Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

Cartwright shook his head. "I don't. Your fellow De Guarde performed his duty admirably. He has, perhaps, pursued the wrong calling."

Well, wasn't that something? "He... We showed him what to do, prop'ly like, sir."

So, pulling a good prank wasn't something that was going to get folks in trouble. Well, unless it was dangerous or something, he conceded.

"So I heard." Cartwright took a quick swig from the flask. "I trust, however, that it will be the only one of its kind undertaken, even as amusing as it was."

It was fortunate, perhaps, that the boys had chosen to attempt such a joke while Terpsichore was at anchor. The sea officers may have taken more immediate notice of it otherwise.

Damn. No chance they could try it again later, then, even if Mister Cartwright knew that de Guarde could do the job. "Yes, sir."

He tasted the contents of the glass he was holding. Nice stuff... Officers definitely knew how to treat themselves.

Good lad. The warning, delivered mildly, had gone home. Cartwright corked the flask and returned it to its place in his sea-chest.

"Do you know," he added after a moment, "that there exists a precedent in which able seamen choose to depart the sailing service in favour of becoming Marines?"

A what? He mouthed the words, trying to work out what the officer had meant. Exists a precedent... He wasn't sure of that bit. He had some more of the liquid in the glass while trying to understand.

"D'you mean, sir, that a sailor can become a M'rine if he wants?" He looked at the officer for confirmation of that. "How, sir?"

He nodded. "He can. It is hardly different from enlisting ashore, save that training must take place aboard ship." He paused a moment to think on it, then added, "Of course, such a drastic change in duties and station would require the approval of the ship's captain first."

Was Cartwright honestly suggesting what Oxley thought he was? If so, Buckles was going to be as happy as the cat that got the cream. And maybe more. Well, if Captain Bolitho agreed to it, anyway.

"Are you... Are you sayin' you'd have Buck... de Guarde, as a M'rine, sir?" he said, thinking he must surely have heard it wrong, and the officer was going to laugh at just how wrong he'd got it.

"He has shown no aversion to standing a full watch as a drummer, despite his not actually being a drummer - for joke or not. And he seems to spend quite a bit of time on our messdeck, does he not?" Cartwright hid a smile. "I would be remiss if I did not make the option available, I think."

'Aversion' and 'remiss' now. Why on earth did officers insist on using hi-falutin' words that Oxley couldn't understand?

"Um... oughtn't you to ask him d'rect, sir?" he ventured, wondering why Cartwright was making the suggestion to him. "I c'n go get him if you want, sir."

"Once he is relieved from his present duties," was Cartwright's reply. "You may tell him of the option, however. It is something that he will want to consider closely."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Cartwright was possibly the strangest - and the nicest - officer that Oxley had ever known. And hadn't de Guarde ought to be relieved by now?

"Cut along, then."

There ought to be enough time left in the watch to permit him to take his dinner - which reminded him that Foley would no doubt be hovering anxiously outside the cabin door, waiting for him to emerge. Damn. Cartwright had entirely forgotten.

"Aye, aye, sir." He saluted and fumbled the door open, nearly bumping into Foley as he left. Buckles wasn't going to believe him, but he had to get up there quick to tell him.

Cartwright waited until the drummer had gone before exiting the cabin as well. "My apologies for keeping you waiting," he said to his steward, who only sighed wearily in reply.

Oxley hurried out of the wardroom and into the Marines' messdeck where he paused, shaking his head in sheer disbelief at what had happened, even ignoring Ware as he headed topside to relieve de Guarde to have his dinner.

"Hey! Where ya goin' Tommy?" asked Sam as they nearly collided. "You messin' with the officers now? What're they havin' for dinner?"

"Huh? What? Oh, no. Got called in to see me officer 'cause of... 'cause of summat someone tole him, earlier." He looked at his older brother. "How you settlin' in here, then?"

"You in trouble?" Sam asked soberly, ignoring the question he had been asked.

He shook his head, remembering he had his hat on, and pulled it off. "No. Just needed to answer a coupla questions, is all. No trouble, though it could've bin. How's you findin' it here?"

"Oh, prime, just prime," Sam answered, still skeptically searching his brother's face for any sign of worry. Then someone called his name, a pair of his new mates, and he grinned. "I'm off wi' the lads. We're goin' aloft with a spyglass to watch them Portugee women! Take care of yeself, Tommy."

Tom Oxley rolled his eyes. "See you later - and I'll mebbe have a story to tell you! Don't go fallin' out of the riggin', now, will you?" He darted back out of reach of his brother's hand as he spoke.

De Guarde was barely keeping a straight face after what Lieutenant Cartwright had told him. He gave him praise! A good word would go far with the boy who was a Tar, and even if he had been a midshipman, he would still have beamed with pride at that. He was hungry of course. But other than his belly giving its protest one, he tried to ignore that for the sake of his present duty.

Mister Cartwright could not say they didn't do good. He wondered if any of the officers even noticed that they switched again. Did Lieutenant Bush, or Leat, or captain Bolitho even now, that they were now dining to or rather after the tap that the boy they did not trust to know up from down, did? Did the young Fletcher know that his efforts had in part way been rewarded and in part not followed through. He thought he might be good to thank him. He hadn't reported him when he could and so saved him from getting in graver trouble.

Oxley hurried up the companionway to see Ware muttering at having to take over a duty that was done by boys for a reason. Oxley sighed. "Oh, leave off, Berty! I'll give you me grog ration for doin' it - jus' get the drum off'f him already."

He was practically hopping with impatience. "Oh come on, Buckles!"

De Guarde wasn't so eager to be rid of the drum, when he knew it was his final act and that after he gave it away, he would probably not ever see it again. He shook his head at his friend. What was Oxley so excited about? He looked almost as if something crawled up his pant leg and was now causing some chaos right down in his trousers.

"Easy Tom, you're going to hurt yourself." He said unclipping the drum, which he handed over to Ware. "or have yer heart bounce right out of your mouth, whichever comes first." He smiled, still so proud, and if he would not stop grinning soon, his jaw would hurt something awful.