Friday morning with the Marines

"Mebbe he didn't realise they was serious," Dickin offered, lamely. And any officer worth his salt would have known it was going to end up as a fight.

"Mebbe," Foley allowed, not convinced. Mister Cartwright was no fool. Why would he have let the two big Marines fight it out before intervening?

"Mebbe he managed to get round us earlier?" someone else suggested.

Oxley shrugged. What did it matter how he'd done it? All that mattered was that he had done it, and the Marines were left talking about him, and his unusual methods. Probably that was the whole point of why he'd done it.

"We wasn't gone outta the wardroom that long," Foley pointed out. He would have to ask his officer about this later, even though he was beginning to suspect that he knew why Cartwright had done it.

"True 'nuff," Oxley said, shrugging. He really didn't know how the officer had managed to do it. "Wouldn't fancy doin' any sort of cleanin' with Corp'ral Johnson supervisin' it, I'll say that, though."

There was a general rumble of agreement at that.

Ware said, " Mebbe that's why he done it? Ain't so much he snuck up on us but that he knows what sorta punishment'd be worse than a floggin'."

Any sort of punishment detail with Corporal Johnson supervising it was worse than a flogging, in Oxley's opinion, though it wasn't as if he'd ever experienced a flogging. He sent Foley a shy grin, very thankful that Cartwright's steward was a much more pleasant person than Johnson, and easy to talk to. Today would have been downright miserable if Mister Cartwright had decided to make the Corporal responsible for him after last night's fight.

Foley grinned and stretched his legs idly. He wasn't quite sure of Mister Cartwright's intentions in this instance, but it was enough that the lads were catching on quick to the idea that the lieutenant's thought processes didn't always make sense right away.

"That's his way, too," Foley said. "He'll give out almost anythin' for punishment if it means he don't have to flog a lad."

Thompson sat against the ship's side, his injured leg outstretched in front of him, It was healing well, he thought; the swelling had started to go down by now, and he could put his weight on it by now, even though he was still limping badly. He unfolded the shirt he was sewing. The daylight up here was far preferable to the miserable lantern-light of the messdeck.

"Don't think you can get a much worse punishment than havin' Corp'ral Johnson watchin' you when you'm doin' a punishment duty," he said, frowning at the seam he'd just finished. "Seems to be a fair clever sort of officer, Mister Cartwright does."

The others grimaced and nodded.

"Long's he don't turn out to wanna use his clever 'gainst us," Mallory said. Foley shook his head.

"Won't happen," the steward told him. "He's a bit odd but he ain't one for abusin' his lads."

"Seems the sort to give lads a fair hearin'," Oxley said. "Least, that's what... what I think." He fell silent again. He was the youngest one there and he didn't want the older men to think he was interrupting them or anything.

Ware grinned at the drummer. "Seems so, aye. He din't run you right off the deck, did he?"

Oxley shook his head, touching his black eye. "He din't, no. Was that scared he was goin' to, though. He was all right 'bout it though. Said... said he don't mind folks makin' mistakes, so long as they learn from 'em."

"He did?" Grattan seemed surprised, but not entirely unpleasantly so. "Ain't that summat."

Oxley shrugged. It was something. Brandeson had been a complete drunken sot, and the marine officer on his previous ship had been a distant figure,leaving most dealings with his men to his Sergeant and the Corporals. Oxley couldn't remember ever saying anything more than "Yes, sir," or "No, sir," to him.

"Think he'll be an all right sort of officer," he said, finally deciding that his crossbelt was as good as it was going to get and laying it aside, clasping his hands around his knees.

"Seems thattaway," Ware said, and chuckled quietly when a Marine appeared up from the aft companion ladder. "Seems he knows we're talkin' 'bout him, too."

"Oh, help," someone muttered as they all took a renewed interest in what they were doing, or supposed to be doing. Oxley couldn't help stealing a glance aft as he bent to check the state of his crossbelt. "Wonder what he's up to now," he said quietly.

Even Foley had suddenly found something to busy himself with, despte having left his cleaning kit below in his sea-chest. He knew very well that his standing as Mister Cartwright's steward wouldn't save him from trouble.

"Prolly got tired of hearin' ol' Cross-eyes grumblin'," Mallory muttered.

Oxley snorted quietly at that. Cross Johnson was notorious for being able to overhear just exactly the things you didn't want him to, and Oxley wouldn't put it past him for Mister Cartwright to have the same ability.

Grattan looked up from his own work just long enough to hush Mallory.

Whatever the Lieutenant wanted probably wasn't good news for the Marines, especially after that fight earlier.

The duty drummer - it was Tom Shepherd, if his immaculately-cleaned kit was any sign - came scampering up. His face gleamed under the brim of his hat, but his voice was solemn when he said, " 'Tenant's wantin' you aft, Foley. Quick-like."

Foley stood up and brushed off his trousers. He had been expecting a summons. Ware smirked up at him and said, "Nice knowin' ya, lad."

Tom Shepherd gave up containing himself and fairly beamed at the Marines scattered around the foc's'le. " 'Bout time Shriver got a good settin' right!" The drummer declared, as Foley trotted aft.

"What's happened?" Oxley demanded, giving up on the pretence of seeing to his kit. Shriver hadn't gone and got himself into more hot water, had he? Oxley wouldn't put it past him. If he had the brains of an ox, the drummer would be surprised.

"Don't keep us hangin', lad," Grattan said, lowering his cross-belt plate to his lap and looking up at the beaming drummer who was standing there.

Tom Shepherd fairly bounced from foot to foot in amusement. "He's gone an' cursed at Johnson, hasn't he? Gone right out an' said he were a bloody damn toad, when Corp'ral tol' him to get down to workin'."

"He never!" Oxley couldn't believe that even Shriver would be as stupid as that.

"He's a damn fool, that's what-all he is," Thompson agreed, privately wondering how Shriver could have thought he'd get away with it... not that the man usually thought about things. He was not known for being sensible when it came to things like that.

It seemed the others agreed, for they put their own kit aside to press Shepherd for more details.

"He did, an' all," Tom Shepherd affirmed, nodding. "Corp'ral lit him up for it like a whole box of flares, too. S'prised none of you lot heared it!"

"What's he gonna do 'bout it?" Grattan asked. "Mister Cartwright, I mean."

The drummer shrugged. "Dunno fer sure, but it'll be somethin' worth noticin', I bet!"

"He's a stupid sod, that Shriver," someone said. Oxley didn't see who it was, but he nodded.

"Mister Cartwright's goin' to have his hands full with him, I should say," Thompson said.

"So long as it ain't the gratin', it'll be worth seein'. Though I s'pose even the gratin' couldn't make him any civiller." Oxley grinned, and shrugged. "Reckon Mister Cartwright wouldn't want him for his steward, anyhow."