Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

The previous day's punishment parade, if it could be called that, was nothing more than a memory to Andrew Shepherd. He was relieved to have escaped capture for his part in the antics ashore but beyond that, the whole affair held no significance for him. The plan he was about to put into action, however, certainly did.

Foley had come through brilliantly for them, managing to get that old jacket repaired and cleaned up within only a few days. The jacket looked almost new, which made it perfect for what Andrew intended to use it for. Everything else was ready as well. All they needed was a body to put into the kit.

This was a task only for Andrew himself, though he figured his brother was equal enough to the task as well. Keeping his face fixed in an expression of distinct boredom, the drummer wandered forrard, onto the seamen's messdeck. That Tar had better be belowdecks. Andrew had no interest in searching the ship to find him, so they could carry off this delightful business.

De Guarde was resting. Even as their hammocks were no longer hung from above, he still found a comfortable corner to curl in. There he then turned, rolled back and forth a few times, shoved and nudged the rolled up bit of cloth till it was supporting his head and then, with his hand hanging at the side, slept. He was off watch and found the moment rather perfect for some shut eye. Stretching out a bit like a cat, he tucked his other hand to his chest, pulled his legs closer and with a heavy, deep sigh, turned motionless again.

The sounds that would bother and halt any landlubber from being able to sleep weren't even registered by the boy. No shouts, no thumps of feet, or knocks of muskets. Not even the whistles, when they did not suggest the need to come on deck. The Tar's mess was relatively empty, and void for the moment, even of rats.

Oh. This. This was too perfect. Andrew smothered a grin, barely, and slowed his step to keep from making too much noise as he crept forward. The boy was sleeping, tucked neatly against the curve of the hull. Much too perfect.

It was easy work to sneak up on the Tar without rousing him, even with shoes on. Grinning now, Andrew flexed his fingers. He waited a moment to stifle a chuckle, then began lightly drumming "Quarters" on the top of De Guarde's head.

De Guarde stirred, then pushed his hand forward towards the odd sensation. Such an odd rhythm. Did he know it? He knew that rhythm! Familiar,.. but why did he feel it as if it was tapped right atop of his head? Wait.

He jerked up, his eyes wide. Beat to.... He stared at Shepherd, his bleary eyes barely able to focus on the marine. He'd nearly gone and scrambled up and would have been half way up the companionway if The young Shepherd hadn't been in the way. as He was, he had pushed forward, and if the lad wasn't quick enough, they'd both be sprawled on the floor. "Wot' on?!.. .OY! That ain't funny, that ain't!" He exclaimed rubbing a hand over his eyes to clear them.

"How'd ye dared ter do that!" He grumbled with a soft ow. He must've hit himself when trying to leap up.

Andrew pranced backward, cackling. It really was too perfect.

"Got ya up in a hurry, din't it?" The drummer asked, fairly beaming. "C'mon then, quit mopin' like a baby. We gots work to do."

They'd better hurry, too. His brother would be wondering what was taking so long.

"Fine, coming!" He stood and stretched then threw a playful punch at the Shepherd. "Needn't try ter kill me before ye let me up." He added rubbing his arms. "A'right where's the meeting?" He asked and moved more to the centre of the mess.

He was ready, and fully awake. Partially it was because of the scare and partially because of the excitement. After all, soon he would be prancing about in the red coat, with a drum and pretend he was one of these lot. He couldn't wait. The secret was hard to keep to himself, but he did, since it would be no point if he'd go off and tell others.

"Back aft," Andrew replied, neatly sidestepping the halfhearted swing. "Tom's got it laid out. Just down the ladder there."

Going down the ladder was almost an unnecessary precaution, since the detachment was on deck for the daily ritual of arms drill. But it was part of the plan and to deviate from it was unwise.

"A'right. Let's go." The boy grinned. He looked over his shoulder at Andrew. "What' ye waiting for? We need to hurry!" And with that, he turned forward again, heading down the previously decided path. He was still barefoot, as usually recently, but unlike the first days, he didn't feel cold, weird or uncomfortable in baring his soles to the world - the decks. He swore he'd buy himself a pair of shoes, the sort the Tars were seen to wear too, but hadn't yet gotten to the point of doing so.

Andrew smiled broadly. "C'mon then." He clattered through the messdeck, heedless of the noise he made, such was his excitement.

"Tom!" He called, managing to keep his voice mostly moderated. "Got it sorted down there?"

"Any louder n' you're going to wake the dead." Mathew commented with a short laugh. He was not as careless in causing noise , and Andrew was making enough for the two of them any way. "Hush... don't need t' whole ship t' hear you." He mumured even if perhaps Andrew's call was much less loud than his earlier antics. He hurried after the lad avoiding a rat that squeaked loudly, before it scampered back into its hole.

He could barely contain the excitement. "Did he manage to sort it all out?" He asked Andrew with a broad grin plastered across his face. "Did he?" It was a stupid question, since them going there now pretty much answered it.

"They ain't listenin'," Andrew assured him before plunging down the ladder. They were close to springing the prank into action. All that remained was to get De Guarde dressed and bundled topside.

Of course Oxley had everything sorted. Couldn't expect anything less from the lad. There was hope for making him a proper plotter yet, Andrew thought gleefully. "C'mon then, wastin' time, y'are," he urged, all but bouncing from foot to foot impatiently.

"Oh, there y'are," Oxley said, as the other two came down the stairs. He'd managed to smuggle everything they needed down there, apart from a drum - they'd have to collect that on the way through the Marines' messdeck on the way up on deck.

"Here, got y'stuff," he said, unrolling the shapeless bundle that contained the jacket, shoe, gaiters and trousers and other things they'd got. "Hope it all fits, anyhow."

"Didn't gain any weight.. so's anything it could be too big." He grinned as he sifted through the clothes, and all bits and pieces of the uniform he was to wear in a moment. He was aware of them being there, and felt the urge to tell them to turn about, for just the duration that it took him to get dressed. He organised the clothes, in the order that he had to pull them on or secure them. Gaiters last.

"Um..." He looked at Andrew and then at Oxley. "... i'll be.. in a moment." And then he gathered the whole of the clothes in his hands.

"Mind you don't take longer'n a moment," Andrew teased, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the side of the ladder. "This'll be brilliant."

"Jus' 'member you'll want to put your stock on afore your jacket, an' after your gaiters," Oxley added, grinning. Oh, this was going to be so good... He couldn't wait to see the faces of the other Marines.