The Sea Service
Jan. 11th, 2012 04:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
barefoot_bardTitle: The Sea Service
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: The character Gabriel Cotton belongs tosharpiefan. The character Jonathan Padstowe belongs to latin_cat.
Story summary: Show the Colours AU; Some sailors observe the discomfort of the soldiers they are transporting to Portugal. At sea, 1809.
Author's Note: Written for an old Kink meme. Occupation swap. Soldiers turn to sailors, etc. Any character.
"Strange bunch of beggars, ain't they?"
"What, them?" Joe Newbury shook his head and didn't trouble himself to look down at the redcoated soldiers milling about on the deck. "Ain't worth thinkin' of, that lot."
His mate, Gabe Cotton, shrugged. "Mebbe not. Hard not to wonder at 'em, though. Bein' as they'm so... stiff. Alla that standin' around they does."
Newbury grunted. "You'd stand stiff like that too, if you was gettin' shouted at all the time like they do. Bad 'nuff we got the bo'sun an' first luff here ourselves."
That was a good point. It wasn't quite the same for the sailors, but given a choice, Cotton would still take ths life over the army. Poor sods, he thought as he shifted along the yard toward the mast platform, the double-reef having successfully been taken in. It couldn't be an easy life having to march everywhere, carrying all you owned on your back and not knowing when you'd stop or where your next meal would come from.
One of the sergeants was bawling at the soldiers on deck for some unknown offence and as Cotton came down the shrouds, the words became more distinct. He grinned. Apparently the redcoats' milling about had an actual purpose and some of the lumbering idiots had milled the wrong way, or something to that effect. It was hard to make sense of what the sergeant was saying.
"That 'un best be careful," Newbury muttered as his bare feet thudded down onto the deck, as he had followed Cotton down from the maintop. "Or the first luff'd be sendin' him below."
That would be a sight to see, Cotton thought with a mild hopefulness. It always amused him to see the ship's officers exert their natural authority over their passengers. Especially when those passengers got to be bothersome. "Lucky for all of 'em the cap'n ain't on deck," he added.
Newbury nodded. There would definitely be some clearing out of redcoats done if Captain Padstowe was on deck. Instead, he was below, probably in his cabin dealing with the army officers. Again. If it was possible, they were worse than the soldiers themselves.
"Watch out, there!" Somebody called, and gazes swung aft as a soldier hastened to the rail and nearly doubled himself over it so he could empty his stomach safely into the sea. There was laughter from the watching sailors. They all took particular enjoyment in seeing their unfortunate land-bound passengers get seasick, even in fair weather.
The sergeant’s attention fell roundly on this unfortunate fellow, before the soldier had even finished being sick. "Chase! Who gave you p'mission t'waste yer rations? Straighten up, man! Sharpish now!"
The grins turned to chuckles. There was no helping it when you were seasick, though obviously this sergeant thought otherwise. And certainly he meant to impress that belief on his men. Poor bastards, Cotton thought.
"I din't know it was stormin', lads," somebody commented.
Another sailor said, "His glass musta dropped sudden-like. Poor bugger!"
"He's near as green's his collar, sure," Tom Roper agreed.
The boatswain appeared, his starter swinging threateningly in his hand. "That's enough gawpin', back to work! Here, Jacklin, get that muck off the deck 'fore it leaves a stain."
The seamen dispersed, many of them grinning, as Jacklin helped another soldier carry the seasick one below. Cotton shook his head and headed up forrard, where it was nominally safer. It would be a great relief when they dropped anchor in Lisbon and got rid of these lubbers. Even as amusing as it was to watch them, the reality was they were unwanted aboard. The sooner they were packed off ashore, the better.
"Be nice to get shut of that lot," was Newbury's remark as he joined Cotton on the foc's'le. "Ain't smelled right below since they come aboard, for one."
"That's 'cause of all the stuff they put on their kit. Or somethin'. Can't be any fun, havin' to keep yourself so neat and tidy. Sorta like the Marines, I s'pose."
"Aye, but even the Marines ain't that sorta daft. Or they knows better than to march anywhere they can sail instead, anyways."
"True.” Cotton shaded his eyes to look aloft for a moment. “I’m glad I never got so desperate as that. Havin’ to ‘list, I mean. Dunno as that’s any sort of life worth havin’.”
Newbury shrugged. “It ain’t, that’s sure. Ah hell. There’s them pipes again. Why didn’t we only take one reef ‘stead of two, if we’re gonna be lettin’ one out already?”
There was no sense in replying to that, so Cotton didn’t bother. He simply grinned and dashed toward the mainmast shrouds. Life at sea had its own hardships, but he’d take them over an existence with the army any day!
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: The character Gabriel Cotton belongs to
sharpiefan. The character Jonathan Padstowe belongs to latin_cat.Story summary: Show the Colours AU; Some sailors observe the discomfort of the soldiers they are transporting to Portugal. At sea, 1809.
Author's Note: Written for an old Kink meme. Occupation swap. Soldiers turn to sailors, etc. Any character.
"Strange bunch of beggars, ain't they?"
"What, them?" Joe Newbury shook his head and didn't trouble himself to look down at the redcoated soldiers milling about on the deck. "Ain't worth thinkin' of, that lot."
His mate, Gabe Cotton, shrugged. "Mebbe not. Hard not to wonder at 'em, though. Bein' as they'm so... stiff. Alla that standin' around they does."
Newbury grunted. "You'd stand stiff like that too, if you was gettin' shouted at all the time like they do. Bad 'nuff we got the bo'sun an' first luff here ourselves."
That was a good point. It wasn't quite the same for the sailors, but given a choice, Cotton would still take ths life over the army. Poor sods, he thought as he shifted along the yard toward the mast platform, the double-reef having successfully been taken in. It couldn't be an easy life having to march everywhere, carrying all you owned on your back and not knowing when you'd stop or where your next meal would come from.
One of the sergeants was bawling at the soldiers on deck for some unknown offence and as Cotton came down the shrouds, the words became more distinct. He grinned. Apparently the redcoats' milling about had an actual purpose and some of the lumbering idiots had milled the wrong way, or something to that effect. It was hard to make sense of what the sergeant was saying.
"That 'un best be careful," Newbury muttered as his bare feet thudded down onto the deck, as he had followed Cotton down from the maintop. "Or the first luff'd be sendin' him below."
That would be a sight to see, Cotton thought with a mild hopefulness. It always amused him to see the ship's officers exert their natural authority over their passengers. Especially when those passengers got to be bothersome. "Lucky for all of 'em the cap'n ain't on deck," he added.
Newbury nodded. There would definitely be some clearing out of redcoats done if Captain Padstowe was on deck. Instead, he was below, probably in his cabin dealing with the army officers. Again. If it was possible, they were worse than the soldiers themselves.
"Watch out, there!" Somebody called, and gazes swung aft as a soldier hastened to the rail and nearly doubled himself over it so he could empty his stomach safely into the sea. There was laughter from the watching sailors. They all took particular enjoyment in seeing their unfortunate land-bound passengers get seasick, even in fair weather.
The sergeant’s attention fell roundly on this unfortunate fellow, before the soldier had even finished being sick. "Chase! Who gave you p'mission t'waste yer rations? Straighten up, man! Sharpish now!"
The grins turned to chuckles. There was no helping it when you were seasick, though obviously this sergeant thought otherwise. And certainly he meant to impress that belief on his men. Poor bastards, Cotton thought.
"I din't know it was stormin', lads," somebody commented.
Another sailor said, "His glass musta dropped sudden-like. Poor bugger!"
"He's near as green's his collar, sure," Tom Roper agreed.
The boatswain appeared, his starter swinging threateningly in his hand. "That's enough gawpin', back to work! Here, Jacklin, get that muck off the deck 'fore it leaves a stain."
The seamen dispersed, many of them grinning, as Jacklin helped another soldier carry the seasick one below. Cotton shook his head and headed up forrard, where it was nominally safer. It would be a great relief when they dropped anchor in Lisbon and got rid of these lubbers. Even as amusing as it was to watch them, the reality was they were unwanted aboard. The sooner they were packed off ashore, the better.
"Be nice to get shut of that lot," was Newbury's remark as he joined Cotton on the foc's'le. "Ain't smelled right below since they come aboard, for one."
"That's 'cause of all the stuff they put on their kit. Or somethin'. Can't be any fun, havin' to keep yourself so neat and tidy. Sorta like the Marines, I s'pose."
"Aye, but even the Marines ain't that sorta daft. Or they knows better than to march anywhere they can sail instead, anyways."
"True.” Cotton shaded his eyes to look aloft for a moment. “I’m glad I never got so desperate as that. Havin’ to ‘list, I mean. Dunno as that’s any sort of life worth havin’.”
Newbury shrugged. “It ain’t, that’s sure. Ah hell. There’s them pipes again. Why didn’t we only take one reef ‘stead of two, if we’re gonna be lettin’ one out already?”
There was no sense in replying to that, so Cotton didn’t bother. He simply grinned and dashed toward the mainmast shrouds. Life at sea had its own hardships, but he’d take them over an existence with the army any day!