The Middies' Berth

"Mebbe it is, sir, but not when you've got a full pack on your back, and those things weigh summat awful heavy. And you're a-carryin' a musket an' all, and if he never gives the order to 'advance arms' you've got to keep it at the 'shoulder arms' and that means by the end of it that your arm's about dead as a coffin-nail. And it's borin' too, and everyone can see you doin' it, and hear the Corporal yellin' at you all the time."

"Shoulder arms? Advance arms?" He blurted out before he knew better not to point out how ignorant he was at those. He grumbled under his breath, and called himself a fool, though most of that was probably a muffled mutter to the marine.

"Well 'twould be interestin' ter see that. But.. won't happen on Terpsy, will it?" He looked quite like a child that knew his parents would not buy him the the toy he had ever so wished, and could only imagine how it looked in the window.

"Has happened, and probably will happen again... Not all Marines are as good as me." He grinned as he said that. "Though even I've got on the wrong side of the Corporal afore now and ended up doin' it. Shoulder arms means you're carryin' the musket with the butt in the left hand and your arm near enough straight. Advance arms means it's on the right, and you'm carryin' it with your finger in the trigger-guard."

"So's.. advance arms is easier ter do than shoulder arms?..cos'.. it sounds like t' other way 'round ." Looks at Thompson's musket , chuckling.

"Yer have a fine opinion of yourself, don't ye, Thompson?" He feels for his dirk and being reassured it was still there, leans back again.

"Shoulder arms is easiest, sir. What I meant was, sometimes you need to change arms to give yourself a bit of a rest, and switchin' from advance to shoulder - or the other way - means you can rest that arm for a bit. But if you don't get the order to, you can't, and it just gets heavier and heavier. And someone better have a fine opinion of me... if I don't, ain't anyone else goin' to." He was smiling, not being completely serious as he said the last bit.

"'s it wrong if you drop it because your arm couldn't take it no more?" He shook his head and chuckled softly at Thompson's self pat on the back:"..Certainly, private. If noone else.. there's atleast yourself that always can have a good opinion..'s when you start doubting yourself that the problem arises, eh?" He had forgotten about the battle by now. Well it was fought up above any how. Couldn't do nothing about it, so why bother considering it.

"'Course it is, sir. Though I never heard o' anyone droppin' it outside of trainin', or a fight." He smiled at the middy. "You seem awful curious about us Marines, sir. Anythin' else you want to ask 'bout us?"

"Aye, there is. What would happen if yer drop it?.. since you are already bein' punished, n' ye couldn't have held it for so long, so obviously you can't hold it longer.. what does yer officer make you do then?" It was a surely different world, the one of flashy red uniforms and strict, sharp drills, fast turns and straight backs. Something that had children gasp in awe, and young men run, if a press was in town.

"Probably hold it over your head with both hands. The army'd make you run round the parade square like that, but we can't. And like I said, only time I saw anyone drop a musket was in trainin', and the sergeant used to cane across the back of the legs. That hurt summat awful... still got the scars from that, an' all. Even if he thought you'd made a mistake, he'd give you a few, y'see."

"..a cane 'round the legs sounds painful. " If the bottom did, so did the cane down lower than that, and knowingly the boy did sympathise with the private even if thinking that in some cases that was righteous.

He wondered about the scars and was tempted to see them, but with what they were and where, it would be most indecent to demand it and could possibly turn to a proper humiliation and emberrassement as well.


"Could you get used to it? The strike of your sergeant's cane?"

Thompson shook his head. "No, and you couldn't even prepare for it, 'cause you never knew when he was goin' to lash out, or who he was goin' to go for. Used to like tryin' to get blood, even through the trousers." He indicated his white summer trousers, which were made of cotton drill, but were nothing like as thick as the winter woollen trousers.

"He was a right bastard, an' we hated him," he said feelingly.

He nodded and smiled. Surprised by the poutpoor of feelings, so strong against one man he studied the private and wished he could tell him the same, but then he realised that in such way he would have negated his drilled in convictions, and perhaps marr the view which he portrayed of his previous ship.

"He turned you out to be good marines, though, hadn't he?"

"We hated him, and we was terrified of him, and we just wanted to get away from him. And there was only one way to do that, without runnin' - desertin', I mean. It weren't him who taught me how to be a good marine. That was a man on me first ship, who saw how terrified I was of folks talkin' to me, and took me under his wing. And there was the corporal. Made everyone go aloft three times in that voyage, whether they wanted to or not, though he never used threats. An' that's when I found I wanted to be a sharpshooter, an' go up aloft in battle."

"... I see." He didn't say anything for a short while, and looked down, to avoid Thompson's gaze. He hated to admit that he was as frightened of Lt. Leat, and Lt. Bush and Lt. George sometimes as he had been on his former ship. And when they yelled he had wished he were invisible just to escape their gaze.

"... Well 'um. ..You did your best to get away from him.. and in that.. he 'made' yer.. into marines... n' then on yer other ship.. you were just taught more...n' experienced how it was like in the tops." He spoke absent mindedly.

"Mebbe. But he couldn't teach us to be proud of bein' Marines, and knowin' we looked good on parade. And bein' proud means you do a better job of somethin' than if you'm terrified. 'Cause you want it to look good, but if you're scared, you just want it not to look bad, if you understand me meanin', sir."

"Not quite.." He answered truthfully and shrugged.".. But if you are afraid..." He shook his head:" ...we begin this again, don't we?" He chuckled faintly:".. Best to say something else... like um'.. your watches.. or your mates. Which were t' wors' ye had in t' time you were in service.. n' which do you consider the. .. best? n'...." He paused for a moment: "That night... were you on duty?...or did you jus' happen ter come up for air?"

"I was on deck havin' a smoke, sir. We ain't allowed to smoke 'tween decks, too much risk of fire, y'see. And I was talkin' with some of me mates. An' the next thing I know there's a splash and there's someone in the water, an' I did what anybody'd do - yell out 'Man overboard!' and make sure ever'one knew it, and where he went in."

(OOC - I'm heading for bed shortly. See you tomorrow.)

"..Good yer did..good somebody noticed." Would he say thank you? Could he? Had he the strength to be thanking for something and meaning it.

"..and fine that ye've told me." He added. It all could have gone so much worse. In the middle of the night they could easily not have noticed, or heard it or even see where he fell in.And it would take only for him to pass the ship and they wouldn't be able to find him again, for even then with such poor light, a splashing body would disappear.

And they've turned to fetch him too, which had the boy more glad than he was ever of an action a ship did. He suspected Billy Barrow still, yet at the same, he wasn't quite sure how he could accuse him. The man jumped and saved him from drowning till others could come and heft him to a dry boat.

Damn.

"Did well. That. Yellin' n'all. N' seein' it." He murmured at last.

(ooc - night night, sleep well!)

"Thank you," Thompson said, simply, touched by the lad's words even if it wasn't a proper thanks. "That weren't right... that weren't Terpsy, doin' that. It was what happened after, gettin' the boat out, gettin' you out that's Terpsy's way. An' I'm sorry someone did that to you, sir, chuckin' you in like that."

"But.. they were on Terpsy." Or were they newer landsmen who did not yet know the ways of the ship. That could help him in finding who it was, IF it really wasn't a Terpsy's way. Thompson really looked sorry that something of the sort befell the midshipman and the boy felt warmer. He hadn't thought of having a single person he could trust more than he could throw them - since he was small enough and others big and heavy, that wasn't far at all.

The marine was getting to him, and somewhere deep down that frightened him too. For if one started caring, it would hurt the lot more when that trust was betrayed. And what was of the same kind of worry, could he care enough not to want to use the man himself? Being partial to one could not proove right.

He hoped that uncertainty did not read on his face, still he averted it from the man after he realised it was still facing him. "Do ye know... whose leg was I ..propped against?" He remembered it so vaguely. Just that there was a leg against which the ...well someone had pushed him against. More was a blurr. Who was pushing, even that he could only suspect, but not know.

"I dunno, sir. Higgins - Private Higgins, that is - hauled you aboard. There weren't any of us Marines in the boat. Mister Chandos and Jim Spencer'd be the ones to ask 'bout that, I think. And Branning' might've seen it a bit, afore they shifted you to come aboard."

And when had he started to care for the young lad who'd been so much of a bully? He didn't know and could only hope he'd be justified in it, later.

He didn't remember being hauled aboard, or onto the boat. He vaguely remembered something later, that had water rushing out through his mouth and having him caugh and sputter. Had he not been breathing before? He didn't even know that.

"..No.. no I mean.. not in the boat.." Who was in that boat any how? Well those men that the private mentioned might've been atleast close enough to know.

"I mean.. when.. when I was on the ship. " Well he knew that much. Being on the ship was a given even if he were not remembering it well. "After I came, ..was hauled on board. What happened?" He wasn't looking for culprits, oddly. But just wanting to know.

"Oh. Well, none of us knew what to do, and Mister Yates was worried about you and sent for the surgeon-" (he'd mentioned the surgeon, anyway, and Thompson had sent one of the boys for him, but exactly who'd done the sending was neither here nor there) "- who came up, and made me kneel down and rolled you over a bit so you was leanin' on me. Is that what you meant, sir?"

"Yes.. so it was your leg.. n' you." He nodded trying to bring the image to mind, but could not. The surgeon had done it against themarine who was yet again used as a post to lean on. The irony did not escape the boy. A moment he was serious and near grateful, but now he was as amused about it that he were chuckling and soon to be laughing as well.

"..Think yer prefer this way of leanin' against yer leg, to me firs' one eh?" He spoke amidst the chuckles. He only got more serious when he realised how close he had come to being dead. What would his parents have thought? They'd probably have been told - killed while on duty.. or lost at sea.. or something of the sort. Keep the captain and crew from any blame or worry that way.

"It's much better this way, yes." He pulled the lad a little closer. "'S'nice, this is," he murmured. "D'you like it, too, sir?" He hoped so... at least, the young gentleman hadn't pushed him away yet, which was always good.