Midshipman Peter Smythe of His Britannic Majesty’s ship, the Valiant, stood at the rail of the quarterdeck and stared out at the calm waters of the English Channel. He was Officer-of-the-Watch, which meant that he was, for a few hours, in charge of the ship and her well-being. In truth, he was not actually alone—being so junior a midshipman, he shared the watch with the sailing-master, Mr. Jules, who was pacing slowly up and down the ship, humming softly to himself.

At the moment, however, the Valiant was very still and quiet, apart from the usual creaking of wood and ropes as she rocked gently back and forth with the current. The Christmas celebrations of earlier that day had long since ceased, and the off-watch men (most with several extra tots of rum in their bellies) had retired below.

But just now Peter’s thoughts were far from the ship. He was fourteen years old, and this was his first Christmas away from home. He was thinking wistfully of the lovely celebrations his family would having. Every year on Christmas Day his friends and extended family would come to share the enormous Christmas dinner and exchange presents at his father’s estate in Cornwall. And on the next day, Peter and his two younger sisters, Emily and Anna, would accompany their mother in visiting the houses of the poorer families nearby to share the leftovers of the Christmas feast with them.

That evening, the guests would return, and the festivities would begin again. There would be dances, games and more feasting. Then when all the guests had gone at last, Peter’s father would call the family together, and they would spend the evening hours singing carols and reading the Christmas story from the old family Bible.

It was Peter’s favorite time of the year, but he felt no joy this night. He was homesick, though he never would have admitted it to his fellow midshipmen. He had gotten a letter and a few homemade gifts from his family, but Christmas did not feel the same when one was standing watch on a ship-of-war, cruising the silent English Channel on the alert for enemy ships.

Peter sighed, his breath smoking in the cold. He looked up at the sky and found that while he had been daydreaming, the stars had disappeared behind a blanket of cloud. Perhaps it will snow, Peter thought hopefully. That might raise his spirits a little.

The very next moment he felt something soft long on the tip of his nose. Then another landed on his knit gloves (a present from his mother). He looked up at the cloudy sky and more snowflakes gathered on his eyelashes and hair. They were swirling down in intricate spirals, already gaining speed. Soon the rail was covered in a light dusting of white powder, and as Peter began to pace to warm up his frozen limbs, his boots left imprints on the deck, also coated with a thin layer of snow.

Mr. Jules appeared beside him, his round face red with cold but smiling. "We might be in for a blizzard, the rate these snowflakes are falling," he remarked cheerfully. "Fine weather for Christmas, eh?"

"Yes, sir," Peter responded, trying to sound light-hearted but unable to keep a bit of wistfulness from his voice.

The master looked at him kindly, understanding. He took out his gold watch from his pocket and glanced at it before giving Peter’s shoulder a friendly pat. "Well, lad, our watch is almost up," he said. "Ten minutes more and then we can go below and warm up."

"Yes, sir," Peter said again; then, afraid he was being too stiff when Mr. Jules was trying to cheer him up, he added, "I hope the others have saved a bit of grog for me. I’m near froze through!"

Mr. Jules grinned at him and patted his shoulder once more before starting to move off. Over his shoulder, he said, "I wouldn’t count on it, Peter—you mids are a greedy lot!"

"There’s truth in that, sir!" Peter agreed, laughing despite himself. "Leastwise, Tom Bolton is!" Tom Bolton was one of the older midshipmen, and by far the largest, despite poor food and exhausting work.

Laughing appreciatively, the master resumed his pacing, and Peter could hear his cheery whistling, almost the only sound in the uncommon quiet of the ship.

There were now several inches of snow covering the deck, and it continued to fall at the same fast rate, tossed about by the frigid North wind that had started up. Peter hardly noticed as he went back to his pacing; his thoughts had wandered again. If it were snowing like this at home, he’d be outside playing in it with his cousins, most likely. Making snowmen, having snowball fights…

"Wool gathering, Pete?"

The sudden, cheerful voice at his side startled Peter from his thoughts and he turned to see his friend, Midshipman Nathaniel Fuller, snow in his blond hair, chin tucked in his scarf for warmth.

Peter scowled at him. "You must be mad to come on deck when you don’t have to, Nate!" Your watch isn’t until—"

"Now," Nathaniel finished brightly, grinning at him. "Well, all right, I’m a few minutes early," he corrected himself. "But only because I heard that we were having a white Christmas!"

Peter nodded. "Aye, we are. But that just proves me right—you’re mad. Snow isn’t worth freezing to death!" Shivering, he started pacing again, and Nathaniel walked beside him.

"Well, you’re in a glum mood tonight!" Nathaniel observed. "Homesick?"

Peter nodded but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure his friend would understand—Nathaniel was his own age, but had been at sea since he was twelve; he was used to being away from home.

He went back to brooding and didn’t notice as Nathaniel stopped pacing abruptly and bent down to gather something up in his gloved hands. Peter’s mind was again miles away from the ship as he suddenly felt something wet and freezing cold shoved down his shirt, bringing him rudely back to reality.

Peter yelped, shivering as the snowball melted into icy water against his skin. He whirled around to see Nathaniel trying his hardest not to laugh, biting his lip and shaking slightly with suppressed giggles.

Glaring at his friend, Peter quickly bent and gathered a large handful of snow, and launched himself at Nathaniel, whose blue eyes widened in sudden alarm. He turned to escape but Peter already had him, and he ruthlessly shoved his handful of snow down his friend’s shirt.

Thus war was declared between the two boys. The master heard their laughter and saw them hurling snowballs at each other, doing their best to be as quiet as possible, and he smiled to himself. It was a calm night, and Christmas besides—there was no harm in letting the two behave as boys instead of officers, for a few minutes, anyway.

Snow flew on the quarterdeck as Peter and Nathaniel battled, unable to stifle their laughter but trying to keep their shouts and yelps to a minimum, mindful that most of the ship’s crew—and more importantly, the Captain himself—were sleeping below. Soon they were both covered in patches of melting snow, and their faces were bright red; but neither of them noticed. Peter’s homesickness had vanished as he concentrated on pelting his friend, while trying to avoid the helmsman who stood at the wheel, placidly ignoring the boys and intent on keeping the ship on course.

Peter and Nathaniel were so absorbed in their game that they did not hear the muffled footsteps coming up from below, nor the master’s respectful, "Good evening, sir," spoken loudly in an attempt to warn the boys.

Only when the footsteps had advanced up the quarterdeck ladder did the two see the tall, imposing figure standing silently observing them. Immediately they straightened, guiltily trying to brush the snow off their uniforms and look presentable. Peter was the first to speak up, shyly touching his hat in a salute and stammering, "G-good evening, sir." Nathaniel hurriedly did the same.

Captain Avery was silent for a moment, looking them over until they flushed and lowered their eyes, bracing themselves for a reprimand.

"Good evening, lads," he said at last. His voice was stern. "Mr. Smythe, I believe your watch is nearly over?"

"Yes, sir," Peter mumbled nervously.

"And you are relieving him, are you not, Mr. Fuller?"

"Yes, sir," Nathaniel echoed.

"Well, then." The captain’s tone suddenly and unexpectedly lightened. "I suggest you get below, Mr. Smythe, and you clean yourself up, Mr. Fuller, before Lieutenant Thompson comes up and sees the two of you like this."

The boys looked up and saw him smiling kindly at them, his grey eyes twinkling. "We can’t have the impeccable Mr. Thompson thinking his midshipmen are boys before officers, can we?" He winked.

Peter’s mouth fell open in shock, but he hurriedly pulled himself together and touched his hat again. "Indeed not, sir!" he agreed, daring to smile back at his captain.

Captain Avery chuckled and, to the further astonishment of both of them, reached down and ruffled Peter’s dark hair. "Get below, then, Mr. Smythe, and try to get the last bit of grog before Mr. Bolton beats you to it," he said teasingly. As Peter said good night to Nathaniel and started to obey, the captain added, "Mr. Smythe?" Peter paused, and looked up expectantly. "Happy Christmas."

Peter grinned. "Thank you, sir," he said sincerely. "Happy Christmas to you, too! And to you, Nate!"

"Happy Christmas, Peter," returned Nathaniel.

A new warmth was in his heart as Peter went below. He missed his home, his parents and his sisters, but the pangs of homesickness were not so sharp now. He was no longer lonely. The ship had become a second home to him, and its company a second family.

His Christmas cheer restored, Peter hummed part of his mother’s favorite carol.

He smiled to himself. Patrolling the broad English Channel aboard a 36-gunh man-o’-war, miles away from the family estate, he was home.

~THE END~

A/N: Yes, the end was a bit fluffy. I couldn’t resist. ^_^ My apologies for any historical inaccuracies—I researched it as best I could, but with the demands of school and my other writing, I wasn’t probably as thorough as I could have been. :-P

Originally, this was written for a short story contest, but as I went about 2 pages and 1500 words over the limit, I gave up on the contest. But in creating Peter, Nathaniel, Mr. Jules and the rest I became quite fond of them, so I hope to continue the vignette series, perhaps the next installment being A Midshipman’s Easter.

This is the first non-fanfiction story I have actually finished, so I would greatly appreciate feedback and constructive criticism! Thanks, and Merry Christmas, everyone!