Disagreements

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Disagreements; Fort Charles; 12 July 1751
Topic Started: 15 Dec 2008, 03:11 AM (1,450 Views)
Royal Navy & Marines	15 Dec 2008, 03:11 AM Post #1
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	OOC - This thread is likely to span a number of days, beginning on 12 July 1751. IC - His office felt closed-in and far more confining than he could ever have imagined. Recent days and events had made it a hostile place to be. The visitors he received scarcely helped relieve the oppressive atmosphere at all. It hardly helped that the office had once been Colin Forsythe's. Sighing in weary resignation, Cartwright set his quill back into the inkwell and rubbed at his temples with ink-stained fingers. His mood had not improved, despite having closed affairs with regard to his dead lieutenant only just that morning. Tom Forster had left him without any junior officers and had, far more effectively than he could have realised, crippled Cartwright's ability to adequately manage the marine detachments. That alone was reason enough for the letters he had been carefully writing. He needed a great deal from Portsmouth. Replacements for the men he'd lost, fresh equipment, new officers, permission to discharge those unable to return to duty... the list went on. Thinking about it made his already-aching head throb worse. The work would be more bearable even a small way if he had a clerk. Many times he had used Forster to help ease the burden of writing letters, reports, muster rolls, and all the other small, annoying pieces of administration that helped make the battalion run. Now he didn't even have him. Cursing to himself, Cartwright pushed away from his desk. He had scarcely left his office all day and there was little hope of getting any more work done without a respite from the monotony of quills, ink, and parchment. His coat felt leaden over his shoulders when he shrugged it on and his hat was like sandpaper scraping against his temples. Venturing out from the work-offices was almost guaranteed to result in a meeting with somebody, but if he didn't escape from the stifling box that was his office even for a half an hour, Cartwright felt sure he would go mad. As long as he didn't cross paths with Captain Stevenson or Commodore St Montgomery, he thought he could avoid serious trouble. The Londoner was at the end of his patience with both officers. If he thought it were even possible in the slightest, he would order the detachments from all three ships in the squadron to come ashore and join the Twenty-Ninth at their encampment. It was a grossly spiteful thought, he knew, but constantly getting rebuffed and ridiculed for his attempts to attend to his marines had worn his patience down to the breaking point. Damn. That haughty bastard Stevenson was just entering the building. Cartwright was hemmed in. He would not retreat hurriedly to the false safety of his own office - even in his interest to avoid contact with Stevenson, he was too proud to flee like a kicked puppy - but neither could he hurry past the man. With nothing else for it, he closed his office door firmly and started toward the scarred stone archway that led outside. "Ah, Captain Cartwright." Stevenson's voice was deceptively friendly. He wanted something, Cartwright thought. "I should like a word, if you can spare a moment." "Certainly sir," Cartwright replied, trying to keep from sounding annoyed. It wasn't only Stevenson's sense of superiority that rankled, there was just something about the man that had never set well with him. Stevenson smiled thinly and led the way to his office, which, while it spared Cartwright from having to further taint his own working-space with unpleasantness, made him feel as if he was about to made prisoner. An absurd thought, but he found himself shivering under his coat anyway. He remained standing while Stevenson moved around the desk to his chair. Whatever the other captain had to say, he was certainly taking his time broaching the topic. "I have heard," Stevenson said at last, pointedly not offering Cartwright the benefit of one of the chairs across the desk. "That there has been some discord amongst your detachments." He knew immediately what Stevenson meant. It had not been discord at all, at least not aboard Intrepid. Those marines had already been properly dealt with - insofar as Cartwright had visited the sloop and given orders that no further unsupervised musketry was to take place. It was impossible for him to fault his men for trying to ease their boredom, especially not in light of the fact that the officer of the watch had permitted the entire thing to happen in the first place. "I beg to confess ignorance, sir," Cartwright said guardedly, aware that there was one trouble-spot that he had not yet been able to personally address. "At last report, all was well within the squadron." To his distress, Stevenson looked smug. "Certainly you're aware of the mutterings and actions of your marines aboard Dauntless?" The Kingston officer pulled a folded sheet of parchment from inside his coat. There had been a wax seal on the paper, but it was broken. Stevenson opened the parchment and, after a deliberate pause, held it out to Cartwright. "This is a note from a man aboard Dauntless, sent to me privately. I'm sure you will find it interesting." Cartwright made no move to take the letter. Inwardly, he was seething. So Stevenson had informers tucked safely away amongst Dauntless' Company? He would have to alert Lieutenant Alderbury to that danger. "I'm sure whatever it is can be spoken of directly, sir," he said curtly. His response and refusal to take the parchment seemed, for an instant, to annoy Stevenson. The other captain's face was quickly schooled back to its previous smug expression and he let the letter drop to his desk. "It would seem, Captain, that the sole corporal aboard has spurned all responsibilities in favour of passing every day in a drunken sleep on the marines' messdeck. I'm told he has even gone so far as to throw his shoulder knot at his own marines. Surely this is not the conduct of professional marines?" The barb struck home, as it was intended to do. Cartwright's hands curled into tight fists. He was very well aware of Jones' shirking of duty, and he had already taken steps to begin correcting it. Colour-Sergeant Crawford would go aboard the following morning to take over command until Cartwright himself was able to escape the drudgery within the fort. But of course Stevenson had no interest in that. "The situation is being remedied, sir," Cartwright told him stiffly. "Corporal Jones will be dealt with accordingly. It is exceptionally fortunate that his lack of leadership has been noted and adjusted for by his own marines. I have been informed that they have been conducting musket and bayonet drill by themselves. That, sir, is the conduct of professional marines." "Immaterial!" Stevenson snapped, another flash of annoyance crossing his face. "The core fact is that you are unable to exercise proper control over the detachments under your command, to the point that corporals are permitted to be openly drunk and privates allowed to take part in childish games!" Ah. So that was what this was about. He should have suspected. It was not enough that Stevenson had wrested command of the fort from him. Apparently he now wanted control over the Port Royal squadron's marines. He'd be in for a hard fight there. Cartwright had given enough ground to that power-monger. "The last I was aware, sir, command of the squadron's marines had been left solely to me," Cartwright said. It was only with a very great effort that he was able to keep a hold of his temper. "I will certainly welcome constructive advice, but not insults and baseless slander." Stevenson's face seemed to harden. "You forget that the squadron's marines fall under my overall authority, sir." "With respect, they do not." Cartwright felt a glimmer of dark triumph. The other captain had written himself out of any position of true authority over the squadron's marines when the orders moving them from the fort to their ships had been drafted. "Must I remind you of the orders removing my marines from Fort Charles? They are under my command and mine alone." Unless otherwise ordered by Colonel Trombley, who, thankfully, had returned to Kingston. "Orders can be revoked," Stevenson said, his voice deadly quiet. The Londoner suppressed a sigh. The game Stevenson pursued would, most likely, never end as long as he was in Port Royal. He straightened his back and wiped all expression from his face. There was nothing more to be gained by prolonging this argument except wasted time. "I'm sure they can be, sir. That, however, is not my most pressing concern. If you will excuse me, I must attend to the affairs of my marines." Offering a smart salute that Stevenson didn't deserve, Cartwright faced-about and walked quickly out of the office. Damn the man and his constant meddling. The Londoner left the work-offices swiftly, resolved to discover just who Stevenson was using as an informant. The sooner that man was found out and rendered useless, the better. He could not afford to have spies further disrupting the already-tenuous control he had over the detachments.



Royal Navy & Marines	20 Jan 2009, 01:20 AM Post #2
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	To say that he was annoyed would be a gross understatement. Colour-Sergeant Crawford was positively furious. Dauntless' boatswain had come ashore the day before and told him the latest news regarding the marine detachment. The news was not pleasing in the least. Out of all the sailors on the flagship, Crawford considered the boatswain to be the most reliable. Thus, when Matheson made the trek up to the fort to share a bottle of ale and conversation, Crawford heard things that Captain Cartwright either did not know or was keeping to himself. It went against everything he believed in, hearing these reports of poor behaviour from a sailor. His captain should be the one imparting such things. All he had heard from Cartwright, however, was that Crawford was to go aboard Dauntless the following morning to take over daily command until Cartwright himself could break away from the fort. Crawford had managed to keep from heaving his chair through the window when Matheson finished, but only just. Fortunately, Matheson showed no surprise or fear at the Colour-Sergeant's outburst, after delivering his news. He was quite immune to being affected by such explosions of temper. The boatswain departed after finishing his ale, leaving Crawford alone with his boiling temper. It was as much a move to preserve Matheson's own well-being as to leave no witnesses should Crawford decide to go on a rampage. That was precisely what the Colour-Sergeant intended to do, after managing to ground his common sense enough to think clearly. His captain had to be keeping information from him, there was no other reasonable explanation for it. Worse, he had been keeping Crawford from going out to Dauntless - the excuse of needing the Colour-Sergeant ashore to help keep the peace between Kingston marines and the remaining wounded Port Royal men still in hospital suddenly seemed patently false and transparent. The lying, deceitful bastard. How Cartwright could actually allow disorder and indiscipline to exist on the bleeding flagship was nothing short of unbelievable. And Crawford would see that it stopped. The Kingston marines guarding the work-offices stamped their heels smartly when Crawford stomped into the building. He roundly ignored the sentry outside Cartwright's door, except to tell the man in no uncertain terms to shut up and mind his own piddling business. Cartwright had better be in his office - and of course he wasn't, as Crawford discovered when he shouldered the door open. Damn the man! Crawford stormed back out of the office, slamming the door shut carelessly behind him. The sentries stared at him as he swept out of the building. His temper had flared back up and he was intent on finding his captain so he could give his anger suitable vent. Oh. Oh! There he was, just departing the officers' mess and apparently heading for the hospital. Crawford increased his stride, determined not to let Cartwright escape into the sanctity of the hospital before he could close up. "Sir." His bellow stopped all activity on the parade ground and surrounding courtyard, but Crawford was oblivious to everything. Cartwright turned to face him squarely, apparently aware of why Crawford was tramping toward him. He'd better be aware, the lying bastard! "Yes, Colour-Sergeant?" Cartwright's unruffled expression and calm tone did nothing to soothe Crawford's temper. He glared at his captain and demanded, "What the bleedin' hell are ye playin' at, sir? Why weren't I told that the lads on Dauntless was actin' like fresh idiot recruits?" To his complete chagrin, Cartwright simply gazed steadily at him, not showing a trace of emotion. Was his captain truly a heartless sod? Clearly he had no reservations about allowing his marines to lose all semblance of discipline and bearing. Disgraceful, that's what it was. Disgraceful! The Colour-Sergeant stared at his captain and saw nothing that would even begin to suggest any feeling of unease or even doubt. There was nothing but that calm expression. Compared to Crawford's thundering temper, Cartwright seemed as cold as a hunk of ice. "Well sir?" Crawford demanded, feeling half a heartbeat away from exploding. "You have been told everything that I have been, Colour-Sergeant," was Cartwright's level response. The captain's expression was still calm and tolerant, which baffled and stoked Crawford's temper. How could the man remain so collected when he was clearly so wrong? It was Cartwright's responsibility to make sure that his sergeants were informed enough to execute their duties competently and he was failing in that responsibility. Oh if only Sergeant Myles was ashore... "Come," Cartwright was saying, Crawford realised with a start. The captain was gesturing toward the hospital. "It would be more prudent to hold further discussion away from here." What? Crawford planted his feet, petulantly refusing to obey simply because he had no desire to. Why should he oblige his captain when his captain had no interest in obliging him? There was the barest slip in Cartwright's calm expression, the first since Crawford had hailed him, and that alone was a success. "Swifltly, Colour-Sergeant, or we will have parties involved who are difficult to dislodge." Cartwright's tone left no room for argument, yet Crawford wished to do just that. He didn't care who heard them, or even who might come traipsing along to interrupt. "Not till ye bleedin' tell me why ye've been lyin'," the Colour-Sergeant snarled. He would not yield the barest inch until answers were given to his satisfaction. Cartwright could posture and demur all he liked, but there was no putting Crawford off, now that he was aware of the misinformation. "What else ain't I been told, sir? Sure that can't be all, hearin' that them lads been carryin' on like schoolboys!" Cartwright's face lost just a little bit of its loose calm. "There is very little that is simply what it seems, Colour-Sergeant. Now, come, or we will have Captain Stevenson joining us and there will be no hope for honesty at all!" To Crawford's surprise, the captain turned sharply away and resumed his interrupted journey to the hospital. For an instant the Colour-Sergeant frowned - but a quick glance over his shoulder showed that Cartwright's warning had been completely justified. Captain Stevenson was bearing down on them swiftly, a dangerous expression on his face. Without a word, Crawford hurried after his captain. Like hell would he let that bastard Stevenson anywhere near him! "What do ye mean, sir?" Crawford demanded once he had caught up with Cartwright again. His anger was beginning to give way to confusion. What the hell was going on here? He was obliged to wait for an answer until Cartwright had spoken to the seamen standing watchful sentry on either side of the archway, giving them strict orders not to permit anyone within to be disturbed until he had departed. Still red-faced but swiftly calming, Crawford stared as Cartwright headed toward the room that was used as the officers' ward. Corporal McIntyre was permitted to reside there while he recovered from his flogging. Crawford had not seen the Irishman since beating him into the dirt before his court-martial and had no interest in seeing him now. Why was Cartwright here now? He was growing baffled by his captain's behaviour. What the hell was the man doing? "What I mean, Colour-Sergeant, is that not everything that comes ashore from Dauntless can be trusted," Cartwright replied, waving Corporal McIntyre down when the Irishman tried to level himself up out of his hanging cot. "Bar the door if you please, Colour-Sergeant. And for God's sake lie down, Corporal. You both will need to hear this uninterrupted."



Royal Navy & Marines	6 Feb 2009, 01:18 AM Post #3
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	It was lucky, he thought, that Doctor Finch was busy upstairs with the remaining loyalist wounded. Otherwise, McIntyre was sure he would not take kindly to the two visitors, however important they were. He settled back into the cot, reluctantly, when Cartwright glared at him for making a third attempt to push himself up into a sitting position. His captain seemed intent on him remaining as still as possible, though McIntyre couldn't fathom precisely why. Something was up, he could tell that much, but he had not the slightest idea what might compel Cartwright to include him in it. The Londoner seemed calm enough, but there was something in the man's voice that suggested bad tidings. "The hell's this all 'bout, sir?" Colour-Sergeant Crawford demanded from his place by the ward's now-closed door. He sounded dangerously angry and McIntyre suppressed a shudder. It was never good to be around the Colour-Sergeant when he was in a foul temper. Being in close quarters with Crawford while he was angry made McIntyre uncomfortable. It didn't help that Cartwright was present as well, for McIntyre well remembered how his last encounter with Crawford had gone. "It's about my 'lying', as you termed it," Cartwright replied easily, pulling over a chair from the next cot-space. Eyes wide, McIntyre shifted in his cot to stare at Crawford in disbelief. He couldn't have been so daring as to suggest that their captain was a liar...? The Colour-Sergeant showed no sign that he was affected by the casual remark, but McIntyre knew him well enough to know that the comment had struck precisely as Cartwright had no doubt intended. He couldn't suppress a shudder this time and immediately grimaced at the stab of pain in his back the movement caused. "I said lie down, Corporal," the captain added. McIntyre paused for a moment, chagrined that he had been noticed, then pushed himself the rest of the way off the mattress. Cartwright might want him to remain at his ease, but he wanted to be able to see the other two men without having to roll from side to side. "Rather sit up, sir. Easier to see." Crawford offered a gruff humph at that, but the other two ignored him. Cartwright waited until McIntyre had managed to shift himself up into a mostly-upright sitting position before clearing his throat. "Very well then. For your benefit, Corporal, it ought to be known that Colour-Sergeant Crawford believes, apparently, that I have been withholding information from him regarding the lads aboard Dauntless. I will give truth to that only insofar as I have not yet been granted the opportunity to inform him of the latest scraps of news." Cartwright, withholding information? That was something McIntyre couldn't believe. He blinked and looked from Crawford to Cartwright. What the hell had been going on outside the hospital? There had been little in the way of fresh news brought in, or at least none that he was aware of. The Tars might know more than they were letting him hear, which would be a first... "Bollocks," Crawford snarled, folding his arms across his chest. Cartwright ignored him. "Simply put, the command situation within the detachment is a shambles. Corporal Jones has shirked all responsibility and prefers to confine himself to his hammock. Were it not for Private Davenport, there would be no adherence to routine at all. But of course there has been a sharp increase in puerile antics and Davenport lacks the authority to adequately address such incidents." Cartwright looked pained for a moment. "I'll admit to culpability in allowing these things to continue, as I have prevented you, Colour-Sergeant, from going aboard to set things to rights - but I believe you don't completely grasp the delicacy of the situation of our men still here in hospital. It would be unwise to leave them without a formidable presence for protection." McIntyre's brow furrowed in confused disbelief. He knew that Davenport was keeping Dauntless' marines in order, and he knew that Corporal Jones had sunk into a rut of depression, but he'd heard nothing of outright misbehaviour. What had Cartwright been thinking, not letting Crawford go aboard to set things to rights? The Irishman resolved to have a word with Doctor Finch the first chance he got after Cartwright and Crawford left. He'd go back aboard himself tomorrow if he could, and God help whichever marines were being troublesome! "The reasons for that," Cartwright went on after a pause. McIntyre realised that the captain had been studying him and tried to compose his expression into something more neutral. For a moment, Cartwright seemed uncertain and looked almost sad. That impression was gone in an instant. "The reasons for that mostly involve the situation with other officers. I am going to speak plainly, lads, but if any word of this gets out I'll have both of you strung up by your ears. Is that understood? Good," he added, when McIntyre and Crawford nodded - reluctantly, in Crawford's case. "Captain Stevenson has succeeded in stealing a march on me, in a manner of speaking. He has a man aboard Dauntless who has been, in essence, reporting directly to him about what the marines are doing - and aren't doing. He knows far more about affairs on the flagship than he has any right to. Too, the fact that he has a spy aboard means I cannot go about setting things to rights the way I would like." The two junior marines stared at him. It was well known that Captain Stevenson had it out for the Port Royal marines, but for him to have a spy amongst Dauntless' company meant that somebody had turned his coat. For that to happen again, while the lads were trying to recover from that damned mutiny... McIntyre closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. His brief faltering of faith in Cartwright vanished. How the devil did the man manage to stay so level-headed in the face of all this? Right then, McIntyre wanted nothing more than to heave Stevenson head-first over the ramparts, straight down onto the rocks at the base of the cliff. The meddling bastard! "Bollocks!" Crawford thundered. His face had gone an ominous shade of red and he was almost quivering with barely-suppressed fury. McIntyre felt himself shuddering at the outward signs of the Colour-Sergeant's temper. There was a reason the entire garrison feared the man when he was angry. "The two-faced bastard, where's he got to, sir, I'll go an' - " Cartwright held up a hand, stilling Crawford's outburst in mid-sentence. "You won't, Colour-Sergeant, but I thank you for the offer. I don't know as yet who this spy is, though I have an idea about how we might find out." An ironic smile tugged momentarily at the corner of Cartwright's mouth. "That is, of course, assuming you both are willing to help." McIntyre nodded firmly and knew Crawford was doing likewise. A spy, on Dauntless. It was a worse insult than anything Stevenson had done thus far. Oh just let that fool be one of the marines... McIntyre would see to it the man got keel-hauled, and that was just for a start!



Frederick St Montgomery	20 Feb 2009, 01:06 AM Post #4
Rear Admiral of the Fleet Posts: 94 Group: Royal Navy Member #7 Joined: 7 December 2006	St Montgomery was going to enjoy his next two tasks. Showing up, uninvited, and without any warning to various parts of the fort, or any of the ships of the squadron yielded particularly savoury results. Some would have called them "surprise inspections," but that was a misnomer. 'Surprise' was true, for there was of course no warning, but 'inspection' was not the best word. Something about how inspection was (in St Montgomery's estimation) used for far too lenient purposes. It implied that perceived faults could not be addressed, that only those that were readily apparent were game to comment upon. When he inspected places, he chafed at the thought of having to only inspect those things which other considered 'readily apparent.' A man's faults of character were fair game. And that was how he carried out his inspections. First up was the hospital, which would be interesting, since he had his own reservations about the surgeon in charge. He was not sure that he could trust Finch to do as he wished, or to be manipulated to his will. He held an opionion, when only a post-captain, that Finch was one of Norrington's toadies. Hopefully the man would be able to disprove that on this day. The second stop of the day, would be the Intrepid, which promised to be far more rewarding than the hospital. Gillette's vessel was sure to be full of lazy men who were full of faults both apparent and in their character. Even better, it would be a chance to air his views on Gillette's inadequacies in command. If only St Montgomery had been made Commodore sooner, he would have seen to it that Norrington's poodle would never have been given a command of his own. Stalking towards the hospital, his footsteps heavy, St Montgomery saw Stevenson about. His mouth tightened into a thin line. That damnable man was out to cause trouble, he knew it. Were St Montgomery any other with the same views he had about the original detachment of marines in Port Royale, then he might have applauded Stevenson's efforts. However, the marines here were his, and his alone to abuse, and he did not take well to the other man's meddling ways. His lip curling, he glared at the sailors outside the hospital standing there. One of them looke like he might want to speak, but before he had the chance to start, St Montgomery had thundered on. Something about all of this smelt wrong, and by the gods, if someone was planning a mutiny on his watch, he'd have them flayed for so long and so hard, that if there was any skin left, it would not be enough to equal a hare's hide. He was going to check each room, until he caught the mutineers in the act. Each door he checked in seemed to yield no proof for his assumptions, and by the time he was to check the officers' ward, the warring thoughts of either being wrong, or the final proof being behind the door were deadlocked. As he tried to bust the door open, he was surprised to find that it pressed back against him, and resisted his advances. "Open up!" he shouted at whomever was occupying the room, "or I'll have you banged up so quickly, you'll have thought that that hell has come to earth!"



Royal Navy & Marines	20 Feb 2009, 09:11 AM Post #5
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	Rated Mature for language. At least, he told himself, Crawford's anger seemed to have subsided. That alone was something worth noting. It didn't surprise him that the two junior marines had agreed to help, either. They were good men. Even McIntyre, who, Cartwright was ashamed to admit, he had doubted, however briefly. No, even wasn't the right word. Especially. Cartwright glanced at the corporal and privately wondered how he could've thought the man might not be trustworthy. He'd take a dozen deserters if they were of McIntyre's calibre. "How do we get out to Dauntless an' find out who's the rat, sir?" McIntyre asked, his thinned cheeks and dark-shadowed eyes giving him a severe look that matched his tone. That, Cartwright had to admit, was the biggest problem. Discretion in the attempt was a close second. Leave it to the Irishman to hit upon the chief dilemma without hesitation. "That, Corporal, is something I have yet to sort out," Cartwright answered with a wan smile. "There has hardly been sufficient time to even consider how best to accomplish that, not the least considering how poorly it will do if we were to scare our rat into silence." Crawford grunted, his thick arms again crossed over his chest. "Lemme go 'board, sir. I'll shake up them damned Tars so quick, even the bloody Commodore'll stan' up to 'tenshun." Somehow, Cartwright didn't doubt that. Aside from St Montgomery himself, there wasn't any other man in the squadron who could inspire such complete fear. Not even the ships' boatswains. A slightly stronger smile tugged at his mouth and for an instant he considered turning Crawford loose on the flagship to discover the spy through means of brute force and intimidation. That, of course, was not a viable option, despite how satisfying it might be to observe. "I think, Colour-Sergeant, that it might be wiser to save outright terror until there is no other recourse," the marine captain said, once again glad of the change in Crawford's demeanour. "Have you any thoughts, Corporal?" "How does we know the rat's a Tar?" Was McIntyre's first question. "It'd be a brainless fool, sure, if it were a marine, sir, but there ain't no tellin'. I'll go back aboard first thing tomorrow, sir, if the sawbones agrees." His brow furrowing, Cartwright considered. McIntyre wasn't anywhere near fit for duty yet, but he was undeniably sharp. He was tempted to let the corporal have his way, even as he was reluctant to risk having the man take an infection in his back and end up like poor Watkins. "Any other thoughts, Corporal? Any man in your section known for discretion, perhaps?" There was a tickle of an idea forming in his mind, though not quite long the same vein as his question might suggest. He remembered James Bell after a moment, and what the man was said to have been before he joined the Corps. Perhaps discretion with a bit of subtle intimidation wouldn't go amiss. Not with Crawford and McIntyre to help him plan it. "Frazier, sir. And Smith. Quiet sorts, if they got a purpose for it. Trouble's gettin' word to 'em. Maybe send for Davenport, or somethin', sir. He's a steady one, too. Could pass - " There was a thump from outside the ward and Crawford nearly lurched forward a pace as somebody shoved against the closed door. The Colour-Sergeant's expression showed surprise at the unexpected attempt at intrusion, but his surprise turned swiftly to dark disgust when a deep, angry voice thundered "Open up! Or I'll have you banged up so quickly, you'll have thought that that hell has come to earth!" "Shit," McIntyre said, feelingly. Cartwright was inclined to agree. Why, of all others, did it have to be the damned Commodore turning up right then? An idea suddenly struck him and he glanced at the sour-faced corporal. "On your feet, and quickly, Corporal. Grab that basin there. Carry on like you're taking a piss." Both Crawford and McIntyre stared at him, completely surprised to hear him use such language. Cartwright gestured impatiently at the basin and McIntyre stirred himself into motion. Delaying at all would only heighten St Montgomery's ire. "Unbar the door, Colour-Sergeant, and stand aside. Turn your back to McIntyre as well. We're simply here discussing how he feels about returning to duty. Understood?" Cartwright waited until the other two had nodded, then added. "Let the Commodore in, Colour-Sergeant." All three marines tensed up as Crawford stepped away from the door and half-heartedly eased it open. There was no sound from the door's hinges, which made the room tensely silent. That is until there was the faint, sharp patter of something liquid against tin, accompanied with a half-stifled oath from McIntyre. In any other circumstance, Cartwright might have smirked. " 'Tenshun," Crawford snapped and stamped his heels together.



Frederick St Montgomery	24 Feb 2009, 10:01 PM Post #6
Rear Admiral of the Fleet Posts: 94 Group: Royal Navy Member #7 Joined: 7 December 2006	St Montgomery glared at all the men in the room. Two of the highest ranking marines. He should have known. He should have known that such mutinous assembly would include those of the highest marine rank of the old group. Loyalists during the mutiny? No, they simply were biding their time until they could put a knife in his back. He stared down Cartwright, trying to visualise the best words in his mind to unleash upon these irresponsible bastard marines. He may not have the direct proof of their mutinous intentions to see them flogged, but they would receive a tongue lashing of the most severe order. He wished upon them a tongue lashing so severe that they would wish they had simply received a physical punishment. Yes, that sounded so wonderful... St Montgomery's gaze directed to the back of McIntyre, and the strange...tinkling sound. From the way McIntyre's arms were angled, and the sound...suddenly everything clicked together. He shut his eyes in frustration. So, that was the reason for the shut door then? They were still incompetent fools! The door never should have been bolted, for if it had not been, then he might not have been so quick to assume that these marines were out to get him, which they still were. They just had been taking a break so that one could relieve himself. Crafty they were, and crafty individuals were the ones that had to be more carefully watched. And for attempting to deceive him, they would have to pay. "Tell me," he said, glaring at all present, "Mr Cartwright, the meaning of this gathering. Why two officers need meet with a mere corporal, and why this meeting is held behind closed doors, and for god's sake, Corporal, put yourself away!" "I can trust that this is not all being held at the behest of Stevenson? For if I find out this mutinous assembly has anything to do with him, punishments shall all be the more severe." (ugh, short post)



Royal Navy & Marines	26 Feb 2009, 07:16 AM Post #7
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	OOC - No worries. It's plenty to build off. IC - The Commodore�s entrance was like a thunderstorm breaking overhead. There was no avoiding the sense of furious, crackling energy or the heavy tension that the man�s arrival created. Crawford stood painfully still and tried not to wish horrible, prolonged, agonising death on the sea officer. Such thoughts were best saved for the privacy of the sergeants� mess and where he stood no danger of repercussion from voicing those thoughts aloud. "Tell me," St Montgomery growled, turning his glare at each marine in turn. "Mr Cartwright, the meaning of this gathering. Why two officers need meet with a mere corporal, and why this meeting is held behind closed doors." Damnable bastard, Crawford thought. What was it to him what they were doing, unless he wanted to make their lives even more a living hell? Devil-minded sod. Of course he didn�t torture that pig Stevenson the same way he did the Port Royal lads. Mud-suckers stuck together, after all� "And for god's sake, Corporal, put yourself away!" The remark would have made Crawford chuckle, had it been spoken by anybody else. McIntyre gave a very tiny start, then, to his credit, swiftly buttoned up his trousers and executed a smart about-turn. There was no expression on his face to betray whatever he might be feeling. Neither did Cartwright�s face show any trace of expression. Three blank stares to counter the one accusatory glower. Crawford hoped St Montgomery might boil in his own temper for the want of visible provocation. "I can trust that this is not all being held at the behest of Stevenson? For if I find out this mutinous assembly has anything to do with him, punishments shall all be the more severe." Crawford twitched. The moon would turn to a tuppence before any of them would willingly do anything at Stevenson�s behest. The man was a fop. And �mutinous assembly�? Did St Montgomery think they were no better than those treacherous rats who�d cut down their mates without a blink of hesitation? No bloody chance! There was a flicker of warning in Cartwright�s eyes, just before the captain opened his mouth to speak. It was enough to forestall Crawford from unwisely doing the same. �We were visiting Corporal McIntyre, sir, to check on his health. I had thought to ask him if he felt sufficiently recovered as to return to partial duty. Colour-Sergeant Crawford is present as well for he had requested McIntyre�s return specifically,� Cartwright said, looking and sounding effortlessly calm. �I was, in fact, about to ask that very question when you arrived, sir.�



Royal Navy & Marines	30 Mar 2009, 01:00 PM Post #8
Master of Puppets Posts: 350 Group: Royal Navy Member #11 Joined: 7 December 2006	OOC - From here. IC - �If he's got Bartlett as frit as that, I think I agree, Sar'nt,� Thompson said. �Though where should we take this'n to keep out of his way till he's gone?� Myles shrugged fractionally. �Straight upstairs with him, that ought to serve well enough. If we can get �round them damned Tars!� That was half the trick, wasn�t it? Finch had half a watch worth�s of Tars helping out around the hospital, in addition to Bartlett and Gray. While the sawbones might not want for willing help, it was next to impossible to breathe in hospital without a Tar getting in the way. �From what-all I've heard, I think I don't even want to see the Commodore from the other side of the parade ground,� Thompson added, and Myles nodded his agreement. �Got the right idea with that, Thompson. That�s the stairs there. Mind your step � hey, damn your nose, Chase, watch where �� It was an almost inevitable disaster. Chase managed to slow his descent from upstairs enough to keep from knocking full into Myles, but he couldn�t avoid a collision with the deadweight that was Lachlan. The seaman cursed as the basin he�d been carrying smashed against the side Lachlan�s head, then Myles let the drunk marine�s arm slide loose from his grip. It was no good to take a fall with the man if he could prevent it. The basin hit the floor with a crash, followed closely by Lachlan himself. Myles shoved Chase out of the way and cursed the Tars who appeared in a rush to see what had happened. You couldn�t do anything without a Tar mucking it up! ~ Right then, McIntyre wanted to be anywhere else in the fort but the hospital's officers' ward. Why did it seem that nothing could go well? First Captain Cartwright's news, now St Montgomery's intrusion and demands. Right out of a nightmare, this. The corporal suppressed a shiver and tried to keep his back properly straight. At least let the commodore decide there was nothing more to be gained from any of them. Anything to make the man leave. "Well?" The sea officer sounded disdainful. "Let's hear the question answered, then. Fit to go back to pretending to do what you're paid to do, Corporal, instead of lazing around hospital?" McIntyre set his jaw. He would not rise to that bait. "I reckon I'm fit enough, sir," he said tonelessly. Don't let the bastard draw a cross word from him. That was the most important thing. His answer wasn�t good enough for St Montgomery. The commodore turned his glare to Captain Cartwright, who, of course, didn�t so much as flinch. �Clearly the discipline in your Marine Corps is not stern enough. A mere one hundred lashes� oh very well. Of course, return him to duty, if that is his wish � � Something in the corridor outside went crash, neatly interrupting St Montgomery before he could work himself up into full wind. Whatever was going on outside couldn�t be good, but McIntyre was glad for it happening all the same. The commodore stirred immediately, shoving roughly past Crawford and stamping out into the receiving hall. �What the bleeding devil is the cause of all this noise?� He thundered, heedless of the fact that he was adding to the noise himself. �Sir!� McIntyre recognized the voice as belonging to Sergeant Myles. What the devil? A little belatedly, McIntyre ventured toward the doorway. Myles was standing near the stairs and looked annoyed, however faintly. �Private Lachlan fell while coming down the stairs, sir!� The truth of that was dubious, though Lachlan did have a creditable lump on his face. There were several Tars standing around where Lachlan had been half-picked up off the floor. Amongst them was a new face, a marine whose coat seemed far too bright and red. McIntyre leaned up against the doorjamb and winced at a twinge of pain in his back. Set against such comparatively well-dressed company � including even the Tars � he felt sloppy and unkempt. It didn�t help, of course, that his slop trousers were grey and tattered, cast-offs from the purser�s stores as they were. St Montgomery seemed to have noticed the new man as well. �Fell, did he? A pity. And who�s this in such a damned garish coat? One would almost think he was trying to do the marines credit!� �Just an old lad what got a new coat, sir,� Myles answered smoothly, even as he bent down to haul Lachlan up by his collar. �Help me get this poor lad upstairs, sir?� For an instant, McIntyre thought the commodore might bust like an overheated cannon. His face went an impossible shade of red and he drew in a deep breath in clear preparation to bellow some more. That had to be prevented. Steeling himself for inevitable over-exertion, McIntyre padded forward. �Here Sarn�t, I got him,� the Irishman said, reaching out to take over responsibility for the unconscious Lachlan. If he was really going to be considered fit to return to duty, he might as well prove it.



George Thompson	5 Apr 2009, 10:00 PM Post #9
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	Straight upstairs would be good. The yelling sounded as though it was coming from a room off to one side, and Thompson caught a glimpse of dark blue cloth before they reached the foot of the stairs. Now, if they could get up and down without being seen, it would be good. Lachlan, passed out as he was, was in no fit state to help with negotiating the stairs and Thompson took a firmer grip on him. They had just started up as a sailor came from somewhere above them, running down the stairs so fast he couldn't stop, and crashed right into Lachlan. The shock pulled Thompson sideways a little before he managed to let go, allowing Lachlan to slump to the floor. There was a crash as the basin the sailor had been carrying fell to the floor. That was the last thing they needed. He glared at the sailor, even as Sergeant Myles elbowed him out the way, sending a stream of invective at the curious faces that had appeared at the top of the stairs. And suddenly the small entryway seemed even smaller as the officer erupted from the room where he had been, in a flurry of blue and white. *�What* the bleeding devil is the cause of all this noise?� he bellowed. His lungs, like those of most sea-officers, were very capable of shouting from the quarterdeck to the masthead in a gale, and the effect in the enclosed space was almost of a wall of sound. Thompson froze against the wall, standing to attention so rigidly it would have done a Guardsman proud. He realised too late that his hat had been knocked off in the scuffle and was under the comatose Lachlan, probably squashed beyond all hope. Sergeant Myles was standing nearer the door, also bolt upright. �Sir! Private Lachlan fell while coming down the stairs, sir!�** Well, that was one way of putting it, to be sure. It just didn't relay all the facts, but then, you never told an officer all the facts, ever, not even when it was a nice officer you were talking to. And this was very far from being anything like a 'nice' officer, which was borne out by his next words. �Fell, did he? A pity.� Why it should be 'a pity', Thompson was not inclined to ask. And then the Navy officer's eye fell on him, which was almost inevitable because of his new red coat, far brighter than that of any of the old sweats who'd been out here for more than a few months. � And who�s this in such a damned garish coat? One would almost think he was trying to do the marines credit!� He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again abruptly as Sergeant Myles replied instead, probably saving Thompson from some dire and dreadful fate. �Just an old lad what got a new coat, sir,� he said smoothly before stooping to grasp Lachlan's collar. �Help me get this poor lad upstairs, sir?� Thompson couldn't gather his wits together fast enough to help, and someone wearing only issue slops brushed past him to take his place, leaving him stood there like some bizarre statue. And there was his hat, though he daren't break his rigid attention to rescue it � and he wished he'd managed to get down that last couple of steps to the floor. This did not look good at all. He'd come to the attention of the one man he'd been warned about, within moments after entering the fort for the first time, and not in a good way. He swallowed, hoping it would blow over and he could get to making himself useful.



Brendan	8 Apr 2009, 10:25 PM Post #10
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	Myles' easy deflection of St Montgomery's demand was not bound to go unanswered. Neither was McIntyre's bold movement forward to help. The commodore puffed up like an overripe melon and for an instant, McIntyre was insanely tempted to poke him and see if he would burst. "Hey, bear a hand here," the Irishman said quickly, glancing at the marine with the impossibly-bright coat. It was important to get Lachlan upstairs before St Montgomery could launch into another loud harangue. He'd had quite enough of that from the man already today. "Captain Cartwright!" St Montgomery had, blessedly, decided that his fury was better unleashed on their officer. McIntyre grit his teeth against the burning stabs of pain in his back and heaved Lachlan's weight up more onto his shoulder. "Come on," he hissed to the other marine. One of the scabbed-over welts had torn open, he was sure, and the pain was almost worse than the flogging itself had been. It would all be worth it, though, if they could get Lachlan upstairs and out of sight. The stone steps felt rough under his bare feet. Why did Lachlan have to weigh so much? St Montgomery was heaping abuse on the three marines still downstairs, not bothering to moderate either his volume or his language. Despite himself, McIntyre was glad to be removed, however temporarily, from the commodore's presence. The man could make anyone deathly afraid. Halfway up the stairs, he decided it was marginally safe enough to speak again. St Montgomery's thundering would drown out most forms of conversation, anyway. "What sorta bad luck got you sent here?" It could only be sheer bad luck, considering all that had happened in Port Royal in recent times.



George Thompson	10 Apr 2009, 07:34 PM Post #11
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	(OOC - sorry if it's a bit short and bland!) "Hey, bear a hand here," the man in the slops said, speaking in an Irish accent. Thompson blinked, scooped up his hat lightning-fast and crammed it onto his head. "Come on," he hissed, even as the Naval officer turned back to wherever it was he had come from, bellowing "Captain Cartwright!" Thompson hurried to Lachlan's side, prepared to take most of the comatose Marine's weight � there was fresh blood on the Irishman's back, and belatedly he realised that this must be the McIntyre that Bartlett had spoken of earlier. What was it he'd said the man had done? Deserted? He looked about as from Thompson's idea of a deserter as it was possible to get, and Thompson liked the look of him. They were about halfway up the stairs, with Thompson trying to take more of Lachlan's weight than the other man because of the state of his back, when the Irishman obviously decided they wouldn't be heard over the ranting from downstairs, and asked, "What sorta bad luck got you sent here?" He grinned. It probably was sheer bad luck, if that fury in the blue and white uniform had been the Commodore he'd been warned about, but he was here, and determined to make the best of it. �Me last ship had bin paid off, so there I was, knockin' around the barracks in Chatham when they decide it was about time they sent another draft out here. And some clerk prob'ly got his lists muddled or summat, and put my name down as part of the draft.� He shrugged, as much as he could under the dead weight of Private Lachlan. �Sorry f'r not introducin' meself prop'ly. Name's George Thompson � Private Thompson. I reckon you must be that Corp'ral McIntyre that Bartlett told me of. An' please excuse the hat � silly sod landed on it when he got crashed into by that Tar.�



Brendan	12 Apr 2009, 07:00 PM Post #12
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	OOC - It works. IC - It was impossible to hear any other voices downstairs that were not St Montgomery's. Even the formidable Crawford was holding his voice down, if he was speaking at all. Just as long as the commodore didn't take it into his head to venture upstairs. The other marine offered him a grin and said, �Me last ship had bin paid off, so there I was, knockin' around the barracks in Chatham when they decide it was about time they sent another draft out here. And some clerk prob'ly got his lists muddled or summat, and put my name down as part of the draft.� McIntyre contemplated that. A new draft, was it? About bloody time. Even if the new arrivals were Chatham men. He smirked to himself. It was a pretty sort of irony that they'd get a new detachment in from the same division as the Kingston marines, without having to surrender that detachment to Stevenson and his lot. Besides which, it wasn't right to complain about the blessing of new marines! �Sorry f'r not introducin' meself prop'ly," the other fellow went on. �Name's George Thompson � Private Thompson. I reckon you must be that Corp'ral McIntyre that Bartlett told me of. An' please excuse the hat � silly sod landed on it when he got crashed into by that Tar.� "Aye, that's me," the Irishman replied. "I'd say it's a pleasure, 'cept for the situation. And that'll be Chase for you. Clumsy bastard when he's ashore, that one. Never mind the hat, there's plenty of others in purser's stores. Over there, that's where they're keepin' the last of the wounded lads. We're goin' this way, though." They'd reached the top of the stairs, finally. McIntyre nodded his head toward the large room just to their right. The civilians' ward was empty and he figured it was safer to deposit Lachlan there until Doctor Finch was able to look him over.



George Thompson	13 Apr 2009, 01:11 AM Post #13
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	"Aye, that's me," the other man replied, confirming his identity. "I'd say it's a pleasure, 'cept for the situation. And that'll be Chase for you. Clumsy bastard when he's ashore, that one.� Most sailors were clumsy bastards when ashore, but Thompson had never been quite so close to being flattened by one. And even though he'd escaped, his hat had been comprehensively squashed. Maybe he could bash it back into shape, though. McIntyre must have been a mind reader because his next words were, �Never mind the hat, there's plenty of others in purser's stores.� Thompson gave a half-shrug; he didn't particularly want to have to go down to see the purser about a new hat. In his experience the folks in charge of Stores argued till you were blue in the face, then, if you were lucky, they gave you a replacement item and charged you three times what it was worth, pocketing the difference. And on a shilling a day pay, that was a big hole in the money you received. McIntyre indicated a doorway with his head. �Over there, that's where they're keepin' the last of the wounded lads. We're goin' this way, though." The doorway they were heading for was a little closer, which was a bit of a mercy; Lachlan had seemed to be growing steadily heavier. They finally got Lachlan onto a bunk near the door. As soon as he was horizontal, he began snoring. �That figures,� Thompson said, looking down at the drunken man. He took his hat off to examine the damage. It was squashed, certainly, but it was a new hat and still had the stiffness of new felt. He carefully pushed it back into shape. Not perfect, but it would do. �Can't go lookin' like a toy soldier, it don't feel right,� he said, and looked up at McIntyre. �What sort of mess have I walked into, comin' here? Bad blood 'tween Marines, a Navy officer who don't seem like he can stand the sight of a red coat, it seems a right ol' rat's nest of bad feelin's.� He poked at his hat again before putting it back on his head. �Sorry. I ain't criticisin', jus' tryin' to get me head round it, is all. An' how's your back holdin' out, Corp'ral?� he asked. Over a hundred lashes, Bartlett had said he'd taken, and though Thompson didn't know exactly when that flogging had been, he'd been pretty sure he'd seen fresh blood staining the bandages.



Brendan	25 Apr 2009, 12:22 PM Post #14
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	Can't go lookin' like a toy soldier, it don't feel right,� Thompson said. �What sort of mess have I walked into, comin' here? Bad blood 'tween Marines, a Navy officer who don't seem like he can stand the sight of a red coat, it seems a right ol' rat's nest of bad feelin's.� McIntyre grunted to himself. It would almost be better to just be like a toy soldier. "Things're a bit of a mess 'round here, that's sure." He shuffled to the nearest solid surface and sat down, glad to be off his feet. His back burned like wildfire. Why did Lachlan have to be so bloody heavy? �Sorry. I ain't criticisin', jus' tryin' to get me head round it, is all. An' how's your back holdin' out, Corp'ral?� The question drew a fleeting smirk to his face. "Nah it ain't criticisin', things are all a-stir. Me back's all right too, just aches some." It wasn't entirely a lie, though he wasn't about to admit - to anyone - how badly it did hurt. "Well enough to go back to duty, anyway. So which hulk they'd stick you on, or did you get lucky 'nough to end up on Cap'n's shore detail?" It would be better if Thompson did end up on shore detail. There was more to do ashore than there was aboard ship, after all.



George Thompson	28 Apr 2009, 11:39 AM Post #15
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	"Things're a bit of a mess 'round here, that's sure,� McIntyre said as he dropped to sit on a bed across from the snoring Lachlan. That, from everything Thompson had seen so far, was more than understating the case. But how much an outsider could help was doubtful. Even though they'd come to reinforce the Port Royal garrison, the new lads were bound to come under even more suspicion than the Kingston men, who'd seen at least some of what had happened. Me back's all right too, just aches some. Well enough to go back to duty, anyway.� So Corporal McIntyre was playing the stoical soldier routine. It was something Thompson himself was familiar with from the other side, but even so the words made him frown. �If that's just an ache, I'm a Chinaman,� he said. �There's blood on them bandages that ain't come from just a scratch. You want to get them changed afore you go reportin' anywheres. Corp'ral.� Too late he remembered the man was his superior � though surely he could be forgiven for not remembering it, with the man in plain slop trousers and bandages. �Sorry. Was only meant for a bit of friendly advice, like, that.� Some NCOs he'd known would have taken it that he was trying to give an order, and would march him straight to an officer, and he'd end up facing the cat. McIntyre didn't look like the sort of man who'd do that, but you never knew until it was too late. �So which hulk they'd stick you on, or did you get lucky 'nough to end up on Cap'n's shore detail?� He grinned at the question and perched on the edge of Lachlan's bed, shoving the other marine's legs over to make room for himself. He dropped his battered hat next to him and grinned at the Corporal. �Ended up getting' posted on Intrepid,� he said. �Still ain't sure whether that's a good thing or not, though. An' I figgered I'd come explorin' while I had the chance � they give me the afternoon off, see, 'fore expectin me t'do anythin' aboard.�



Brendan	2 May 2009, 10:00 AM Post #16
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	�If that's just an ache, I'm a Chinaman,� Thompson said. �There's blood on them bandages that ain't come from just a scratch. You want to get them changed afore you go reportin' anywheres. Corp'ral.� Despite himself, McIntyre grinned. Thompson sounded just like Davenport, right down to the disapproving frown. He'd be a sure benefit to whichever section he got assigned to, this one. Might even make corporal himself. Heaven knew they needed more good marines, corporals or not. �Sorry. Was only meant for a bit of friendly advice, like, that.� The frown was gone, replaced by that typical blank expression. It struck him that the other marine apologised a lot. Of course. Thompson was still new, he hadn't lost the stiff bearing that every new replacement marine had when they first arrived. Given recent events, though, McIntyre had to wonder if a stiff and detached bearing might not be a good thing. *�Ended up getting' posted on Intrepid,�* Thompson went on. �Still ain't sure whether that's a good thing or not, though. An' I figgered I'd come explorin' while I had the chance � they give me the afternoon off, see, 'fore expectin me t'do anythin' aboard.� The Irishman shrugged. "Might be a good thing, if you get put with Corporal Johnson. He's a grumpy old bastard but he don't back off from workin'. If you got put down with Wolfe, now... it ain't too right to talk bad 'bout other corporals, but I'd stay away from Wolfe. Lazy as the day's long, him." He scratched at the bandage around his torso and shook his head. "It ain't safe yet to go back downstairs, or I'd see you interduced to the cap'n proper. Be glad you're not on the flagship, at least!"



George Thompson	12 May 2009, 03:20 PM Post #17
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	Well, McIntyre didn't bawl him out for trying to give an order to a superior, which made Thompson relax a bit. And he probably thought Thompson was an idiot because he apologised so much, but really, what was a lad supposed to do when he found himself in the sort of tricky situation that the new draft were in? "Might be a good thing, if you get put with Corporal Johnson. He's a grumpy old bastard but he don't back off from workin'.� Mcintyre's assessment of Johnson tallied with what Bartlett had said, and Thompson nodded. �He sounds all right, at least, from what you an' Bartlett've said. Not like some folks I could name.� The image of Sergeant Sweetman, his drill sergeant during training, surfaced in his mind. The man had been a complete bastard, as unlike his name as chalk was from cheese, and Thompson and the rest of his squad had hated the man. �If you got put down with Wolfe, now... it ain't too right to talk bad 'bout other corporals, but I'd stay away from Wolfe. Lazy as the day's long, him." And again, that agreed pretty much with what Bartlett had said. So Wolfe was a lazy sort of man, and either that would rub off on the men in his section... or they would show him up to the officers. "It ain't safe yet to go back downstairs, or I'd see you interduced to the cap'n proper. Be glad you're not on the flagship, at least!" That made Thompson smile properly. �What's the captain like, then?� he asked, hoping that he was a good officer to serve under. A man could cope with a bad officer if the NCOs were all right, but it could be pretty rough even so. A good officer... everyone hoped to serve with a good officer, if they could. And if that fury in the Navy uniform was the Commodore, Thompson was very glad he hadn't been posted to the flagship. �So what else do I need t'know 'bout bein' posted here then, Corp'ral?� he asked, curious as to what the other Marines were like, and whether he was going to find it easy to get on with them or not.



Brendan	17 May 2009, 02:15 AM Post #18
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	�What's the captain like, then?� "The cap'n." McIntyre nodded, slowly. He didn't know much about Cartwright as a man, but regarded him highly as an officer. "He came up quick. Joined us straight from England, about a year ago. New commission, new kit, and such. Sharp's a bayonet and ain't afraid to take charge. He got his step to battalion first lieutenant when Cap'n Collins resigned, then got to be cap'n himself when Cap'n Forsythe got killed." He paused, rubbing absently at the stubble on his jaw. Captain Collins had easily been the best officer McIntyre had served under, but Cartwright was shaping up to be a strong second. Of course, McIntyre owed the man his life for what he'd done before and during that damned court-martial. "If anybody can get this lot back into shape, Cap'n Cartwright can," he added, almost in an undertone. �So what else do I need t'know 'bout bein' posted here then, Corp'ral?� What else. There was an awful lot that McIntyre could say to cover 'what else'. He could go on for hours just covering the various quirks and tendencies of the marines in his squad, never mind all the rest. He grinned and leaned back on the cot, using his elbows to brace himself up. "Don't box with the Colour-Sarn't," he said. "Even if he challenges you. He's only been beat once, 'cause the other lad cheated." That had been years ago, though. Crawford hadn't been beaten since, but there had been some close scrapes. The best match he'd seen had been when James Bell had accepted the Colour-Sergeant's challenge. Bell was half Crawford's size but he was like a damned bull in a fight. Both men came out of the match bruised, bloody, and exhausted, with Crawford only just emerging as the victor. What else... "Careful of the Bells, they're a rough pair. Old colliery gang thugs, them. They're all right if they like you though. You'll meet Martin right off anyway, once you get out to Intrepid again, he's managin' things while Johnson's here in hospital." McIntyre paused and thought for a moment. Most of what he knew revolved around events and men on the flagship, which wouldn't be much help to Thompson. "Get to be mates with Bartlett," he said after a moment. "Knows almost everythin' about findin' and acquirin' useful bits of kit. He's got quick fingers and knows folks in town. He can get things that the purser don't want to give out. Sawbones sends him out to get supplies most often 'cause he's good at gettin' what's asked for." Then he shrugged. "Ain't much else I know for sure 'bout lads in Intrepid."



George Thompson	21 May 2009, 09:48 PM Post #19
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	The corporal nodded slowly at Thompson's question, as if thinking what to say. "The cap'n. He came up quick. Joined us straight from England, about a year ago. New commission, new kit, and such. Sharp's a bayonet and ain't afraid to take charge. He got his step to battalion first lieutenant when Cap'n Collins resigned, then got to be cap'n himself when Cap'n Forsythe got killed," he said, then added quietly, "If anybody can get this lot back into shape, Cap'n Cartwright can.� So he was new to it... but not so new he was still wet behind the ears, which was something. The officer had to make one group out of the new draft and those who'd been here for years and recently had their mates turn on them... Thompson didn't envy his task at all. It sounded as though he had Corporal McIntyre's respect, though, and that had to count for something, especially as it seemed McIntyre himself was respected by the Privates of the Port Royal battalion. "Don't box with the Colour-Sarn't," McIntyre continued, leaning back on his elbows on the bed. "Even if he challenges you. He's only been beat once, 'cause the other lad cheated." That bit of advice made Thompson grin. �I'd prob'ly let him win anyways. Some folks take it hard if they get beat by someone who has to take their orders. 'Sides, I dunno that I'd want to get into a boxin' match with a Colour-Sar'nt. It can't be healthy for a man's career, that.� He poked at his hat as McIntyre continued, "Careful of the Bells, they're a rough pair. Old colliery gang thugs, them. They're all right if they like you though. You'll meet Martin right off anyway, once you get out to Intrepid again, he's managin' things while Johnson's here in hospital." Thompson nodded. There were men like that everywhere you went, he thought, and wondered if there was any particular way to get on the good side of the Bells. And hadn't Bartlett said something about the one not on Intrepid being the worst of the two? So if he only had one to deal with, and not even the worst one, that was probably a good thing. There was a pause before the Corporal spoke again. "Get to be mates with Bartlett. Knows almost everythin' about findin' and acquirin' useful bits of kit. He's got quick fingers and knows folks in town. He can get things that the purser don't want to give out. Sawbones sends him out to get supplies most often 'cause he's good at gettin' what's asked for." Thompson nodded at that. �He was the one I met first off, down the docks,� he said. �Seemed a decent enough sort, anyway, an' fair friendly an' all.� "Ain't much else I know for sure 'bout lads in Intrepid,� McIntyre said finally, with a shrug. Thompson shrugged himself. �What 'bout the other lads, then? We's all in the same battalion, arter all, even if we ain't all in the same ship. An' you never know if you might end up servin' in the same ship anyways.�



Brendan	24 May 2009, 04:30 AM Post #20
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	�I'd prob'ly let him win anyways. Some folks take it hard if they get beat by someone who has to take their orders. 'Sides, I dunno that I'd want to get into a boxin' match with a Colour-Sar'nt. It can't be healthy for a man's career, that.� McIntyre grinned. That was one thing about the Colour-Sergeant that Thompson would learn in time. He wasn't the sort to hold lads back based only on how they did in the boxing circle. If anything, Crawford was more likely to respect a lad who did well against him, even though nearly everybody lost within ten minutes. "Dunno. He's more likely to beat you harder if you don't put everythin' into it. I tried standin' against him once. Couldn't see right for a week." Accepting the Colour-Sergeant's challenge had been stupid, but the reputation of his squad had been at stake. Crawford had laid down a challenge that he could take on an entire squad without losing a bout. McIntyre had been the first to put his squad forward for an attempt and he'd been the first to square off against the Colour-Sergeant. Needless to say Crawford had won his own challenge, though not without a hard fight. "Ha," the Irishman laughed, remembering. "He bought me an' the squad a round once. We all had a go at him. Lost, of course, but gave him a good run of it. Even Jenkins - probably the only one of my lads who ain't much for fightin', that one. Good sort, but hates usin' his fists." That tidbit was only one small scrap of insight he could offer and it seemed enough to spark Thompson's interest. �What 'bout the other lads, then? We's all in the same battalion, arter all, even if we ain't all in the same ship. An' you never know if you might end up servin' in the same ship anyways.� He had to admit that the other marine had a point. There was bound to be more shuffling of the battalion's marines, now that there were new men available to help fill out the various detachments. Well. The other lads. McIntyre looked up at the ceiling for a moment before speaking, trying to decide precisely where to start. Even though it was obvious. Who did he know better than his own squad? "Can tell you a fair bit about most of 'em," he said, finally. "Already met Lachlan, so you know he likes his rum. He's a proper nutter, too - roused out of his hammock in only his kilt and a shirt when the fightin' started. He rescued one of the middies though, him an' Jenkins. Mad bugger grabbed a bayonet to turn it aside, even. Took another to the leg later on. Me other lads ain't much better than him, though. Told you 'bout Jenkins. There's a coupla lads that enlisted together, Frazier an' Smith, but they're mostly all right. You'll know Mikey Quintin when you see him, he's a big lad. Don't talk much normally, but he's one of the best shots in garrison. Ware 'listed just a day shy of meetin' the noose - he's another one to get to be mates with, got quicker fingers than Bartlett. He's a bit too fond of cathouses though, him and Higgins both. Higgins is another lad you'll know on sight, 'cause he looks like a bloody schoolboy." A bellow from downstairs caused him to flinch, even though he was well-removed from the scene below. It took him a moment to realise that he hadn't just flinched but sat nearly upright. Embarrassed by such a reflexive action, McIntyre cleared his throat and tried to settle back into his previously-comfortable position. The interruption had distracted him, which admittedly wasn't all that difficult these days. How best to recover from his lapse? A story? A slightly faltering grin came onto his face. A story. He knew just the one. "It didn't used to be so tense 'round here," the Irishman began. "Things used to be pretty good, actually. Before. There was one time, we nearly did for the cap'n. Pure accident, though. Me an' Corporal Jones planned it - too bad you wasn't here before, Jonesy used to be a good sort - and used a bunch of our lads to pull it off. The old commodore had a guest aboard, some sorta high-up nobleman, and poor Cap'n Collins had to be there for the meetin' too. The cap'n had been cut open by the sawbones a coupla days before, 'cause he was sick, so he weren't doin' so well gettin' around. He kept a vial of laudanum in his cabin aboard, and we knew it. Anyway, there was a tea tray all made up for 'em down in the wardroom, and Jonesy went and nicked the cap'n's laudanum, and put some drops into the teapot. It didn't take long 'til Hardy fetched that tray and took it straight to the commodore's cabin. Soon enough, the cap'n came stumblin' out and headed for the side. He went clean over it, too. Took four lads to fish him out, 'Tenant Gillette included. Never seen a sea officer swim before!" Remembering that afternoon made him chuckle. "It didn't go well for us that were behiind it, but even Cap'n Collins said it was damned clever." His amusement drained away swiftly and he sighed. "He gave up his commission when the India Company came, the cap'n did. We fought those posin' bastards one evenin' and whipped 'em good. Got our backs flayed for it. And he left us right after, made a speech 'bout it at punishment parade. Things ain't been the same since."



George Thompson	26 May 2009, 12:37 AM Post #21
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	"Dunno. He's more likely to beat you harder if you don't put everythin' into it. I tried standin' against him once. Couldn't see right for a week." Thompson grinned and gave a half-shrug. �Well, then, I won't go lookin' for a fight with him, but if he wants one, I ain't goin' to back down.� Bare-knuckle boxing wasn't something Thompson was particularly fond of, but he reckoned he could hold his own, for a bit anyway. He certainly wouldn't disgrace himself. His eyes widened at McIntyre's account, and he let out a low whistle. �Fought your entire squad, an' won? That must've taken some doing. Nice of him to get the drinks in after, though.� He filed the names away in his memory as McIntyre continued. Lachlan gave a grunt as the Corporal said his name, which made Thompson grin, even though the other Marine was dead to the world and probably didn't know there was anyone there, let alone that they were talking about him. There was another bellow from downstairs, which made McIntyre sit up before looking slightly apologetic and trying to settle back down again. "It didn't used to be so tense 'round here," he said. "Things used to be pretty good, actually. Before.� That was it, wasn't it. Before. Before everything had gone wrong. Thompson and the rest of the draft � Vining, Joyse and the others � likely wouldn't ever be properly accepted because they weren't here 'before'. He grinned at the Corporal's story, actually laughing out loud at the description of four men trying to get one officer out of the water, though he frowned thoughtfully at the officer's name. �Y'know, there was a gennelman come out with us, name of Collins,� he said. �Don't s'pose your Captain has a brother or summat like that, who might've come out to see him?� If he was still out here, of course � but the other man hadn't said he'd left the Indies, just the Corps. �Usedta watch us doin' drill, times,� he said, and shrugged. �Only knowed his name 'cause I was on sentry when he went to see the Cap'n, once, and I had to ask who it was, to announce him.�



Brendan	26 May 2009, 03:50 PM Post #22
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	OOC - Fast turn-around time on this one, but it's a lot more manageable than the last. IC - �Fought your entire squad, an' won? That must've taken some doing. Nice of him to get the drinks in after, though.� McIntyre nodded. The Colour-Sergeant was nobody to cross, but he did have a sense of fair play. And he was damned good with his fists. McIntyre himself hadn't tried his luck boxing against him since. There were others who were less interested in self-preservation though. James Bell had stood against Crawford no less than five times since getting whipped the first time. He hadn't met any of the other marines that had come over with Thompson, but judging purely by Thompson, they were probably good lads. They could use some good lads. Even if they didn't turn out to be any kind of adventurous. After a bit, when McIntyre had finished his story, Thompson frowned. That couldn't be good. �Y'know, there was a gennelman come out with us, name of Collins,� he said. �Don't s'pose your Captain has a brother or summat like that, who might've come out to see him?� It almost seemed that Thompson didn't expect an answer to that, for he continued with �Usedta watch us doin' drill, times. Only knowed his name 'cause I was on sentry when he went to see the Cap'n, once, and I had to ask who it was, to announce him.� This time, McIntyre did sit fully upright. A gentleman called Collins, aboard a Navy ship? What were the odds... could the captain have come back? But why? He stared wide-eyed at Thompson, wanting to believe that it really was true. "What'd he look like?" The Irishman asked eagerly, not bothering to hide his interest. "Did you hear what him and the cap'n talked about? Did he talk to any of you lads at all?" If it was true, he'd have to get word to Captain Cartwright as soon as he could. McIntyre sure hoped that it was.



George Thompson	27 May 2009, 11:31 AM Post #23
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	OOC - Sorry it's short. Hope it isn't too short... IC - That seemed to have piqued the Corporal's interest, judging from the way he sat up. "What'd he look like? Did you hear what him and the cap'n talked about? Did he talk to any of you lads at all?" He was definitely interested, then. Thompson shoved at Lachlan's legs a bit and shuffled back so he could get comfortable, pulling one leg up to rest his foot on the edge of the mattress. He leaned forward, clasping his hands around his upraised knee. �'Bout middle height, mebbe a slight bit taller'n me, with fair hair. Very upright � seemed a proper gentleman. Very nice to talk to � come down to our messdeck once, just askin' gen'ral stuff � how long had we bin in the Corps, what did we make of it, things like that.� He scratched behind his ear � he thought he'd been bitten by something. �Was interested to hear some of us was getting' posted here � wondered what we thought of it, and whether any of us'd bin out here afore, like.� He shrugged. �Cheerful sort of cove, he seemed. Nice, like I said.� He gave a half-shrug. �Didn't say why he was comin' out, but he wouldn't, would he � not bein' a gen'leman an' all. Was interested in seein' the drill, though, but I reckon most gen'lemen like seein' that.� He wasn't sure why Corporal McIntyre should be so interested, but then, that might have something to do with everything that had occurred before Thompson's arrival here. Privately, he thought that was going to be the way of things for some time yet. It was going to take time to settle in and be accepted. If it ever happened. �Was there anythin' else you wanted know, Corp'ral?� he asked, watching the other man's face to see how his description would be taken.



Brendan	29 May 2009, 02:45 PM Post #24
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	Thompson took his time getting comfortable before answering, a delay that only increased McIntyre's eagerness to hear his reply. The man was just winding him up. he knew it. He tried to keep from fidgeting anxiously. The delay was not that long but it sure as hell seemed like it. �'Bout middle height, mebbe a slight bit taller'n me, with fair hair. Very upright � seemed a proper gentleman. Very nice to talk to � come down to our messdeck once, just askin' gen'ral stuff � how long had we bin in the Corps, what did we make of it, things like that.� He set that description against what he knew of Collins and barely managed to smother a cheer. It was almost a dead-on match for the former captain. McIntyre couldn't believe it. Even after all that had happened, he wouldn't ever have thought Collins would come back. Maybe not everything was doomed to misery after all. �Was interested to hear some of us was getting' posted here � wondered what we thought of it, and whether any of us'd bin out here afore, like. Cheerful sort of cove, he seemed. Nice, like I said.� Thompson shrugged, again. �Didn't say why he was comin' out, but he wouldn't, would he � not bein' a gen'leman an' all. Was interested in seein' the drill, though, but I reckon most gen'lemen like seein' that.� That didn't sound quite so much like Captain Collins, but maybe he had done well during his time away. He'd only just come out on the other side of a big surgery when he'd left. Which wasn't to say he hadn't been all right before, even though McIntyre had rarely seen him consistently cheerful. He had always taken an interest in drill, though, and usually knew things about his marines that the marines themselves didn't give him credit for. That was something Captain Forsythe had lacked, unfortunately. He might still be alive if he had known his lads better. A grin turned up the corners of McIntyre's mouth. Forsythe didn't matter anymore, he was dead and all the more useless for it. What mattered was Captain Collins was back. He'd have to get the word around to the squadron about it, the lads needed to know... but there his train of thought stopped short. He remembered the manner in which Collins had left. The punishment parade, the sentence of fifty lashes a man, the shock of seeing a change of command. There were a lot of marines who would still feel betrayed by that. It would be wiser to keep this news to himself for the moment, until he could tell Captain Cartwright. Cartwright would know what to do. �Was there anythin' else you wanted know, Corp'ral?� McIntyre glanced sharply at Thompson, having momentarily forgotten the other marine was in the room. Anything else... "Not 'bout the old cap'n, just now. That's him that came across with you lot, though, or I'll eat me shoulder knot." The Irishman grinned again. "What about the lads you came out with? Steady enough to keep from gettin' made sport of by the Colour-Sergeant?" That would be a sight to see, when Crawford laid eyes on the new draft himself. If he didn't have the whole lot scrambling around like mad chickens, McIntyre would be surprised.



George Thompson	2 Jun 2009, 02:52 AM Post #25
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	Well, his description of the civilian gentleman seemed to have cheered the corporal up a bit, which was good. This Captain Collins must have been well thought of by the men, if McIntyre's reactions were any indication. The Corporal grinned, before turning sober again and Thompson wondered what it was that wiped the smile off McIntyre's face so effectively. Thompson's question seemed to take the Corporal by surprise and he wondered if the other Marine had forgotten he was there. "Not 'bout the old cap'n, just now. That's him that came across with you lot, though, or I'll eat me shoulder knot." Ah, then it was their old officer � or at least, McIntyre thought it was, which wasn't the same thing at all. "What about the lads you came out with? Steady enough to keep from gettin' made sport of by the Colour-Sergeant?" Thompson grinned. �Aye, Corp'ral. They'm mostly good lads, steady enough. Vinin's a devil for leavin' bits of kit around, or just shovin' them back his sea-chest any-old-how. McEwen's all right, though he likes his drink a bit. Not that he had much chance to get drunk on the voyage out, o' course. He's pretty quiet, elsewise.� He shrugged. �They's pretty good lads, really. Don't think there's anyone who'd go getting' into trouble a-purpose, like, though I can't say as there ain't any who'd never get in trouble.� He grinned. �Don't reckon there's a Marine in the whole of the Corps what hasn't ever bin in trouble, after all.� What else was there to say? �I reckon you'll see 'em soon enough. They'll prob'ly divvy us up and shove some of us into your section.� Well, if Corporal McIntyre's section needed more men, they would. �They're good in a fight, I should think. I mean, I know some of 'em are, and I reckon the others are too, on'y I ain't seen 'em. Good lads to have at your side, anyhow.� But hadn't the mutineers been that? He really had to stop thinking about that � he couldn't allow it to colour his perception of the Marines he was going to be serving alongside. Even though it probably would colour everything about his service out here.



Frederick St Montgomery	2 Jun 2009, 08:20 PM Post #26
Rear Admiral of the Fleet Posts: 94 Group: Royal Navy Member #7 Joined: 7 December 2006	St Montgomery, in an impressive display of stamina, had kept bellowing at Cartwright and Crawford since the marines had disappeared upstairs. He was still thoroughly incensed by what he knew was a mutinous assembly, regardless of what they said, because, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that was the only explanation. There would be no other reason for both Cartwright and Crawford to attend to the matter personally (unless they were idiots without any knowledge of proper communication, and they were idiots). "So I don't care if I have to rip off your scrotums with my bare hands--!" he stopped yelling mid-sentence. He glanced up at the stairs and then back to Cartwright, on whom he'd been focusing most of his abuse. "Since these men are your responsibility, Cartwright, for now, tell me, how long does it take to carry one man up the stairs and be done with him?" He glared at them, "because let me tell you: I think those men should have been back by now, with Corporal McWhatsHisFace and the old face in a new uniform. You see...I knew there was something going on!" He raised his voice again, "they're probably up there eavesdropping on this entire conversation, and if you two are not working for Stevenson, then by god, this is proof that that no-good blaggard McIntyre is working for him and you continue to allow him to serve under you!" St Montgomery turned around, his face dark with fury, and stalked up the stairs, each foot slamming into the steps. "You! Marines!" he called, bursting into Thompson's and McIntyre's conversation. "What the hell are you two doing up here? Do you not have work to do? Are you standing about and listening in on conversations as per Stevenson's orders?!"



Brendan	4 Jun 2009, 08:30 PM Post #27
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	�Aye, Corp'ral. They'm mostly good lads, steady enough. Vinin's a devil for leavin' bits of kit around, or just shovin' them back his sea-chest any-old-how. McEwen's all right, though he likes his drink a bit. Not that he had much chance to get drunk on the voyage out, o' course. He's pretty quiet, elsewise.� Thompson shrugged. �They's pretty good lads, really. Don't think there's anyone who'd go getting' into trouble a-purpose, like, though I can't say as there ain't any who'd never get in trouble. Don't reckon there's a Marine in the whole of the Corps what hasn't ever bin in trouble, after all,� the other marine finished with a grin. McIntyre grinned too. That was definitely the truth. For a lot of marines, the Corps had been what saved them from the noose, or worse. There were plenty of those sorts in Port Royal. This new draft would feel right at home. Hell, some of them might even end up discovering old acquaintances. �I reckon you'll see 'em soon enough. They'll prob'ly divvy us up and shove some of us into your section.� That was the most likely outcome. Maybe if he had a word with Captain Cartwright, he might get first pick of the new draft. The other corporals could make do with the rest. It would be a fine sort of revenge for the lack of support they'd shown before and during his court-martial. The bastards. �They're good in a fight, I should think. I mean, I know some of 'em are, and I reckon the others are too, on'y I ain't seen 'em. Good lads to have at your side, anyhow.� The Irishman flexed his fingers and smirked. "Good in a fight, eh? Might have to test that. Been awhile since I seen a good scrap in the boxin' circle." He laughed. "I ain't so good's the Colour-Sarn't, but I ain't bad neither. Where they keepin' your lot anyway? Maybe you got luiky and got inta the barracks; we built them ourselves, y'know - " The angry stamp of shod feet coming up the stairs interrupted him. McIntyre lost his grin and sat up as stiffly as he could. There was only one man in the squadron who could storm around like that. "Straighten up!" He hissed at Thompson, as he swung his bare feet onto the floor. They only had a couple of seconds - "You! Marines!" St Montgomery came thundering into the ward, looking highly pissed off. He was out for blood. McIntyre had a very good idea whose blood he was out for, too. "What the hell are you two doing up here? Do you not have work to do? Are you standing about and listening in on conversations as per Stevenson's orders?!" The accusation brought colour onto McIntyre's face. "We was waitin' for Lachlan to come 'round, sir. Sawbones don't like leavin' lads alone that've took a bad fall." He kept his gaze fixed on a point across the room. "Din't hear nothin' of what you an' the Major was talkin' 'bout neither, sir. I were tellin' Thompson 'bout how hard it goes for any lad what tries boxin' with the Colour-Sarn't. Ever tried goin' into the circle with him, sir? You might stan' more a chance than most of us."



George Thompson	5 Jun 2009, 04:15 PM Post #28
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	"Good in a fight, eh? Might have to test that. Been awhile since I seen a good scrap in the boxin' circle." McIntye said, flexing his fingers. Thompson grinned. There were one or two men in the draft who could make a good showing of themselves in the boxing ring, though he wondered how they would stand up to the Colour Sergeant, who sounded as though he was a tough opponent to face. Only once been beaten � and that was because the other man had cheated? He mentally ran down the names of the men he'd come out with. Beech might do it, or Combes. �Where they keepin' your lot anyway? Maybe you got luiky and got inta the barracks; we built them ourselves, y'know - " He opened his mouth to reply to the question before he heard shod feet coming up the stair and the Corporal interrupted himself. "Straighten up!" he hissed, taking his own advice and swinging his feet to the floor to sit as straight as his injured back would allow. Thompson had already registered that the footsteps would probably belong to the irate Naval officer and straightened up himself. He was on his feet as the officer erupted into the room with all the delicacy of a 32-pounder cannon going off. "You! Marines!" He stood there, ramrod straight as the officer looked from Corporal McIntyre to him, and back again. "What the hell are you two doing up here? Do you not have work to do? Are you standing about and listening in on conversations as per Stevenson's orders?!" he continued, not moderating his volume at all. Thompson cast about for a way of replying that wouldn't get him sent to the grating. No, he didn't have any work to do yet, sir. And who the hell was Stevenson, anyway? Oh, yes � the officer in command of the Kingston marines. He opened his mouth to reply, but was forestalled by McIntyre, who was sitting to attention just as rigidly as Thompson was standing there. "We was waitin' for Lachlan to come 'round, sir. Sawbones don't like leavin' lads alone that've took a bad fall." Thompson sneaked a glance at him, to see that he had the typical blank expression of a Marine on sentry-duty and was staring fixedly at some point across the room. "Din't hear nothin' of what you an' the Major was talkin' 'bout neither, sir. I were tellin' Thompson 'bout how hard it goes for any lad what tries boxin' with the Colour-Sarn't. Ever tried goin' into the circle with him, sir? You might stan' more a chance than most of us." He blinked, trying to prevent his mouth from falling open. Did the Corporal want to get sent back to the grating? Because he certainly sounded as though he was going about it the right way. In Thompson's experience, you answered furious officers with 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir' at appropriate moments and hoped to hell you weren't the one going to get a meeting with the cat. He hoped McIntyre knew what he was doing, or that he had the typical luck of the Irish to go with the blarney he was spinning.



Frederick St Montgomery	8 Jun 2009, 01:46 AM Post #29
Rear Admiral of the Fleet Posts: 94 Group: Royal Navy Member #7 Joined: 7 December 2006	St Montgomery fumed at McIntyre's words. He opened and shut his mouth, so infuriated that the boy would dare to speak back and try to shift the blame...but to suggest that he, in a boxing match with a mere marine...he snapped his mouth shut, and instead fixed his coldest glare on the corporal. Just because he was having trouble coming up with words that would adequately display his displeasure with the marine, didn't mean that he should get off easy in the very present time. "You forget your place," he said, his words quiet, but each one carefully enunciated. To take up a 'conversational' faux-tone with his superiour, with his better! Such impudence could not be tolerated. Those scheming damnable marines, they were out to undermine his authority in anyway they possibly could. "If you are on duty," he said, his voice raising in volume once again, for no matter how hard he tried to keep it level or quiet, it was inevitable that some idiot-marine, or idiot-sailor, or idiot-good-for-nothing-incompetent officer would do something that deserved a fair tongue lashing. "If you are on duty, you are not to be gossiping like women! You are to keep your focus on the matter at hand." He glared at the other marine, "and I hope, that you were not discussing back, or I might have to come up with a creative punishment for yourself as well. In fact, you'd do well in the future to know that this, corporal, barely worthy of any rank as he is, is one of the prime troublemakers in the fort. A sad day it was when he got off of charges of desertion. He should have been shot. But you'd do well to not listen to his mutinous words." He spun around on McIntyre. "So, you think it's your place to be gossiping like a woman then," he grinned cruelly, "then perhaps you should be doing a woman's job, eh? Shall I have you flogged and sent down on mess duty? Or perhaps you'd like to join Murtogg and Mullroy on their never ending guard duty? Oh, there are any number of endless unpleasant tasks I can find for you. Do not encourage my creative endeavours, for you will not like the results." He addressed both of them, "If I hear any more gossiping, you will regret it even more." He spun around and left down. So much of his time was taken up by yelling at marines and trying to track down the various mutinous plots. [exit]



Brendan	8 Jun 2009, 06:50 PM Post #30
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	If there was one thing that their new commodore could be counted on to do, it was make accusations. It would happen whether or not a lad was guilty of anything. McIntyre figured if he was going to be loudly accused of something, he might as well deserve it. At least with St Montgomery, it was easy to direct the temper and suspicion in whichever direction McIntyre wanted. "You forget your place," St Montgomery growled, drawing each word out. The moment of lack of thundering didn't last. "If you are on duty - " he promptly raised the volume, back to its usual level. "If you are on duty, you are not to be gossiping like women! You are to keep your focus on the matter at hand." McIntyre only blinked, but inwardly he was amused. Gossiping? Was that the best St Montgomery could come up with? Honestly, he'd given the man a perfect target and this was all he going to get for it? He was disappointed, to say the least. And of course the commodore turned his ire onto Thompson. "And I hope, that you were not discussing back, or I might have to come up with a creative punishment for yourself as well. In fact, you'd do well in the future to know that this, corporal, barely worthy of any rank as he is, is one of the prime troublemakers in the fort. A sad day it was when he got off of charges of desertion. He should have been shot. But you'd do well to not listen to his mutinous words." Now that was more like it. McIntyre kept his gaze fixed on the wall, but he couldn't suppress the flicker of a grin that caused the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards. He had avoided getting put before a firing squad right enough, but a sentence less than death not good enough for St Montgomery. It must really eat at the man that McIntyre hadn't been shot or hung. That was part of why it was so fun to needle him. There was the risk of having him actually follow through on his threats of punishment, of course, but that was another part of the fun. "So, you think it's your place to be gossiping like a woman then," he sneered, "then perhaps you should be doing a woman's job, eh? Shall I have you flogged and sent down on mess duty? Or perhaps you'd like to join Murtogg and Mullroy on their never ending guard duty? Oh, there are any number of endless unpleasant tasks I can find for you. Do not encourage my creative endeavours, for you will not like the results." Another flogging? It was not an idea McIntyre cared much for, but the rest of his court-martial sentence still had to be carried out. No matter how St Montgomery set it up, there was going to be another flogging anyway, so it hardly mattered as to the reason. Besides, mess duty was not so bad, as the opportunity to sneak extra parts of meals was excellent. But Murtogg and Mullroy... he had forgotten about those two. What were they still doing ashore? "If I hear any more gossiping, you will regret it even more." "Aye sir," McIntyre said, though it was to the empty air. The commodore had stomped out, most likely to find somebody else to shout at. Shrugging as he relaxed from his rigid stance, the Irishman grinned at Thompson. "Bugger's more likely to make you deaf than anythin' else. He don't know the first thing about runnin' the squadron neither. His ship was the only one that got took over by them turn-coats. That oughta tell you enough about what he's like." He hoisted himself back up onto the bunk and promptly flopped back onto his elbows. "Might's well wait 'til the sawbones shows up now. He's the one to be 'feared of, not the commodore!"



George Thompson	15 Jun 2009, 12:13 PM Post #31
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	The commodore looked even more angry, if it was possible. He was practically purple with rage. "You forget your place," he said, almost conversationally, before he started shouting again. "If you are on duty... If you are on duty, you are not to be gossiping like women! You are to keep your focus on the matter at hand." Thompson wasn't aware he was on duty, but now would not be a good time to say that. He couldn't believe that McIntyre, who still seemed to be in a deal of pain after his flogging, would intentionally needle the officer the way he had. The officer seemed to agree. He was already standing rigid as the Commodore swung to address him, or he would have straightened to attention as soon as he saw the movement. "And I hope, that you were not discussing back, or I might have to come up with a creative punishment for yourself as well. In fact, you'd do well in the future to know that this, corporal, barely worthy of any rank as he is, is one of the prime troublemakers in the fort. A sad day it was when he got off of charges of desertion. He should have been shot. But you'd do well to not listen to his mutinous words." �No, sir,� he managed to say, wondering suddenly just how 'creative' his punishments could be. From everything he'd seen and heard of the Commodore, probably no more creative than the grating. He'd already been flogged once and didn't relish the thought of getting flogged again, and so soon after arriving here. He allowed his shoulders to relax a fraction as he turned to address the Corporal. "So, you think it's your place to be gossiping like a woman then," he said with a cruel look, "then perhaps you should be doing a woman's job, eh? Shall I have you flogged and sent down on mess duty? Or perhaps you'd like to join Murtogg and Mullroy on their never ending guard duty? Oh, there are any number of endless unpleasant tasks I can find for you. Do not encourage my creative endeavours, for you will not like the results." Did he always threaten men with punishment? He seemed like a man who would follow through with very little provocation, and Thompson made up his mind, again, not to come to his attention for anything if he could possibly help. "If I hear any more gossiping, you will regret it even more," he said, addressing the room at large, before turning on his heel and stalking out. �Aye, aye, sir,� Thompson said, echoing the Corporal. McIntyre grinned, relaxing. "Bugger's more likely to make you deaf than anythin' else. He don't know the first thing about runnin' the squadron neither. His ship was the only one that got took over by them turn-coats. That oughta tell you enough about what he's like." Thompson took a breath and looked over at the doorway before shrugging and sitting down again. �I think... I think I'm rather glad I got Intrepid,� he said, feeling slightly shaky. He wouldn't have minded being in McIntyre's section, but he was on one of the other ships, wasn't he. �I'm goin' to do me best to get me jacket as faded as I can as quick as I can. Havin' a new coat on with him around... Easy targets, we are. The new lads, I mean.� The corporal sagged back on his elbows. "Might's well wait 'til the sawbones shows up now. He's the one to be 'feared of, not the commodore," he said, with a grin which Thompson returned. He sat back down next to Lachlan's legs. �He's a good surgeon, though, from what-all I was told earlier,� he said, and indicated the other man. �Well, you'm up an' about already. Even if I don't think it was a good idea to try hoickin' this'n up here with your back in the state it is.� He indicated the comatose Lachlan, and shrugged. �It's never fun, getting' set to the gratin'. I only got one an' a half dozen, years ago, an' that hurt like hell.� He couldn't imagine being on the receiving end of over a hundred.



Brendan	20 Jun 2009, 03:45 AM Post #32
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	There was a final, brief, outbreak of shouting downstairs, then there was silence. At last. *�I think... I think I'm rather glad I got Intrepid,�* Thompson said, after re-settling on the end of the bunk they had dropped Lachlan onto. �I'm goin' to do me best to get me jacket as faded as I can as quick as I can. Havin' a new coat on with him around... Easy targets, we are. The new lads, I mean.� "That won't take long out here," McIntyre said mildly, thinking of his own well-faded coat. New coats never lasted long out here. The new lads' kit wouldn't look so fresh and sharp for longer than a fortnight. They'd be little different from the other Port Royal men before they knew it. �He's a good surgeon, though, from what-all I was told earlier,� Thompson went on, obviously referring to Doctor Finch. It was hardly a surprise. There wasn't a lad in the garrison who had a bad word to say about the sawbones. �Well, you'm up an' about already. Even if I don't think it was a good idea to try hoickin' this'n up here with your back in the state it is. It's never fun, getting' set to the gratin'. I only got one an' a half dozen, years ago, an' that hurt like hell.� McIntyre simply glanced impassively at him, but it seemed that Thompson was only offering his honest opinion. Couldn't fault a lad for having an opinion, unless he went around voicing it foolishly. He did have a point about the state of his back, too. It had only been a few days and he was able to walk around without excessive trouble. It had to be a good thing. The Irishman eased himself back very slowly and was able to lie on his injured back without too much pain. Maybe he was simply getting used to the heavy stabbing ache. "Don't s'pose it's meant to be nice," he remarked after a moment, thinking back to his two most recent turns at the grating. "A hunnert ain't so bad, by itself. Woulda been too nice of 'em to wait 'til I was all healed from the last one, but that's how things go now." Oddly enough, he felt no disgust or regret for anything. Things happened and you dealt with it. He grinned. "Only one an' a half dozen since you 'listed? That's prob'ly the best record outta every lad here. Keepin' it that way will be the real trick, too."



George Thompson	1 Jul 2009, 05:49 AM Post #33
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	Finally, the shouting downstairs stopped. The sudden silence seemed unnatural and a little disconcerting. The Corporal's voice seemed unnaturally loud suddenly, even though he wasn't speaking any louder. "That won't take long out here," he said, responding to Thompson's thoughts on standing out in a brand-new coat. �Sun's strong enough that anythin'll fade in double-quick time,� Thompson agreed, nodding. It was hot out here, it was pretty much the first thing he'd noticed. That, and the colour of the sea, which was a far cry from the mud-coloured water of the Medway, back home. He hadn't thought water could be that blue. "Don't s'pose it's meant to be nice," McIntyre continued after a moment, obviously talking about the grating. "A hunnert ain't so bad, by itself. Woulda been too nice of 'em to wait 'til I was all healed from the last one, but that's how things go now." Thompson managed not to let his jaw drop, but only just. �A hundred ain't so bad?� he said, once he'd recovered himself. �That sorta thing'd half kill most folks I know, if it was a Navy cat with a bosun's mate be'ind it, the way it is aboard ship.� He hadn't really spent all that much time on land and only vaguely remembered seeing one flogging carried out on land as a Marine. And that had been a weedy thing who looked like the runt of the litter. "Only one an' a half dozen since you 'listed? That's prob'ly the best record outta every lad here,� McIntyre said in response to hearing about Thompson's own experience. �Keepin' it that way will be the real trick, too." He shrugged. �I ain't no angel, Corp,� he said. �Ain't no devil, neither. Reckon I've bin lucky so far. Managed to keep me nose clean, though I ain't sure how. It ain't like I 'zackly go lookin' for trouble, neither.� He wondered for a brief moment just how long he would be able to keep from coming to the Commodore's attention and having another meeting with the cat. Stupid thought, that, really; he'd be much more likely to fall afoul of his Sergeant or a petty officer aboard Intrepid than the Commodore. �You reckon it's safe to go back down now, Corp?� he asked, realising the shouting hadn't started again, though he'd been expecting it to.



Brendan	25 Jul 2009, 02:25 PM Post #34
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn. Posts: 425 Group: Gopher Goddess Member #2 Joined: 7 December 2006	�A hundred ain't so bad?� Thompson asked in disbelief. �That sorta thing'd half kill most folks I know, if it was a Navy cat with a bosun's mate be'ind it, the way it is aboard ship.� That was true enough, McIntyre allowed with a shrug. Except it had been a fair while since any marines had been flogged by a bos'un's mate. They had managed that amongst themselves. Of course... the most recent floggings had been carried out ashore anyway. �I ain't no angel, Corp,� the other marine went on. �Ain't no devil, neither. Reckon I've bin lucky so far. Managed to keep me nose clean, though I ain't sure how. It ain't like I 'zackly go lookin' for trouble, neither.� "Do your best to stay bein' lucky," McIntyre said. "An' that oughta be easy 'nuff on Intrepid. Cap'n Gillette don't care much for marines neither, but he don't go outta his way to rough 'em up like some others." From what he'd heard of the man's conduct during the mutiny, it seemed that Gillette was at least capable of putting his dislike for marines aside long enough to successfully re-take Proserpina. That counted for a lot, all things considered. �You reckon it's safe to go back down now, Corp?� McIntyre listened for a moment and heard only the quiet muttering of the seaman sentry outside the enlisted ward. "Aye, it's safe enough," he answered, levering himself up on his elbows. "Maybe Cap'n Cartwright's still downstairs, be only right to meet him after gettin' trod on by the commodore."



George Thompson	23 Sep 2009, 07:25 PM Post #35
Able Seaman Posts: 92 Group: His Majesty's Marines Member #2,121 Joined: 6 February 2009	OOC - Sorry you've waited ages for a really short post... IC - �Do your best to stay bein' lucky,� the Corporal replied. �I'm goin' to, Corp'ral. Trust me, one meetin' with a cat is 'nough for anyone.� He broke off then, remembering where he was, who he was speaking to, and why the other man was here. �I'm sorry, din't mean to suggest anythin' by it.� Of course, the other man didn't need reminding about the cat, did he? "An' that oughta be easy 'nuff on Intrepid. Cap'n Gillette don't care much for marines neither, but he don't go outta his way to rough 'em up like some others," the corporal continued in his soft Irish accent. �Ain't that allus the way, though?� Thompson said, with a shrug. �It ain't like we'm just there to make the place look pretty, neither, though half the Navy thinks we are � or seems to. An' the other half just wants to make life hard f'r us if they can.� Though hopefully if this Captain Gillette didn't go out of his way to make things hard for the marines on his ship, it should be easy enough for them to stay out of his way. It worked both ways, that, after all. The Corporal shifted up onto his elbows. "Maybe Cap'n Cartwright's still downstairs, be only right to meet him after gettin' trod on by the commodore." That earned a quiet snort from Thompson, though 'trod on' was a pretty good way of putting it, considering. �He does have a way of... flattenin' folks, don't he?� he said. �Forceful sort of bastard, I thought.� Hit gave an apologetic shrug at the way he'd phrased that, and hoped it wouldn't be taken the wrong way, though you could never tell with some people. Corporal McIntyre sounded all right, though. He frowned. �What's Cap'n Cartwright like?� he asked, getting up and tugging his over-bright coat straight. �Need a hand getting' up, Corp'ral?� he asked, offering his hand anyway, just in case.



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