On The Beach

[barefoot_bard]

Title: On The Beach
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: Lil Baker belongs to sharpiefan. Everyone else with speaking parts are mine.
Summary: A former ship's boy adjusts to life ashore. Chatham, 1811.
Author's Note: Any factual or historical errors contained herein are my own and I duly apologise for them.



Life ashore so far was not what he'd expected it to be. The enormous woman Corporal Thompson had introduced as Lil Baker had grudgingly offered him a hunk of hard cheese, two slices of bread, and a cold wedge of pork pie. This was not where he had expected to end up after being paid off. Seated in the tap room at the battered and scattered bar, balanced atop an equally battered and scarred barstool, trying to cram the food down as fast as he could amid sips of the half-pint Corporal Thompson had bought him. It felt strange. Strange but also nice. Which was not something he was overly used to.

"Slow it down, nipper, won't do to choke yourself," the imposing Lil cautioned, eyeing him with a frown.

Fingers swallowed a grisly piece of pork and managed a squeaking, "Won't!"

"Won't what?"

"Choke, course." Fingers took a more substantial swallow of bitter to wash the pork down, then nudged the tankard toward the parrot. Stormy at once dipped his beak in for a sip.

"Of course. When you're done, I got errands needs runnin' an' Georgie says you're handy. Can you read?"

Read? What a thing to ask! Fingers shook his head. "Nope."

"Hm." Lil paused to refill the tankard of a large man who smelled overpoweringly of fish guts. "We'll work on that. If you're to be apprenticed somewheres, a bit of learnin' won't hurt."

"Learnin'?" That sounded like no fun to him. Fingers wrinkled his nose.

"Aye. Learnin'. We can't have you dippin' for your supper. Apprenticeship'll keep you clear of the press, too."

That was true. Even though he didn't mind being at sea. He folded a piece of cheese between a hunk of bread and stuffed the lot into his mouth. Being at sea was not so bad. A ship was like home. The sailors and the other ship's boys were like family. it was safe and familiar, not to mention a constant source of fun and adventure. But press gangs were nasty things. Most of the sailors who'd been pressed said as much.

But if he went back to sea, maybe he'd see some of the old Terpsies again. That wouldn't be bad at all! Chase and Dyer and Kelly and Oxley and Danver. Maybe even Billy Barrow! And Button... he took a swig of beer and swallowed down the bread and cheese, only half-chewed. Mister Leat had kept Button as his servant, and Mister Leat had stayed with the ship after the sailors were paid off. That might mean he was still aboard though. It didn't seem fair to disappear ashore and not see Button, at least, again. Not if he was still with an officer.

"I's full," Fingers announced, shoving the plate away. Only crumbs were left of the pork pie and half the bread and cheese remained. His appetite was not completely satisfied but Lil had mentioned errands that needed to be run.

"Hm. Right. You'll need to earn your keep 'round here so we'll start now. These need takin' round to the washerwoman Rosie, in Thistle Alley. Tell her it's from me. Then you oughta nip down to the dockside to see what other ships are in. S'pose you know how to tell when it's Wives an' Sweethearts aboard?"

Fingers bobbed his head, making his dirty curls bounce. "Yep."

"Good. Come straight back if you sees any that are. Got it?"

"Gottit."

"Hop it, then." Lil shoved a canvas bag stuffed with clothes at him. "Don't be out ages or I'll tan your hide."

The boy was off like a shot, nearly running smack into a Marine with a sergeant's stripes who was coming in the door. The Marine swore at him, which earned him an equally-coarse rebuke from Lil Baker. Fingers hardly heard the exchange. Thistle Alley... he remembered Corporal Thompson saying it was just round the corner. It should be this way. Washerwoman called Rosie. Thistle Alley. Round the corner... he paused to sniff the air. Most of the smells were the foul odours of sewage and rotting food, but he'd avoided enough washing days aboard ship to recognise the smell of soap. This way, then. Right.

It didn't take long to deliver the canvas bag and whatever its contents were. Getting rid of it meant he was now free to head for the docks. This was something he was only too happy to do. He spotted Terpsy right away, riding proudly at anchor in mid-river. Her guardboat was pulling around her with unhurried purpose, navigating easily around the varied boats crowded against her sides. There was a brig just letting go her own anchor further downstream, her ensign curling gently in the light breeze. The harsh notes of a boastwain's call could just be heard, but what exact pipe it was he found hard to tell.

A familiar voice and face from nearby offered him a chance to find out. "Mister Hennock!"

Terpsy's gunner looked around for a moment before spotting him. "Fingers. Missed the ship already, boy?"

"I gotta errand," Fingers explained. "Izzit Wives an' Sweethearts in that brig?"

"So soon? No, but give it an hour. What you runnin' this sorta errand for?"

"Earnin' me keep!" He puffed his thin chest out importantly. "I gotta job. Sorta. You seed Button, Mister Hennock?"

"A job!" Mister Hennock clapped the boy on the shoulder with a laugh. "Good'n for you, lad. An' no, I ain't. Not for half a day. But I've been ashore tryin' to get somebody in Gun Wharf who knows anythin' about gettin' good flintlocks. You know we had a fair few come up bust. What d'you want him for?"

Fingers shoved a hand into his trouser pocket. "I got sommat for him. If he's still with Mister Leat an' Mister Leat's still inna ship. I's at the Ropemaker's Arms now if he gets onna beach again ever." He held out a coin and a small apple, the latter having been swiped from a street vendor's basket as Fingers had passed. The coin had come from Cob Chase when the foretopman had said his goodbyes. Sixpence was not a lot but Chase hadn't needed to give him anything at all. The generosity made Fingers want to be like Chase all the more. Some day. Even though he wanted to be like Corporal Thompson too. Could you grow up to be like two different men?

"I'll see he gets 'em," the gunner promised. "Don't s'pose you know where to find good locks?"

"Noo-o." Fingers grinned and shook his head. "That's growed-up work! An' I's onna beach now."

"So you are. Cut along now, lad, before the press gangs come out. The crimps are already roamin', an' you got the look of a likely seaman to you."

"See you, Mister Hennock!" Fingers went bounding off, deciding that he wasn't yet ready to take his chances with the press. The gunner had said the brig would pipe Wives and Sweethearts in a hour. It was news enough to take back to Lil Baker. Hopefully it'd be enough to stop her feeling like larruping him, or tanning his hide, or anything else of that sort. Still. So this was life on the beach. If all of her errands were like this, he could get used to working. This was not so bad. He grinned as he darted around a man and his cart. Why did all the sailors complain about getting thrown on the beach? A little bit of errand-running for food and a place to sleep.

There was nothing so bad about that! Fingers laughed. He could, he decided, get used to life on the beach.