(no subject)
Title: The Dogwatches
Rating: M (Suitable for ages 16 and above)
Disclaimers: None.
Original pen-date: 22 September 2008
Summary: Discontent and mutiny aboard a Royal Navy frigate. American Revolution, 1780.
Author's Note: There are probably some historical/ship goofs in here and I beg forgiveness for them.
The sentry's musket butt thudded firmly against the deck and he called out, "Major Collins, sir."
There was the briefest of pauses before the captain's secretary appeared to open the door. Collins ducked his head as he stepped through the doorway. He was not surprised so much by the summons to the great cabin as he was by how long it had taken for that summons to come. Defiant had sailed over three days ago, spurred on her way by an abrupt order from Admiral Traylor. The reasons for this order Collins could guess at, but he did not know for sure. Then he remembered the letter he'd received from Sergeant Devlin and thought perhaps that he did, in fact, know. No, even leaving out the letter, he knew very well why the mighty ship had been despatched. There was only one reason to send her away so quickly, and with a company of soldiers crammed onto her gundecks as well. Traylor knew, at last, what was happening to Cornwall and he was afraid.
The addition of the soldiers to Defiant's redcoated complement had dismayed Collins severely. He was not averse to reinforcements, but he would have wished for any other company rather than the one they had been given. Entering the wardroom the afternoon of their departure to discover a sour-faced Lieutenant Pettiton at the table had ruined any thought Collins had of passing any of his free moments in peace.
Not that he had enjoyed much time to himself since being moved to the second-rate. In replacing his friend Forsythe, he found himself subordinate to a very moody major whose style of command consisted largely of snapping orders to his junior officers over the playing cards that seemed permanently attached to his hands. Collins didn't care much for him. There was an older second lieutenant aboard as well, with whom Collins got on well from the start. Which was fortunate, he reflected, as managing the flagship's Marines was proving no easy task.
"You wished to see me, sir?"
Captain Greenaway looked up from his desk. "Hm. Yes. I am informed, Major, that you know something of this errand we are sent upon," he said in his customarily direct manner. "This errand and the unpleasant burden of passengers with it. More than I do myself, I would guess. What, sir, is it we are truly meant to do?"
That was a fine question and one Collins did not know how to adequately answer. He was not privy to the orders Traylor had written, nor to anything the admiral may have told his flag captain. What little he knew was not likely to be worth the trouble of this meeting but the question had been asked and he must answer it. "Cornwall, sir." the Marine began, "has been an unhappy ship for some months. She received a new captain only a few days before her departure for Charleston and it can reliably be stated her troubles began then."
"New captain... that fellow Leaford, is it?"
"The very one, sir. His idea of discipline, and the application of it, has not settled well with the crew, sailors and Marines both. She passed her time at the siege and returned, with nearly each day seeing a flogging. I would hazard a guess that several men in the lower deck began their planning then. Her return to Antigua does not seem to have been any relief, for anyone. And... you already know of my removal from her, sir." Collins paused and drew in a breath. Even he had a marked aversion to speaking of this idea. "It is my belief, sir, that Cornwall has been taken."
Greenaway's brows drew together sharply. "Taken?"
"Taken, sir. In mutiny." The word had nearly stuck on his tongue. It was such a simple word, but with such deep, fearful meaning. "There were warnings of it, more lately in the form of letters, but they were not heeded." He dared not say more than that, knowing all too well that the loyalties of Navy officers seldom included Marines.
"Damn." Greenaway's gaze dropped to the sheets of paper on his desk. "Damn." There was an awkward pause, then the sea officer heaved a great sigh. "It would seem the admiral shares your belief. I cannot say for certain what has brought him to this conclusion, but he is convinced there is a bad fate in store for that unlucky frigate. We are to search for her along her assigned course of patrol, but I doubt that we will find her there. More than that, I do not know."
That was something along the lines of what Collins expected, but he knew there was probably more to Traylor's orders than that. "What are we to do should we find her, sir?"
The captain sighed again. "If she is indeed taken by mutiny, my options are limited. Indeed... Admiral Traylor wishes her to be sunk if she cannot be recovered."
"I see." And he did. Traylor wanted no trace of this to come to light if it could be avoided, even at the cost of more than two hundred men, including his particular favourite, Leaford. Collins wondered how Leaford would react to that, were he to come to know it. "There may be a chance to recover her should she be found. One of the leaders of this... escapade... is one of my lads. My sergeant, in fact. He may not care to answer to Captain Leaford, sir, but he shall answer to me."
"If she is found." Greenaway glanced down at his papers and shook his head. "You know more of Leaford than I, Major, and I am curious to know of his nature. Clearly there is something objectionable about him, if his crew has in fact been aroused to rebel against him."
Ah. This was, perhaps, less pleasant even than speaking the word mutiny. Collins inclined his head slightly. "I must beg leave now, sir, to speak freely, lest I give offence otherwise." At Greenaway's nod, he drew in a breath. "In my years, sir, I have never served under a ship's captain with such a shameless disregard for the men he commands..."
On the other side of the thin wall, the cabin sentry listened to the conversation with rapt attention. He had suspected there was something devious in the works, for why else would the flagship herself be sent off in such a way, but he had never imagined it could be as bad as what he was hearing. A shiver went through him. And one of those chiefly involved was, apparently, a Marine... despite himself, the sentry scowled. It was a damned insult, was what it was. An unforgivable damned insult. He wished heartily that they would catch this rogue frigate and hang every treacherous man-jack aboard her. It was the least they deserved!
~
"Rubber!"
There was a chorus of groans around the wardroom table as Major Brent laid his cards down, face-up, and sat back with a triumphant smirk on his face. It was the third hand running that he had won and he was feeling unusually self-indulgent. His successes were not always so steady.
"I fold," Defiant's third lieutenant said, tossing down his cards.
The sailing master likewise surrendered his cards, a remorseful smirk on his leathery face. "Luck to you, sir," he said with a nod toward the young army officer seated across from him. "May you bow out too, before he takes all your coin."
The two men made their departures and Brent reached for the scattering of cards. "Shall we open anew, gentlemen?" There were no objections from the two remaining players, so he shuffled and dealt out new hands.
"How are you settling in now we are comfortably at sea, sir?" Brent asked of the officer with the light green facings.
Lieutenant Pettiton offered an indifferent shrug. "I am doing better gaining my sea legs, as the sailors say. It seems to become easier each voyage."
"It does, it does," Brent agreed. "I find life most enjoyable where there is not a scrap of land in sight. Particularly with such a fine wardroom as exists here. Truly, I have never known a better selection of gentlemen."
"Indeed?"
"Oh aye. There is not a thing I can think of to disparage a man of them. Prime fellows. Most prime."
"I see." Pettiton studied his cards a moment. "I should like to agree with you, sir, save that there is one gentleman in this mess with whom I have a particular disagreement. Of somewhat long-standing, in fact."
Brent lifted an eyebrow at him. "Have you? I find that difficult to credit, sir. Who is - "
"One of your own officers, sir," was the answer. "Lately of the Cornwall. Sent off in some disgrace as I have heard."
"One of my officers? Collins, you mean?"
"That is him, sir. I should hardly like to call him a gentleman, if you'll forgive me."
There was confusion on Brent's face. "I must confess disbelief, sir. How come you to such opinion?"
All attention was on him now, the game forgotten. Pettiton seemed conscious of the shift in focus, but strangely not discomfited. He cleared his throat and said, with no trace of hesitation, "I have served with him under fire, sir. In South Carolina. It was with his help that my men captured Fort Moultrie in Charleston harbour."
"I believe I have heard something of that," Brent said.
"Do not believe all you hear, sir," Pettiton told him. "It is little thanks to his efforts that we took the fort, though of course he claims otherwise. His temerity does not stop there, however. Upon our arrival to English Harbour, our paths crossed at a ball held by Admiral Traylor, and he had dared claim my companion for a dance, right under my nose. We settled our differences the following morning, though I could hardly call his conduct even then that of a proper gentleman."
The surgeon coughed lightly, disturbing the silence that fell after Pettiton finished. "Is this all so, Mister Pettiton? I had been given to understand that the gentleman in question has shown nothing less than exemplary behaviour ever since his posting to this station."
Pettiton's lip curled, very slightly. "I should imagine you have been improperly informed, sir. His character, as I have witnessed it, is poor indeed."
"You are impertinent, sir," the surgeon said tartly. "I have it on most unimpeachable authority that the officer you disparage - most unfairly - is anything but that which you describe. The Cornwall's surgeon is a particular friend of mine and it is from him that I have my information."
"I do not intend any disrespect to your friend, sir, but I find that, when a man wishes, he is quite able to conceal his true nature from those around him."
"You will forgive me, sir, if a noted physician's opinion of another gentleman counts as more than does your own." The surgeon laid down his cards, face-down, and stood up. "I beg you will forgive me, Major. It is time I returned to my sick-berth."
"Of course." Brent seemed to hardly notice the surgeon's departure. He was instead regarding Pettiton with an expression of interest. "You are quite firm in your conviction of the captain's character. I applaud a man who stands by his opinion so, even in the face of such dissent."
"Thank you, sir."
The Marine smiled as he swept up the surgeon's abandoned cards. "Mister Pettiton," he said as he reshuffled the deck, "I believe you and I will get on smashingly. Now. Let us hear more of your adventures in South Carolina."
Rating: M (Suitable for ages 16 and above)
Disclaimers: None.
Original pen-date: 22 September 2008
Summary: Discontent and mutiny aboard a Royal Navy frigate. American Revolution, 1780.
Author's Note: There are probably some historical/ship goofs in here and I beg forgiveness for them.
The sentry's musket butt thudded firmly against the deck and he called out, "Major Collins, sir."
There was the briefest of pauses before the captain's secretary appeared to open the door. Collins ducked his head as he stepped through the doorway. He was not surprised so much by the summons to the great cabin as he was by how long it had taken for that summons to come. Defiant had sailed over three days ago, spurred on her way by an abrupt order from Admiral Traylor. The reasons for this order Collins could guess at, but he did not know for sure. Then he remembered the letter he'd received from Sergeant Devlin and thought perhaps that he did, in fact, know. No, even leaving out the letter, he knew very well why the mighty ship had been despatched. There was only one reason to send her away so quickly, and with a company of soldiers crammed onto her gundecks as well. Traylor knew, at last, what was happening to Cornwall and he was afraid.
The addition of the soldiers to Defiant's redcoated complement had dismayed Collins severely. He was not averse to reinforcements, but he would have wished for any other company rather than the one they had been given. Entering the wardroom the afternoon of their departure to discover a sour-faced Lieutenant Pettiton at the table had ruined any thought Collins had of passing any of his free moments in peace.
Not that he had enjoyed much time to himself since being moved to the second-rate. In replacing his friend Forsythe, he found himself subordinate to a very moody major whose style of command consisted largely of snapping orders to his junior officers over the playing cards that seemed permanently attached to his hands. Collins didn't care much for him. There was an older second lieutenant aboard as well, with whom Collins got on well from the start. Which was fortunate, he reflected, as managing the flagship's Marines was proving no easy task.
"You wished to see me, sir?"
Captain Greenaway looked up from his desk. "Hm. Yes. I am informed, Major, that you know something of this errand we are sent upon," he said in his customarily direct manner. "This errand and the unpleasant burden of passengers with it. More than I do myself, I would guess. What, sir, is it we are truly meant to do?"
That was a fine question and one Collins did not know how to adequately answer. He was not privy to the orders Traylor had written, nor to anything the admiral may have told his flag captain. What little he knew was not likely to be worth the trouble of this meeting but the question had been asked and he must answer it. "Cornwall, sir." the Marine began, "has been an unhappy ship for some months. She received a new captain only a few days before her departure for Charleston and it can reliably be stated her troubles began then."
"New captain... that fellow Leaford, is it?"
"The very one, sir. His idea of discipline, and the application of it, has not settled well with the crew, sailors and Marines both. She passed her time at the siege and returned, with nearly each day seeing a flogging. I would hazard a guess that several men in the lower deck began their planning then. Her return to Antigua does not seem to have been any relief, for anyone. And... you already know of my removal from her, sir." Collins paused and drew in a breath. Even he had a marked aversion to speaking of this idea. "It is my belief, sir, that Cornwall has been taken."
Greenaway's brows drew together sharply. "Taken?"
"Taken, sir. In mutiny." The word had nearly stuck on his tongue. It was such a simple word, but with such deep, fearful meaning. "There were warnings of it, more lately in the form of letters, but they were not heeded." He dared not say more than that, knowing all too well that the loyalties of Navy officers seldom included Marines.
"Damn." Greenaway's gaze dropped to the sheets of paper on his desk. "Damn." There was an awkward pause, then the sea officer heaved a great sigh. "It would seem the admiral shares your belief. I cannot say for certain what has brought him to this conclusion, but he is convinced there is a bad fate in store for that unlucky frigate. We are to search for her along her assigned course of patrol, but I doubt that we will find her there. More than that, I do not know."
That was something along the lines of what Collins expected, but he knew there was probably more to Traylor's orders than that. "What are we to do should we find her, sir?"
The captain sighed again. "If she is indeed taken by mutiny, my options are limited. Indeed... Admiral Traylor wishes her to be sunk if she cannot be recovered."
"I see." And he did. Traylor wanted no trace of this to come to light if it could be avoided, even at the cost of more than two hundred men, including his particular favourite, Leaford. Collins wondered how Leaford would react to that, were he to come to know it. "There may be a chance to recover her should she be found. One of the leaders of this... escapade... is one of my lads. My sergeant, in fact. He may not care to answer to Captain Leaford, sir, but he shall answer to me."
"If she is found." Greenaway glanced down at his papers and shook his head. "You know more of Leaford than I, Major, and I am curious to know of his nature. Clearly there is something objectionable about him, if his crew has in fact been aroused to rebel against him."
Ah. This was, perhaps, less pleasant even than speaking the word mutiny. Collins inclined his head slightly. "I must beg leave now, sir, to speak freely, lest I give offence otherwise." At Greenaway's nod, he drew in a breath. "In my years, sir, I have never served under a ship's captain with such a shameless disregard for the men he commands..."
On the other side of the thin wall, the cabin sentry listened to the conversation with rapt attention. He had suspected there was something devious in the works, for why else would the flagship herself be sent off in such a way, but he had never imagined it could be as bad as what he was hearing. A shiver went through him. And one of those chiefly involved was, apparently, a Marine... despite himself, the sentry scowled. It was a damned insult, was what it was. An unforgivable damned insult. He wished heartily that they would catch this rogue frigate and hang every treacherous man-jack aboard her. It was the least they deserved!
~
"Rubber!"
There was a chorus of groans around the wardroom table as Major Brent laid his cards down, face-up, and sat back with a triumphant smirk on his face. It was the third hand running that he had won and he was feeling unusually self-indulgent. His successes were not always so steady.
"I fold," Defiant's third lieutenant said, tossing down his cards.
The sailing master likewise surrendered his cards, a remorseful smirk on his leathery face. "Luck to you, sir," he said with a nod toward the young army officer seated across from him. "May you bow out too, before he takes all your coin."
The two men made their departures and Brent reached for the scattering of cards. "Shall we open anew, gentlemen?" There were no objections from the two remaining players, so he shuffled and dealt out new hands.
"How are you settling in now we are comfortably at sea, sir?" Brent asked of the officer with the light green facings.
Lieutenant Pettiton offered an indifferent shrug. "I am doing better gaining my sea legs, as the sailors say. It seems to become easier each voyage."
"It does, it does," Brent agreed. "I find life most enjoyable where there is not a scrap of land in sight. Particularly with such a fine wardroom as exists here. Truly, I have never known a better selection of gentlemen."
"Indeed?"
"Oh aye. There is not a thing I can think of to disparage a man of them. Prime fellows. Most prime."
"I see." Pettiton studied his cards a moment. "I should like to agree with you, sir, save that there is one gentleman in this mess with whom I have a particular disagreement. Of somewhat long-standing, in fact."
Brent lifted an eyebrow at him. "Have you? I find that difficult to credit, sir. Who is - "
"One of your own officers, sir," was the answer. "Lately of the Cornwall. Sent off in some disgrace as I have heard."
"One of my officers? Collins, you mean?"
"That is him, sir. I should hardly like to call him a gentleman, if you'll forgive me."
There was confusion on Brent's face. "I must confess disbelief, sir. How come you to such opinion?"
All attention was on him now, the game forgotten. Pettiton seemed conscious of the shift in focus, but strangely not discomfited. He cleared his throat and said, with no trace of hesitation, "I have served with him under fire, sir. In South Carolina. It was with his help that my men captured Fort Moultrie in Charleston harbour."
"I believe I have heard something of that," Brent said.
"Do not believe all you hear, sir," Pettiton told him. "It is little thanks to his efforts that we took the fort, though of course he claims otherwise. His temerity does not stop there, however. Upon our arrival to English Harbour, our paths crossed at a ball held by Admiral Traylor, and he had dared claim my companion for a dance, right under my nose. We settled our differences the following morning, though I could hardly call his conduct even then that of a proper gentleman."
The surgeon coughed lightly, disturbing the silence that fell after Pettiton finished. "Is this all so, Mister Pettiton? I had been given to understand that the gentleman in question has shown nothing less than exemplary behaviour ever since his posting to this station."
Pettiton's lip curled, very slightly. "I should imagine you have been improperly informed, sir. His character, as I have witnessed it, is poor indeed."
"You are impertinent, sir," the surgeon said tartly. "I have it on most unimpeachable authority that the officer you disparage - most unfairly - is anything but that which you describe. The Cornwall's surgeon is a particular friend of mine and it is from him that I have my information."
"I do not intend any disrespect to your friend, sir, but I find that, when a man wishes, he is quite able to conceal his true nature from those around him."
"You will forgive me, sir, if a noted physician's opinion of another gentleman counts as more than does your own." The surgeon laid down his cards, face-down, and stood up. "I beg you will forgive me, Major. It is time I returned to my sick-berth."
"Of course." Brent seemed to hardly notice the surgeon's departure. He was instead regarding Pettiton with an expression of interest. "You are quite firm in your conviction of the captain's character. I applaud a man who stands by his opinion so, even in the face of such dissent."
"Thank you, sir."
The Marine smiled as he swept up the surgeon's abandoned cards. "Mister Pettiton," he said as he reshuffled the deck, "I believe you and I will get on smashingly. Now. Let us hear more of your adventures in South Carolina."