| Welcome aboard, me maties! AG is a Pirates of the Caribbean RPG taking place after Curse of the Black Pearl, and incorporating many of the plots of Dead Man's Chest and At World's End, but is not beholden to follow them exactly, or at all. We welcome both Canon characters and Original Characters, and hope you'll consider joining us for some adventure on the high seas. Sign the Articles! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| A Sinking Feeling; Dauntless' marines; 10 July 1751 | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: 19 Jun 2009, 04:30 PM (580 Views) | |
| James Bell | 19 Jun 2009, 04:30 PM Post #1 |
When all else fails, beat people up
  ![]](http://209.85.48.14/static/1/pip_r.png)
|
OOC - Taking place a few hours after Relieving Tensions. IC - There were few comforts attributed to being locked up in a ship's brig, but being able to stand and sit as he pleased was definitely one of them. He preferred that luxury despite the indignity of being solidly behind bars. Let the others endure the discomfort of being confined in leg irons. They were all going to be turned loose soon enough anyway. Granted, it would be so they could get their backs whipped raw, but that was only inevitable. Bell carefully flicked the tails of his coat aside as he sat down, knowing that it was already going to take days to get the coat clean. There was no point in making the damn thing dirtier than necessary. That was impossible in such a poorly-kept place like the brig. Bell cursed at the darkness and remembered why he hated barred cages so much. Footsteps on the deck coming toward him drew his attention away from a futile study of the slimy iron bars. It was Davenport. Bell curled his lip and took an interest in the dirty straw that served as a questionable sort of padding within the cell. There weren't many reasons for Davenport to come down to the brig and Bell figured he could guess at most of them. Were they going to be sent to the grating already? Or maybe Davenport was looking for a chance to clout Bell around the head again. That was one thing Bell would not soon forget. He was not one to let sneak attacks like that go unanswered. "Come to gawk, 'ave yer?" Bell sneered. Davenport's expression didn't change. "Save it, Bell. I'm not here to play piss-about games. Mister Alderbury ain't gonna have you lot flogged, I talked him down outta it. But he ain't pleased and you can bet the commodore's gonna hear about this somehow. Shut up, before you even start talkin'. Mister Alderbury didn't really want you lads flogged anyway. It'll be watch-on-watch sentry duty for you and Jonesy though, and no rum ration 'til first watch tomorrow for the whole lot. Jonesy's lost his rum ration for longer but he don't know that yet." Bell stared, not quite believing what he'd just heard. Mister Alderbury was not very good at following through on anything, but he'd been hopping mad when he'd seen what had happened. Even he could not be easily talked down from ordering the grating rigged. He started to wonder just how Davenport might've dissuaded him from formally punishing them, then quickly decided it was better not to know. "So get up, you've got what's left of the watch to get your kit back in order." Davenport went on, ignoring Bell's stare. He unlocked the cell and stepped back to let Bell out. Wary of a trick, Bell got up and left the cell, but Davenport only nodded and headed toward the ladder leading topside. Perhaps it wasn't a trick. On the messdeck, he saw that Jones and the others were sitting near their sea-chests. Whatever magic Davenport had worked, it clearly applied to all of them. Bell nodded curtly at Vaughan, who had, apparently, taken it upon himself to give Bell's crossbelts a fresh layer of pipeclay. It seemed that they all knew of the informal punishment before Bell. Not surprising though, he thought. Davenport was no fool. "Awake an' cheerful again, Jonesy?" Bell asked his corporal, In response, Jones simply glared at him and went back to work scrubbing his coat. Also not a surprise. Jones was rarely amiable after sobering up. A fleeting smirk touched Bell's face as he sat down on Ware's sea-chest and peeled off his coat. He was perfectly willing to let Vaughan do the work of cleaning his kit, while he did his best to straighten up his coat. "Didn't waste no time gettin' outta them irons, didja?" Bell asked after a moment, looking toward Springfield. It was strange that none of them would be suffering the lash. If he didn't know better, he might think somebody had done some fast talking. |
 |
 
|
| Springfield | 30 Jun 2009, 02:47 AM Post #2 |
Ordinary Seaman
|
Springfield had never been one to think overly hard about anything and if his interpretation of events lacked subtlety or nuance, that was nothing new. It was a trick. It had to be. It wasn't that he distrusted Davenport. He was sure the half-Spanish marine had meant what he said, but Alderbury was another matter. Officers, in Springfield's opinion, had queer ways of doing things. However, if putting up with some chickenshite scheme was the means of getting out of irons, Springfield was content with the arrangement. There was the small matter of the rum ration, of course, but it would be worth it to see Jones dry for once. That Bell and Jones would be stuck with watch on watch and that he had gotten off free, however, bothered him more than he cared to admit. With an exaggerated grimace, he lifted a hand and gingerly fingered the back of his head. It was still sore to the touch, but at least it had stopped aching. There was the sound of approaching steps and Springfield looked up from where he sat perched on his sea chest. It was Bell. "Would you look who finally showed up," grinned Springfield. "Didn't waste no time gettin' outta them irons, didja?" "Couldn't get the damn things off fast enough." A thought suddenly occurred to Springfield, "Unless....you ain't thinking I talked? I don't squeal, Bell. You know I don't." Durham came suddenly to mind and bitterness twitched across Springfield's features, "'Specially not on you. I like my arms and legs right where they are, thanks," he added with forced levity. |
|
|
|
| James Bell | 27 Jul 2009, 08:29 PM Post #3 |
|
When all else fails, beat people up
|
"Couldn't get the damn things off fast enough," Springfield affirmed, in response to which Bell rolled his eyes. For a lad who probably liked to think he was sharp, Springfield could be awfully slow. "Unless....you ain't thinking I talked? I don't squeal, Bell. You know I don't." Or maybe not so awfully slow. "'Specially not on you. I like my arms and legs right where they are, thanks," the smaller marine added. Higgins chuckled, then quickly choked his mirth back when he saw the expression on Bell's face. "I 'ope not. Won't do t'git the messdeck all bloody like," the Newcastleman grunted, his gaze going back to a tar stain on the inside seam of his coat sleeve. Dammit. " 'Ere, Jonesy. Give's that brush there." " 'Ey!" Jones burst out when Bell plucked the brush from his fingers. "I was usin' that, give it back, damn yeh. I'm yer - " "Yer me what?" Bell snapped, the faint trace of teasing humour gone from his demeanour. "Me corporal? Not since ya chucked yer shoulder knot at Davenport an' tol' 'im where 'e oughta stuff it. Bleedin' disgrace, Jonesy, that's all ya are." There was an instant hush. The marines looked at each other uneasily. Jones' loud surrendering of his mark of rank had cost him in everyone's regard, but none of them had dared use that incident so openly against him. Bell was unrepentant. He had never said something he didn't mean or was not prepared to back up. For a long moment, nobody dared to speak. Jones looked torn between fury and despair. Finally, the Welshman dropped his gaze down to his coat and let out a long shuddering breath. "S'pose that's so," he said heavily, his voice quiet. "I ain't done a bloody thing right since 'fore that fight ashore." Vaughan opened his mouth to say something, but Jones shook his head. "Ferget it, Vaughan. Ain't worth it. Dav's yer corporal now, or he oughta be." With that, he rose a little unsteadily to his feet and shrugged his way into his coat. He collected his crossbelts and hat, then made his way forrard to the arms locker, there to retrieve his musket. The others, Bell included, stared after him in varying degrees of disbelief. "Well ain't that somethin'," Bell muttered, shaking his head. Maybe there was hope for that stupid Welshman after all. |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 17 Aug 2009, 01:16 AM Post #4 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
Springfield watched Jones leave, an uncomfortable feeling settling like a stone in his gut. He had grown used to Jones as a self-pitying sot and as much as he had hated that, he wasn't at all sure he liked what he had just seen any better. He fidgeted irritably. Being cooped up on Dauntless gave him plenty of time to think, a condition he considered unhealthy since his thoughts, of their own treacherous accord, almost inevitably turned to things he would rather forget. Glancing around for some form of distraction, he finally decided to follow Bell's example and make sure his uniform was in order. He was on duty for the next watch and, given the day's events, he thought it prudent to avoid further antagonizing his superiors with his appearance. To say that Springfield was not normally the smartest turned out of Dauntless' marines would be perfectly accurate. The margin for error was not a wide one, but he nonetheless managed to sound out the bare minimum and turn it into a science. With a practiced eye that he examined his buttons and pronounced them passable; however his coat was a bit worse for wear, doubtless the result of having used it for a cushion earlier in the day. Brushing and beating until he was satisfied with the front, he turned the coat around and only then did he notice the jagged tear in the fabric. Springfield swore loudly. It must have caught on a nail when he took that spill up on deck. Holding it towards the closest source of light, Springfield glared at the offending orifice. As if he needed any further reminders of what an idiotic idea that had been! Climbing off his sea chest, he rummaged through it and fished out a needle and thread. He was not very good at sewing under the best of circumstances and the the poor lighting did not improve matters. Bent close over his work in painful concentration, his progress was punctuated every so many minutes by more or less muffled curses, the direct results of having impaled a finger, thumb, hand or leg. He was, nevertheless, grateful of having something to do, especially something which consumed his entire attention and left no space for nagging thoughts. |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 21 Aug 2009, 02:45 PM Post #5 |
Master of Puppets
|
   There was an uneasy silence lingering heavily over the messdeck, broken only by the light rustle of wool as the men worked sluggishly on cleaning or repairing kit. Several marines looked uncertainly at each other as the silence went on, despite the nagging feeling many had that it should not be left to go on. The messdeck had never felt so unhappy. None of them liked it but nobody knew how to break the pall either. It didn't help that Davenport was topside again, which left them without any ready and recongisable leadership to turn to for guidance. The absence of Corporal McIntyre and the ineffectiveness of Corporal Jones was taking a heavy toll. Then the silence was broken by a loud curse from Springfield. A few men glared sullenly at him. Many of them considered him something to be wary of, as it was remembered that he had been close mates with Durham, who had turned on them so bloodily. Less willingly remembered by those same men was the fact that only Durham and Patterson had turned their coats. Suspicion was hard to dispel when men were inclined toward it. But of course nobody dared mention anything of that. "Y'know, lads," Jenkins said slowly, looking up from the work of blackballing his shoes. "We ain't had a good story told in half an age." The marines shifted wordlessly, exchanging glances as they contemplated that. After a moment, Carter cleared his throat and said, "Ain't that the truth. But we've heared mosta the good stories more'n once by now." Jenkins shook his head slightly. "Aye, but ain't it usually Gallagher an' Lachlan what tells the stories?" The young marine looked toward Harrison, who had been surreptitiously trying to slink farther away from the others. "C'mon, Billy, you gots good stories. I heared you tell one or two afore." "Aw c'mon, Jenkins," Harrison grumbled, annoyed at being caught. But Jenkins didn't relent. He gazed steadily at the older man for a long moment, until Harrison sighed. It was hard to deny that he had a few stories from his days as a smuggler. "Well all right. But it ain't nothin' special, any of 'em." "Spill it, Billy," Jenkins urged, his face lighting up eagerly. There were some hesitant grins around the messdeck. It was no secret that Jenkins loved when other marines told stories, chiefly because he had few of his own to tell. Bell looked up briefly from the tar stain he was scowling at and shook his head. If asked, he could tell them stories that would curl their ears, and be glad to do. But nobody ever asked him for such things. Harrison gave his bayonet another swipe across the whetstone, then nodded. "Well all right. Just lemme know when Dav comes back down, 'cause he'd know this one. He was a bloody Customs lookout, y'know." That was something that not many of them had known and it showed. Harrison simply nodded and ran his thumb over the edge of his bayonet to test its sharpness. He didn't necessarily hold it against Davenport, but it was something that the lads ought to be mindful of. |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 23 Aug 2009, 02:22 AM Post #6 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
"Y'know, lads," Springfield glanced up as Jenkins spoke, narrowly avoiding impaling his hand. He was glad that someone had finally decided to break the silence. It saved him the trouble of trying to ignore it. "We ain't had a good story told in half an age." Springfield suddenly became deeply interested in his sewing. It was a needless precaution. He had been in relatively few engagements before his assignment to Dauntless, none of which, in his opinion merited being retold. However, one of the first useful things he had learned during his training was never to make eye contact when volunteers were being demanded. Over the years, the reaction had become instinctual. Springfield smothered a grin as Harrison tried, unsuccessfully to dissuade the eager Jenkins. "Well all right. Just lemme know when Dav comes back down, 'cause he'd know this one. He was a bloody Customs lookout, y'know." That was news to Springfield. Quirking an eyebrow, he glanced toward the companionway in case Davenport suddenly appeared, then bent himself over his coat again, listening. |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 30 Aug 2009, 04:45 AM Post #7 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
 After deciding that the pause had gone on long enough, Harrison cleared his throat. "So anyways. This ain't any kinda special story, even'ough Tom thinks it is." "Bollocks," Jenkins said. His quick, teasing response brought faint smiles to a couple faces. Encouraged, he added. "C'mon, Billy. Out with it already." Every face was turned Harrison's way now, including a few stragglers from the seamen's mess deck. With an elaborate sigh, Harrison set aside his whetstone and shook his head. "So then, lads, this is how it goes. I used to crew 'board a brig what ran cargoes up an' down the coast, off Cornwall an' Hampshire usually. Most times we kept well clear of shore 'cept if we was near to Guernesy, 'cause of the Customs cutters. That's when we gots time for it, least. This one night, we had a hold fulla wine, jus' took 'board in Bordeaux. Aye, only the best for our buyers. There was a squall comin' up as we cleared the headland off Brest, an' the cap'n wanted to try runnin' afore it. We was behind schedule an' had to make the time back somehow. So we piles on all sail an' makes our dash 'cross the Channel toward Church Cove. S'posed to put the cargo ashore there, jus' after moon-rise." Harrison paused here, tapping his half-sharpened bayonet lightly against his thigh. He glanced at Jenkins, who was, expectedly, all interest, and grinned. "Best time to put cargoes ashore is jus' 'round full dark. Well, the blow we'd run full 'way from was workin' after us like a damned hound so we was hard-up to get the barge out an' loaded. Nasty work it is, swayin' out an' loadin' without no lanterns. But we done this afore so it weren't nothin'. Me an' ol' Shubb goes out with the first load, jus' inchin' 'long 'cause the Lizard ain't nothin' to trifle with. We makes it to the cove an' give the whistle that'll bring a scout down to us to help." "Except his buyers got found out," Davenport said, appearing at the bottom of the aft ladder. "An' the scout that turned up was Mister Turnbull. Took maybe half a minute for his ugly fat arse to go scrabblin' down them rocks, an' that spoilt the whole thing." Nodding, apparently not caring about the unexpected interruption, Harrison said, "Aye, we knowed it weren't clean when that ol' toad started cursin'. He sure weren't a Cornishman, like was s'posed to meet us. So me an' Shubb goes to push off agin, 'cause of there ain't bein' no sense stayin' 'round to get tossed inta irons." He pointed with his bayonet socket at Davenport. "S'cause of this mad rascal that we lost harf that load, too. This wee scrap of a fishin' lugger 'pears jus' 'round the breakers an' summody 'board lets go a heavy ol' piece of kedge anchor. Straigh' onta them barrels of best Bordeaux stock!" Davenport grinned. "It weren't me that heaved it. I was fightin' that damned tiller." "You was there, an' all," Harrison countered. "Damn near to sunk us, too. Dunno how we got clear shut outta there. But you lot din't catch us or the brig, neither. So then, lads, that's how it went. An' 'member, this lad here owes me a nice barrel of best Bordeaux, righ'nough!" |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 7 Sep 2009, 09:45 PM Post #8 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
A sharp pain in his thumb reminded Springfield of what he was supposed to be doing and he returned his attention to the tear in his coat, still smirking at the thought of of Davenport scuppering Harrison's smuggling run ashore. Who would've thought? Several knots and ripped stitches later, Springfield's hand was beginning to resemble (in use if not in physical appearance) a pin cushion and he was rapidly losing interest in the task. Tacking it with several large stitches and with every intention of returning to it, he tied it off and cut the thread. Small things always got a bit blurry up close, especially in the below decks lighting. That would hold it until he could get some better light to work by. But for now...he drummed his fingers idly against his knee as boredom began to settle in once more. Across the way, young Andrew Shepherd seemed even more fidgety than himself. Springfield watched as the lad clambered to his feet and moved nonchalantly across the deck. He should have recognized the look of studied disinterest on the boy's face, as he'd employed it himself on numerous occasions, but he was only half paying attention. Passing Vaughan, Sticks paused, then took a step back as though he had noticed something. "Wha's tha' on yer shoulder?" he asked, pointing at Vaughan's right arm. "Oi!" Springfield shouted, but it was too late. Taking advantage of the Welshman's brief distraction, Sticks had snatched his hat and scarpered double quick. Edited by Springfield, 7 Sep 2009, 09:52 PM.
|
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 14 Sep 2009, 10:15 PM Post #9 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
A more natural silence settled over the messdeck when Harrison finished his tale. Many of them found it funny that he and Davenport should have met in such odd circumstances and to be now aboard the same ship as marines. Perhaps the world was not as big as many people claimed. Taking advantage of the lull, Davenport made his way toward his sea-chest and fished out something wrapped up in stained canvas. A couple marines tried to get a look at whatever was inside the canvas, but Davenport tucked it carefully into his pocket. "Not for you lads to see, not yet!" He admonished with a grin, then he headed topside again. His departure was a signal to Andrew Shepherd, who was up and casually strolling toward the Welshman Vaughan. He was ignored by the rest of them, until Springfield's cry of "Oi!" got everyone's attention. Andrew was just disappearing down the aft ladder, the purloined hat mashed sideways on his head. Vaughan was hot on his heels, offering choice words in Welsh as he missed a step in his haste and fell almost headlong the rest of the way down. Most of the others simply shook their heads and went back to their various chores, except for Jenkins and Higgins. Neither of them liked to pass up the chance for some fun and this definitely qualified as fun. "C'mon, Springfield!" Jenkins called. It was, after all, Springfield's shout that had alerted them all to Sticks' plan, so it stood to reason that he should come along to watch the whole thing unfold. |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 3 Oct 2009, 11:28 PM Post #10 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
"C'mon, Springfield!" Springfield did not need to be asked twice. If there was excitement (hell, anything out of the ordinary) to be had, he was not about to miss it, especially when the alternative was the all too familiar tedium of cleaning his kit. Scrambling to his feet, he plunged after Jenkins and the others, his forehead clipping one of the low hanging beams in his haste. He staggered blindly for a moment, letting fly a string of profanity, then hurried after the others. Jenkins' head was just disappearing down the ladder when Springfield caught up. Diving down the first several rungs, Springfield grabbed hold of the lip of the hatch and swung himself the rest of the way. He hit the deck and stumbled forward, looking around for the others. Of Jenkins, Higgins, Vaughan or Sticks there was no sign, but a clatter from below signaled that the pursuit had descended to the orlop. Springfield was all set to throw himself down the hatch after them, but a sudden thought turned him round and sent him scrambling for'ard. Curses followed in his wake as he tore heedlessly along the lower gun deck, nearly colliding with several tars. He was not even sure this would work. The drummer had a head start and, in the confined space of the ship, his size gave him a distinct advantage. Nevertheless, when Springfield reached the for'ard ladder, he saw Andrew Shepherd's face several rungs below him. Laughing breathlessly, Springfield clambered after him as the drummer sprang backwards down the ladder. Vaughan, Higgins and Jenkins were closing in, blocking off the way aft and Andrew Shepherd's options were dwindling rapidly. He could try to rush them and maybe, just maybe, his size would save him or he could continue down into the hold. He went with option b. |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 10 Oct 2009, 09:05 PM Post #11 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
 It was dark as pitch down in the hold and Andrew nearly pitched headlong down the ladder in his bid to get away from Springfield, who was far too close behind him for the drummer's liking. As long as he kept the purloined hat away from Vaughan, though, he'd be all right. He could get away from Springfield if only he could - Splash. Andrew tripped over something at the base of the ladder and in the attempt to catch himself, went stumbling down into the depths of the hold. Straight into thigh-deep water. That was unusual. The drummer forgot entirely about the stolen hat on his head in the face of the presence of strangely-deep water in the hold. He put his hands out in front of him to help feel his way further along, and felt various bits of unknown things bump against him as he waded toward the lowest part of the hold. This was not his first time down here, not by a long shot, yet this time seemed far more eerie and unsettling than any other time before. For one, the usual sounds of creaking timbers and the light slosh of water in the bilges were nuch more muted, if not absent entirely. Something wasn't right and even he, in his eternal playfulness, could sense it. "Billy?" Andrew called, all thought of the previous game long since driven from his head. It did not even occur to him that he had used Springfield's forename. All he knew was that Springfield had been the closest man to catching him. "G'an fetch a lantern, quick-like!" |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 12 Oct 2009, 12:24 AM Post #12 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
Springfield half climbed, half jumped down the ladder and stood peering into the darkness of the hold. Up ahead somewhere in the pitch dark he thought he heard splashing, like someone moving through water. Unwilling to let Sticks get too far ahead, Springfield started forward quickly in the direction the sound. Almost immediately, his shin struck the corner of something that was probably a crate and in his flailing attempt to recover his balance, his foot caught on another piece of debris and he went down. He flung out his arms, expecting to brace himself against the deck and instead felt the slap of water against his body. Spluttering and more than half soaked, he scrambled backwards and got to his feet, wide-eyed with confusion. "Billy?" It was the drummer's voice, coming from somewhere farther ahead, but the tone was all wrong. Springfield began to move in the direction of the boy's voice, his worry growing as the water level around his legs rose. "You a'right, Sticks?" "G'an fetch a lantern, quick-like!" Turning around, he collided with Vaughan and only narrowly avoided Higgins as he stumbled back toward the hatch. He recognized Jenkins' silhouette on the ladder, "Jenkins! Run an' grab us a lantern. 'S dark as pitch down here." |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 13 Oct 2009, 01:05 AM Post #13 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
  By the sound of it, Springfield all but fell into the water that had somehow gotten into the hold. Andrew stopped his uncertain progress forward and turned back. He had gone far enough. "You a'right, Sticks?" He was all right, but everything else wasn't. The drummer waded back toward the ladder, pushing his way through floating casks and boxes. "Aye," he replied, a little hesitantly. "Jenkins! Run an' grab us a lantern. 'S dark as pitch down here." "What - " Jenkins started to say, until Higgins shoved him unceremoniously up the ladder with a couple choice words. It was obvious that their game was over, if Andrew's tone was anything to go by. "Where's Sticks at?" Vaughan asked. Andrew sloshed his way up to the ladder. " 'Ere," he said. "Careful if yer comin' any farther in, it's water up t'me knees." "Water..." the Welshman's voice trailed off in disbelief. Then, like the thickheaded sod that he was, Vaughan stepped down from the ladder and almost immediately stumbled over a box that had floated too close. "Stupid bugger," Higgins observed as Vaughan scrambled back up to the safety of the ladder, dripping water from his gaiters. At that point, Jenkins returned, with an unlit lantern. They all cursed him for an idiot. Who brought down an unlit lantern to a dark place? It was Vaughan who remedied that problem, fumbling around in his coat pocket for a spare flint and a bit of scrap steel taken from an old musket that had blown up. A minute later, the candle in the lantern was casting a small bubble of light around them. "Blimey," Jenkins breathed, holding the lantern up. The light glittered on the water, reflected back as if off hundreds of black diamonds. In any other setting it would have been pretty. |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 18 Oct 2009, 06:58 PM Post #14 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
Springfield tried, largely without effect, to wipe the water out of his eyes with a sopping wet sleeve. "Jesus..." he murmured, gazing with horrified awe at the glinting, black surface surrounding them. How long had it been like this? And how long would it have gone unnoticed if Sticks hadn't pulled that stunt with Vaughan's hat? That this was bad, was unquestionable. Exactly how bad, he was unsure, but he had an uneasy feeling that it was only going to get worse. Another rivulet of water crept from his hair and went careening down his face. He dashed it away. "Come on, you lot. Starin' at it ain't goin' to fix nothin'," he said heavily, "Better get this reported and have done." He didn't much care who they reported it to, as long as it wasn't Matheson---he intended to keep well away from the boatswain (as much as was humanly possible on a vessel like Dauntless), at least until the business of what had happened on the poop deck earlier blew over completely---but there was bound to be an officer underfoot somewhere. "Look..." he began, pausing at the foot of the ladder, "Anyone who don't want to draw unwanted attention to himself might want to shove off up the messdeck sharp like." He was thinking primarily of Sticks and Higgins, but there was no point in all five of them catching trouble, if it came to that. Not that he really thought any of them would miss the chance to find out what was going to come of their discovery. |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 28 Oct 2009, 05:25 PM Post #15 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
"Come on, you lot. Starin' at it ain't goin' to fix nothin'," Springfield said. "Better get this reported and have done." Andrew found himself nodding absently. His initial shock was giving way to a return of his more usual sense of mischief. This was very bad, but it could be a great opportunity as well. He’d have to gather up the ship’s boys for a little chat and planning... “Aye,” Vaughan said. “Chips’ll need to know ’bout this, right ’nuff.” Not the carpenter, Andrew thought. Not just yet! He wanted to capitalise on this sad situation before Hennock set it to rights. "Look..." Springfield went on. "Anyone who don't want to draw unwanted attention to himself might want to shove off up the messdeck sharp like." “ ‘Unwanted attention’, like trouble?” Higgins asked, sounding vaguely annoyed. “Dunno that there’s any ‘ope of avoidin’ that ’round ’ere anymore!” “Shut up,” Vaughan snapped. “I’m goin’ topside,” Jenkins said, ignoring the other two. “Springfield’s right, this needs reportin’. You ladies can stand ’round bickerin’ all you wants.” He started up the ladder, taking the lantern with him. Andrew scowled. That was the only source of light down here! The drummer scampered up the ladder after Springfield and Jenkins, wondering if he should go find Fingers or Toad McCray first. This would be grand! |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 1 Nov 2009, 05:29 PM Post #16 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
Emerging from the hold into the comparative brightness of the orlop deck, Springfield glanced down at Shepherd. The boy's uncharacteristic seriousness seemed to have dissipated and was replaced by something else entirely. He had always thought that the drummer looked most at home when he was plotting mischief, but what, he wondered, shaking his head, could possibly be going through the boy's head now? The lantern swung in Jenkins' hand, casting strange, seemingly animate shadows around them as they tramped up the remaining four sets of ladders to the quarterdeck. Up on deck, the warm breeze felt cool through his wet clothes as he cast about for someone of sufficient authority on whom they could unburden their discovery. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a small patch of dark blue on the poop deck and turned to find that it was one of the midshipmen. "There's the little middie, O'Brien," he observed, jerking his head in the boy's direction, "C'mon." "Sir," he called, "C'we have a word, sir?" |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 15 Nov 2009, 04:00 PM Post #17 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
It was impossible to suppress a shiver as he made it onto the weather deck. Vaughan plucked briefly at his sodden breeches before falling in behind Higgins He still did not have his hat back but for the moment he hardly cared. The discovery of the water in the hold had driven all thought of it straight from his head. "There's the little middie, O'Brien," Springfield said. "C'mon." Good. They could foist off responsibility onto the midshipman's shoulders and get back below. Where the breeze couldn't cut through the soaked linen. Vaughan needed no further urging to follow Springfield aft. If nothing else, the presence of three well-dampened marines would lend credence to their report. "Sir," Springfield called as they got up to the poop deck stairs. "C'we have a word, sir?" O'Brien blinked and stared at them. "A w-w-word?" "Aye sir," Higgins replied. "There's two foot o' stannin' water in the 'old, sir. We jus' found it." To emphasise his point, he gestured at Springfield's dripping coat. "Water in the h-h-hold?" The midshipman seemed at a loss. "But - " "Not believin' us, sir?" Vaughan cut in impatiently. "Go an' see it fer y'self!" |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 23 Nov 2009, 04:05 AM Post #18 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
"Water in the h-h-hold? But - " Springfield glanced up at the sun, more to disguise an ill-timed eye-roll than from any curiosity about the time. Yes, water, he thought. You know....the bluish wet stuff they were floating in? The ocean was full of it, he was bloody dripping with it, and it was in the hold. What was so difficult to understand about that? "Not believin' us, sir?"interrupted Vaughan, "Go an' see it fer y'self!" Springfield nodded, "Or maybe you want to send Hennock down instead, sir, bein' as he knows 'bout that sort of thing." Or they could stand there nattering while the ship slowly sank, he thought impatiently, wondering if dumping the problem at this particular middie's feet had, perhaps, not been the best idea after all. |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 28 Nov 2009, 04:31 PM Post #19 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
"Or maybe you want to send Hennock down instead, sir, bein' as he knows 'bout that sort of thing." "Er..." O'Brien stared at the marines with rising panic. Why had they brought this to him? He hadn't the slightest idea what to do! Wait. One of them had mentioned the carpenter. Yes! Of course. He could pass off responsibility for the matter to the carpenter. "P-p-pass the word for Mister Hennock!" O'Brien squeaked and felt faintly proud of himself for not wasting more than a few minutes deliberating. |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 13 Dec 2009, 04:32 PM Post #20 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
"P-p-pass the word for Mister Hennock!" Finally. Did that mean they were free to go, Springfield wondered, edging backward half a step. More likely it meant that their presence would be required to explain the matter to Hennock. Suppressing a sigh, Springfield glanced at the others and then aft in the direction a tar had gone scurrying, presumably to fetch the carpenter. A warm breeze raked strands of damp hair across his face and he impatiently smeared them out of the way. Where the hell was Hennock? A short while later, the tar reappeared with the carpenter close behind and headed toward the midshipman and small knot of marines. Now they were getting somewhere, Springfield thought. Slowly, perhaps, but they were getting there. |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 21 Dec 2009, 07:42 PM Post #21 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
"Sent for, sir?" The carpenter asked, offering a salute. He sounded almost bored. "Y-y-yes," Mister O'Brien said. "It has b-b-been reported that there's w-w-water in the hold." "And it's fair bad," Vaughan replied, waving a hand at his sodden clothes. "Jus' lookit Sticks!" That seemed to get Hennock's attention. He lifted an eyebrow at Mister O'Brien. "P'mission to open the hatches, sir. This wants a full inspection." "What? Oh. Er. Y-y-yes. Do what you m-m-must." "C'mon you lads," Hennock said to the marines as he bounded down the stairs. "Mister Matheson! Get some lads an' open the hatches. All of 'em. Williams!" "Well damn," Jenkins said. |
|
|
|
| Springfield | 28 Dec 2009, 05:57 PM Post #22 |
|
Ordinary Seaman
|
The darkness below decks seemed to have intensified in contrast to the bright Caribbean sunlight, and for some moments Springfield could make out little else beyond the white X formed by Jenkins’ crossbelts across his back moving steadily ahead of him as the marines descended deck after deck to the hold. He wasn't sure what exactly Hennock wanted them for, but as long as it gave him an excuse not to be up on the messdeck cleaning his kit, he wasn't going to complain. "Where's that lantern you had, Jenkins?" Springfield asked as they approached the hatch leading down to the hold, "He's goin' to need it down there, 'less he wants to half drown hisself." |
|
|
|
| Royal Navy & Marines | 9 Jan 2010, 04:42 AM Post #23 |
|
Master of Puppets
|
"Where's that lantern you had, Jenkins? He's goin' to need it down there, 'less he wants to half drown hisself." Jenkins held up the lantern. "Right here," he answered, then lit the candle again. "How bad's it all?" Hennock asked from the top of the last ladder before the hold. "Gonna see in a minute," Vaughan answered brusquely. Above them, the hatches were being opened, allowing more and better light to shine down into the depths of the ship. Hennock gave a grunt and clomped down the ladder. A moment later, there was a splash, followed by a loud curse. Andrew Shepherd giggled. |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Docks · Next Topic » |
11:06 AM Mar 11
