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| A New Arrival; 12 July 1751; Marines | |
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| Topic Started: 10 Feb 2009, 12:44 PM (809 Views) | |
| George Thompson | 10 Feb 2009, 12:44 PM Post #1 |
Able Seaman
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OOC - I'm new here. If I've screwed anything up, let me know and I'll edit. IC - George Thompson, a Private of His Majesty's Marines, was glad that the ship he'd been in had finally arrived. A man could get very tired of the continual motion of a ship at sea, and it was a pleasant change to have solid earth under his feet again. If only it would stay still... He put a hand out to steady himself, wondering when the land had taken it into its head to start behaving like a ship at sea. A fine, thing, to look like a drunkard when you'd barely got off the ship. He was nervous enough about joining the battalion of marines out here without adding to his problems by appearing drunk. He'd been sent out as part of a small draft to the Port Royal battalion. Only apparently things had happened out here that the Admiralty in London didn't know about, what with the however many thousand miles of ocean between here and London, and the Port Royal marines had all been sent aboard their various ships. So instead of shifting his dunnage to the fort, he'd shifted his dunnage across to Intrepid. And he'd been given a bit of liberty-time to have a look round. He straightened up and pulled his uniform straight, settling his tricorne hat more firmly on his head and tugging his bayonet belt to ensure his bayonet was sitting where it should be. He did not need to add to the bad opinion he was sure the marines already here would probably already have of him, after all. He was an outsider, and would be trying to fit into friendships already made, which couldn't be helped. It probably didn't help that he was part of the Chatham Division, and in his experience, marines from the other two divisions didn't like those who'd done their training n Chatham. But maybe that wouldn't matter, out here. He sighed. It was hot out here, hot and sticky, and the layers of clothing didn't help, especially with the thick red woollen uniform coat over the top. How folks didn't just drop dead from the heat, Thompson didn't know. Or maybe they did, and he just didn't know it. But that couldn't be helped. He was posted here, and here he would stay until he was sent somewhere else. There were other marines around, but he didn't know whether they were from the erstwhile Port Royal division, or the bunch that had apparently been sent over from Kingston. He'd been told that the two groups didn't get on (which made no sense to him – they were all marines, weren't they? In the same uniform and serving the same King!) and to try to keep away from the Kingston lot of he could. There had been no explanation of how he could recognise the Kingston marines and no explanation of what would happen if he didn't keep away from them, though he thought that if he were posted with the Port Royal marines, that's where his loyalties lay. There had been black rumours of mutiny as well, and maybe that explained why there were marines here from Kingston. He didn't pry into that story, though; mutiny wasn't something he really wanted to hear that his new companions and, he hoped, soon-to-be friends, had been involved with. He turned to look along the road. He saw a glimpse of a red coat up there, and he smiled. It looked as though he was going to make the acquaintance of at least one of his new companions sooner than expected. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 11 Feb 2009, 02:29 AM Post #2 |
Master of Puppets
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  One of the advantages to being ashore on hospital-detail was the ability to get out into town almost daily. Doctor Finch always seemed in need of something that couldn't be found in the fort, so most times he sent either Gray or Bartlett, or even one of the Tars, out to on foraging expeditions. The chance to get out of the fort, even for a few hours, was always a treat. Gray hadn't been quite as quick as Bartlett to volunteer for it that afternoon, so it was Bartlett who collected the haversack, purse, and list of desired items from Finch before setting off. It was a mark of their continuing improvement that several men who'd been wounded during the mutiny were now up and walking about. Bartlett passed Lachlan, the wild Scotsman, on his way out through the hospital archway and, after checking to see if Finch or Colburn were nearby, quietly invited him along. With a grin, Lachlan agreed - not that it would have taken any convincing anyway. Out of all the marines still in hospital, Bartlett found he liked Lachlan's company the most. Of course, there weren't many lads left now and those who were tended to be grumpy and restless. Bartlett rubbed at his still-swollen eye and grimaced. He'd be glad when Corporal Johnson was well enough to send back to Intrepid. The two marines chatted as they ambled down the hill toward town, with Bartlett keeping his stride shorter than usual to accommodate Lachlan's still-limping gait. It was little surprise to discover that Lachlan had managed to acquire a few coins since being confined to hospital and was now glad of the chance to spend them. The pair parted ways near the docks, with Lachlan promising to meet up with Bartlett again in roughly an hour. Bartlett smirked to himself as he watched the Scotsman head directly for the King's Shilling. It was more likely that he'd have to carry Lachlan out of the tavern and back to hospital. He spotted a flash of red through the crowd as he turned to head toward the market-place. The presence of a red-coat on the docks wasn't noteworthy by itself, as the Twenty-Ninth had more or less taken over the responsibility of patrolling the town, except Bartlett noticed snowy-white facings on the other man's coat. For a moment he thought it was just another Kingston marine, until he realised the man was looking around almost as if he was lost. Then he remembered hearing that a load of new marines had recently turned up, fresh from England. Chicken Dyer had passed that news along, having heard it from Colburn who had heard it from Lowescroft, Intrepid's coxswain. It was an unexpected turn of events and Bartlett had yet to meet any of the new arrivals, as he hadn't set foot aboard Intrepid in days. "You there," Bartlett called out, stuffing Finch's list into the haversack and promptly forgetting about it. "C'mere, y'looks lost." Perhaps not the best of greetings, but he'd never really cared much for pleasantries. |
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| George Thompson | 11 Feb 2009, 03:16 AM Post #3 |
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Able Seaman
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The place was busy, at least. Maybe one day he'd know his way around here like he knew his way around back home. He grinned to himself at that thought; if this place was anything like back home, his uniform meant that folks wouldn't take too kindly to him just wandering around where he wanted. The officers wouldn't, for sure. He was just making his mind up to at least try to explore the area a bit, hopefully without getting himself too mislaid, when a voice made him jump. ”You there!” It wasn't as though there weren't plenty of people around, but who else could possibly get told ”C'mere, y'looks lost.”. The man who had spoken was another marine, and he was stuffing something into the haversack hanging at his side as he spoke. His coat was a lot more faded than Thompson's, and he felt a lot more like a raw recruit than he had for a while. It would have been nice if he hadn't been issued all new stuff before getting shipped out. He wryly acknowledged that the only person around here who suited that description was himself, and he wandered over, trying to look a little less lost and a little more confident. He still wasn't sure of who was who and how to tell the two groups apart, when it came to the Port Royal and Kingston marines, although his informant had said something about the Kingston mob being 'stuck-up sort of coves' and this man didn't look as though the description fitted him. He had a bit of a black eye as well, and Thompson wondered what had happened. He was never going to know exactly what had happened before his arrival here. He wasn't fool enough to think he would, but he'd like to not always be an outsider. And he hoped that here was as good an opportunity as any to start getting to know the men he'd be serving with. “Y'could say that,” he said, giving the other man a friendly smile. “Just arrived, pretty much, an' I don't reckon I know me knee from me elbow. Daren't wander too far in case I don't find me way home, like.” It was a bit silly to say that, really, all things considered. Port Royal was a British town, after all, and he could ask any of the people around here how to get to the docks, and they'd understand him. They might even help him out. Failing that, he'd just have to walk downhill till he found something that looked familiar. Or just stay lost... which wasn't something he really wanted to try. Sleeping in a hammock was far better than sleeping rough, even somewhere like this that was always hot. He felt a little embarrassed as he realised he hadn't even told the other man his name. He stuck his hand out. “Sorry. I'm Private Thompson. I just got here, like I said, part of the new draft. I dunno if any of you was expectin' us, though. An' don't mind the uniform. It's brand new, an' too bright by far for my likin'.” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 11 Feb 2009, 12:09 PM Post #4 |
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Master of Puppets
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“Y'could say that,” the marine said, offering a smile. “Just arrived, pretty much, an' I don't reckon I know me knee from me elbow. Daren't wander too far in case I don't find me way home, like.” Bartlett grinned back. He had mostly figured the fellow was new in, if only judging by the bright colour of his coat. It had been a good long time since he'd seen a coat looking that sharp! He felt more than a little slovenly in comparison. Ah well, it couldn't be helped. At least he was wearing his undamaged coat. “Sorry. I'm Private Thompson. I just got here, like I said, part of the new draft. I dunno if any of you was expectin' us, though. An' don't mind the uniform. It's brand new, an' too bright by far for my likin'.” Ah, that made sense. Bartlett accepted the offered hand with a nod. "It ain't that hard t'get lost here'bouts, at first. So no worries. I'm Bartlett. Hope ya don't mind me own rig, ain't had a proper re-issue in ages." It would be nice if they did get a new batch of coats, at the very least. Most of the lads were barely keeping their kit in serviceable condition. A little self-conscious suddenly, Bartlett brushed some dust off his coat facings and tried to forget that he was still wearing the same small-clothes from two days before, when Corporal Johnson had socked him in the eye. "C'mon, y'could use a proper tour. Ain't likely yer gonna get one from anybody else!" |
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| George Thompson | 11 Feb 2009, 01:21 PM Post #5 |
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Able Seaman
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The other marine's uniform had that comfortable worn look about it that Thompson missed about his own old coat, though the small-clothes looked a bit grubby. Thompson could forgive him that, though. Whoever thought white was a suitable colour for uniform breeches couldn't have had to do any work in them, to his way of thinking. They shook hands as the other said, "It ain't that hard t'get lost here'bouts, at first. So no worries.” Thompson grinned. “'S'allus like that when you get somewheres new, ain't it? End up stickin' out like a sore thumb. 'Specially in coat this bright.” His new acquaintance continued, ”I'm Bartlett. Hope ya don't mind me own rig, ain't had a proper re-issue in ages." Thompson nodded. “Nice t'meet you, Bartlett. An' ain't it allus the way? If you ain't in home waters, y'might as well whistle for new stuff for all the attention you get.” His own new coat would probably fade to a more acceptable colour before too long anyway, if the sun was always this bright and strong out here. He could live with it till it did, anyway. He grinned as Bartlett dusted himself down. “You lot'll be able to see me comin' from a mile off. New coats make ever'one think you'm right out of trainin', for some reason.” "C'mon, y'could use a proper tour. Ain't likely yer gonna get one from anybody else!" He nodded at that suggestion. Well, it wasn't as though he'd seen anyone else, yet, let alone anyone who would offer to show him around the place. “Thanks. I'd 'ppreciate that. The sooner I get me bearin's, the better. Don't want anyone having to report they've managed to get one o' the new men mislaid within an hour of him steppin' ashore, after all. Wouldn't do me no good, neither, wanderin' around lookin' like a hen left out in the rain.” He'd have to keep his wits about him, he knew that much. But right now, it looked as though he'd fallen on his feet, and he was grateful to Bartlett for the offer. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 12 Feb 2009, 09:54 AM Post #6 |
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Master of Puppets
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“Nice t'meet you, Bartlett. An' ain't it allus the way? If you ain't in home waters, y'might as well whistle for new stuff for all the attention you get.” If nothing else, Bartlett thought, this Thompson had been around the Corps long enough to know how things worked. Old hands would fit in better than fresh recruits, too. Anybody would be better than those damned Kingston sods though! “You lot'll be able to see me comin' from a mile off. New coats make ever'one think you'm right out of trainin', for some reason.” “Bah,” Bartlett said, smirking. “Nothin’ wrong wi’ lookin’ sharp, ’specially ’round here.” He lifted a hand and waved blithely at the expanse of town behind him. There were some places that it wasn’t safe for Thompson to wander around in. The fort was one of them, but Bartlett had no clue how he might avoid showing Thompson around there. “I’d not be feared of gettin’ on report for a good bit neither,” he added. “Got one corporal still in hospital an’ the other ain’t worth his shoulder knot. Our cap’n’s been busy fixin’ alla messes ’board the flagship too.” Bartlett had to smirk. “Actually a fair good time t’be ashore.” |
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| George Thompson | 12 Feb 2009, 02:15 PM Post #7 |
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Able Seaman
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Bartlett offered a smirk. “Bah, nothin’ wrong wi’ lookin’ sharp, ’specially ’round here.” Thompson shrugged at that. “Mebbe so, but it don't allus do to stand out an' be noticed. That don't allus lead to good things, y'know.” “I’d not be feared of gettin’ on report for a good bit neither,” Bartlett continued, and Thompson looked at him. Newly arrived, he wasn't going to do anything that would lead to getting put on report if he could help it. Getting a reputation for being a trouble-maker or anything of that sort right from the get-go just didn't sit right with him. Well, getting a reputation of that sort, newly arrived or not, was not something Thompson intended to do. “Got one corporal still in hospital an’ the other ain’t worth his shoulder knot. Our cap’n’s been busy fixin’ alla messes ’board the flagship too.” So, there had been some sort of trouble, if one corporal was laid up in hospital, and the captain was running around trying to sort things out. “What 'bout the Sergeants, an' the other officers?” Thompson asked, frowning a little. The little that he'd heard about the situation here hadn't suggested that it was anything like as bad as this. “I... I know there was a mutiny,” he said, unsure of how his words would be received. He was an outsider, after all, and those who'd been affected by things like that didn't generally like outsiders prying. He looked Bartlett straight in the face. “I'm new here, just arrived. An' I ain't seen any Marine here but you, yet. But right or wrong, I bin posted here, to Port Royal, an' though I dunno what-all went on, I'm part o' this battalion now. An' that means me loyalties is with alla you.” It would take time to be accepted by them, he knew. But he knew where his loyalties lay, and whether they accepted him or not, he was going to do his best by the men he served with. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 13 Feb 2009, 02:26 PM Post #8 |
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Master of Puppets
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“Mebbe so, but it don't allus do to stand out an' be noticed. That don't allus lead to good things, y'know.” Bartlett thought of Sergeant Branning and shrugged. The opposite of standing out was slipping past unnoticed, and that didn't always lead to good things either. Branning had been quiet-spoken and easy to overlook, and look what he'd done. Maybe it was better to stand out and be noticed; that way, at least lads knew you were there. His remark about Johnson and Wolfe seemed to have confused the poor fellow. A frown creased Thompson's brow and he asked “What 'bout the Sergeants, an' the other officers?” After a heartbeat's pause, the newly-arrived marine lowered his voice a little and added “I... I know there was a mutiny.” Bartlett planted his tongue firmly into the side of his cheek and met Thompson's gaze levelly. Somehow, he wasn't surprised that the man had heard about that. Who might've told him? Billy Fowler, probably. That one couldn't resist gossiping. The Norwich-man listened impassively to the rest of Thompson's statements, carefully keeping his expression neutral. He was heartened a little by the man's profession of loyalty, but after being turned on by his own mates... a profession of loyalty was something he found difficult to believe unless proven. But Thompson was just arrived from England... Shrugging, he said, "Aye, there was. We on'y got two sergeants left, an' one officer. Bit luckier wi' our corp'rals, there's six of them left. Fergot 'bout McIntyre, he's in hospital too. So that's two corp'rals in hospital. 'Cept he got flogged, after things settled out some." How much more could he safely mention, in public? The townspeople were more jittery than the marines these days. The last thing he wanted was for somebody to overhear him talking and think he was planning something. "You been out t'Intrepid yet?" Bartlett asked, changing the subject. He could get somebody else to fill Thompson in on the broader aspects of that damned mutiny, if the other marine cared enough to know. |
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| George Thompson | 13 Feb 2009, 06:40 PM Post #9 |
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Able Seaman
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Maybe it hadn't been the best thing to do, stir up memories of that. But Thompson had needed to tell the other man where his loyalties lay. Though, of course, actions spoke louder than words and it would take time for him to fit in and be accepted. And mutiny... the very word made Thompson uncomfortable. It meant that you'd be fighting against your own mates. He wondered what Bartlett had had to do, and how many of his own friends had been involved. Mutiny meant betrayal, after all, and there was no profession of loyalty that could withstand betrayal. And now the Port Royal marines were going to be even more wary of outsiders coming to join them. If their own mates could turn on them, who knew what the newly-arrived folks could do. It would take some time before Thompson was accepted by them. If he'd ever be fully accepted by them at all, well, only time would tell. ”We on'y got two sergeants left, an' one officer. Bit luckier wi' our corp'rals, there's six of them left. Fergot 'bout McIntyre, he's in hospital too. So that's two corp'rals in hospital. 'Cept he got flogged, after things settled out some." That was bad, and to have a Corporal flogged afterwards... had that been something to do with it? There were more questions to be asked than he'd had answered, but it was a touchy subject, Thompson could see that, and who was going to tell some outsider about something that had probably shaken everyone? He doubted he'd ever learn the full story, and accepted that. “I didn't mean to pry,” he said, feeling a little awkward. “I'm sorry. It's a touchy thing, an' I never meant to poke me nose in where it ain't wanted.” "You been out t'Intrepid yet?" Bartlett asked. Thompson nodded, accepting the change of subject, and had to grasp Bartlett's arm to regain his balance. “Sorry, mate. Ain't got me land-legs back yet.” He grinned a little, embarrassed. “I bin aboard of her, aye, but only just to ship me dunnage across. I ain't seen much of her 'cause, well, they said I'd bin at sea for so long I might's well have a bit o' liberty-time to look round the town. So I'm here, now, an' looking like I just stumbled out o' a tavern.” He shrugged. “Well, that's what you get for spendin' so long at sea. The land won't stay still for more'n a moment. It's worse than steppin' aboard for the first time. At least you 'spect ships to move, like.” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 14 Feb 2009, 11:20 AM Post #10 |
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Master of Puppets
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“I didn't mean to pry,” Thompson said. “I'm sorry. It's a touchy thing, an' I never meant to poke me nose in where it ain't wanted.” Bartlett waved his hand carelessly. "Ain't nothin', mate." Then he grinned when the other marine had to grab his arm to keep from pitching over onto his face. He knew that unsteadiness all too well. Sea-legs weren't any use ashore! “I bin aboard of her, aye, but only just to ship me dunnage across. I ain't seen much of her 'cause, well, they said I'd bin at sea for so long I might's well have a bit o' liberty-time to look round the town. So I'm here, now, an' looking like I just stumbled out o' a tavern.” Thompson shrugged. “Well, that's what you get for spendin' so long at sea. The land won't stay still for more'n a moment. It's worse than steppin' aboard for the first time. At least you 'spect ships to move, like.” Ah. So he'd probably at least seen Corporal Wolfe, even if he hadn't met the man. Bartlett felt his lip curling back at the thought of the endlessly-lazy Wolfe. He hated the corporal. Johnson, for all his bad temper and aggressive nature, at least wasn't afraid to work. "Intrepid's a good girl," Bartlett mused, moving his thoughts along. "Been awhile since we was out fer a proper patrol, but she's no slouch t'all. Best sailin' sloop there is." He paused a moment and pointed up the street. "There's on'y one that's almost better, but she's bin in dry-dock fer months. Got her guts tore out by some privateer brig, she done. Poor old girl. Dunno if we'll ever git her back." Then he shrugged. "C'mon. I bet ya gots some coin a-burnin' up in yer pockets. Ain't a better place to get ridda coins than the markets." |
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| George Thompson | 14 Feb 2009, 12:40 PM Post #11 |
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Able Seaman
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"Intrepid's a good girl," Bartlett said, musingly. "Been awhile since we was out fer a proper patrol, but she's no slouch t'all. Best sailin' sloop there is." So Bartlett was one of the [i]Intrepid[/i]'s marine detachment? That was a piece of good news. Stumbling across a man who wasn't only part of the battalion he'd be posted to but who was on the same vessel.... things couldn't get much better than that. Bartlett pointed up the street. "There's on'y one that's almost better, but she's bin in dry-dock fer months. Got her guts tore out by some privateer brig, she done. Poor old girl. Dunno if we'll ever git her back." Thompson followed his pointing finger to see a single mast showing forlornly against the deep blue sky. He shook his head. “Must've bin some privateer to do that to a King's ship,” he said. It was astonishing that anyone would dare to take on a Kings ship, let alone manage to give her a bettering like that. Although, out here, he knew that there were ships and men who could take on a King's ship, and would willingly do so. But to manage to give one such a mauling... that was just wrong. “What'd they want to take on a King's ship for, anyways?” he asked. “Not like we carry treasure an' stuff like ships from the damn East India Company.” "C'mon. I bet ya gots some coin a-burnin' up in yer pockets,” Bartlett said, shrugging. “Ain't a better place to get ridda coins than the markets." That was true enough – unless you counted taverns, only Thompson felt quite drunk enough right now, despite not having had a drop since 'Up Spirits' yesterday. He wondered vaguely if it was possible to drink so much, the drunkenness would counteract the unsteadiness he was currently feeling. “Sounds like a grand idea t'me,” he said. “Be a good way t'see more of the place an' all. The docks is nice, but I don't s'pose they'm all there is to see round hereabouts.” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 15 Feb 2009, 01:45 AM Post #12 |
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Master of Puppets
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Bartlett found that he couldn't look for too long at the single lonely mast and averted his gaze. He wasn't part of Falcon's detachment but he'd had a few good mates who were. Some of them had been lost on the sloop's last patrol. “Must've bin some privateer to do that to a King's ship,” Thompson said. “What'd they want to take on a King's ship for, anyways? Not like we carry treasure an' stuff like ships from the damn East India Company.” "Stuffed-up pride, prolly," Bartlett answered blandly. "Better not to talk 'bout that damned Company, neither. C'mon," he added abruptly, spotting a few Kingston men ambling along the street toward them. "Let's get outta here." There was a shortcut to the marketplace, just behind Miss Anne's. If they could get to it before those Kingston bastards spotted them, anyway. Besides, he could do well with something to eat. As long as Thomspon could keep up in the roving packs of townspeople that dominated the marketplace. "Best thing," the Norwich-man said as he paused just inside the alley next to Miss Anne's, " 'bout bein' ashore is bein' able to come an' go as ya want. Mostly, anyway. Mebbe if yer lucky, Finch'll let ya stay ashore an' work 'round hospital." |
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| George Thompson | 15 Feb 2009, 03:21 AM Post #13 |
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Able Seaman
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"Stuffed-up pride, prolly. Better not to talk 'bout that damned Company, neither.”. Ah. Either a touchy subject... or one best not spoken about in public. Thompson noted that and decided he'd best tread carefully until he was more familiar with people and situations around here. His companion stiffened abruptly and Thompson looked along the street to see a group of men wearing marines' uniforms coming down the street towards them. ”C'mon, let's get outta here.” It felt wrong to be avoiding other marines, but Thompson followed Bartlett's lead as he dived into an alley, pausing just inside the entrance. Hopefully, they hadn't been spotted, although if they hadn't seen Thompson's brand new red coat, they had to be blind. It felt like trying to avoid yet another press gang, in the months before he'd finally given up and taken the shilling. He pressed himself against the side of the building as Bartlett spoke again. "Best thing 'bout bein' ashore is bein' able to come an' go as ya want. Mostly, anyway. Mebbe if yer lucky, Finch'll let ya stay ashore an' work 'round hospital." Thompson looked at him. “Ain't there any p'rades an' such, then?” he asked curiously, and then there was the clatter of feet passing them by. He dropped his voice a little to ask the next question. “An', what's the to-do a-tween them lot and the rest of us? We'm all in the same uniform, ain't we? I mean, I could understand if it was the Army -” and there was a trace of scorn in his voice as he said the word “- but marines?" He shrugged, and carried on to try to explain why he wanted to know. "All I got told, comin' ashore, was watch out for the Kingston marines, no word of for why, an' you come dashin' in here like as if they was Devils out o' hell.” He shook his head, looking puzzled. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 15 Feb 2009, 08:40 AM Post #14 |
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Master of Puppets
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“Ain't there any p'rades an' such, then?” Thompson asked, his expression giving away his curious ignorance. The poor bloke, Bartlett thought. He had no idea of the mess he'd been sent into. “An', what's the to-do a-tween them lot and the rest of us? We'm all in the same uniform, ain't we? I mean, I could understand if it was the Army, but marines?" Bartlett was shaking his head. He felt bitter, but that feeling would be lost on Thompson. "Most other places, I reckon there'd be no troubles. But... ah hell. It were them Kingston boys that got here first, after things got hot. A mail packet slipped outta harbour right at the start an' picked up a boat from Proserpina as she ran. I ain't seen the like afore. Scarce a day later, they was two ships from Kingston squadron puttin' marines ashore. 'To deal with us'." It was impossible to keep from sounding angry and he didn't try. "We'd arready whipped them traitors, with the Army's help. They's almost two regiments here, y'know. The Second an' Twenty-Ninth. Ain't natural, really, but we got better help from them when it was bad." He'd kept moving as he spoke, and after a few minutes, the two marines were out onto the street leading toward the market-place. Out here, there were more red-coats wandering around, but none were marines. A pair of towering lads in tall furred caps ambled lazily through the maze of stalls and carts and Bartlett pointed at them. "Them lads with the yellow, there. Lads form the Twenty-Ninth, them. I ain't knowed such sharp fellows, 'specially fer the Army. Watched 'em retake the docks from Intrepid. Drove off some of those rebel bastards right nicely, even though they had a daisy-cutter. Even saved that India Company man, Beckett. When Stevenson an' his Kingston boys came, they took over everythin', even from the Army, an' claimed credit fer savin' the town. Nothin's been right since. Hell, mate, they ain't even all that bad as a lot, them Kingston boys. It's their captain what's bad. Can't keep his nose outta our bi'ness, that 'un." It was a damned disgrace. Bartlett suppressed a shiver and realised his hands had bunched up into fists. He let out a sharp breath and shook his head. "That bugger Stevenson got it out fer us, an' that's the dead truth. It were him what pushed fer Mackie's court-martial. Hell, what I hear he tried buyin' off the jury of officers, even. Poor ol' Mister Forster stopped that somehow an' saved Mackie from the noose. That crazy Irishman got sent fer five hunnert lashes but only took a bit over a hunnert. You'd like him, he's proper mad, that one. Fired off a cannon inboard on Dauntless and got 'way with it!" |
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| George Thompson | 15 Feb 2009, 01:33 PM Post #15 |
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Able Seaman
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"Most other places, I reckon there'd be no troubles. But... ah hell. It were them Kingston boys that got here first, after things got hot. A mail packet slipped outta harbour right at the start an' picked up a boat from Proserpina as she ran. I ain't seen the like afore. Scarce a day later, they was two ships from Kingston squadron puttin' marines ashore. 'To deal with us'." Bartlett sound angry, understandably so, to Thompson. The Chatham man thought there was a tinge of bitterness there as well, which was only natural. "We'd arready whipped them traitors, with the Army's help. They's almost two regiments here, y'know. The Second an' Twenty-Ninth. Ain't natural, really, but we got better help from them when it was bad." Thompson nodded. He took his tricorne hat off and brushed at it where it had knocked the wall, and wiped his forehead on his sleeve before cramming it back on. A mutiny was never a nice thing, ever. It meant men turning on their friends, and folks not knowing who was with them and who wasn't. And then, for other folks to come in from outside once it was all over and just run rough-shod over folks... Well, he could understand why they resented the Kingston lads. Bartlett pointed out a couple of Grenadiers, extremely noticeable in their tall furred hats, standing head and shoulders above pretty much everyone else in the crowded marketplace. "Them lads with the yellow, there. Lads form the Twenty-Ninth, them. I ain't knowed such sharp fellows, 'specially fer the Army. Watched 'em retake the docks from Intrepid. Drove off some of those rebel bastards right nicely, even though they had a daisy-cutter.” Thompson let out a low whistle. “That must've bin summat to see, that. They look big 'nough to take on a gun crew single-handed, them do.” ”Even saved that India Company man, Beckett.” And there was the East India Company cropping up again. There was something going on there that Thompson didn't quite understand, but given enough time... He just nodded; he'd find out what that was all about soon enough, he was sure. He glanced at the other man as he continued, “When Stevenson an' his Kingston boys came, they took over everythin', even from the Army, an' claimed credit fer savin' the town. Nothin's been right since. Hell, mate, they ain't even all that bad as a lot, them Kingston boys. It's their captain what's bad. Can't keep his nose outta our bi'ness, that 'un." “It's never good if'n the trouble comes fr'm the officers,” Thompson said. “Ain't much we c'n do but put up with it all an' hope for the best.” "That bugger Stevenson got it out fer us, an' that's the dead truth. It were him what pushed fer Mackie's court-martial. Hell, what I hear he tried buyin' off the jury of officers, even. Poor ol' Mister Forster stopped that somehow an' saved Mackie from the noose. That crazy Irishman got sent fer five hunnert lashes but only took a bit over a hunnert. You'd like him, he's proper mad, that one. Fired off a cannon inboard on Dauntless and got 'way with it!" Thompson wondered why Stevenson had it in for the Port Royal marines, but rapidly came to the conclusion that he was probably better off not knowing, and would probably never find out anyway. “He sounds a right crazy beggar, doin' that. What'd he do, t'get five hundred for?” Five hundred lashes from a Naval cat was, well, it was one of the worst things you could get. “Must've bin summat real bad. An' he was lucky as all hell if'n he only got a hunnerd for it. Though I'd hate t'see his back, poor bastard.” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 16 Feb 2009, 05:35 AM Post #16 |
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Master of Puppets
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“That must've bin summat to see, that. They look big 'nough to take on a gun crew single-handed, them do.” Bartlett simply nodded. The Twenty-Ninth's officer was the brassiest one of the lot. It took some definite steel to ride down on a loaded daisy-cutter with just a sword. Small wonder those grenadiers were so full of fire. With an officer like that, it only made sense. “It's never good if'n the trouble comes fr'm the officers,” Thompson went on. “Ain't much we c'n do but put up with it all an' hope for the best.” Hmph, Bartlett thought. They'd had to put up an awful lot since burying the dead loyalists, without saying anything about everything they'd borne before the mutiny. For his part, Bartlett would have liked nothing better than to be sent back to England. There, at least, he knew the odds of trouble-rousing from groups like the India Company would be far less. He shrugged wordlessly. That wasn't something worth mentioning. “He sounds a right crazy beggar, doin' that. What'd he do, t'get five hundred for? “Must've bin summat real bad. An' he was lucky as all hell if'n he only got a hunnerd for it. Though I'd hate t'see his back, poor bastard.” At that, he had to grin, briefly. "Oh aye, Mackie's a rare one. Got found out fer a deserter though, by some lad in the Second what knowed him from their old regiment. Used to be in the Army, Mackie did, but saw the light an' ran off to the Corps." It was impossible to keep the awe out of his voice. "That hunnert an' some is all a-top the fifty he took after givin' a drubbin' to them Company frauds, summat like a fortnight back before the risin', I thinks." He still wished he had been part of that brawl, instead of staying back in barracks to play cards with Everett. But he admired the lads who'd been part of it. What a scene that must've been! "His back's a right mess, but there ain't none like Doctor Finch. He c'n set anythin' to rights. Even ol' Corporal Johnson an' his temper." Another grin lifted the corner of Bartlett's mouth. He'd never seen the like, when Finch finally lost his own temper with Johnson, after the corporal had pulled his stitches for the third time and had punched Bartlett for trying to settle him. The last straw that afternoon had been Johnson's throwing a basin at Colburn. He'd never seen the corporal so thoroughly subdued. |
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| George Thompson | 16 Feb 2009, 12:28 PM Post #17 |
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Able Seaman
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"Oh aye, Mackie's a rare one. Got found out fer a deserter though, by some lad in the Second what knowed him from their old regiment. Used to be in the Army, Mackie did, but saw the light an' ran off to the Corps." A deserter...? Yet, still a man respected by those around him – some of them, anyway. That spoke volumes about the sort of person he was, that folks would still respect him even after finding out he was a deserter. “He was a real lucky bastard not to hang,” Thompson said, wondering when he'd get to meet this man who commanded such evident respect. "That hunnert an' some is all a-top the fifty he took after givin' a drubbin' to them Company frauds, summat like a fortnight back before the risin', I thinks." He got a hundred and something strokes, when he'd already had fifty from, what, two, three weeks before? He'd have been fit for only a few days before getting laid up again. That can't have done him any good, and he'd probably be in hospital for ages before he could do anything again. "His back's a right mess, but there ain't none like Doctor Finch. He c'n set anythin' to rights. Even ol' Corporal Johnson an' his temper." There was real admiration in Bartlett's voice, matched by the grin on his face. “He sounds like a real good doctor, then,” he said, touching his hat politely as he stepped around a woman with a shopping basket on her arm. He cast about for something to say without touching on the mutiny or the Kingston marines, both which were sore points and neither of which was a good subject for a friendly chat in a place as crowded as this. “So what're the other lads like?” he asked eventually, over the braying of a donkey standing near one of the market stalls. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 17 Feb 2009, 09:30 AM Post #18 |
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Master of Puppets
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“He was a real lucky bastard not to hang.” That was more than true, but Bartlett was glad that the Irishman hadn’t swung. They needed lads like McIntyre around, with such noticeable gaps in the battalion’s leadership. Captain Cartwright hadn’t backed the Irishman so stoutly for nothing, after all! “So what're the other lads like?” “The lads on Intrepid?” Bartlett scratched at his sideburn and considered. There was certainly variety in the detachment. “They’s an all right lot, mostly. Corporal Johnson’s a bit dif’cult to bear, but he ain’t called Cross fer nothin’. Martin Bell’s his little toady, jes’ don’t say that ’round him. Hard ol’ thug, Bell. Him an’ his brother. Ain’t much to say ’bout some others. Quiet sorts, them. Well, Littlefield’s a bit rowdy if he’s got some rum in him. Dunning’s a bit thick, Wicklow don’t like nobody, an’ Haverson… well he ain’t said much to any lad since we got sent outta the fort.” That was leaving out Sanborne and Oates, but Bartlett didn’t interact as much with them. He didn’t really know the lads in Wolfe’s section either, except for Fowler and Gray. And Wolfe himself, of course. He frowned slightly and fiddled briefly with the plate on his crossbelt. “They tell ya which section they’d stick ya inta?” Hopefully, for Thompson’s sake, he wouldn’t end up with Wolfe. |
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| George Thompson | 17 Feb 2009, 11:14 PM Post #19 |
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Able Seaman
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“The lads on Intrepid?” Bartlett looked thoughtful. “They’s an all right lot, mostly. Corporal Johnson’s a bit dif’cult to bear, but he ain’t called Cross fer nothin’. “Lives up to his name, does he?” Thompson asked, wondering why anyone would call their child 'Cross'. Living with a name like that would give anyone a temper, he thought, thankful to have been christened 'George' which was a common enough name, rather than having the embarrassment of being called something unusual. He wondered how easy the Corporal was to work alongside – by the sound of things, he wasn't an easy man to get on with. ”Martin Bell’s his little toady, jes’ don’t say that ’round him. Hard ol’ thug, Bell. Him an’ his brother.” Well, that was useful to know – don't get on the wrong side of the Bell brothers. “Are they both assigned to Intrepid?” Thompson wanted to know, dodging around someone pushing a hand-cart. It could spell trouble if they were, if they were both as Bartlett had described them. The other Marine continued, “Ain’t much to say ’bout some others. Quiet sorts, them. Well, Littlefield’s a bit rowdy if he’s got some rum in him. Dunning’s a bit thick, Wicklow don’t like nobody, an’ Haverson… well he ain’t said much to any lad since we got sent outta the fort.” And there was a story there, too, it seemed.. but that came back to discussing the mutiny, and that would put Bartlett on edge – it couldn't do anything but put Bartlett on edge, after all – and discussing the Kingston marines couldn't do any good either. Thompson was a direct sort of man, who didn't like pussy-footing around things. The situation he was in, as a new arrival in a place that had so recently seen a mutiny, was not one he found at all comfortable. He hadn't missed the way the townspeople looked at the two of them. It was going to take a long time before the ordinary civilian folk learned to trust them again, despite the remaining Port Royal marines being those who had stayed loyal to their officers, their King and their flag. Thompson knew that in a way that none of the people here in the market-place could, but he had no way of being able to tell that to Bartlett. Words were just... words, and it was actions that counted more now. And he was newly arrived here, didn't know all everything that had happened before the mutiny, didn't know why it had happened and couldn't understand the emotions it stirred up in those men he was sent to serve alongside. To suddenly find yourself having to take down someone you'd though of as a mate, had drunk alongside... How could he understand that? Bartlett looked uncomfortable, if the way he was playing with his crossbelt plate was anything to go by. “They tell ya which section they’d stick ya inta?” Thompson shook his head. “No, not yet. Which section ought I to hope they'm goin' to put me in? Or are they both the same, as far's that goes?” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 20 Feb 2009, 04:14 AM Post #20 |
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Master of Puppets
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“Are they both assigned to Intrepid?” After a bit, Thompson added, “Which section ought I to hope they'm goin' to put me in? Or are they both the same, as far's that goes?” Bartlett guessed he was asking after the Bells with his first question and shook his head. "Nope. James is over on Dauntless. He's more the one t'watch out fer anyhow. Ain't a happy life on the flagship these days. Yer prolly gonna end up with us, in Johnson's section. Could use some fresh lads." He fell silent as he passed a cart laden with steaming sausages and curls of beef, fresh from a brazier next to the cart. It smelled wonderful and his stomach rumbled needily. Almost sheepishly, he cast a quick sidelong glance at Thompson even as he fished out his battered purse from inside his coat. Finch was reasonably more generous with providing his assistants with rations, but something other than the slop from the fort's mess certainly wouldn't go amiss. "Smells right nice, that," Bartlett muttered, his cheeks colouring just a little. He had the necessary coins in hand even while he spoke. Somehow, he again felt slovenly and embarrassed, though not because of his faded, worn coat this time. If he was honest, he felt horribly like a thief again. It wasn't a feeling he cared much for. The vendor smiled thinly as he took the money and handed over half a sausage in return. It was not a fair exchange - Bartlett knew that from experience - but there was no point in disputing the point. Even half a fresh sausage would do. He broke the meat in half and held one piece out to Thompson. "Welcome to it, if ya likes, mate." |
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| George Thompson | 23 Feb 2009, 10:58 PM Post #21 |
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Able Seaman
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"Nope. James is over on Dauntless. He's more the one t'watch out fer anyhow. Ain't a happy life on the flagship these days.” Well, there was a story there, but it was likely tied up with all the others, like the mutiny, and this just wasn't the sort of place to ask about things like that. Thompson's filed the information away to think about and find out about later. “Yer prolly gonna end up with us, in Johnson's section. Could use some fresh lads." Johnson, the bad-tempered Corporal who was at present in the hospital. Well, if he was bad-tempered anyway, being in the hospital for anything was probably just going to make his temper worse. “What sort of bad-tempered is he?” Thompson asked, remembering the trials of basic training and the sadistic Sergeant he'd had then, with his cane and the enjoyment he got from using it on the recruits he was drilling. Whatever this Corporal Cross Johnson was like, he couldn't be anything like as bad as Sergeant Sweetman. The memory almost had Thompson glancing over his shoulder to see if he was there. He wasn't of course – he wasn't anywhere near Jamaica. And if there was any justice in this world, he'd have been drowned long since. They passed a cart laden with cooked meat and Bartlett stepped aside. ”Smells right nice, that," he said, and was back a moment later, breaking a piece of sausage in half to offer a bit to Thompson. "Welcome to it, if ya likes, mate." “Cheers, mate,” the Chatham man said, touched by the first real hospitality he'd seen since his arrival. “That's real nice of you.” He bit into the sausage. It was still hot, and tasted wonderful after the bland ship's biscuit and salt meat that had formed his diet on the journey out here. “I don't s'pose there's anywhere a man could get a decent drink to wash it down with, like. An' I'm buyin'.” He didn't mind making the offer in the face of the other man's friendliness – and he had just bought lunch for them both. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 24 Feb 2009, 12:55 AM Post #22 |
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Master of Puppets
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Barlett chewed thoughtfully on his hunk of sausage, enjoying the mix of flavours. If nothing else, Port Royal's townfolk knew how to cook. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to that old widow who lived near the Twenty-Ninth's encampment. She was a splendid cook and enjoyed feeding the ever-hungry marines who visited her house daily. With luck she - and her marvellous kitchen - had survived the fighting. “Cheers, mate. That's real nice of you.” Thompson said, digging into his half of the sausage. “I don't s'pose there's anywhere a man could get a decent drink to wash it down with, like. An' I'm buyin'.” "No worries. Beats usual ship fare, don't it?" The Norwich-man grinned around the cheekful of sausage he was still savouring. This one sure knew what ought to follow a piping hot bit of grub! "I knows just the place," Bartlett went on, swallowing the last bit of meat. "Only place in town that serves us lads an' nobody else. Good strong drink, theirs, too. C'mon." He set off toward the King's Shilling, back almost the same way they'd originally come. A good tankard of ale wouldn't go wrong at all, he thought. Lachlan was holed up at the tavern too, he remembered abruptly. Probably well on his way to being drunk already. "Ol' Johnson's mostly grumpy," he added, belatedly answering Thompson's first question. "Sorta like he's just swallowed half a barrel of lemons. Stupid ballsy, though. Stood up to St Montgomery with on'y his musket an' fixed bayonet, once. Ain't feared of nothin' that walks, Johnson." That was something he'd never forget, either. Johnson's example was a hard one to follow most of the time, but he more than made up for his bad temper with his courage. Bartlett pointed toward the Shilling's battered sign when they re-emerged onto the docks' street and said proudly, "There's the spot. They's still glad to see us 'round there, too." |
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| George Thompson | 25 Feb 2009, 11:48 AM Post #23 |
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Able Seaman
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That was proper food. He'd forgotten, almost, what proper food tasted like, after so long on salt beef, salt pork and ship's biscuit. "No worries. Beats usual ship fare, don't it?" Bartlett said, grinning. Thompson nodded. “It does that. I was startin' to wonder if'n I'd ever get rid o' the taste of salt meat.” It was proper sausage, piping hot and seasoned just right, and it was delicious. He blinked as Bartlett turned in the direction they had just come from as he mentioned getting a drink. "I knows just the place, Only place in town that serves us lads an' nobody else. Good strong drink, theirs, too. C'mon." He grinned and followed him, licking the last of the fat from his fingers. “That sounds good to me. Ain't nothin' like a bit of good strong drink to wash y'r food down with, after all. An' if there ain't goin' to be nobody else but King's men there, so much the better!” He was pretty tired of pubs and taverns looking down on him just because he happened to wear a red coat, after all. "Ol' Johnson's mostly grumpy. Sorta like he's just swallowed half a barrel of lemons. Stupid ballsy, though. Stood up to St Montgomery with on'y his musket an' fixed bayonet, once. Ain't feared of nothin' that walks, Johnson." The belated answer made him blink for a moment, trying to recall his question. Oh, yes – what sort of 'bad-tempered' was this Corporal? “Grumpy. I can cope with grumpy,” he said. “It's them that fly inta a rage an' lash to try an' hurt you that I don't like. 'Spesh'lly if'n they'm wearin' a shoulder knot.” St Montgomery... the name sounded vaguely familiar. “Ain't St Montgomery the new Commodore or summat?” he asked curiously as he followed Bartlett back through the alley. “What's he like then?” They emerged back out by the docks and Bartlett pointed at a battered pub sign swinging above the door of the tavern. "There's the spot. They's still glad to see us 'round there, too.” “The Shillin'? No, the King's Shillin'. Sounds a proper name for a tavern, that does.” He was grinning as he pushed the door open. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 26 Feb 2009, 06:38 AM Post #24 |
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Master of Puppets
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“Grumpy. I can cope with grumpy,” Thomspon said. “It's them that fly inta a rage an' lash to try an' hurt you that I don't like. 'Spesh'lly if'n they'm wearin' a shoulder knot.” He wouldn’t have to worry about that from Johnson, Bartlett thought wryly. The corporal was more likely to make a lad run around the foc’s’le with a full pack and musket for something as silly as sneezing during drill. “He does take gettin’ used to, but he’s tolerable mosta the time.” “Ain't St Montgomery the new Commodore or summat? What's he like then?” A frown creased Bartlett’s brow. “Cruel bastard, him. Do anythin’ what he pleases an’ us lads suffer fer it. He’s the sort what flogs the last fella down from the tops. Ain’t been no chance to show what we’re good fer with him as commodore.” He fell silent as they passed into the Shilling’s relatively cooler interior. He spotted Lachlan immediately, since he was sitting near the door and was, as expected, well into his cups. The Scotsman stood out in his grey off-watch coat, particularly amongst a crowd that consisted predominantly of red-coats, with a few blue-jacketed Tars sprinkled in. “Well, least Lach ain’t got hisself turned outta here fer his awful singin’,” Bartlett observed mildly, sliding out a chair at Lachlan’s table. “Whatever he’s havin’,” he told the barmaid who appeared as if out of the air. Lachlan grinned blearily at them, glad to have company. “This here’s Thompson, just in from England,” Bartlett said. “Decent sort, too. Thompson, this sorry bastard’s Sam Lachlan. Dumbest sod ever wore a red-coat, this one. An’ he’s a Scot, too.” Lachlan simply smirked and took a healthy swallow from his tankard. “Can’t ’elp if yer jealous.” Chuckling, Bartlett shook his head. “Right. So then, Thompson. What’re yer other fellas like, what came ’cross with ya?” |
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| George Thompson | 27 Feb 2009, 10:21 AM Post #25 |
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Able Seaman
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“He does take gettin’ used to, but he’s tolerable mosta the time” was Bartlett's verdict on Corporal Johnson. Thompson nodded. So long as he was all right most of the time, that would be fine. It was people who kept moaning and grumbling and were never satisfied that he had problems with. Especially if they were sadistic bastards who kept everyone running scared because they couldn't, or wouldn't, be pleased. His question about St Montgomery made Bartlett frown. “Cruel bastard, him. Do anythin’ what he pleases an’ us lads suffer fer it. He’s the sort what flogs the last fella down from the tops. Ain’t been no chance to show what we’re good fer with him as commodore.” Flogging the last man down... that was the sort of thing that led to accidents and falls and that sort of thing. And the last man down was always the first man up. “He sounds a right nasty piece o' work,” Thompson said. “I'll be keepin' away from him, then. If I can.” And of course, it wasn't guaranteed that he'd be able to do that. What a mess he'd walked into, getting posted out here. “Well, least Lach ain’t got hisself turned outta here fer his awful singin’,” Bartlett said, pulling out a chair at a table occupied by a drunken man wearing the Marines' grey off-watch coat. Thompson jumped as a barmaid materialised at his side. “Whatever he’s havin’,” Bartlett told her, and Thompson nodded. “Same for me, too.” The seated man peered blearily up at them, grinning. Thompson dropped into a seat to make it easier for the man to see his face. “This here’s Thompson, just in from England,” Bartlett said, by way of introduction. “Decent sort, too. Thompson, this sorry bastard’s Sam Lachlan. Dumbest sod ever wore a red-coat, this one. An’ he’s a Scot, too.” “Nice t'meet ye,” Thompson said, thinking that if he were to offer the man his hand, he'd probably stare at it, trying to remember what to do with it. “Can’t ’elp if yer jealous.” Lachlan said, taking a healthy gulp from his tankard. Thompson grinned. “Jealous that you're Scotch – Scots? Nah – stick with bein' English, me.” “Right. So then, Thompson. What’re yer other fellas like, what came ’cross with ya?” Bartlett asked. Thompson was saved from having to reply straight away by the return of the barmaid. As she leaned over to put the tankards on the table, he had a glimpse of a rather ample bosom and swallowed, adjusting his position a little. It had been far too long since he had been this close to a woman. He'd have to do something about that, though it could wait a day or so. “They're good lads, mostly. I think they'm the sort of lads it sounds like you need round hereabouts, after what-all I've heard 'bout things. I think most of 'em's bin around the Corps a bit, though there's one or two lads just 'listed who might need a bit of an eye kept on 'em.” He took a pull at his tankard. “Aye, that's good stuff, that is.” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 1 Mar 2009, 09:07 AM Post #26 |
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Master of Puppets
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“Jealous that you're Scotch – Scots? Nah – stick with bein' English, me.” Smirking still, Lachlan lifted his nearly-empty tankard in mock-salute. “English’re jes’ water’d down Scots,” he said, his voice uneven. Bartlett had noticed Thompson’s slight shifting in his chair and smiled to himself. He could guess at the reason for that. Of course, Jenny was one of the better filled-out barmaids. She was also the least likely to let any of the lads get away with more than flirting. That much he knew from hard experience. “They're good lads, mostly. I think they'm the sort of lads it sounds like you need round hereabouts, after what-all I've heard 'bout things. I think most of 'em's bin around the Corps a bit, though there's one or two lads just 'listed who might need a bit of an eye kept on 'em.” “Can’t say this’s the best place fer lads just outta depot,” Bartlett said. “But steady lads’ll be a great thing. They tend t’show theirselves after a bitta bloodin’ anyhow, new lads or not.” The tavern’s door was pushed open and somebody at the next table hooted, drawing gazes from nearly every patron. Bartlett chuckled when he saw who’d just come into the Shilling. How brilliantly timed was Sergeant Myles’ arrival? And with Dauntless’ coxswain, too. Byrne offered a smirk when Bartlett lifted his arm to hail the pair, then split off at once to join some other Dauntlesses. That left Myles by himself, but the sergeant seemed to decide that Bartlett’s greeting was an open invitation to join them at their table, which he promptly did. “Well then! If it ain’t two’a me favourite scoundrels. Stuck in the bottom’a yer tankard again, Lachlan? Yer not there yet yerself, Bartlett, there’s a first.” Myles’ broad grin eliminated any edge that his words might’ve held. Then he spotted Thompson sitting across the table and lifted an eyebrow. “What’s this here shiny piece then, boys?” Bartlett gestured at Thompson with his tankard. “That’s Thompson, just wandered here from England. Thompson, this’s Sarn’t Myles. Manages things on Intrepid when he ain’t terrorisin’ them poor Army sods wi’ the Colour-Sarn’t here ashore.” |
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| George Thompson | 2 Mar 2009, 12:48 AM Post #27 |
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Able Seaman
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Lachlan waved his tankard vaguely in what Thompson took to be a salute of sorts. “English’re jes’ water’d down Scots,” he said. His voice had the unsteady quality of the not-quite dead drunk. “I reckon that's a compliment we was just given there, mate,” he said, looking across at Bartlett, with a grin. “Can’t say this’s the best place fer lads just outta depot. But steady lads’ll be a great thing. They tend t’show theirselves after a bitta bloodin’ anyhow, new lads or not.” Thompson had formed that opinion himself pretty soon after getting an idea from Bartlett of what sort of place this was and what had taken place fairly recently. Everyone seemed just that little bit more jumpy than he'd expected them to be around men in Marine uniform, and it was slightly unsettling for him. And he'd been around a bit, which a couple of the lads he'd sailed with hadn't. They'd learn, soon enough, though, and they'd either shape up or... he couldn't finish that thought, and was glad when the door opened, distracting him from what promised to be a gloomy train of thought. He looked up as someone sitting at a nearby table hooted loudly. He couldn't see who the newcomer was at first as he was silhouetted against the bright daylight outside, but as he moved into the taproom, Thompson saw it was a marine who was wearing a Sergeant's shoulder knot, and was accompanied by a smartly turned out sailor who slipped away. Thompson stiffened a little, hopefully imperceptibly, as the Sergeant came over and sat down at their table. “Well then! If it ain’t two’a me favourite scoundrels. Stuck in the bottom’a yer tankard again, Lachlan? Yer not there yet yerself, Bartlett, there’s a first,” he said. Well, he sounded friendly enough, anyway, and Thompson relaxed again. The slight movement must have caught the Sergeant's eye because he looked directly at him and said, “What’s this here shiny piece then, boys?” He supposed his uniform was new enough to be noticeably different from Bartlett's, even here in the dimness, and wondered just how long it would take before he no longer stood out from the others on account of his jacket being bright red rather than the more faded pink his old one had been. Bartlett waved his tankard in Thompson's direction, and the Chatham-born marine wondered why his drink didn't slop out. Maybe he'd drunk more than Thompson though he had? “That’s Thompson, just wandered here from England." The marine in question grinned; it sounded as though he'd walked over during a Sunday stroll. Bartlett continued the introduction; "Thompson, this’s Sarn’t Myles. Manages things on Intrepid when he ain’t terrorisin’ them poor Army sods wi’ the Colour-Sarn’t here ashore.” Thompson raised his own tankard in a sort of salute. “Nice t'make your 'quantance, Sar'nt,” he said. “I did come by ship though. Ain't got the walkin' on water quite figured out yet!” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 3 Mar 2009, 04:20 AM Post #28 |
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Master of Puppets
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Myles eyed Thompson speculatively and decided that, at first glance, he liked what he saw. Newly-shipped in lads would only help their situation anyway. "Glad you ain't figgered that out just yet," Myles said. "Else I'd wonder why you've not shared the secret!" Jenny the barmaid appeared again, lingering just long enough to deliver three fresh tankards before bustling away again. Coy old vixen, that one, Myles thought. Shrugging slightly, the sergeant helped himself to the tankard that had been put in front of him. So, there was a new draft from England. How many lads were part of it? More important, did they have any officers with them? "How many lads came 'cross with you?" Myles asked, hoping it would be enough to fill out half a company, at least. "Got some officers too, I hope. We're a bit short-stocked on those, here'bouts. Watch you don't tumble down onta my shoes, Lachlan!" Chuckling weakly, Lachlan managed to set his empty tankard safely onto the table before sliding sideways off his chair and out of sight. Bartlett sat forward very slightly to make sure the Scotsman had gone before grinning and claiming the man's untouched, just-delivered tankard. "Don't mind Lach," Bartlett said lightly. "Does that alla time. Ain't s'posed to be outta hospital yet, even." "Pity this's how they've welcomed you to Port Royal," Myles said to Thompson, looking apologetic and completely ignoring Bartlett. "Most times we try gettin' new detachments moved up to the fort directly, but things've been a bit irregular lately. I'll see you get a proper tour once we's done here." |
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| George Thompson | 3 Mar 2009, 10:48 AM Post #29 |
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Able Seaman
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"Glad you ain't figgered that out just yet," Myles said. "Else I'd wonder why you've not shared the secret!" That made Thompson grin and relax a little. The Sergeant seemed nice enough, anyway, which was a relief. The barmaid reappeared and put some more mugs down. You couldn't help noticing her... assets... as she did it, and he had to shift again to try to reorganise the tightness in his breeches. It wasn't fair of a girl to do that to a man, it really wasn't. He'd have to find out if there was somewhere he could go that might help sort it out. But that was for later, of course. "How many lads came 'cross with you? Got some officers too, I hope. We're a bit short-stocked on those, here'bouts.” Thompson could believe that, though he didn't think it would be wise of him to say it. “They's only sent about twenty of us out, Sar'nt,” he said. “They hadn't heared o' all the... happenin's hereabouts, time I left Chatham, see. Reckon they's goin' to send out a few more'n that when they hears how shorthanded it's left you. Though we got an officer – a Mister Seabright, or somethin' I think his name is – so's that's somethin' at least.” Lachlan looked as though he was going to pass out any minute now. Apparently Sergeant Myles thought so too, because he said, ”Watch you don't tumble down onta my shoes, Lachlan!" The man in question managed to put his tankard down on the table – though it was close to the edge – before slipping sideways off his chair. Bartlett claimed the man's untouched tankard. "Don't mind Lach,” he said as he did so. ”Does that alla time. Ain't s'posed to be outta hospital yet, even." Thompson grinned and claimed a full tankard for himself. He didn't know why the man was supposed to be in hospital, or what sort of man the doctor was to let him head down to a tavern to get drunk. He'd probably slipped out unseen or something; hospital could get boring after a day or so. Myles ignored Bartlett as he looked at Thompson to say, "Pity this's how they've welcomed you to Port Royal. Most times we try gettin' new detachments moved up to the fort directly, but things've been a bit irregular lately. I'll see you get a proper tour once we's done here." Thompson nodded. “I know things ain't quite as... reg'lar... here at the minute, but it seemed a fair enough welcome t'me.” Friendly company, a bite to eat and a good drink were all the welcome anyone needed, he thought, though a proper tour of the place sounded good. He made up his mind that after this drink, he'd not have any more. Judging by Lachlan's condition, it was strong stuff, though he had no idea how many tankards the other man had downed before he and Bartlett had come in. Heading out into that strong sunshine again with the best part of two, three pints sloshing around inside him was going to be bad enough without coupling it with a splitting headache. “Proper tour sounds good t'me,” he said. His next words were a bit cautious, though – he was an outsider and didn't want folks to form a wrong opinion of him. “I understood the Port Royal garrison'd bin sent aboard ship though, an' it's marines from Kingston who've taken over duties up at the fort.” He shrugged. “Could be wrong though – you know what rumour's like. Though I was told to shift me dunnage straight acrost to Intrepid.” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 6 Mar 2009, 05:53 AM Post #30 |
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Master of Puppets
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“They's only sent about twenty of us out, Sar'nt,” Thompson replied. “They hadn't heared o' all the... happenin's hereabouts, time I left Chatham, see. Reckon they's goin' to send out a few more'n that when they hears how shorthanded it's left you. Though we got an officer – a Mister Seabright, or somethin' I think his name is – so's that's somethin' at least.” Hm. Myles swirled the remaining ale around in his tankard almost boredly as he considered that information. Twenty new marines, complete with an officer. That would ease the burden on Captain Cartwright a bit, at least. It wasn't likely that he'd be able to keep the whole lot on Intrepid, sadly. The flagship was woefully short of marines and most of this new batch were inevitably going to be sent there. As long as he got a couple men for Intrepid, he decided he'd be happy. It seemed he already had one, anyway. “I know things ain't quite as... reg'lar... here at the minute, but it seemed a fair enough welcome t'me.” Thompson added, and Bartlett grinned. It wasn't much of a stretch to guess that Bartlett had intercepted the poor fellow and tried to drag him into a mess of idleness. Leave it to Bartlett. “Proper tour sounds good t'me,” the newly-docked marine went on. “I understood the Port Royal garrison'd bin sent aboard ship though, an' it's marines from Kingston who've taken over duties up at the fort.” He shrugged. “Could be wrong though – you know what rumour's like. Though I was told to shift me dunnage straight acrost to Intrepid.” Myles had little doubt where he'd heard all that. It was inevitable that word would get out and around about what had happened, he supposed. Shrugging, the sergeant took a swallow of ale before saying, "Been a bit rough. New lads is a blessin', though. Here," he added, fishing out some coins from his coat, "finish that up. We oughta get Lachlan back to hospital before he wakes up. Devil to handle, this one, when he's awake an' drunk." That idiot grin was back on Bartlett's face as he tossed back the last of his drink, which Myles noted was the same one he'd taken from Lachlan. Standing up and leaving his own tankard with roughly an inch of ale left, Myles counted out the necessary number of coins to toss down onto the table. He was privately annoyed that what should have been a quiet afternoon was now disrupted, but there was nothing else for it. "Help me git him up, Bartlett," Myles ordered, dragging the snoring Lachlan partway out from under the table. |
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| George Thompson | 7 Mar 2009, 01:25 AM Post #31 |
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Able Seaman
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"Been a bit rough. New lads is a blessin', though,” the sergeant said. Thompson nodded; 'a bit rough' was probably putting it mildly. “Like I told Bartlett here, I'm one of you. All I know is what I was told, an' rumour ain't the best place to learn about folks. But from what I seen, you'm decent folks that anyone'd be proud to serve with.” And if he didn't shut his mouth, he was going to talk himself into trouble. Mutiny was not the sort of thing that anyone would want to discuss with outsiders, no matter how much they professed to be part of the group. He wasn't part of them yet, he was more than aware of that, and it wouldn't happen just because he wanted it to. It would take time – especially after what had happened. And there were bound to be some marines among the Port Royal men who would resent the fact that a new detachment had arrived, though surely new men arrived all the time, and would see it as reflecting badly on them – much as they saw the arrival of the Kingston men, if everything Thompson had seen was to be believed. And then the sergeant fished some coins out and tossed them on the table. Here, finish that up. We oughta get Lachlan back to hospital before he wakes up. Devil to handle, this one, when he's awake an' drunk." Thompson frowned. That wasn't right. It was rare enough in his experience that a sergeant paid for a private's drinks, but he'd only just met Sergeant Myles. He pushed some of the coins back across the table. “I told Bartlett as I was goin' to get the drinks in, Sar'nt,” he said, fishing in his own pocket. “If you don't mind, that is. An' we've only jus' met; I can't ax you to buy me drinks for me, can I.” He put some money on the table, to the same value as the coins he'd returned to the Sergeant. Myles had bent down to drag Lachlan from under the table. "Help me git him up, Bartlett," he said. Thompson was closer and took the drunk man's other arm. He looked across him at the sergeant. “Might's well start as I mean to go on, Sar'nt,” he said, giving a half shrug. “Where're we goin' with him, then?” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 10 Mar 2009, 06:44 AM Post #32 |
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Master of Puppets
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 “I told Bartlett as I was goin' to get the drinks in, Sar'nt,” Thompson said, coming to his feet and digging around in his pocket. “If you don't mind, that is. An' we've only jus' met; I can't ax you to buy me drinks for me, can I.” Good lad, Myles thought. They could definitely use more of Thompson's stock in the squadron. Not that the remaining lads weren't good sorts, but they were pretty badly run down. Fresh blood ought to spark their spirits back up. He nodded at Thompson's gesture and almost reluctantly reclaimed the coins that had been pushed back across the table. “Where're we goin' with him, then?” "Back up to hospital," Myles replied. "Don't you go sneakin' off neither, Bartlett. C'mon lads." Bartlett at least had the grace to look abashed at his half-hearted attempt to skin out of accompanying them, even as he held the tavern door open. It would be an unhappy journey back up to the fort with Lachlan's dead-weight slung between them and Myles caught himself wishing for the old horse-cart that used to ferry marine squads to and from town. It would be only too wonderful to be able to heave Lachlan into the cart and catch a ride back to the fort. "Pity you lot din't ship out here sooner," Myles said as they headed down the street. "Best set up I ever known. Lads built the barracks, mess, and guardhouse themselves. Ain't seen a better built place, the barracks. Bunks and all, it had." Fortunately, the main road leading up to the fort was mostly clear of people. They'd make better time for it. Bartlett straggled along just behind them, the effect of his two tankards showing just enough. Doctor Finch was not going to be pleased. |
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| George Thompson | 11 Mar 2009, 09:24 PM Post #33 |
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Able Seaman
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"Back up to hospital," Myles replied in response to his question. He threw a look at Bartlett. "Don't you go sneakin' off neither, Bartlett. C'mon lads." He staggered a little under Lachlan's weight. The Scotsman seemed fairly solidly built and, passed out as he was, it was all dead weight. “They feed you proper up here, then,” he said, adjusting his grip somewhat and hoping he wasn't going to lose his hat on the way. “That's some comfort, anyways. Havin' your belly think your throat's been cut ain't much fun, I can tell you.” He blinked as they emerged into the street again. The sunlight was so bright it hit you as though you'd just run into a wall. The heat didn't help, either; he could feel his shirt growing damp with sweat. Whoever thought up a uniform that consisted of shirt, waistcoat and thick woollen coat had never been out to the Caribbean in his life. If they were going up to the hospital, that probably meant they were heading towards the fort. Which sounded as though it had been taken over by the Kingston lot. This could get to be interesting. Not necessarily in a pleasant way, but at least he wasn't on his own. There might be better ways of nailing your colours to the mast than to be seen for the first time in company with a Sergeant and two privates from the Port Royal detachment, but he would rather people knew who he was and which mob he was in from the off. It was strange how it wasn't the Chatham Division versus the Portsmouth Division out here, and he couldn't help thinking of the two groups as rival gangs. Hopefully any meetings between men of the two groups wouldn't be so bitter as that image suggested, though. They were heading down the street when the Sergeant spoke up again. "Pity you lot din't ship out here sooner," he said, sounding wistful. "Best set up I ever known. Lads built the barracks, mess, and guardhouse themselves. Ain't seen a better built place, the barracks. Bunks and all, it had." “Sounds real nice, Sar'nt,” Thompson said, fumbling one hand up to make sure his hat was going to stay on his head. “Mebbe we'll get it back once folks figger they don't need two lots of Marines wanderin' round the place, and ship the other bunch back to Kingston.” Maybe; but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, as he recalled his mother saying more than once. And from everything he'd heard so far, there'd be snowdrifts six feet deep round here before that happened. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 13 Mar 2009, 05:38 AM Post #34 |
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Master of Puppets
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“They feed you proper up here, then,” Thompson said as he helped heft Lachlan’s weight. “That's some comfort, anyways. Havin' your belly think your throat's been cut ain't much fun, I can tell you.” Bartlett laughed. “They do, that. Have to take you ’round to the ol’ widow’s place some time. Spoils us lads, she does!” Myles only shook his head. He wouldn’t complain about the quality of food, or even comment on other sources of it There were some things that were better left to the private marines to discuss amongst themselves. In some ways, he was already doing more than he ought, by interacting so informally with his lads; but it was probably better to get to know these new marines as best he could, and hope he could avoid a repeat of that damned mutiny, on any scale. “Mebbe we'll get it back once folks figger they don't need two lots of Marines wanderin' round the place, and ship the other bunch back to Kingston.” “If only,” Myles muttered, knowing it was no better than wishful thinking. At least they seemed to be making good time up the road. He could already see the gate sentries just over the crest of the hill. “C’mon lads, only a wee bit more. Then it’ll be Doctor Finch who gets to deal with yer!” There was a groan from Bartlett at that. Myles wasn’t surprised. The Norwich-man was supposed to be working at the hospital, not skylarking around town with a wounded mate, never mind that Lachlan was mostly recovered by now. The only good thing to have come out of the afternoon was the meeting-up with the new lad, Thompson. Myles felt a little more hopeful for the collective fates of the squadron’s marines now. It couldn’t be so bad if they were getting replacements, could it? |
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| George Thompson | 13 Mar 2009, 10:18 PM Post #35 |
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Able Seaman
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“They do, that. Have to take you ’round to the ol’ widow’s place some time. Spoils us lads, she does!” Bartlett laughed as he spoke. Thompson's answering grin was hidden by the collar of his jacket. “”Nice to finally get to a place where folks don't look down their noses at you 'cause you'm wearin' a red coat,” he said. “Could get used to that, a lad could. Not like home.” Folks would cross the street sooner than give you time of day if you were out in the King's uniform, at home. Most folks would, anyway. Where he'd grown up, folks relied on the King's men for their daily bread. It didn't matter whether a man was a soldier, a sailor or a Marine, if he had money. He still couldn't quite believe that it was a Sergeant who was helping him carry this drunk marine – Lachlan, he thought, reminding himself of the man's name – to the fort. Had he said the man was supposed to go back to the hospital? That part didn't sound so good, of course – nobody wanted to e anywhere near the sick or injured if they could help it. They were coming up to the gate now and he looked curiously at the gate-guards. Presumably, they must be from the Kingston lot, if that's who had taken over at the fort. They seemed just the same as any other Marines Thompson had served with since transferring to the Corps from his old Regiment of Foot. “C’mon lads, only a wee bit more. Then it’ll be Doctor Finch who gets to deal with yer!” Myles' words were greeted with a groan from Bartlett, who was walking behind them. Thompson added the name to his mental list of personnel here. “Is he a good doctor?” he asked, wondering whether Bartlett's reaction was because he was a bad doctor, or simply because arriving back here meant his free afternoon had been curtailed. He adjusted his grip a little on the passed-out Lachlan, hoping that the unknown Doctor Finch would see him right. Though, by the sounds of it, it wasn't uncommon for the man to come home in this state. Which you could probably say of most men who'd taken the King's shilling. |
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4:10 AM Jul 30
