graveyard, intending to return when the area was empty. It was better to offer his last respects in private, that he could speak, if he so chose, without fear of any of his marines overhearing. Some of what weighted down his mind was not anything he wished any other human to know. Fortunately, none of the Kingston marines delayed him as he trudged wearily back through the gate, on his way to the work-offices. Then again, they had little reason to even glance twice at him, never mind speak to him. Cartwright paused just inside the archway, feeling a sudden flash of cold. It struck him that the hardest tasks remained. Burying the fallen marines had been a brutally difficult and draining thing, but now that it was done, he had to add his signature to the execution orders and finish arranging for the punishment parade at which those orders would be carried out. The sentry outside his office door was a complete stranger, his short-tailed coat smartly clean and his face lacking any expression. For an instant, Cartwright hesitated before entering his office, on the verge of telling the man to make himself scarce. If he was honest, he resented the Kingston marines and their presence. Despite the mutiny and its shattering effect on the garrison, there were few others that he placed any faith in more than his own marines. The Londoner set his jaw with a sigh and stepped past the sentry, convincing himself that there was little use in sending the man off. Once he sagged into the chair behind his desk, however, Cartwright found that he had little interest in clearing away any of the paperwork that covered the desk's surface. His mind had drifted far away, closely followed by his energy. Feeling weary far beyond his years, he pulled off his hat and tossed it onto the desk. The movement seemed to sap the last of his strength and he slouched in the chair, cradling his head in his hands. He had no motivation to do anything except breathe. And, of course, somebody had to come and disturb him. The sentry at least had the decency to wait a second or two after knocking at the door before coming in, which was a bit of a blessing. Cartwright sat up in his chair as the sentry entered, barely nodding when the man said "Private Gray to see you, sir." At least it was not one of the Kingston officers. Cartwright was in no mood to humour any one of those half-witted twits. "Send him in," he replied wearily, forcing himself to move his hat aside so he could at least appear that he gave a damn about all the paperwork before him. The sentry nodded and retreated, closing the door behind Gray after a few moments. His expression never changed, until he was back in the corridor at his post. Once the office door had clicked shut, however, the sentry glanced down at his shoes and shook his head slightly. He did not know any of the Port Royal marines, but only a truly heartless bastard could be unaffected by the heavy gloom that hung about Cartwright like a shroud. The sentry lifted his musket slightly and moved a couple of steps away from the door, so he would not hear anything that might be said. It was his own small way of offering a token of respect for the two marines inside the office. ~ It had taken all his willpower to even open his brother's sea-chest. He was meant to sort through the chest's contents, keep anything he wished to keep, and turn the rest over for auctioning. Once he'd finally opened the carved wooden lid, however, all he could do was stare at the folded shirt and coat on top of the pile. These were his brother's things; everything he'd owned in the world. How could he possibly give any of them away? Shoes scuffed over the floor toward him, but he barely looked up. He had no idea who it was and he didn't care. There were other marines around the barracks attempting to do the same unpleasant task as he, with similar degrees of success. It wasn't an easy thing for anyone to do, who'd just lost a close mate. A hand touched his sleeve and a slightly-drawling Newcastle rasp grated at his ears. " 'Ow ya 'oldin' up, John?" Southerland grunted, finally looking up at the other marine. "Piss off, Bell." "C'mon mate. You ain't the on'y one gotta do this shite," James Bell answered. "Jonesy's lost 'alf his section, 'ow d'ya think 'e feels? 'E ain't in no fit state fer doin' anythin' like this, the poor bloke. 'Ell, 'e jus' 'elped put mosta 'em inta the ground jus' now." "Sod Jones. Wot's he lost anaway." Bell frowned. "What's inta ya? 'E's lost five lads 'e was 'sponsible fer, lads what died fer 'im an' our officers. An' you, 'cause you was there fightin' too." The Newcastle native shook his head. "Din't reckon ya was that much a 'eartless bastard - " The Scotsman burst like a cannon, throwing Bell's hand off his arm and swinging near-blindly at the other marine's face. "S'arrigh' fer yew, yew still got yer brather." "Oi!" There were fists flashing in a moment as Bell recovered from his brief surprise and slugged Southerland back. Somebody shouted and there was a rush as other marines leapt at the two combatants, who were trading wild punches even as they rolled off the bunk and onto the floor. Cries of "Break it up, lads!" were interspersed with curses and the slaps of fists against wool and flesh, as the other marines struggled to pull the two men apart. It was going to be difficult to get Bell and Southerland separated, for both had their fighting blood up. A marine went staggering away from the scuffle, his nose bleeding freely. McIntyre appeared from outside, where he had been enjoying a rare smoke. "Knock off that bollocks, both of you!" The Irishman barked as he shoved his way toward the centre of the disturbance. "C'mon, that's bloody - hey!" Somebody's elbow cracked the corporal in the jaw and he stumbled back, momentarily dazed by the blow. Higgins gave a sharp, angry hoot and leapt part-way over the backs of the marines crowding around the two combatants in a noble attempt to grab at Southerland's collar. He missed, but the momentum of his leap carried him over the marines trying to pry the two fighting men apart and he crashed against Bell. "Lay hold of him, get him out of here!" McIntyre snapped as he grabbed onto Southerland's arm. He'd had quite enough of fighting and tension amongst the garrison. This idiot Scotsman would have done a great deal better to go back to his stables and avoid the barracks altogether.



James Gray	8 Apr 2008, 04:27 AM Post #6
Luck just kissed you hello! When you're a boy Posts: 245 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #688 Joined: 6 March 2008	(O.O.C. Doc and me wrote this together) It had took Jemmy a little while to figure out what he really was looking for and that was actually Major Collins. But Collins was long gone away from them all. He almost had been forgetting that when he came to the door of Cartwright’s office but it was too late, he already asked the sentry to speak to the captain and he had knocked on the door. The sentry was a marine from Kingston and Jemmy recognized his face sort of but he couldn’t really think about who it was. He just waited for the sentry to announce “Private Gray to see you, sir.” The marines were the only family that Jemmy had left, or at least they were until the mutiny. Unlike James and Martin he didn’t have a brother to confide in or to look up to for advice and his squad was gone. But Jemmy didn’t want a friend now, he wanted somebody to respect and trust and look up to, who could help him find his way in the morally gray areas and tell him what was right. He didn’t want an officer who would hold his hand and talk to him like a father would talk to his child all the time but right now Jemmy was afraid of his own conscience and he really wanted someone who could give him the same kind of leadership that Major Collins had. Jemmy also wanted someone that he respected to talk to him about what he had thought of while he was digging the graves, he wanted someone to judge him so that he could stop judging himself. Jemmy wanted to make a confession about his guilt and have someone to trust in instead of himself, his self doubt was so strong that he couldn’t bring himself to listen to his own mind. The sentry waved him into the office and Jemmy went in, he stood at attention in front of the desk but Cartwright waved him to a chair right away. Jemmy sat down slowly, he felt like he should be standing to be on his self assigned trial but he had been directed to sit so he sat. He couldn’t look Cartwright in the eyes while he was talking though, he stared at the table and watched the grain of the wood and the way it curled around in little knots where a tree limb used to be. “Sir” he started and stopped, and then he started again. “Sir what you said about the conduct of the garrison…Did you actually mean that?” Cartwright straightened up just a little in his chair, regarding the marine on the other side of the desk with a thoughtful expression briefly drifting across his face. “I did. Every word.” Jemmy let his breath expire slowly and then he pulled in a deep breath like he was about to dive into cold water before he went on. He didn’t think he deserved the praise that Cartwright had given them even on the terms of a general statement to the whole garrison. His voice was shaky. “I …sir I believe…I am afraid that this may have been partly my fault. I have not been holding control of my tongue and I…” he wasn’t doing too well at this, he tried starting again, it helped to watch those little curling lines in the table and follow them around like they were leading his words out of his mouth. “I served in India with Fraser’s Regiment and the East India Company. I don’t have very many good memories of that time, the conduct of the company soldiers was…disgusting…Before the mutiny I didn’t keep my disgust any secret, I told stories that might have made the trouble and discontent worse. I knew Major Forsythe was trying to repair the relationship with the Company but I still didn’t keep it to myself.” “I never thought of it sir until I was burying those men.” It wasn’t enough to just not look Cartwright in the eye anymore, he put up his hand to cover his eyes. India…that explained a lot. Cartwright nodded slowly. He had no knowledge of how the EITC handled affairs in India, but if Gray’s experiences were so bad to make him relate them to his mates…”I don’t doubt that the Company can be heavy-handed,” the Londoner said after a moment. “They did, after all, put most of their…men ashore in the interest of protecting their property, with the clear intent of showing no quarter.” He paused, attempting to put his thoughts in order. It was not due solely to Gray’s stories that the men had mutinied, nor was it only Colin’s – Forsythe’s, he correct himself – barracks scheme that had done it. “The measure of blame cannot be borne by any one man,” Cartwright went on, choosing his words carefully. “There were…shortcomings on all sides, including ours.” The Londoner pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to sigh. He had had a part in allowing the mutiny to occur as well, and he knew it. Blame, however, was useless. So was self-doubt. “I will admit to feeling a sense of guilt of my own, during the parade. It is not easy to avoid. The clarity of hindsight does nothing to help, either…” he trailed off, realizing he was close to admitting his own inaction during the days before the mutiny. Jemmy swiped his muddy hand across his eyes to take away the fresh moisture that had come up out of nowhere while Cartwright was talking, and then he stared at the table again, it was pretty stupid of him to think he could hide behind just his hand. What Cartwright said helped some with lifting the weight off of Jemmy’s shoulders, and what he didn’t say helped as well, he was not accusing Jemmy like Jemmy was accusing himself. Blame was shared by many people and Jemmy knew that the men who broke their oaths and turned against their duty were responsible for what they did. It didn’t remove all of the guilt that Jemmy felt but it was something that he needed to hear. Cartwright began saying something else though, when he told Jemmy that he had felt guilt of his own, Jemmy lifted his eyes from the table and met Cartwright’s for the first time after he came in the office. He expected Cartwright to be free from any self doubt, to have strength and confidence in the right path and to have acted right from the beginning but Cartwright was expressing something else and he was almost admitting something else. Jemmy was already shaken in his faith in himself and he wanted someone else to believe in, he didn’t want to believe that Cartwright could have any share in the mutiny. “Sir…?” he said questioning. Gray seemed uneasy, but Cartwright could hardly blame him. For an officer to express self-doubt was virtually unheard of. “More than perhaps is right, it’s an officer’s responsibility to be aware of any unhappiness on the part of his men, and to make sure that it’s relieved. Sergeant Devlin was my company sergeant and one of ringleaders of this entire affair.” Cartwright glanced down at the papers on his desk, his fingers toying with the edge of the parchment in an effort to steady his thoughts. “For me to not have been aware of his discontent is…unforgivable.” With that being said…he couldn’t let the appearance of unsteadiness go on. Whatever his feelings might have been previously, nothing could be changed. “Every man would like to think he is infallible, but it’s sadly not true. Nor is it possible. Even for officers.” He tried on a weak smile, in an attempt to lighten his statements. The smile suffered a quick death. Cartwright wouldn’t defend himself so Jemmy was about to do it for him, he was about to say something like ‘everyone in the garrison knows that Sergeant Devlin was a close mouthed and bad tempered old bastard sir.’ But he stopped himself in time to think about what he was doing. Jemmy’s grandfather once said that every man was responsible for his own actions but the man who thought his responsibility stopped there was a coward. So what did it mean if you were putting someone else in that frame, if you took the responsibility away from another man who would rightfully hold it. It would mean you were lessening the other man. So Jemmy stopped for a little bit before he said instead of the other thing, “So…Where do we go from here sir?” He couldn’t make what he had done wrong right again and neither could Cartwright. What Jemmy was asking was about many things at the same time, the garrison and their future, everything that he had just shared with Cartwright and also what Cartwright himself had said. Where do we go…Cartwright wasn’t sure about that himself. His concerns were more immediate. He hadn’t planned anything beyond the day the executions were to be carried out. “That…is hard to say. It is a certainty that we as a battalion will not have any responsibility for the town or the fort after Colonel Trombley arrives. We’ll be moved to our respective ships and that will be the extent of our involvement in the future protection of Port Royal. For anything else…I can’t say with any conviction.” He was, of course, leaving out what Major Stevenson had told him the day before. The garrison would learn of that soon enough. “The best we can do, and hope for, is to regain faith in ourselves and go about our duties the same as before.” Jemmy flinched, not like he was hit by someone because he didn’t flinch when he was hurt physically but this was something worse, it was an insult coming down from a higher command. What Cartwright was saying was that the marines of Port Royal were no longer trusted even though the loyalists had proved themselves to be true to their honor and their word. They were being removed from duty protecting the town and the fort that were used to be their charge. Over four years serving his duty became the only thing that Jemmy really had to value and it was what gave him his own sense of self worth. “Colonel Trombley doesn’t trust us sir?” he said wishing that Cartwright could tell him any different and that he could believe it was any different. Of course Jemmy knew he had made mistakes but without any trust in him or the garrison over all he couldn’t do anything to balance those mistakes out. He wouldn’t have the chance to do something right instead. “Colonel Trombley…will come here knowing only what little he has been told. It is not perhaps wise to speak poorly of one’s superiors, but I have little doubt that Major Stevenson will make a point to give a poor report on our conduct as soon as the Colonel comes ashore.” Cartwright didn’t even bother keeping the resentment from his tone. He was fed up with Stevenson’s indifference. “I wish I could say the Colonel would trust us, Gray, but I’m afraid circumstances may be against us.” He bit his lip and considered. The wisdom of speaking so plainly to a junior marine was questionable, though rumours were no doubt worse. Perhaps, however, there could be a way…he decided to take a chance. “You were with the Kingston battalion at one time, I believe?” Jemmy knew Major Stevenson from when he was with the Kingston garrison but he remembered Stevenson as a decent man, he was deeply shocked to hear that the major would be deliberately carrying a bad report to Colonel Trombley. Of course nobody could expect Major Stevenson to care very much about men who weren’t under his command but for him to want to see them in a bad situation was out of the pale. The loyalists behavior had been beyond reproach after the mutiny and he didn’t know what kind of mud Stevenson was going to throw at them. Jemmy trusted that Cartwright knew what he was talking about though. He wished that Cartwright would also know how to balance out the bad report from Major Stevenson but Cartwright already had admitted that his words weren’t going to have as much weight. The idea that old “Trombone” would be disappointed in Jemmy’s conduct was not easy for him to accept, of course Colonel Trombley probably had no idea that a specific Private James Gray even existed but the blanket doubt cast on the garrison reflected onto Jemmy too. But it was much worse that the doubt was going to lead to their being removed from their duty and kept to the ships to keep them away. Jemmy closed his eyes and answered Cartwright’s question, he didn’t know where the captain was going with this but obviously he had to answer. “Yes sir, I served in Kingston for about a year.” The Londoner nodded slightly. “Colonel Trombley will most likely be bringing additional marines to supplement the two detachments already here. Knowing that the existing garrison is to be moved to our own ships…would you object to returning to the Kingston battalion, where you might continue to serve a clear purpose?” It was a difficult question to offer any man, never mind one who’d just endured a mutiny. In Cartwright’s estimation, however, the chance to free some of his men from the drudgery of constant ship-board life was one worth taking. At most, however, he could only offer that chance to those few men who had initially come from Kingston to Port Royal, well back before the mutiny. “It’s not obligatory, of course. But…life aboard ship and nowhere else is hardly the sort of existence that ought to be endured if not necessary.” Jemmy had no idea what Cartwright was about to say and he was struck silent for a little bit before he could think of an answer. Cartwright was offering him a favor that it was impossible not to recognize as the better alternative since returning to the Kingston batallion would let him live a normal life. He would have his chance to prove himself to his own heart and to his officers. Instead of eating ships provisions for months on end and almost never setting foot on dry land and cramped in with the same men for month after month until they all started getting on each others nerves, with the tensions after the mutiny it would be worse. The anger and doubt and distrust after the mutiny would seethe and simmer into a dangerous mix. But it wouldn’t let him go on as before he realized. Nothing would be the same again and among other things his loyalties were changed. He served with the Kingston batallion but he was part of the Port Royal garrison. Maybe they were all part of the same service but to Jemmy his personal loyalties to the men he served with were clear, he didn’t want to give that up and go ahead free while people he still counted as friends were stuck behind him. He chose his words carefully and his voice was a little quiet, it was very hard to say that “Sir I can’t do that. Out of all people in the garrison I don’t deserve a chance like that. I can’t abandon my mates sir. I was assigned to this batallion and this is where my loyalties lie, with you sir and with my friends.”



Royal Navy & Marines	8 Apr 2008, 05:18 PM Post #7
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	OOC - Dialogue worked out over AIM. IC - “Sir I can’t do that. Out of all people in the garrison I don’t deserve a chance like that. I can’t abandon my mates sir. I was assigned to this battalion and this is where my loyalties lie, with you sir and with my friends.” His gaze drifted down to the reports and assorted rubbish that waited to be read and dealt with. Gray's response was entirely logical and reasonable, but he was still moved by the sentiment. "Very well. I can understand your meaning, and I certainly respect it. The question now becomes, where to put you? Your section is... disbanded, and there are gaps to fill in nearly every squad. Do you wish to remain aboard Intrepid?" Even as he asked the question, he wasn't sure how Intrepid's marine detachment was going to stand up. Proserpina's detachment was practically wiped out, since most of the frigate's marines had mutinied. A dull ache began in his temples when he thought of the frigate. St Montgomery would no doubt be paying a visit soon to make some insane demand. *“Yes sir, Intrepid* is a good girl, I would like to stay with her.”** Gray's reply distracted him from imaging how badly a meeting with Proserpina's captain might go. The marine wanted to stay with Intrepid. Fair enough. Cartwright thought of the sloop's command structure and considered. Corporal Johnson had taken some losses in his section, as had Jacob Southerland's. Southerland himself was amongst the dead. Johnson would have to take over responsibility for both squads, at least temporarily. "All right. I'll move you to Corporal Johnson's section. He should be able to return to duty within a fortnight; Martin Bell is in charge in the mean-while." Cartwright felt the stirrings of a smile but quickly snuffed those stirrings out. "You should be able to fit in easily enough, I think?" Gray's expression faltered for a moment, which caused Cartwright to lift an eyebrow curiously. Was there a difficulty in that assignment? He knew that Martin Bell wasn't exactly the smartest marine around, but he was level-headed enough and usually behaved himself. Not as steady a marine as was his brother, perhaps, but still a good nomination for corporal in Cartwright's view. “Sir the last time I spoke to Corporal Johnson I beat his face in and I’m not sure that I’m going to fit in so easily after all.” Gray coughed. “Um, sorry sir…” Cartwright had to bit down on his tongue to keep from chuckling. Ahh, that was a problem. It was a wonder that the two marines hadn't ended up at odds before now, since they served on the same ship. That left him in a bit of a bind, however. Johnson was the only corporal left on Intrepid, at least until he wrote up promotion orders. "I see..." Bloody hell, what was he going to do with this? He struck down his previous thought of putting Johnson in overall command of two sections. That wouldn't work now, apparently. "Private Wolfe is currently in charge of Corporal Southerland's section, pending formal promotion orders. That should turn out better." Gray was plainly relieved. “Thank you sir,” he said. Good. Cartwright nodded. "I'm glad it was easily sorted. We're lucky to be able to remain ashore for the present, so there's no need to move dunnage or any of that just yet. The lads already aboard ship will be coming ashore for a few days as well... there is a fair bit of reorganising to be done." The Londoner bit back another sigh and cast about for a lighter thought. "So you gave Johnson a thumping once... it must have been quite the spectacle. Most of the lads give him a good berth when they can." He shrugged fractionally, not sure of anything else regarding the corporal, except that the man was greatly disagreeable. "I admit I hardly know anything of him." *“He called me names sir so I called him out. It was on Swallow* a bit more than three years ago. I guess it was a little bit of a spectacle. He looked a lot worse than me afterward.” Somehow, Cartwright could imagine that to be true. He could also imagine that the corporal's temper had been curbed just slightly after the fight. "That does seem to be the way of it. Bullies aren't the most popular, but they usually get sorted out in time." Of course, there was likely a good deal that occurred in the barracks or below decks that no officer knew about. The marines preferred keeping their difficulties and disagreements quiet. "Still... his attitude aside, Corporal Johnson is a good enough marine. He faced down Captain St Montgomery, which admittedly takes a certain degree of fortitude." “Yes sir. I have the highest respect for him after his service in India.”** Good, good. Respect gained through action was far better than respect gained through fear. Cartwright filed Gray's response away for later use, when it came time to choose candidates for promotion. There'd be a lot of moving around of marines very soon. "I have no doubt he acquitted himself ably. He has a record of doing so, despite his nature." Cartwright paused, only for a moment. "That notwithstanding, he is largely confined to hospital for a fortnight, which means Intrepid's detachment has only acting-corporals for leadership. I have sufficient faith that Bell will fare all right, but I don't know the same for Wolfe. Help him out if need be."



James Gray	8 Apr 2008, 06:14 PM Post #8
Luck just kissed you hello! When you're a boy Posts: 245 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #688 Joined: 6 March 2008	(O.O.C. This is like before, Doc wrote the parts by Cartwright) Captain Cartwright looked thoughtful as he said “Very well. I can understand your meaning, and I certainly respect it. The question now becomes, where to put you? Your section is…disbanded, and there are gaps to fill in nearly every squad. Do you wish to remain aboard /Intrepid/?” Disbanded was a good way to put it, every man in Jemmy’s squad was either dead or in the jail and even Jemmy still didn’t know which of the men were where, he had tried to find out but he hadn’t been able to do it yet. His breath slowly expired as he tried to think, did he want to remain aboard Intrepid or not? Jemmy was attached to the sloop of war as a familiar thing but who would be left there that he knew by now? But what else did he know that he had left? “Yes sir, Intrepid is a good girl, I would like to stay with her.” “All right. I’ll move you to Corporal Johnson’s section. He should be able to return to duty within a fortnight; Martin Bell is in charge in the mean-while. You should be able to fit in easily enough, I think?” Well here was a great little dill pickle that Jemmy got himself into, the last time he really talked to Cross he knocked the other man down and that was a couple of years ago in India. He just avoided Cross since then, if you were determined enough you could stay away from someone who might be dangerous to you. He had no idea if Cross remembered the incident or not but Cross was really good at disliking people without any reason for it so it was a good bet that when he did have a reason for it he was going to remember it. But what was he going to say to Cartwright, I beat Corporal Johnson’s face in and I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to fit in so easily after all. Well maybe that was exactly what he was going to say. Jemmy coughed. “Sir the last time I spoke to Corporal Johnson I beat his face in and I’m not sure that I’m going to fit in so easily after all.” Jemmy coughed again and said “Um, sorry sir…” Before now Jemmy thought he saw a ghost of a smile on Cartwrights face but now the captain’s face was twitching for sure with a bit of laughter. “I see…” he said and then he added “Private Wolfe is currently in charge of Corporal Southerland’s section, pending formal promotion orders. That should turn out better.” Jemmy was relieved that he heard there was another choice, he didn’t know what would happen if he was under Cross’s command but he would rather not take the risk, he had enough things to worry about without worrying what his corporal was going to do to him. Being on Intrepid all the time was going to make some very special things a lot more difficult for him anyway though he could do it the same way he did it on Eltham but it was still going to be tough. Wolfe was going to be much better than Cross, he didn’t know Wolfe so good but he took the choice right away. “Thank you sir” he said with strong feeling of relief. Cartwright nodded and said “I’m glad it was easily sorted. We’re lucky to be able to remain ashore for the present, so there’s no need to move dunnage or any of that just yet. The lads already aboard ship will be coming ashore for a few days as well…there is a fair bit of reorganizing to be done.” Cartwright looked like he was done trying to hide laughing, obviously the heavy thoughts had come back. He added and Jemmy knew he was changing the subject on purpose, it seemed like he had the same relief as Jemmy had from talking about other things, “So you gave Johnson a thumping once…it must have been quite the spectacle. Most of the lads give him a good berth when they can. I admit I hardly know anything of him.” It was good to talk business and ordinary things like this for Jemmy, it helped him to let go of other things at least for a little while. Pulling his memory into better times was good too. It was back on Swallow before the campaign in India, Cross wasn’t a corporal then of course or else Jemmy would have gotten in trouble for it. He was an upstart outsider before the fight with Cross, especially since he was the steward and cook for the officers which made some people think he was a little suck up. He was out to prove himself for several things, to get rid of the stupid nickname Cross gave him but also to prove that he was more than an officers favorite. When he faced up against Cross he remembered he was a little nervous, he set up the fight so there was no way for him to back down but Cross was a bigger man. But once things started there was only one way they could finish, and it finished with Jemmy standing over Cross and forcing him to take everything he said back. Yeah Cross was probably going to remember that. Jemmy wasn’t sure if the captain was exactly asking him a question or not, but it seemed to him like Cartwright wanted an explanation so he gave a quick one. “He called me names sir so I called him out. It was on Swallow a bit more than three years ago. I guess it was a little bit of a spectacle. He looked a lot worse than me afterward.” “That does seem to be the way of it. Bullies aren’t the most popular, but they usually get sorted out in time.” Cartwright answered. Bullies did get sorted out, Jemmy thought, they just had to pick the wrong target that wasn’t really weaker than they were and then they got the surprise of their lives. But Cross wasn’t really a bully was he…just a man who didn’t know what to do with himself most of the time. But Cartwright saw that too, his next words proved that he really knew more about Cross than he thought he did, he knew Cross was more than just a bully. “Still…his attitude aside, Corporal Johnson is a good enough marine. He faced down Captain St Montgomery, which admittedly takes a certain degree of fortitude.” Jemmy had fought with Cross in India after that, not right beside him but he knew about the man’s actions and that Cross had been as brave as a lion all the way from Araapong to Devicotta. Captain St. Montgomery was a frightening enemy but he was not as bad as some of the things Cross had faced. Jemmy nodded. “Yes sir. I have the highest respect for him after his service in India.” Cartwright answered “I have no doubt he acquitted himself ably. He has a record of doing so, despite his nature.” Cartwright seemed to think that Cross’s nature was a contrast to his courage but Jemmy wondered if they were actually connected. Sometimes Jemmy wondered if Cross threw himself into danger deliberately, maybe the man either liked the rush of cheating death or he was trying to commit suicide in a way. Cross didn’t know what to do with himself and that was a way to end that. Fighting gave a man certainty, Jemmy knew well for himself that any other questions went away when you were fighting. Maybe that was why Cross picked fights all the time. When Cartwright went on Jemmy had to let go of the line of thought because the captain was introducing something new. “That notwithstanding, he is largely confined to hospital for a fortnight, which means /Intrepid/’s detachment has only acting-corporals for leadership. I have sufficient faith that Bell will fare all right, but I don’t know the same for Wolfe. Help him out if need be.” Help Wolfe out, what did he mean by that? Jemmy wasn’t sure what kind of responsibility that Cartwright was giving him. He answered hesitating “Yes sir.” Jemmy could see that Wolfe might have trouble, Wolfe never commanded men before and the squad was going to be made out of men who probably never worked together before, it was going to be cobbled together out of almost strangers and that would be hard to keep together. Maybe Cartwright was asking Jemmy to try to work in balance against that somehow. Jemmy and Wolfe might be the only marines who originally came from Intrepid and Jemmy was there longer than Wolfe, he was more familiar with the ship. Maybe he could help the squad to be put together more strongly. “I’ll do my best sir” he said with more firmness. Cartwright nodded and answered “I’m glad of it,” he leaned in his chair and Jemmy could see tiredness eating in at the corners. It was no wonder the captain was becoming exhausted, he had more work than anyone to do. “Might you know where Corporal Jones has gone?” he asked. Jemmy tried to think if he heard anything about where Jones was, he remembered seeing him driving the cart but he never heard him say anything about where he was going. But Jemmy could follow after him and figure it out, he could be at the stables if he took a while there or maybe he was drinking his problems away. There weren’t too many places to search. “No sir, but I can find him,” he answered Cartwright. “I’d be obliged if you could do that, and send him along,” Cartwright said. “Yes sir.” Jemmy answered, he took that to be meaning he was dismissed and he stood up out of his chair and stood at attention again. “Sir…thank you sir,” he said honestly, his gratitude was for a lot of things that he wasn’t going to list out. He felt like he should say something else but it was getting away from him. Cartwright actually smiled. “You’re welcome, Gray.” Jemmy left the office with a different feeling from when he had entered it, he still wasn’t really easy with his own actions before the mutiny and the future was almost as uncertain as it was before, the only things that seemed like they were really certain were bad news. But he could see his own path to follow to meet the future now. The first place it was going to take him was to go and find Jones so he headed down to the stables.



Quintin	13 Apr 2008, 01:53 AM Post #9
Deckhand Posts: 30 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #50 Joined: 26 November 2007	After the ceremony, where he’d stood just like a wooden soldier, Quintin had returned back to the barracks, for…whatever. All day he had been moving like someone in a dream, lost and confused; only half-responsive whenever anyone spoke to him. The truth was that he was fully conscious of everything that had happened. He just chose not to respond, because somewhere down in the Paleolithic section of Quintin’s mind, things were seething and boiling together in a volatile stew. Grief was mixing with bitterness and turning into rage, and he allowed none of it an outlet. He was a man, not a weeping twit of a woman to cry himself afloat in a soggy puddle of his own tears. A man took action, but what action was there to take? He had not lost any friends as close as others had, but he was a simple man, with a simple worldview. Belief in his duty was nearly as great a part of his faith as belief in God. That had been shaken once already when Collins resigned, in what Quintin still saw as a betrayal of the garrison in the face of pressure from the Company. The flogging he had suffered for his defense of the garrison’s pride had weakened it further. Now it was shattered into pieces by the betrayal of their fellows. Perhaps, later, Quintin would be able to see things clearly again, but now he slouched inside a black cloud of his own making, daring anyone to bother him. He sat on his bunk, ignoring the movement and quiet, solemn talking around him in the barracks. The others left him alone for the most part, sensing that the burly private was not dormant as he appeared, but rumbling with suppressed energy. No-one attempted to talk to him. Only an idiot would turn to Quintin for comfort at a time like this; shortworded at the best of times, he was now clammed tight shut. The abrupt outbreak of harsh shouting brought his head up, but he watched without moving to stop them as Southerland laid into Bell. He did not really care if Southerland ripped Bell up; the man deserved it, if he was fool enough to mess with Southerland after his brother had been laid in the earth. If Southerland came off worst, he did not care about that either. Quintin was done with this kind of horse shite. He watched impassively until McIntyre showed up. One thing was still clear; he stood with Mackie, and Higgins, and the rest of them. If Mackie said enough, Quintin was going to give the rest of the bloody monkeys enough as well. Quintin swung his legs down and rose to his feet; he lumbered towards the knot of men and bulled his way towards the two furious men at the centre. Someone had cracked McIntyre in the face on his way in, and Quintin slammed a ham-like fist into that marine’s ribs on his own way past before he seized Bell from behind by both arms. “For f***’s sake,” he growled, “haven’t you had enough, Southerland?” He wrenched Bell backwards and away from Southerland, and more marines crowded between the two to seal off the distance.



Royal Navy & Marines	14 Apr 2008, 09:09 PM Post #10
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	To Jones' great annoyance, there was nobody in the stables to take over responsibility of the horse and cart, which meant he had to unharness the damned animal and take care of it himself. The task was frustrating because he had no idea what was supposed to be unfastened and what wasn't, and in the end he just took everything apart and left it in a tangled heap in the dirt. He put the horse into the first empty stall he came to, then started out of the stables, resenting the delay in his leaving the fort even more with every step. There was a marine coming toward him and he recognised the man as James Gray, the only fellow in Corporal Dryden's section who hadn't thrown his lot in with the mutineers. Under any other circumstances, Jones would have offered the marine a greeting, but he was in no mood to play at pleasantries. All he wanted to do was get clear of the fort and get down to the Shilling. He couldn't help noticing the expression of intent on Gray's face, however - such expressions never lead to good things. Resigning himself to the inevitability of conversation, Jones slowed his stride. Precious little had gone right for him thus far, what was one more inconvenience? "Gray," the corporal said by way of greeting, offering only the barest acknowledging nod. ~ Higgins' leap over the heads of the fighting marines and his subsequent landing on Bell had been the stroke that allowed the two combatants to be pulled apart. The Somersetman picked himself off the floor in time to see Quintin seize hold of Bell's arms and drag him away, creating enough of a space to let several others to crowd in and separate Bell from Southerland. "Get him outta here!" McIntyre snapped, still gamely hanging onto Southerland's arm despite the other corporal's best efforts to shake him and the others off. Higgins let out a bark of disgust and latched onto Southerland's leg when the corporal kicked out at Carter. "Get him outside!" McIntyre repeated and cursed when Southerland managed to drag the group attempting to restrain him forward a handful of steps. It took five marines to bodily lift the wildly-flailing Scotsman and carry him out of the barracks. One of the men got knocked down when Southerland tore his arm free and whacked the unlucky fellow a good one in the nose, but another marine was quick to appear and grab hold of the loose arm. To McIntyre's disgust, all the commotion had caught the notice of the Kingston marines to whom responsibility of standing watches had been given. A round dozen of the interlopers were coming toward the barracks at a run. "What's all this?" One of the blackguards demanded as the group got near. "Ain't your business, is it?" McIntyre answered curtly, helping set Southerland down on the raised wooden deck just outside the door. All the fight had gone out of the stablemaster and he could only cradle his head in his hands. A couple of the marines who'd carried him outside sat down beside him, muttering reassurances. "I reckon it is me bi'ness, since I'm askin'," the Kingston marine snarled. A muscle in McIntyre's jaw twinged. "You'll mind your tongue when you speak to a corporal," he said coldly. "I don't care if you're from Kingston or bleedin' Chatham itself, you ain't nothin' more than an intruder here." The Irishman glanced over the sour-faced men behind the mouthy one and curled his lip. The Kingston marine looked worried for an instant when McIntyre took a good fistful of his shirt and pulled him forward. "That means piss off, Private. Keep your snivellin' wee nose out of garrison business, or you an' me will have a go. Got it?" The Kingston men quickly made themselves scarce after McIntyre shoved the snot-nosed private away. Glad of their departure, McIntyre sat down next to Southerland. "C'mon, buck up, John. Ain't good for you to mope about."



James Gray	15 Apr 2008, 03:04 PM Post #11
Luck just kissed you hello! When you're a boy Posts: 245 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #688 Joined: 6 March 2008	Jemmy knew that another man didn’t condemn him for the tale bearing he had done. He went into Cartwright’s office for judgement and he heard it. There were many things to think about from the conversation they held but one thing stood out to him. Cartwright put a little trust in him even after he heard the truth. “Help him out if need be.” The captain had said about Private Wolfe, or Corporal Wolfe now. Even if he was waiting for a promotion he was a Corporal. Jemmy thought about that and he still wasn’t sure how he should help Wolfe out, but it was only if he needed to. If he needed to he would see it in time and he would know what he should do. The important thing was that he was trusted to know what to do. That was the judgement that Cartwright gave him and it was what was giving Jemmy more heart right now. His mind was active even though the future was drastically uncertain and instead of wandering with a purposeless walk, the way he had gone up to the office, he was walking with a fast and determined stride to the stables. That was the first place he was going to look for Jones, he didn’t think that the marine would be there but it was the right place to start. Someone there might have seen where he went afterwards. He was surprised that he saw Jones there after all, he was just coming out of the stable. Something held him up there. It made things easier to not have to go hunting him down wherever he was headed after that but Jemmy was sorry he found the corporal that fast. Jemmy could easily sense the dull bitterness and anger that was lowered around Jones. It was a festering ugly thing. He suddenly wanted to leave Jones in peace to grieve on his own, he wasn’t fit to offer anything to help the corporal when obviously all Jones wanted was to be alone. But he had a summons from Cartwright and he had to deliver that. He came face to face with Jones and he got just a little jerk of the head for a greeting with a short “Gray,” and that was all. Jemmy wasn’t put off though, he already figured out Jones didn’t want to see him. “Corporal Jones” he said back, and he made it short without a bunch of stupid pleasantries. What was there pleasant about the past few days anyway? “The major sent for you” he told Jones swiftly. I’m sorry Corporal he said silently.



Royal Navy & Marines	24 Apr 2008, 09:54 PM Post #12
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	“The major sent for you.” Bloody wonderful. Jones grimaced and closed his eyes. "Good for the Major," he grumbled, stepping around Gray in order to continue on his way. He had little intention of giving Cartwright the time of day, never mind an audience. Then it occurred to him that if he didn't answer the summons, he'd get flogged or have some other stupidly ridiculous punishment inflicted upon him and he cursed. Damn Cartwright for breathing still while Jones' lads had died to make sure that the stupid bastard could continue breathing. What was the point of it all? Jones paused, glanced over his shoulder at Gray, and sighed. At most, he was just going through the motions now. Nothing truly mattered in the face of his failure to keep his marines alive. That was probably what Cartwright wanted to talk about anyway. He probably wanted to say how sorry he was for Jones' losses and how noble those marines had been, and all other assorted bullshit. It was nothing but trite, useless words. Words wouldn't bring Barrett or Hardy or Corbett back. Or even Durham and Patterson, even though they had betrayed their mates. The Welshman turned his back on Gray and changed direction, resignedly trudging toward the work-offices. The sooner he got this pointless waste of time meeting over with, the sooner he could get away from the fort and find solace in a few tankards of rum. ~ When Quintin socked poor Willy Harrison in the gut, Martin Bell hadn't been too pleased. He was even less pleased when the big Dorsetman laid hands on his brother and pulled him bodily away from the fight. Bell hadn't seen what had started the fight, but his temper was such that he would tolerate no ill will or action against his brother. He wasted no time swinging at Quintin, even as Davenport appeared out of nowhere with his own fists leading. Davenport's punches landed first, providing enough of a distraction so that Quintin released his grip on James Bell and turned to defend himself. Then Martin Bell struck, knocking the bigger marine sideways. To Bell's surprise, however, Davenport did not press the attack and instead stood back and laughed. "That was for Dauntless," the half-Spanish marine declared, reaching out to help steady James Bell. "C'mon lads, leave it be. Martin! Stand away, mate, 'tis over." The fighting marines shoved away from each other and straightened their coats or dusted themselves off. Davenport shook his head with a wry grin. "There now, ain't so bad's all that, is it? C'mon then. Ain't a day fer fightin' anyway. I'm a-goin' down to the Shillin', if any lad cares to join me he's welcome." A few men grunted. Davenport slipped through the cluster of marines and headed for the door. Most of the group followed after a moment or two, filing after him in a ragged line. McIntyre and Southerland were still on the stoop outside the barracks door when Davenport appeared and he was embarrassed briefly when he realised that he'd interrupted the conversation between the two corporals. "There's a couple tots on me if you're willin' to come with us lads to the Shillin', Corporal," Davenport said to Southerland, after receiving an acknowledging glance from McIntyre. Neither corporal moved, however, and the junior marines shuffled past after a brief pause. If either of them wished to join the men, they were perfectly welcome. "Oi, Gray!" Willy Harrison called out abruptly, by now mostly recovered from the mighty blow to the gut he'd taken. "C'mon lad, we're gonna hide fer a bit at the Shillin'!"



James Gray	30 Apr 2008, 03:00 PM Post #13
Luck just kissed you hello! When you're a boy Posts: 245 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #688 Joined: 6 March 2008	Jemmy saw Jones shut his eyes like that was going to stop him from hearing what Jemmy said or make it go away somehow. “Good for the Major,” he said in a quiet growl and he walked right around Jemmy without looking like he was going to stop or turn around, and the work offices were in the other direction from where he was going. That would get him punished for disobeying orders, he could be flogged or even worse although Cartwright probably wouldn’t be that harsh. But would he close an eye to an act of insubordination right after the mutiny when it was most important to keep control over the garrison? Jemmy put up his hand and he started out after Jones to stop him. But the corporal paused with his walking and he looked back over his shoulder at Jemmy. Jemmy put his hand down and he closed his mouth, he knew Jones was probably thinking over the same kind of things as he was. It brought Jones around to go on a new path, but this one was taking him to the offices. He didn’t say anything to Jemmy when he went and Jemmy didn’t try to stop him to say anything more, because there wasn’t anything to say. He watched Jones’s back, the corporal was walking slowly like he was carrying the world on his back like Atlas. That was the weight of failure. Now Jemmy was alone the way that Jones wanted to be. But he didn’t want to be alone with any voices or memories. So he walked toward the barracks where he thought most of the rest of the men would be. He didn’t need to be talking with them all but he just wanted to be around some other people. Otherwise he was afraid he was going to make his own company since he had enough bad memories for a pretty big party. He didn’t usually think of them, Jemmy liked to think he was good at letting go but after the funeral they were all coming home again. But as he walked up to the barracks, but was still a distance away, he saw that there were two men sitting outside on the deck and most of the rest of the men were straggling near by. It looked like they were leaving the barracks. The two marines on the deck were Corporal McIntyre and Corporal Southerland. Southerland was beat up, Jemmy could see it on his face and he was slumped like an empty sack, somebody who was defeated. Jemmy knew that his brother died after the mutiny, of a head wound that festered, it was not a good way to die. Jemmy looked away from Southerland, nobody wanted to be stared at when they were grieving, and then he heard his own name called. "Oi, Gray!" It was Willy Harrison among the marines that were leaving the barracks and shuffling away. Jemmy turned his head to Willy with a question ready. "C'mon lad, we're gonna hide fer a bit at the Shillin'!" Jemmy lightened up, he could use a few drinks now, not too many but a few…maybe a little bit more than that. There wasn’t anything that could be better right now. He jogged forward to join the group. “I’m glad I caught up with you first before you hid then” he said to no one in particular. “I could use a tot or ten.”



Quintin	3 May 2008, 02:10 AM Post #14
Deckhand Posts: 30 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #50 Joined: 26 November 2007	Quintin kept a firm hold on Bell, switching his hold to a headlock under one arm when Bell tried to kick him, which choked part of the fight out of the other marine. Southerland, across from them, was flailing about with a marine attached to almost every limb of his body. Eventually it took five marines piling onto the raging corporal to subdue him enough to get him out of the barracks. Bell, however, was in better shape. He seemed to have given up the object of Southerland, but Quintin still hung grimly onto him, and James Bell was struggling violently with the arm around his throat. The fight was over, but Quintin was losing it. Davenport had come up without Quintin suspecting anything, and the half-Spaniard swung a heavy one-two sequence that slammed into Quintin’s abdomen. One thudded solidly in his solar plexus, and he doubled over wheezing; he lost his hold on Bell while he fought to get his breath back, but Martin Bell’s fist landed next in the side of his jaw. Quintin staggered sideways and his vision blurred for a momint; by the time it cleared and he looked up, snarling with fury, Davenport had shoved Martin Bell away and he was standing back, laughing heartily. The grin on the half-Spanish marine’s features brought Quintin’s blood up, but someone pushed him back and stood between him, the Bells, and Davenport. “That was for Dauntless,” Davenport said, with his hand on James Bell’s shoulder. “C’mon lads, leave it be. Martin! Stand away, mate, ‘tis over.” Little else might have stopped Quintin frum bulling through the man between them, but the mention of Dauntless and the memory of that day stole his wind. He didn’t remember knocking Davenport down, but the rest of it was still fresh in his mind. The heavy marine stood, looking oddly slack, well Davenport went on toking. “There now, ain’t so bad’s all that, is it? C’mon then. Ain’t a day fer fightin’ anyway. I’m a-goin’ down to the Shillin’, if any lad cares to join me he’s welcome.” Base instinct rose upwards out of Quintin’s belly, and sheep-like he followed after the uneven gaggle of marines led by Davenport. In Indian file they slipped out of the door and collected outside, where Corporals McIntyre and Southerland were in the middle of a low discussion. Quintin glanced at Mackie, but his mate was clearly remaining where he was, and the line moved forwards to straggle out in the open in a sad little parade. They were on the move-out when a man came up frum a side course to intercept them; the fellow came from the direction of the stables, and Harrison gave him a yell. “Oi, Gray! C’mon lad, we’re gonna hide fer a bit at the Shillin’!” Quintin didn’t recognise the small fellow that trotted hastily to catch up with them. He was from another squad, on another ship; Quintin’s circle was limited to the people he cared about. But the boy announced, “I’m glad I caught up with you first before you hid, then. I could use a tot or ten.” Harrison grinned at him and agreed, “So could I.” He fell into step next to Gray, and said conversationally, “Wondered where you was gone off to after the diggin’. You din’t give us the time of day when I tried sayin’ a piece to you.” Quintin, on the other hand, gave a noncommital grunt, and when he found that Gray and Harrison were next to him as well, he quickened his gate until he was next to Higgins. Speaking in low voices, the marines headed out of the fort and down towards the King’s Shilling. Edited by Quintin, 2 Jun 2010, 01:09 AM.



Royal Navy & Marines	4 May 2008, 12:04 AM Post #15
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	The sentry outside Cartwright's door looked surprised when Jones trudged up and tonelessly asked to see the captain. He announced the corporal's arrival and, once Jones had entered the office, moved a handful of paces away and ignored the disapproving glance cast his way by the marine across the corridor. Inside the office, Cartwright tried not to regret that he'd sent for Jones. It was painful to see how run-down that the corporal looked. The words that Cartwright had carefully formed and strung together seemed to lose all significance in the face of Jones' all-too-clear distress. Still... he had to speak his piece and hope that Jones would understand. "Sit down, Corporal," the Londoner said. "This... I would like to offer my sincerest regrets for the poor way that I led you and your lads. Poor decisions that cost the lives of good men are the vilest things." Jones only looked blankly at him, as if he was not hearing a word. Feeling at a loss, Cartwright added, "I don't know how anything can be made better, Corporal. There is little that any of us can say or do to ease either the pain or the anger." Especially not on the eve of our own effective banishment. The Londoner felt as though he was talking to a lifeless rock, and wondered if there was any way to reach the Welshman, at whatever place he had retreated to. "I should like to think that it all had a point," he went on after a moment. "Some sort of purpose in the grander scheme. Anything... that might mean your lads didn't die for nothing." A very slight shrug was all the response he got to that. He didn't know what more he could say. For a moment, he looked down at the papers cluttering his desk. Jones' continuing silence was more revealing than any words the Welshman might have spoken. At length, Cartwright forced himself to look up again. The corporal's expression had not changed. Feeling helpless, Cartwright said, "I... that's all, Corporal." Jones rose wordlessly from his chair and let himself out of the office, leaving Cartwright to stare morosely at the space he had previously occupied. The faint echo of footsteps had barely faded from outside in the corridor before Cartwright pulled out a bottle of brandy from a desk drawer. He contemplated the bottle and its contents for a long moment and very nearly tipped the bottle up to drink from it. A memory streaked across his mind and he came sharply to his feet, a sudden rush of hot, useless anger giving him momentary energy. The half-empty bottle exploded against the opposite wall like a fire-work, the showering tinkle of broken glass bringing the sentry in from the corridor at once. Cartwright had turned away toward the window, both hands scrubbing over his face, and he didn't see the sympathetic expression on the Kingston marine's face as the sentry silently withdrew back to the corridor and closed the door behind him. All that Cartwright could see were the faces and last moments of the marines who had fought so nobly around him. ~ If he was caught on this venture, he knew he'd be flogged. The heavy, gloomy mood of the Port Royal garrison had dulled his day but now that the funeral was over, the chance to exact a private sort of vengeance upon a certain officer had unexpectedly presented itself. He'd been walking past the officers' mess with the intention of visiting a couple lads who had returned to hospital directly after the funeral, until his nose caught the sharp, unmistakable tang of fish. That had set off a spark of an idea, which had quickly grown into a full-out plan. Nobody was paying any attention to him so he detoured abruptly and sought out the basin behind the building, that the mess stewards used to dump rubbish from the galley into. There was a fresh pile of fish guts in the basin, lying amid older scraps. He grinned. It was perfect. Thus it was that Andrew Shepherd came into possession of a pile of fish guts, contained within a broken bowl. He was not challenged, hailed, or otherwise delayed as he made his way toward the work-offices by way of the alley-like passage behind the stables. Getting to the office that was his target was the hard part, laying his little trap would be easy as hell. Andrew paused outside the poorly-patched window that marked Norrington's office and listened to the raised voices within for a few moments before moving on, hunched over in a walking-crouch as he was. The meeting in the Commodore's office didn't sound like a happy one by any stretch. The poor bloke. There it was. The window he was going to decorate. It was child's play to scrape the fish guts onto the windowsill using a palm-sized rock. He used the rock to add a string of something old and greasy to a protruding edge of stone about half-way up the side of the window. As a final touch, Andrew left the broken bowl on the ground with some scraps that he wasn't about to dig his fingers into. Grinning smugly, the drummer stepped back to admire his handiwork, then he scampered off the same way he'd come, barely able to keep from giggling. That evil bastard St Montgomery was going to be in for a real nasty surprise when those fish guts started to reek! ~ The marines were still, surprisingly, welcome at their favourite tavern. Smith was the first man into the King's Shillling and was immediately followed by most of the remaining Port Royal marines. Their arrival brought a fleeting, almost relieved, smile onto the barman's face. Then the tavern was filled with long-tailed red coats and the low buzz of conversation. For awhile, the men were content to enjoy their drinks and keep their dialogue light-hearted. That was, until Jeffry Gallagher stood up from near the middle of the tavern, a freshly-delivered tankard in his slightly-shaking hand. A hush fell over the gathered marines as the men turned their gazes toward the Cambridgeman. It was well-known that Gallagher had been close mates with Matt Barrett, who'd been shot in the back during the mutiny. He'd been the one to try the hardest to save Barrett and had the sad honour of being the last one that Barrett had seen before he'd died. "Lads," Gallagher said in a thick voice, "I reckon we danced 'round it 'nuff. A toast an' cheer fer our mates an' brothers what ain't with us no-more." Silence met his declaration, an almost-embarrassed pause that had a few marines looking down at the tables or at their shoes. Then Smith and Frazier - the ever-inseparable pair who had enlisted together - rose to their feet from a table in the corner. Smith said "Aye lads, s'fittin' an' proper." The Leeds native raised his tankard. "To our mates, who're drinkin' their tots with the Almighty." Men came up to their feet around the tavern, given courage by the backing shown by Smith and Fazier. Gallagher looked on the verge of tears but he forced a brief smile. "For the lads," he croaked, and the other marines lifted their tankards toward the ceiling. "For the lads."



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