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| An Expedition to Explore; 12 July, two young Marines explore; open | |
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| Topic Started: 15 Sep 2009, 11:58 AM (1,145 Views) | |
| Royal Navy & Marines | 3 Mar 2010, 04:53 PM Post #36 |
Master of Puppets
  ![]](http://209.85.48.14/static/1/pip_r.png)
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 "Didn't take you for the jealous type, Byrne," Springfield said. Byrne smirked. "I ain't. But any excuse to find more lads wearin' your coat and waste away time, eh?" “I's a drummer,” one of the boys said. "So you are." Byrne eased the tiller over slightly and shrugged. "Dunno how long that'll last, once you gets aboard. What about you, fella? Both you drummers?" |
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| Terence Whyte | 3 Mar 2010, 08:34 PM Post #37 |
Warrant Officer
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"Aye, you might. You'll be wantin' to stand all yer watches in the sun, then?" Springfield had said, or was it, suggested? Perhaps he was just teasing the two. Either way, Whyte had an opinion on what the other man said. Not a chance. He would prefer his coat perfectly blood red, if it meant he didn't need to sweat more than he was already. He didn't know if the choice placement below would've been any better. Heated wood, even less ventilation, no wind, probably stuffy, stinky, sweaty environment and a damp, dark, poorly lit place. It would be just as bad if not worse below. Only, at night did he suppose the heat would lessen and the whole place become more kind to any human clad in these thick coats. The more he imagined the more he thought that the choice to enlist was the worst taken, though atleast it brought him a fortune. Or what a poor lad would consider it, in cards. He shrugged and decided his friend answered it best. Not a chance that he'd be happy to stand out there in the sun, turning into a proper cooked lobster without even trying hard. If he really wanted his coat as faded as that of the other men, he could try and have it left in the sun a few times when he wasn't on duty. A good four hours, stretched out like that, and it would be a perfect old shade. With an arched brow he turned and looked at the Tar that didn't seem convinced Tommy would last long as a drummer. "Dunno how long that'll last, once you gets aboard. What about you, fella? Both you drummers?" "Why so?" He asked first then, noticing he too was addressed he straightened out, tilted his head up a bit more, folded his hands on his knees, and made himself as tall as he could, without actually standing up in the boat. He felt some of the sweat slide down his back. A strange, cooling sensation followed, though it made him also feel his shirt, and how it clung to his skin. It was wet as well, and probably so under his arms. If he lost his coat, a simple breeze would've felt like a god given gift. Straightened as stiff as a board and as proud as a peacock he responded." I'm a private marine." He didn't add, the proper one, though he wanted to tease his friend with it. Right then he preferred being on Tommy's side than that of complete strangers. |
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| Springfield | 8 Mar 2010, 02:09 AM Post #38 |
Able Seaman
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"I ain't. But any excuse to find more lads wearin' your coat and waste away time, eh?" Springfield grinned ruefully, “Ain't like there’s aught else to do.” Waste time, stand watch, waste time, clean kit, waste time. And with Dauntless taking on water like she was, there didn’t seem to be much chance of that changing anytime soon. “I'm a private marine,” declared Whyte in answer to Byrne’s question and Springfield chuckled as the lad sat up ramrod straight. “Couldn’t a’ said it prouder if he were a bleedin’ captain.” |
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| Tom Oxley | 11 Mar 2010, 12:10 AM Post #39 |
Able Seaman
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"Dunno how long that'll last, once you gets aboard. What about you, fella? Both you drummers?" the cox'n said, and Oxley frowned. He didn't really want to join the ranks of the men with muskets, not if he could help. Not just yet. Though of course Whyte was a musketeer, so maybe things wouldn't be so bad. ”I'm a private marine,” Whyte said, straightening up proudly, which made Oxley nudge his friend in the side. “So'm I, even if I don't carry a musket.” “Couldn’t a’ said it prouder if he were a bleedin’ captain,” Springfield said, and Oxley grinned. “Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' proud of bein' a marine. Could be worse. Could be a s...” He was about to say 'sailor' and hastily thought again. “A soldier, an' who wants to be one o' them, with all the marchin' and carryin' kit around and alla that sort o' thing?” He turned his head to see the ship that was going to be their new home. She seemed much bigger than any ship he'd seen before, though that might be because he'd never been so close to a second-rate, knowing he was going to be part of her marine detachment. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 14 Mar 2010, 04:22 PM Post #40 |
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Master of Puppets
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Byrne grinned. "No harm in bein' proud, that's so. Just you mind how you show it, is all." He looked up toward the ship and casually shifted on his bench, losing the comfortable slouch he had been in. "They'll be watchin' us now. Not expectin' three bullocks, when only one went off ashore." The oarsmen smirked and heaved a little more briskly at their looms. They were aware that a smart approach was expected of them and for the sake of their own backs, were determined to give it. Byrne gazed intently ahead, judging the remaining distance. "Oars," he said and the dripping oar blades rose out of the water, leaving the jolly-boat to glide along unpowered. "Boat ahoy!" "No, no," Byrne called back. A moment later, he barked, "Toss oars. Bowman, ready with yer hook." Then, as the boat nosed its way toward the main chains, he added quietly, "Welcome to the madness, lads." |
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| Terence Whyte | 16 Mar 2010, 09:44 AM Post #41 |
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Warrant Officer
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“So'm I, even if I don't carry a musket.” Feeling the nudge wasn't enough, Oxley gave a good reason for it too. This though only made Whyte grin and look amused, ready to tease his friend. "You ain't that 'till you have a musket no! Till then ye be jus' a wee drummer boy." He meant no harm in that. It was just a playful jab at his fellow lad. His grin faded, when the ship seemed to loom above them, so close that they were coming to it. She was impressive, though looked somewhat worn. Her sides showed that he had a fair amount of experience and time on her, though the marine could only judge as much. For the type of build, he could only have claimed that she was a large ship, and leave it at that. "They'll be watchin' us now. Not expectin' three bullocks, when only one went off ashore." Since he had relaxed earlier, he was yet again stiffening in his seat, back as though a broom had been glued to it. He couldn't help but gaze up at the ship though, and search out a few faces, living beings that he might get to meet, and even more, any redcoats, their backs or fronts, that might come in view. He dropped his gaze and felt a taste of salt on the tip of his tongue. A drop of water that came from one of the oars and just happened to be carried onto his lip. It was easy to just sit there, while others did all the work. Sit tight, and try to keep all limbs close, just in case they came in the way. "Welcome to the madness, lads." He arched a brow at that statement, so quietly said.Sounded like an introduction to something eerie, a story told by the fire before sleep, a beginning of an adventure that was anything but everyday life. Ah, he felt better though. No longer sick, certainly well fed and watered. This was the amount of attention he gave the sentence, and the amount of thoughts, before his mind strayed back to the impressive size of the vessel, and to all else that they might yet learn, and all the men, they were to meet. And probably also all the coin that he might earn playing cards. He grinned at the last thought. The ship's size promised many eager hands. A good fair profit. "This is it, Tommy. Better you get ready." |
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| Springfield | 22 Mar 2010, 12:21 AM Post #42 |
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Able Seaman
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Welcome to the madness, indeed. Springfield looked the two boys over critically and nodded, "Uniforms look fine." With their bright coats, they would probably be the sharpest looking of the lot which was lucky for them. Alternatively, he thought with chagrin, they might just attract more attention than the rest, which was not. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled off his tricorn, raking back the loose strands of hair before straightening it on his head and giving his own facings a cursory once over. "A'right, come on." Rising carefully so as not to rock the boat overmuch, he grabbed hold of the ladder and began to climb, scaling the side rapidly. Once on deck, he looked down over the rail, wondering suddenly if Whyte and ladders might be a bad combination. He hoped not. |
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| Terence Whyte | 22 Mar 2010, 11:06 PM Post #43 |
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Warrant Officer
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Alright. The first man was up. It was the marine and it looked like it was the boys' turn next. It would be an easy climb, or should be. The slight rocking of the boat shouldn't be a problem either. No, maybe, perhaps the climb would be a bit harder since the ship wasn't exactly tiny. He had to manevour up a ladder and hope he didn't slip. He wasn't a sailor, he was clumsy too and he didn't like to climb up high that much. Whyte frowned and gazed at the ladder which felt as if it was purposefully inching away. He couldn't show these Tars he was feeling at unease though. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and made a grab for the ladder. His legs slipped and for a moment he stood, stretched between boat and ship. With a heave he pulled himself up, his legs finding their mark. He heaved a sigh of relief. Didn't fall in now, did he. Hopefully he didn't make the boat near turn over either. He looked over his shoulder at Oxley. "..you're next." He said awkwardly and began to climb. He had gotten half way and it looked like he did a fairly decent job. He grit his teeth. He looked back over his shoulder and felt very uneasy. He was high, on an unsteady, flimsy thing called a ladder, which could snap at any time, on the side of the ship, which could suddenly turn and dip and he'd fall. He pressed his forehead against the side and tried to ease his breathing from being all too fast and erratic to something calm and composed. Not the best place to freeze. Heights, he hated them. Bloody damn heights. He reached his hand up, took a poor grip and lost it. Having been in the process of moving his other leg, he was suddenly well aware that he was moving in the wrong direction. He managed not to fall backwards, to get a grip again, and stop his descend. He told himself not to look down, not once, not twice, but every second breath. At first he held still, motionless and just clung there and prayed that the nightmare would be over. When he realised that he would be stalling the rest, that he would have to eventually climb up, and that he would already have been enough of a laughing stock, he made himself look up again. Maybe he could try. And so, forcing his limbs to move in a careful succession, he managed to pass the half way mark, and then some, and then with his knees feeling rather weak, he was able to straighten up on deck, and give a better presentation of himself than the little outburst earlier. Atleast he didn't cry! |
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| James Bell | 12 Apr 2010, 10:15 PM Post #44 |
When all else fails, beat people up
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After the mess of two days ago, Bell was hardly in a mood to be charitable. Not that he usually was to begin with. But with Corporal Jones having moved from a constant drunken state to a constant sulk, Bell found himself all but officially in charge of the squad. It was not a position he wanted at all. Formal authority had never been something he had taken well to. He did far better enforcing somebody else's authority. There was no getting out of it, though. Davenport had not given him any choice. Not that he would have anyway. He was the real power aboard and everyone knew it. At least until Colour-Sergeant Crawford came aboard the following day. That was the only positive aspect to the whole arrangement, at least that Bell could see. He wouldn't have to suffer as acting-corporal for all that long. He glared up at the sun as he came on deck, trying to ignore the unusual weight of the white cord on his right shoulder. That had been another of Davenport's directions. If he was filling the role, he had to wear the mark of rank too. Davenport was wearing a shoulder knot as well, but it looked natural on him. Why he wasn't a regular corporal by now... "Boat ahoy!" The cry from the sentry by the entry-port got Bell's attention. He tramped toward the rail and looked down to see the jolly-boat returning, with three redcoats lined up neatly in the middle. Three. When it had only been one sent ashore. This wanted explaining. He took half a step back and waited irritably for the boat to hook on. Springfield came aboard first, but Bell ignored him. If there was any trouble that could be put down as being Springfield's fault, Bell would deal with that later. The second man up through the entry-port could hardly be considered a man at all. It was a ridiculously young marine who seemed barely able to negotiate the side-ladder. Bell's expression darkened just a fraction. Was the boy drunk? He stumbled aboard like he was. The boy was obviously new to Port Royal - and even the West Indies, judging by the state of his kit - which meant he had to be shown the proper way of things. And quickly. "C'mere, you," Bell barked, not troubling himself at all to moderate his voice. The sooner this new lad got sorted, the better. "An' quit yer staggerin'." |
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| Terence Whyte | 12 Apr 2010, 11:16 PM Post #45 |
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Warrant Officer
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C'mere, you," He hadn't fallen in necessarily, but he had made a terrible display of himself, climbing up the ladder like as if he'd done it for the first time in his life. He hated heights, he feared them, but he really couldn't just say he froze because of that. It'd be a laughing matter, not one that might make them understand. In his haste to oblige he managed to get the front of his left foot caught on the back of his right. He tripped, but instead of falling face first and making a spectacle of himself, he was nervous enough to succeed in that with flying colours, he managed just to stumble and then with a snappish pace approach the mean and menacing looking man. He touched the brim of his hat and stood at attention, his cheeks coloured a faint hue of red. He felt rather flustered about the earlier mishap. He stole a glance at Bell's uniform, more specifically, at the white cord that weighed down somewhat on his right shoulder. He, Terence Whyte, wasn't drunk, not really. He didn't think so. They only had beer, and he didn't remember it being strong. Still, he was nervous enough that he felt like all he ate would soon come up the wrong way. His belly did churn and he pursed his lips, tilting his head a slight bit higher. It usually made him feel somewhat better. Possibly. Much of the colour earlier gained, drained from his face and left him paleish. |
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| Tom Oxley | 14 May 2010, 12:24 AM Post #46 |
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Able Seaman
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One of the sailors was speaking. "They'll be watchin' us now. Not expectin' three bullocks, when only one went off ashore." Oxley took a breath. That was all he needed! "Welcome to the madness, lads." Should they even be here? It was a bit late to be thinking about that now, wasn't it. Whyte grinned at him. “This is it, Tommy. Better you get ready." “I am ready, what d'you take me for?” Oxley shot back. The fact he was nervous wasn't doing his patience any good, and he sent an apologetic look at his friend. He hadn't meant to snap, after all. Springfield gave them each a searching look, before nodding. "Uniforms look fine." As if they wouldn't – all of the new detachment had had new jackets issued, and they'd stand out like sore thumbs next to those who'd been out here much longer. They probably wouldn't even need the uniforms to be able to tell the new lads and the old sweats apart, Oxley thought, glancing at Springfield's tanned face and hands. As the older Marine pulled his hat off to get his loose hair off his face. "A'right, come on." The senior rank was the last in and first out, and Springfield obviously thought that made him the senior, judging by the way he stood up, ready to scramble up the ship's side. He made it look easy, and Oxley's heart sank at the realisation that his friend was next up. He better not fall in and embarrass them both. Whyte glanced over his should at Oxley. "..you're next." “That's news, how?” the drummer muttered, making sure he wasn't going to lose anything between the boat and the deck of the ship. Why couldn't they have been sent to a frigate? Frigates were much easier to board. Whyte was aboard safely and Oxley made his own ascent, scrambling up before his nerves could get the better of him and make him freeze half-way. He made it onto the deck and glanced at Whyte, who looked rather pale. There was another Marine there who didn't look quite so friendly as Springfield. He seemed to be waiting for something and Oxley blinked before turning to his right and saluting the quarterdeck, nudging Whyte to do the same. “Private Oxley an' Private Whyte, part of the new draft, Sa.. um, Corp'ral?” He couldn't help but end that on a querying tone of voice, try as he might.v “We bin posted to Dauntless, so Springfield here said he'd bring us out.” He swallowed. The man didn't look at all friendly, and he wondered what they'd done wrong – and how they'd been able to get it wrong when they'd barely set foot on the ship. |
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| Terence Whyte | 19 May 2010, 06:17 AM Post #47 |
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Warrant Officer
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Right! He forgot. Salute. He forgot that, in all his nervous stupor, he'd thought all he needed was to appear on deck. He was not as used to the life as a marine as his friend, and so the little salute slipped his mind even if the salute itself would've been very important. After a nudge and a grunt, a bewildered look till he realised what Tom meant, he turned in the same direction and mimicked, quite awkwardly, his friend's motion. He was proud to have done it, though still afraid to set a foot straight infront of any man, thinking he might trip just due to the other men watching him do it. Why on earth did his nerves betray him so when it was just a ship, and they meant to get on it anyway. He took a deep breath, and made them calm themselves. Nothing to fear. A ship as any other, men as any other, and marines too. It wasn't hell, but it was meant to sound so. The man that called to him was only doing his job in the early introductory scare. People did that, in part to set the disorderly in place, and in part because it was probably fun too. The amount of thinking on that topic, considering and answering his own questions had some colour return to the boy's cheeks. Enough so that he looked like he didn't resemble the colour of his pale breeches but rather the colour of near healthy sort of skin. Still a runt, still with traces of ill, but no longer so much so that one could consider him a sot. "Weren't late, up t' date.." He stumbled over his words and regretted saying them. "He's drummer..." He added as an after thought. Or he was meant to be. Some sort of musician anyway. "N' ..." He wanted to say he was standard but thought against it, a marine boy sounded demeaning, and calling himself a man might cause laughter. The safest way it was to say: "I'm not." And that had to explain everything that the other marine needed to know. |
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| James Bell | 1 Jun 2010, 04:26 PM Post #48 |
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When all else fails, beat people up
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Unsurprisingly, the tottering drunk of a boy didn't say a word, offering only a perfunctory salute. Bell waited. Springfield obviously was not going to speak up and claim the lad, which meant it fell to the boy himself to make his introduction. Except there wasn't just one, but rather two, of them. A pair of idiot boys. Wonderful. The second one came aboard properly, at least. That was more than could be said for his pale-faced companion. “Private Oxley an' Private Whyte, part of the new draft, Sa.. um, Corp'ral? We bin posted to Dauntless, so Springfield here said he'd bring us out.” Had he, now. Good for Springfield, making more work for Bell. Stupid bastard. And of course there was the address of 'corporal'. If he could have, Bell would've torn the hateful shoulder knot off and flung it over the side. This was far more responsibility than he'd ever wanted. Bell gave the two boys a brief study and, naturally, found them both wanting. Coats much too bright, faces much too pale... but that would be set right in due course. He drew in a breath to offer them a bit of helpful direction, since Springfield would hardly have troubled himself, when the first lad, the drunk one, decided it was time for him to exercise his voice. "Weren't late, up t' date.." What the hell was that supposed to mean? 'Weren't late'? Bloody hard to be late anyplace you weren't even expected at, wasn't it? Bell's eyes narrowed, which the boy seemed to rightly take as a warning - or not. "He's drummer... N' ... I'm not." Bell waited a beat to see if the half-witted fool would take it upon himself to speak again, then growled, "S'if that ain't plain bloody obvious. 'E got lace'n you don't. Now shut up." Any more from that boy and he'd have a headache. "Fetch yer dunnage an' stow it below. Find a 'ammock space an' all that too." He'd have to find Davenport and work out precisely what to do with the two lads. The second one had said something about a new draft - which of course made sense, didn't it, since that new frigate had turned up a day or whatever before. Damn it all. That meant a lot more new marines coming aboard, didn't it? |
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| Springfield | 13 Jun 2010, 03:16 AM Post #49 |
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Able Seaman
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He couldn't get used to Bell as acting corporal. And it seemed, neither could Bell. Springfield wasn't sure why Davenport had insisted on making the position so official. Bell hardly needed a shoulder knot to convince others to do as he said. Besides, they'd been managing well enough before this, hadn't they? He shrugged mentally. All he knew was that he was glad it wasn't him with that damned bit of string on his arm. The encounter went predictably ill. Springfield had smirked when Whyte tottered across the deck towards the corporal, but his amusement was short lived, and from the look on Bell's face, he'd be lucky not to catch hell for this later. It might have helped if he'd mentioned Bell beforehand--Particularly the strategic value of keeping one's mouth shut and not pissing him off--but he hadn't. Oxley seemed to have figured this out on his own. Whyte on the other hand... "You two got your dunnage stowed on shore somewhere?" he asked quickly, hoping to cut off any further comments, "Or is it comin' along with the resta yer mates?" |
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| Tom Oxley | 24 Jul 2010, 06:26 PM Post #50 |
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Able Seaman
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And Whyte was off with one of his stupid rhymes again. The corporal didn't look too amused by it, and seemed even less amused when Whyte indicated Oxley with his thumb. "He's drummer...N' ... I'm not." As if that wasn't obvious from the differences in their coats. The corporal obviously thought so, too. "S'if that ain't plain bloody obvious. 'E got lace'n you don't. Now shut up." The words were spoken in a growl that made Oxley swallow. That was all they needed; a bad-tempered hard horse of a Corporal chasing them from sunrise to sunset and back again. "Fetch yer dunnage an' stow it below. Find a 'ammock space an' all that too." Dunnage? He hadn't even thought about his dunnage. That thought must have shown on his face because Springfield took one look at him and asked, "You two got your dunnage stowed on shore somewhere? Or is it comin' along with the resta yer mates?" "Comin' off with the rest of 'em," he said, hoping it would and the others wouldn't simply leave it all behind just because he and Whyte weren't there to bring it off themselves. He looked between Springfield and the Corporal. He'd never heard of lads of his age being able to choose their own hammock spaces, or messes. Boys were usually assigned places, but he didn't quite dare to ask about it, instead straightening his jacket and looking to either of the older men to show them below and tell them what was what. |
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| Terence Whyte | 24 Jul 2010, 09:53 PM Post #51 |
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Warrant Officer
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It seemed his talk had neither been appreciated by the man in charge, by the one who had brought them there, and not even by his friend. He held his silence and sullenly looked ahead of himself. He felt somewhat better already now. He was just better of not remembering how high he had climbed and how he nearly fell and certainly almost froze, mid way. He sighed, though he was relieved when they were told to head out Bell's sight. He glanced at Oxley and nudged him, not so lightly under the ribs. After that he looked at Springfield. "...can ye take us?" He was a bit more worried about his dunnage than his friend but hoped that the other marines might bring theirs as well. If they didn't, he just hoped it would wait there, till they were able to retrieve it and that nothing was stolen. It wasn't that he really owned as much, as to be worried about his belongings. He'd barely taken anything with him when he joined the marines. But, even so, some things were still personal and thus carried some importance. Certain that nobody but Tom could hear him, or perhaps at the time he was out of the earshot of Bell, astleast as Whyte thought it, he turned to Oxley and whispered. "..Dunno wot' he's got up 'is arse.. but it sure is stiff." He grinned. "Need sum'un to pull it out afore it reaches his brain." |
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| Springfield | 24 Jul 2010, 10:26 PM Post #52 |
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Able Seaman
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"Oi." Springfield's hand shot out, smacking hard against the back of Whyte's head. He hadn't heard exactly what the boy had said. He hadn't needed to. "Corporal tol' you t' shut yer mouth." Turning to Oxley, he jerked his head in the direction of the companionway. "C'mon. That means you," he snapped at Whyte, grabbing the boy's shoulder and half dragging him the first several paces toward the hatch, "Move." The sooner this got sorted, the better. |
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