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Post by Ladorak on Aug 2, 2010 11:54:27 GMT -5
"Good! SHOT AND WAD YOUR GUN!" the otter exclaimed, paying no more attention to Spender now that he was back and out of the way. He'd accomplished what he needed to do. Nothing left but to concentrate on the task at paw. He had stuck his vent pricker down into the vent, piercing the bag and knowing with satisfaction that Carrow had pushed the cartridge into the chamber.
Caden took the heavy shot from Elliot (this time with no mishaps like crushing the footpaw of the marten) and rolled it down into the barrel, placing his left paw over the muzzle like before. The ball immediately rolled up against it, as the muzzle was pointing down as per their last adjustment. Good thing his left paw was the one to do this...his right one was still feeling sore.
Taking the wad from the beech marten, Caden pushed the ball back and shoved the wad in on top of the 24 pound shot. "How you doing so far Carrow?" he asked, backing away now to once again give the mouse some room. They'd just run through this routine...then dinner would be next after training. Caden was looking forward to eating, as he was beginning to get a tad hungry.
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Post by Carrow on Aug 2, 2010 14:40:02 GMT -5
Caden may have only been a tad hungry, but Carrow was absolutely famished. He hadn't been eating as much as usual - another thing that could be put down to the bout of nerves he was experiencing, and the changes which he was undergoing even as he worked.
It was quite a frightening thing to the mouse to know that he wasn't in full control of his own body at the moment, but he had more pressing issues to think of at that particular time, as he could now see Caden taking the shot from Elliot. Right... almost time to jump back in.
He watched as the pine marten hefted the 24-pound shot, marvelling at how easily his friend was managing the thing. He watched closely as events unfolded, making sure to take everything in. The first time around, the rodent had been wrestling with all sorts of other thoughts, but now he was starting to calm down and let the events make an impression.
As soon as the mustelid had shoved the wad on top of the shot, Carrow picked up his rammer, smiling at his companion as Caden addressed him. "Things are improving, let's put it like that," was his response to the marten's query. "I couldn't be as nervous as I was, anyway..."
With that said, the mouse inserted his rammer and began working away at ensuring the shot was pushed up against the wad that was in front of the cartridge. He could feel all the physicality of the task helping him grow a little stronger, and he displayed his strength by packing it in good and tight. When finished, after another four rams, he withdrew, smiling.
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Post by Ladorak on Aug 2, 2010 16:24:53 GMT -5
"RUN OUT YOUR GUN!" Horace cried, letting the auxiliaries know it was time to haul on the tackles. The Gunner reached down and unhooked the train tackle, tossing it off behind him so it landed amidships and freeing the gun to move forward. It clattered to the deck close to where Spender was standing, but didn't land on his paws. Horace had checked beforepaw to make sure it wouldn't.
Ocean got in there with the rest of them, pulling for all he was worth. The truck creaked again as it started its movement forward. Wheels ground on the deck as the three and a half ton weapon was muscled up to the gun port, the auxiliaries only stopping when they felt the gun carriage bump against the hull.
The black muzzle was now pointing out through the open port, but had come out uneven again, like before. "PRIME!" Horace stuck his vent pricker down into the vent multiple times, slashing away at the cartridge bag and ripping it open to expose the powder. When he felt he had opened up a sizable hole, he reached down into the vent and rammed the quill into the black powder.
Opening his powder horn, the otter hummed a bit to himself, pouring a small amount of powder into the gunlock before snapping the lid closed, covering the volatile substance and separating it from the outside world. "POINT YOUR GUN!" he exclaimed, sighting along the barrel.
"OK Selvis and Ralph...even though it's uneven I'd say we're right on target. It's pointing off to the right, so I don't think too much adjustment is needed. The barrel has been thrown a ways off though, so we need to elevate the gun a bit. So go ahead, get your pawspikes in there, and lever her up if you please so I can withdraw the quion a tad." He stood up, backing away to give the pawspikers some room.
Polly shoved her pawspike under the breech, ready to push down and lever the gun up when Selvis was. Ocean strained at the ropes, keeping the gun snug up against the side of the ship. It was like a well oiled machine...or at least becoming that way.
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Post by Carrow on Aug 2, 2010 18:49:55 GMT -5
Selvis had had his sparkling blue eyes trained on Carrow all the while the young mouse had gone through the procedure. He could see that his friend was beginning to settle down, and this in turn comforted him. If Carrow was calm and confident in his own abilities, then that had the knock-on effect of ensuring the whole process ran more smoothly.
He was most definitely rooting for the rodent. In fact, the mouse struck the long-tailed weasel as some creature who needed to be helped somehow, and he wanted to be a creature who lent the nervous wood mouse some assistance. His stomach had been rumbling too, but he found himself in the rather nice position of having had a perfectly decent breakfast.
The mustelid was the kind of creature who could go for hours on a meagre amount of food. He had a good metabolism, and was a naturally energetic stripling, so those two conditions went together very well indeed. He had been going along on top form for the last while, and was showing absolutely no signs of strain.
In fact, when Horace gave his next set of orders, the weasel literally hopped to it, before bending down and picking up his pawspike. The stripling cast a quick glance over at Peskers before smiling at her and inserting the spike, placing it securely under the breech. He now stood poised; then, realising that his ferret team-mate was ready too, he decided to seize the initivate and act first.
He began pulling the weapon over to his left, as per the otter's previous instructions, groaning slightly as the exertion caused his muscles to burn. This thing was no lightweight of course, and even a mustelid of Selvis' considerable strength couldn't just nonchalantly go about his task no matter how hard he tried. Not that he minded showing the effort, of course.
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Post by Ladorak on Aug 2, 2010 20:01:30 GMT -5
"No! No! No! Belay that!" Horace shouted, stopping Selvis. "I said to lever it up...not move it to the side! I said we were good with the angle! We just need to elevate it a bit! Need to pay attention to the orders Selvis!" the Gunner chided.
Fortunately for him, Peskers had wondered what the long tail was doing, and had not pushed when he'd started pulling, so the gun hadn't moved much, if at all. "We have to lever it up mate...you know so he can move the quion." the ferret tried to help the long tail out.
"Yes Ralph is right. Just raise it please. And don't be discouraged either...it's only your second time running through the routine after all. Just remember that point your gun can sometimes just entail changing the elevation and not moving it from right to left. At point blank range that order will be skipped entirely, as there's no need for aiming that close. So just listen to your individual Gun Captain's instructions and what he tells you to do when and if you do hear 'point your gun'. It'll save on confusion and keep a timely firing rate kept up. He'll ALWAYS relay you instructions after the Lieutenant or Midshipjack barks the general order." Horace reminded the weasel.
Caden couldn't blame Selvis. They were all new...they'd make some mistakes from time to time. They just had to pay careful attention and get the routine down. They would go through constant practice until they could probably do it in their sleep.
Ralph pushed down on "his" pawspike, assisted by Selvis. "Hold it...hold it...hold it..." Horace said, moving the quion back and sliding it out a bit. He moved it back until he felt the breech would drop enough to keep the gun almost level instead of depressed as it had been. "And drop!" Polly backed off, letting the breech down on top of the quion, which had given it less wedge, thereby dropping it and raising the muzzle a bit. Horace's calculations were right, and the gun was now almost level, with a slight elevation...but not much of one.
Opening the gunlock's lid, the Gunner cocked the hammer back, grabbed the lanyard and stepped back. "Alright every beast step away from the gun! Ralph get ready with that pawspike and..." he backed up considerably, standing about even with Spender. Caden backed away, and the auxiliaries got ready to let go of the tackles. Caden covered his ears as well, pushing the floppy things against his head.
"FIRE!" the otter pulled on the lanyard, sending the hammer snapping forward and striking the flint on the frizzen. Sparks flew out, blowing the powder in the gunlock and setting off the powder in the barrel. With tremendous and rumbling force, the mouth of the gun spat fire as the powder exploded, hurling the ball forward and out of the barrel at a great speed.
The gun carriage recoiled, having been let free by the auxiliaries, its backward movement arrested by the breeching rope which strained taut against its moorings. Horace dove for the train tackle as Polly shoved her pawspike down on the floor in front of the carriage to chock the wheels. She nearly had her fingers pinched when the gun rolled forward a bit before her pawspike stopped it, but she managed to avoid any bone crushing accident.
With a leap at the back of the carriage, the train tackle was affixed by the Gunner, preventing the gun from moving forward. Nodding at Ralph, Peskers was able to withdraw her pawspike with permission from the Gunner otter. The gun was secured again. "SERVE YOUR VENT!" came the order, and Horace shoved his thumb into the thumb stall and covered the gun's vent, locking the stall in place.
"WORM AND SPONGE!" he called out for Carrow. He glanced out the open gun port ahead of them, seeing the ball splash into the ocean quite a few feet from the barrel. Frowning, Horace shook his head. "OK I think Selvis moved the gun a bit when he tried to muscle it to the right. It's alright...more my fault. I should have resighted it to see if we were off or not. Don't worry...we'll hit it this time. Just make sure to LISTEN and follow the orders you're given. We have to be fast but also accurate. We still PROBABLY would have hit the hull of the ship, depending on which direction it was facing, but let's try to couple speed with accuracy this time." The Gunner delivered his instructions coolly, letting the crew reflect on that.
"Don't be disgruntled. This is only training after all...and many days of this lie ahead of us. Learn from your mistakes and look to doing your tasks as accurately as you can the next time...OK? So let's get this underway! Keep going!" he encouraged them.
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Post by Carrow on Aug 3, 2010 6:31:07 GMT -5
Selvis swore to himself as he saw his plans go awry. Damn it... that's what you get for rushing into things I guess. You should never assume, especially not in situations like this! He was unhappy he'd made the mistake, but could of course pawdle it without, say, bursting into tears or something similiar.
The same couldn't be said for Carrow, though. The mouse was lucky he hadn't made any serious slip-ups so far, because here was one rodent who didn't take at all well to making mistakes. His confidence was every bit as fragile as his spirit.
The weasel sighed, blue eyes downcast as he caught Peskers' gaze. "Hopefully that won't happen again...," he murmured sheepishly, shrugging off his disappointment and turning his attention to the rest of the action, knowing that his mouse friend would soon be called into play again.
When the last order came, it could be seen that a remarkable change had come over the wood mouse whilst he had waited for the otter's command. He was trembling again, but the smile on his face indicated that this was from excitement. He now had the chance to impress by carrying the command out to the letter.
The Dibbun was quite prone to nerves, of course, but when he wasn't suffering from any bouts of anxiety, Carrow was much livelier, and so it could also be witnessed. His eyes sparkled as he rose from the half-crouching position he had assumed while taking a breather, and he tried to get his thoughts in order again.
Right, so how did this go? First, I have to use the worm... ah, now I remember, yes. Right down to the end of the muzzle, and that's your first step. Well then!, he thought. Less pause and more paws! With thoughts like this running through his mind, Carrow took up his worm that was nearby, and went for the muzzle.
He inserted the object into it, making sure to keep it in sight as he worked. Always... keep... that corkscrew... end... up, he told himself, going about his task with blossoming confidence. When the youngster reached the gun chamber, the second of Dorian's instructions sprang unbidden to his lips.
He found himself speaking softly to help himself along. "Run the edge back and forth along the bottom of the vent... don't overdo it like you did last time, Carrow. A HALF-dozen sweeps will do." The long-tailed field mouse worked quickly, smiling to himself as he cleared out the chamber. He felt much better now than he had even five minutes ago.
Feeling that he had done just enough this time, and not too much, Carrow withdrew the worm and placed it back down alongside him. Then, his small paw reached for the sponge, taking a tight hold of it as he reckoned it might be slippery to the touch once he had dunked it. He had done so seconds later, and was off. He had soon done as thorough a cleaning job as he could muster, and withdrew once again, sure he had done evrything correctly, and in decent time for only his second try.
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Post by Ladorak on Aug 3, 2010 9:59:54 GMT -5
Horace watched the mouse's proceedings with interest, noting that he seemed far more focused this time around. Good! The crew was learning and improving. The otter knew that Selvis by no means should feel disheartened by his slip up. Accept it and move forward...which the weasel seemed to be taking in stride.
Peskers shrugged at Selvis, and said simply "I'm sure you'll get it next time."
It was time to repeat the process for the third and final time. But that would mean Spender was up next. Caden felt adrenaline coursing through him as Horace shouted out his next command. "LOAD WITH CARTRIDGE!" The otter Gunner looked behind him, over at Spender. "Hop to it lad...and no acting out! Stick to your task!" Or you'll get it even worse...might even be hauled off the gun crew if I feel it absolutely necessary...
Caden turned to reluctantly face the ferret. Perfect...why couldn't they just toss this oaf off their gun crew and make him do some menial task like work the pumps or work the rigging? Anything but open that box lid again! It suddenly clicked in Caden's brain why the Gunner had punished Spender on the spot. Caden was a Volunteer Class I, and not a Seajack as the rest of them were. As a Volunteer Class I, he was expected to become a Midshipjack some day, and eventually a Lieutenant. It gave him privileges above the rest, though not by much.
He was sleeping in the gun room and not the gun deck...and he had access to the quarterdeck in the mornings for work outs with the rest of the officers. Officers had their eyes on him, knowing what he was shooting for. He was going to command them some day...if he were lucky enough to rise that high. There was thus much expected of him...and for good reason! It was no secret he was the Captain's ward, and him lashing out at Spender might prove highly negative for his record...something the albino wanted to keep in mind now that he thought of it that way.
But if Spender tried something...Caden was still seething inside despite his desire to keep himself in check. The Gunner was probably looking upon him favorably for keeping his paws to himself that last time...but Spender had just better be on good behavior! It made Caden sour to think of what that ferret wanted to do to him!
With steadfast stance, the albino stood awaiting the approach of the ferret, his fists at his sides for now. His look was one of defiance, daring to Spender to make a move. He wasn't going to take any chances this time.
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Post by spender on Aug 3, 2010 23:12:27 GMT -5
Things had only gotten worse for Spender. He could no longer feel the bruise on his head from his over-excited test lap, the pain in his tail region was so intense. The numbness of the initial whacking had faded, leaving a constantly-stinging ache. He was still crying, too—no longer tears of embarrassment, but tears of agony.
He was used to dings and scratches. You don't act like Spender does without causing various harms upon yourself over the years. You especially don't treat your sisters like Spender did without them ganging up and clawing you back. His slowness over the past few weeks had earned him a few whacks here and there as well; if there was one thing he'd learned, it was that officers were allowed to hit you, and you weren't allowed to hit back. It was just his lot in life.
But the caning was something else. It brought him back to his school days, filled with exasperated, derisive teachers and leering, mocking peers. The only way Spender had been able to survive to the end of the day was to show them all he couldn't be pushed around. He had to out-bully the bullies. Strike first. The teacher's cane was an expected product, but it put a direct end to the after-school gangs...
At least, for Spender it had. To the rest, he'd simply surpassed the mindless antagonistic tendencies of the average bully to become something altogether more dangerous. Shortly thereafter, he had been expelled time and time again.
He held the box out to Caden.
Caden, who laughed and joked so freely with the others. Caden, who simpered around the fool of a mouse. Caden, who engaged Elliot in fun and games before Spender could. Caden, who used his knowledge of the ship and the navy to entrance Selvis, so the weasel wouldn't even break off from the group to talk to Spender. Caden, the ringleader of the gang, the gang that was drawing Ocean in as well. Caden, who would be looking for revenge for his crushed paw when this was all over...
He opened the lid, presenting the final cartridge.
Spender steeled himself. The marten had to go down, before he rallied the others further. He had to make sure Caden wouldn't try anything—to disable him, send him packing. Spender was the dominant creature here! He had lost standing with that caning, but he would assert himself again. They would fear him, respect him. No more whispering down the hall about him, no more ignoring him at meal time, no more running off without including him in their plans for fun and adventure. They'd never once stopped to think maybe he wanted to go exploring with them, and not get his money and his chocolate stolen by some ... pretty skunk-like weasel. No more of that! No more Peskers taunting him! This would show Ralph, too! Don't mess with Spender Cielciosk!
He didn't grin this time, or say "whoops". Spender's whiskers splayed in anger, a growl rising in his throat. He slammed the lid down and pressed hard with his paw, grinding the base of his wrist into the lid. He released once, but before Caden could pull out properly, he smacked the lid down a second time, and again, raised his paw off to slam it a third time...
Sometimes you were just too angry to think up a good plan of revenge.
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Post by Carrow on Aug 4, 2010 6:40:55 GMT -5
Carrow was waiting for Caden to be pawed the cartridge so the process could be begun again. Not without satisfaction, he saw Spender trudge up to the pine marten with the required object in his paw. But his sense of momentary victory turned to one of horror when he glimpsed the look on Spender's face. What was he planning to do with the...?!
Then it hit him. No... he couldn't do that. He just... couldn't, could he? Then Spender did, and Carrow gasped, watching in horrified fascination as the ferret started to slam the lid down on Caden's outstretched paw. He could scarcely take his eyes from the sight, and for a moment was rendered too terrified to do anything about it.
Common sense soon took over, though. This was Caden's safety he was seeing being threatened, after all! He couldn't just stand idly by and watch his best friend be injured by Spender. There was a possibility of his paw being maimed too - that lid seemed capable of making quite an impact, even allowing for how the ferret was holding the box. It was the prospect of this more than anything that caused the wood mouse to make up his mind.
The rodent took off like a shot, speeding past the pair of mustelids, headiing straight for Dorian. He had to do something about it, make sure things didn't get too out of paw. He was safe in the knowledge that the ferret would end up getting punished for his actions regardless, but that wasn't what he cared about. The possibility of Caden being injured was much more pressing, and it spurred him on.
Selvis, for his part, had watched the proceedings with a look of intense disapproval on his face. He wasn't going to step in himself. He'd been studying Spender closely, and the ferret seemed to be truly incensed; having to deal with outside interference might well end up making things worse for all involved, and he didn't want that.
So the long-tailed weasel stayed put. He briefly considered running for help, but saw that Carrow had beaten him to that particular method of intervention. He must really be worried about Caden, the jack thought. He sighed to himself. That Spender really was irrepressible! Didn't he know that things would end up even worse for him as a result of this retaliation?
Now Carrow was by the otter Gunner's side, tugging on his paw to get the tall mustelid's attention. He spoke, and his voice had returned to a high-pitched squeak. "Sir, come quick! There's something terrible going on - Spender's gone berserk and is trying to hurt Caden!," he exclaimed, wide, fearful brown eyes pleading with the riverdog to act.
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Post by Ladorak on Aug 4, 2010 13:34:11 GMT -5
Caden could see it coming...but reacted too slow. He cried out in pain, the lid slamming down on his arm right where it joined the wrist, if not a little above. Spender slammed the lid down a second time, the marten screaming now as he felt something snap. It was now more of a reflex, but before he could jerk his arm back Spender struck a third time, bringing tears to Caden's eyes and causing him to sob out, howling practically as he finally managed to yank his arm back.
Spender was struck in his flank close to his kidneys by the sharp crack of the Gunner's rattan. He was struck again in the flank with a second blow, causing the salt box to fall out of his paws. He'd be urinating blood for a week if his kidneys were struck, but at this point it was difficult to say. The Gunner hauled him back, and called for the grison to secure the powder and place it back in the box.
He hadn't needed to wait for Carrow, though of course he'd heard him. The otter had drawn his cane and struck at Spender twice to break his attention and get him off of Caden. Caden was in too much shock to react...and quite possibly had had his wrist broken as well. "What's the matter with you!?" the Gunner roared, practically spitting in Spender's face. "What are you doing!? Huh?! What are you doing!? He can't do his job if you break his wrist! Corporal!" he shouted out for the weasel Henley, who was on patrol of the gun deck at the time. "Place this snot under arrest! Bring him before the officer of the watch! I'll be accompanying you to help fill out the report. Quarter Gunners! Secure the gun! Gunner's Mate! Take the cartridge back to the magazine! We're done for now! The gun crew is dismissed. Seajack Carrow! Please take Caden to the Sick Berth. He needs to get that wrist looked at."
Caden was leaning heavily against the gun as the Quarter Gunners were walking up. They were the ones responsible for getting the gun stowed again after firing.
Caden was moaning, crying thickly, his tears falling against the black iron of the cannon. "I'll go too sir." the voice came from Ocean, who had stepped forward just as the Corporal was attaching manacles to Spender's wrists. "Might need a second set of paws aye?"
"Very well." the otter stated without protest. "See him to the Sick Berth you two." Ocean saluted, staring with trained indifference at his foster brother who was now under arrest. You blew it Spender...you flippin' blew it...I can't help you now...
Shaking his head, he waited for Carrow to move over to the sobbing Caden. Let's see...the Sick Berth was where again? One deck up on the upper gun deck but...where? Sick Berth! In the bow! That's right! Ocean knew the Sick Berth was under the forecastle on the upper gun deck, as he'd passed it coming down here.
Moving over to Carrow, he spoke but briefly. "Sick Berth is at the bow, mate. Up one flight."
Spender was led off by the Corporal, with the Gunner behind him. The Gunner drew his sword and kept it at Spender's back...this was to ensure he didn't walk too slow and also to let the other crew members know that Spender was a deviant and to back off. Marching him up two flights to the weather deck, the two mustelids led him up the stairs past the Marines to the quarterdeck, where the officer of the watch...who just happened to be Ladorak, was on duty.
Shoving Spender forward, the Gunner cleared his throat. "Captain sir! Bringing to you a Seajack who has violated the Articles of War. He brought willful harm to Volunteer First Class Caden Fugate, and quite possibly interfered with him doing his job." Ladorak regarded Spender darkly at the mention of the words "harm to...Caden".
Moving over to the log book, he opened it up, quill in paw. "Go ahead."
"Yes sir!" The Gunner related the tale, Ladorak cringing a bit as the otter stated Caden's wrist might be broken. Broken?! That was a rather serious offense...it prevented Caden from doing his job and the ship from operating at maximum efficiency. "My recommendation is that he be stripped of his duties as powder carrier and assigned to the tops in battle. He can't obviously work with Caden sir." the Gunner concluded.
Nodding silently, the stoat wrote all this down. Strike one against Spender's promotion...it was recorded in the log book now and would stay with him even if he transferred to a different ship. "And...how many times was the lid slammed?" the stoat Captain asked.
"Three." was the response.
"I see...he injured willfully a Volunteer Class I...that's a bit different from simply injuring a Seajack. Normally I would issue a caning, or even a boy's flogging...but in this case...Spender's 15. Although it's not ordinary for a boy to be flogged...I'm going to issue a full flogging in this instance. A cat of nine tails...not five...with full knots in the ropes." the chilling words of the Captain caused the Corporal to gulp.
"But sir...regulation..."
"I know what regulation states. Regulation also states that all punishments are summary to the Captain's judgment. I'm ordering a full flogging. Quartermaster...the time if you please."
"Sir!" the rat at the wheel spoke up. "It is currently thirty minutes past the hour!"
"Perfect...punishments are normally administered at 11:30 anyway...right before dinner. This works then. Order the Boatswain to pipe all jacks to witness punishment. Order the Carpenter to rig the gratings. I do not intend to go easy either. Thirty lashes....I'm serious." the stoat spoke with finality, his eyes cold as he regarded the ferret. Thirty was the "standard" for serious crimes...though twenty was more often used. After about twenty-five your back would resemble more burnt flesh than actual fur, so Spender would be in quite a bit of pain after the punishment was administered...and would stay that way for at least a week, and have the scars for around a month, if not his entire life.
The crew saluted, and went about their tasks. The order was passed on to the Boatswain, who had his mates begin the proper piping with their whistles. All throughout the ship the word spread about. All crew up to the weather deck to witness punishment! All crew up to the weather deck to witness punishment! The ship had been lying to for gunnery practice, so hadn't been moving. It was convenient as less jobs were being taken away to witness this.
Everywhere crew scrambled to make their way up to the weather deck. The only ones that would be excused were of course the two taking Caden to the Sick Berth, and those in the Sick Berth themselves, including the Surgeon and his mates. Marines also appeared, finally having a job to do. They flocked to the quarterdeck, parading out on either side of the gathering officers in order to keep order on the ship. They stood at attention, muskets loaded and ready for use should the need arise.
Chances were it wouldn't. Aside from Peskers, nobody was fanatically devoted to Spender, and thus the likelihood of trouble being stirred up over this was slim to none. The Carpenter, for his part, made his appearance as Spender was kept under guard by the Master-at-Arms. The Carpenter and his mates began securing and rigging up the gratings. One grate was laid flat on the deck, the other was stood upright and rested against the bulkhead that formed the quarterdeck and entrance to the Captain's Cabin. They would be where Spender would be tied to for his lashings.
The ship was a hive now, and all before dinner time!
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