Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

"Not Quinn. Quinn's a fine man, n' even yer officer ain't that bad, it is just the corporal who's awful!" He grinned leading Thompson behind him till they reached their destination. "Here will be fine, don't you think?"

He turned around, motioned it to the marine then sat down. "Now, the queue, as we was saying! Make it proper, t' way it ought ter be!"

"I didn't say he ain't," Thompson retorted. "He'll still make you stick to regulations though. That's why he's got them three stripes on his sleeve." He shrugged and pulled his jacket off before sitting down behind de Guarde. "You want this done the proper way, as tight as it ought to be?" he asked, amused.

"As tight as it ought to be." The boy nodded bravely and stubbornly. "If it needs ter be it can be so tight me head will fall off." He hesitated and as his grin broadened he resorted to a tone much more posh and polite:" If you would be so kind as to obliege me with completing such a noble task." He looked up with a rather innocent, sweet smile, that had probably got him many a thing when he was a child, but should soon come out of use, as his age progressed.

"Watch it." Thompson poked de Guarde in the side. "Any more of that and you'll confuse everyone. An' that innocent look won't wash, neither." He dug a comb out and began combing through the lad's hari before beginning to plait it, pulling the braid tight.

"An, where is t' problem in that? If they's confused, it is only the more fun!" He yelped and jumped up a bit, feeling Thompson's poke more as a tickle. "Oi, stop it!" He scowled and then grinned as his hair was being set into place the way it had to be. "Excellent." Even if it felt rather tight. 'Jus' do it, like if... if'n ..well you know. N' I promise I wont play a marine.. till I's one... if I's happen to be made one!"

"You won't get too far if your head's fallen off, neither," Thompson said, beginning to wrap the queue with a piece of ribbon. "'Course, if you was to join us, this'd be a bit o' leather, like I've got." He turned his head to show the lad that his own queue was wrapped around with a long strip of leather. "Be interestin' if you was to get made a Marine, I s'pose. Though I still think your folks'd have a right fit over it."

"Leather, hmm, don't think i can get any m'self, like that." He shrugged. Ribbon sufficed for now, and when he would become amarine, if the captain would allow it, he would get himself some proper leather. He only hoped his parents would not be asked for an opinion. They would have certainly said no. Thompson was correct in assuming that they would be anything but be all merry about their child's decision.

But, he was at a mood in which he did not really care. Foolishly, but youth seemed hardly to be sensible often. "Is my decision, yer know. Not theirs. M' life. They should still love me. It would be a noble profession I would take. The marines. Maybe I'd even rise ... in rank still. N' if I were.. it'd be 'couse of me skill!" Perhaps he did not know exactly what awaited him either.

"You might think about what you'd be leavin' be'ind an' what you'd end up with in exchange, y'know," Thompson said. "I mean, think about it prop'ly, instad of dreamin' like you'm in the habit of doin'. 'Cause it ain't all roses, y'know. It takes some damn hard work an' there's a fair amount that's just sheer misery."

De Guarde did feel offended when Thompson blatantly accused him only of daydreaming, or dreaming in general, and not seeing things as they were. Not considering things more like a grown man should. He made a face and showed this, though as he was turned away from the marine while his queue was being made, it probably lost much of its weight.

"I ain't in habit o' dreamin' all the time." He protested. ".. n.. I did think. I know it is hard work but.. it is better work n' a Tar's." He said that in earnest. "It's cleaner work n' ..we got ter look smart doin' it." Perhaps his present position still bothered him more than he wished to admit. A young midshipman that got disrated, there was shame in that. Being a Tar, was rubbing it in. But a willing acceptance into something else, no shame there.

"You'm young yet. You'm rated Able, ain't you? I'll tell you summat. I gets paid a shillin' a day, no stoppages at sea, though I ain't goin' to be paid till Terpsy gets paid off - or me next ship, if I get transferred afore than. An' that's all well an' good. An' there's the prize money too. So I get paid less'n you do, at sea, 'cause you get more'n a shillin' a day, though I get paid when I ain't at sea an' you don't, I s'pose, though I get less prize money than an Able does, an' all." He shrugged, though de Guarde couldn't see it, and finished wrapping the queue, pulling the ribbon tight before finishing it off neatly and tucking the ends in.

"..but you dun' row t' boat.. n' is hardly i see you mucking up t' deck.. or cleanin' up after them horses. You dun come down from t' masts with yer hands all blistered up!" He made a face. "N' t' Tars fear ye, couse when you arrest them.. well it is you who they have ter obey n' stand under guard of." He touched his queue, looked satisfied with it and turned around. "..you's not disrated into wot' you are.. so there's only honour in doin' wot' you do!"

"We do work, though." He offered his hand so de Guarde could see and feel the calluses on it. "Which ain't to say you'd get hands like that bein' a drummer, but most drummers go on to become Marines like me, with a musket an' all."

"You got that from somewhere else." The lad looked unconvinced, though he id run his hand along Thompson's fingers and then his palm, feeling the hardened skin. His own still appeared soft, though harder than before, in comparison to the marine's. "Look it wot' I got, n' is only getting worse!" He mumbled unhappily showing his own palms.

"I'd be safer..as a drummer n'..as a Tar too." He whispered and rubbed his temple. "..a lot safer." But he did not mean the dangers of storms of battle at that.

"Mister Bush has proper sailor's hands an' he'm an officer, ain't anythin' to be ashamed of," Thompson replied. "I jus' want you to think about it for a bit, 'cause it'll... it'll affect you for all the rest of your life so you can't go rushin' into makin' any sort of decision about summat like that, y'know." Even though that decision was now out of the lad's hands, most likely.

"But mister Leat isn't a proper gennleman is he? He couldn't have but t' Tar's hands." Although the boy was not being fair to the man at all. "...I am thining about it.. I...You know I did not just up and go and say...here, make me a marine fer fun!" Though, he did not say what reason made him decide so first.

"I could easily stand anything t' marine's life will throw at me. I know!" He hesitated then and shoved up closer, then looked up:" I do sometimes wish I was a midshipman again, you know. Wish I could go about in that coat, and have atleast something under control. But that won't happen soon. Or... or at all an'...you don't understand. it.. it is just so." He did not continue, but with such little effort to explain, it would be a surprise if Thompson was able to understand what he was meaning at all.

There was a sharp clatter of boots as Lieutenant Leat descended the aft companionway, having finished his watch on deck. Landing for'ard of the Marine's mess he absently waved the men down as they started to rise and make their obediance.

"At ease," he said offhand; a familar dismissal as he walked through the off duty Marines to the wardroom. He nodded to a couple of the men he knew by name as he passed. "Thompson..."

He paused in his progress as he saw that Thompson appeared to be in the company of a ship's boy, and his eyes narrowed (although it made him wince) as he perceived it was in fact De Guarde.

"De Guarde."

"He's a proper gennleman 'cause he'm an officer," Thompson pointed out and shrugged. "Never heared the captain say you wouldn't ever be a middy again, neither," he pointed out , as he heard shod feet coming down the companionway. He turned to see who it was and started to get to his feet as he realised it was Mister Leat, only to be waved down again. He looked back down at the lad next to him. "That's summat else you got to think of," he pointed out. "We'm right in front of the wardroom; you got to realise all the officers come through here, though mostly they just say to stay at ease."

De Guarde was barely listening to Thompson however, when he saw Mister Leat approach. He got up to his feet quickly, and was lucky to be short or else he would probably have struck something in his haste.

"Sir." He said quickly and touched his temple, stepping backward. "..how.." He had wanted to ask how he faired, and prayed he had not heard him speak earlier. He stole a quick glance at Thompson, then dropped his gaze. Perhaps the lieutenant's visible discomfort would make him less likely to linger. He hoped it did not mean it would just make him terribly irritable.

The boy leapt to his feet saluting, murmured something which might have been the beginning of a pleasantry and then dropped his gaze. Good, Leat thought. The last thing he wanted to do when he'd just come off watch was to stand around talking to De Guarde, especially as he ached so. He would definitely have to swallow his pride and visit Mr. Farley this afternoon...

He merely contented himself to scowl at the boy and walked on, past the rest of the Marines and into the wardroom, shutting the door behind him with a snap.

De Guarde watched Leat's back till it disappeared from view, and jumped as the door was shut. He relaxed and could not help but smile again, remembering the other night. "...that'll..be a sort of man to avoid... fer a while, I'd sugges'. If yer fancy ter be on t' safe side!" He murmured to Thompson, keeping his voice down as if for fear that Leat could somehow hear him.

"Drummers!" Mister Cartwright called out loudly, coming down the ladder. It was time he had that word with those three rascals.

Uh-oh. That had not sounded good. That sounded like the sort of voice that promised all sorts of trouble, in fact.

Oxley abandoned his second pair of trousers on the mess-table - at this rate, it'd be another month before he could finish repairing that hem - and scrambled to his feet, coming to attention.

He gulped at the look on Mister Cartwright's face. 'Big trouble' was putting it mildly...

That was one of them moving. Oxley. Of course. Cartwright's gaze swept over the messdeck, noting how none of the grown Marines met his eye. Where were the Shepherds?

"Shepherds!"

And if the twins didn't respond to that voice, they must be mad. Oxley's eyes flickered towards the other lads' hammocks, before returning to the middle distance. He hoped that he hadn't given them away inadvertently. You could never tell with Mister Cartwright, though.

Somebody was calling for them. Thomas stirred, rousing gradually from his sleep. Not quickly enough. Strong hands seized his hammock and pushed down sharply, sending him tumbling out of it with a startled squawk.

" 'Tenant said turn out," Higgins growled, already holding a scowling Andrew by his ear.