Sea and Sky

[barefoot_bard]

Title: Sea and Sky
Rating: K (Suitable for all ages)
Disclaimers: The character Peter Yates is the property of rosinarowantree. Jacob Chase belongs to me.
Original pen-date: 2 June 2010
Summary: StC-verse. Cob Chase shows Mister Midshipman Yates the ropes; literally.
Author's Note: My apologies for the extreme lateness with this fic. It is a response to a meme challenge. I hope also that I have not gotten characterisations too obviously wrong.



"This your first time aloft, sir?"

The pale-faced midshipman stood near the solid bulk of the mast, despite being safely perched on the foretop platform. It had taken a lot out of the boy just to make it this far. They weren't even that far above the deck. Poor Mister Yates. It was always hard for lads who were so new to the sea. Still, Chase grinned when the boy managed a jerky sort of nod. He was not so afraid that he lost his senses.

"It is quite high," the midshipman remarked, chancing a glance over the edge of the platform to the deck below.

Chase settled himself onto the yard, his legs dangling freely. "A bit, sir. But it's near to impossible to see anythin' good this far down." He pointed up, toward the royal top. "Best place to be 'board any ship's up there, sir."

"Up there?" Yates peered up, craning his neck back a little to see around the topsail yard.

"Aye," Chase confirmed. "Not so far really, sir. So long's you don't look down 'fore you're up there. Just a couple skips up the shrouds an' there you are." He swung his feet idly and grinned. "Could stay down here too o' course, sir."

Mister Yates looked aloft again and swallowed. "Noo-o. We will go higher." He knew he would have to get used to being in the rigging, high above the deck, eventually. Here was a prime opportunity to do just that. "It would be interesting to take in the view from the - royal top, wouldn't it?"

"Aye, sir," was Chase's cheerful reply. He pushed himself up off the yard and hopped easily onto the mast platform. "Up we go. Clap onto the shrouds, sir, and follow close. Mind yer footin', too. There's lads comin' up to take a reef."

The topman swung himself onto the shrouds, only to pause a short way up to glance back and check that his young charge was close on his heels. In spite of his uncertainty - Yates didn't want to call it fear - the midshipman was making his way after his guide, albeit more slowly.

"A reef is - shortening sail?" The boy asked as he climbed, gamely keeping his mind distracted from the fact that he was moving further away from the safety of the deck. There was an awful lot to learn just about the sails and rigging themselves.

"Aye. Every sail's got reef points on 'em for securin' that part of sail what gets handed in to the yard. A reef gets taken when the wind rises some. More if it rises sharpish. Don't feel like there's any sorta storm comin' now, though. Prolly just a lucky followin' breeze."

A frown briefly creased Mister Yates' brow as he digested this. Reefing was done when the wind rose. He could not quite tell how Chase knew there was no threat from a storm, but supposed such a sense for weather would come in time. They were just past the topsail yard now, having been passed on their ascent by the swifter-footed sailhandlers. Yates paused here, interested to see them at their work. He had seen sails trimmed before, of course, but he had been looking up from the deck. Watching it from slightly above gave him an entirely different perspective.

"Reefin's easy," Chase told him, coming back down from where he'd been leading. The topman hooked an elbow around a shroudline and leaned out, pointing with his free arm. "It's just one reef they're takin' in, see? Half the work's done on deck, by the lads at the sheets - them's the lines that manage the sail when it's set. Lookit how them lads're workin', sir, keepin' their feet braced out on the footropes that way. That's for balance. Lets 'em work with both hands. That's good only for fine weather, like this. If it's stormin', they'll keep one arm 'round the yard. 'One hand for you, one hand for the ship', like."

Mister Yates nodded, listening intently and watching with open interest as the seamen completed their work and shifted either back toward the mast shrouds or to the lines at the end of the yard. "Is it very bad, being aloft in a storm?"

"Can be." The topman resumed his climb, keeping his pace matching close to Yates'. "It's fair nasty when the wind gets to howlin' fierce an' drives the rain hard along. Wet canvas don't take well to bein' handled, not at all. Gets heavy, it does; can knock a lad clean off the yard if it gets loose. Good cap'ns choose to lie-to in real bad storms, meanin' that the ship just rides it out 'til the weather eases." A grin came again to Chase's face. "Dunno that we gotta worry about anythin' real bad out here, though. Biscay ain't that known for frightenin' big blows. C'mon, sir. Not that far now."

Thoughts of wild storms, flapping wet canvas, and men falling from the yards swirled around Yates' head, but he gritted his teeth and swung around the topgallant yard to follow Chase up the last stretch of shrouds. He would not be required to go aloft in foul weather. Would he? He nearly risked a glance over his shoulder as he climbed, but remembered Chase's advice and restrained himself. There would be ample time to look down once he was perched on - or clinging to - the royal yard. The mast seemed to sway dizzyingly before his eyes, however, and he became aware of the sensation of being in motion as well, despite holding firmly onto the ratlines as he climbed.

At last! Chase reached the yard ahead of him and scooted out a few inches onto it, giving the midshipman plenty of room to make himself comfortable as well. Yates was not nearly as at home with being so high up and kept one hand curled tightly around the tarred line that ran to the top of the mast, which was not that far above his head. His discomfort was swiftly forgotten when he looked out at the endless glittering sea ahead of them. Before, on the foreyard, his view had been obscured by the intricate web of rigging and the bowsprit. Here, however... here the view was uncluttered and clear. It was possible to see for miles and miles, in all directions, and it was glorious. A delighted smile spread across his face. He could understand why the seamen loved being aloft so, now.

"Ain't it grand, sir?"

Yates bobbed his head eagerly. "It is." This was unvarnished truth. From this vantage point, the sea seemed to gleam, an expanse of turquoise stretching away to melt into the soft cerulean of the sky. The steady wind ruffled the sea's surface just noticeably, so that the bright sunlight flashed off the water like thousands of glinting diamonds. It was not so bad at all up here.

"This," Chase declared, sweeping his hand grandly around, "is the true top of the world, sir."

That was something Yates could readily believe. Grinning, as much from giddiness as pleasure, he leaned out over the yard a little to peer down at the deck below. From this height, it seemed very small and the people moving about little more than dark blots. He looked up again. The broad swath of sea was far more entrancing to watch.

"Can you tell me a little more about the ropes - sorry, the lines?" he asked. "And the sails, too?"

The topman smiled. "Glad to, sir. That there, what you're holdin' on to, is the foreroyal lift..."

The sun beamed down upon the two figures perched in eager conversation in the foreroyal top, seeming to lend its approval to the informal instruction being offered. All the while, below them, the ship carried on with her daily business, cruising steadily through the light ruffling sea toward the distant port of Lisbon.