Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

It was clear he'd made his point, very well. Good. Cartwright ignored the open dismay on the Shepherds' faces - some day, those two would learn to at least not be so expressive - and nodded once. "That'll be all. To your duties, lads."

Whoever was first one duty was going to get very little sleep tonight, dammit. Had the Shepherds managed to get any shut-eye or not? And if they had, was it enough for them - one of them, anyway - to stand a double watch right now?

Oxley had no idea. Bother it. And bother Mister Cartwright for being so annoyingly sharp - their old lieutenant wouldn't have cared what they'd done. But then, he spent all his time in a brandy bottle anyway.

He saluted and led the way out before looking at the twins. "Who's goin' on duty first, then?"

Somehow, Thomas managed to wait until they'd left the lieutenant's cabin before turning sharply to punch his brother. He wasn't even sure why but it seemed sensible enough in that instant. "He is," Thomas grumbled, ignoring the scowl Andrew directed at him as he rubbed his aching arm.

~



Cartwright remained standing, waiting until a count of thirty before letting his stony expression finally dissolve. God but he'd wanted nothing better than to laugh throughout that. He sat down heavily at his tiny desk and laid his head down on the cluttered desk top, unable to stop the chuckles from coming. He couldn't help it. The whole affair was so ludicrous...

Oxley had been so keyed-up and nervous that he was shaking. He just hoped that the Shepherds didn't notice. "What're you two bickerin' 'bout now?" he asked, thinking that they were all in it together. If anything, they ought to both be turning on Oxley - though he didn't mention that, of course. "Least it weren't the gunner's daughter, I s'pose," he said. And it had been a good prank.

"Ain't bickerin'," Andrew said grumpily. "S'my turn first, standin' watches."

Thomas nodded. "Aye. An' I'm goin' back to sleep!"

It was lucky they hadn't all gotten sent for a caning, though. Corporal Johnson would have loved that. Andrew grimaced. "Dunno's this'll seem much better, after a bit."

"If that ain't bickerin', I'll eat me hat!" Oxley declared, hastily unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging it off. "If Sticks wants to go first, I ain't stoppin' 'im." He thought the nominated twin was Sticks, but really couldn't be sure.

"It prolly ain't goin' to be much better - though we'll be able to sit down after we's done, which is summat. Was a good prank, that and all. Shame we can't do it ag'in, though." Well, not without disobeying a direct order they couldn't, and even Oxley wasn't fool enough to think they get away with doing that.

It was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. "Aye, it was good," Thomas agreed. "Don't mean we can't do it again, jus' means we can't do it the same way."

"You two girls g'n natterin' 'bout it," Andrew told them grouchily, hurriedly rebuttoning his jacket - actually his brother's - and casting about for his hat and crossbelt. "I gots three watches need standin'. The hell's me sticks gone?"

Oxley might have been sixteen, but he wasn't above acting like a boy much younger. He stuck his tongue out at the older Shepherd.

"Who're you callin' a girl?" he demanded, and tugged his crossbelt towards him. "Use mine." It wasn't like he'd be needing them for a while, after all.

"Heh. 'Bliged," Andrew grunted, accepting the offered drumsticks with a curt nod. He'd bet anything that his brother had stashed away his own sticks somewhere. Cheeky bastard.

"Reckon he's 'ccusin' us of bein' same's him," Thomas observed as he stripped off Andrew's filthy jacket. When he woke up again, he was going to scrub the damned thing until there wasn't any wool left on it.

"Welcome," Oxley replied and grinned. "That so? Reckon you'd look right purty in a dress an' all." He winked at Young Tom, still grinning fit to bust.

"He would, at that!"

Andrew scowled at them. "Boil yer heads," he grunted and glanced longingly at his own jacket, which Thomas had tossed carelessly onto their shared sea-chest. There wasn't time for changing, though. Corporal Johnson was coming their way.

"Twice," Andrew added before tramping off to meet Johnson.

Shaking his head, Thomas kicked off his shoes and started to climb into his hammock. "Mebbe later. What d'you reckon it's time fer a nap, oldster?"

"Wouldn't taste too good," Oxley retorted, as Sticks headed off. "A kip'd be right good," he added, glancing towards his hammock. Though, with the corporal coming towards them, the chances of actually being able to grab a nap were pretty slender.

It would, sure. Thomas paused and looked toward Johnson. The corporal was talking quietly to Andrew, then the other drummer scarpered, all but flying to the ladder.

"Aw hell," Thomas grumbled, quickly planting both feet back onto the deck.

Johnson had approached and was looking at the two of them stonily. "Hear you lads been given a talkin' to," the corporal said. "Treble watches for you twins, is it? 'Bout time you got sorted. Don't be gettin' too comfortable, neither. There's plenny work needs doin'."

Bloody hell. Any work was bad enough. It'd be worse if they were going to be supervised doing it - and if Young Tom had to go on watch afterwards... Though he'd be able to get at least some sleep before that, of course. Unlike Sticks.

Oxley didn't say anything; he didn't know what he could say that wouldn't make it worse for all of them. And he could kick himself now - he really ought to have spoken up to mister Cartwright and tried to get him to make things easier for the twins. Double watches were bad enough. They were going to be nearly dead on their feet after a treble watch.

"Work, Corp'ral?" Thomas asked. Dismay was creeping into the pit of his stomach. He wanted to get at least half a watch's nap.

"Aye. Work. I hear Markham could do with a hand tendin' the wardroom, for a start."

~



Finally, after mastering himself and wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes, Cartwright decided he had best return topside. There was a certain midshipman to whom he owed an apology.

On leaving the wardroom, he spotted Corporal Johnson in conversation with two of the drummers, one of them a Shepherd. Most likely giving them additional duties while they were off-watch. As long as those duties weren't excessive, Cartwright saw no need to intervene.

He waved down the Marines nearest the wardroom, who were rising from their various activities upon seeing him. Word of the drummers' antics and their subsequent punishments would no doubt have already spread. Cartwright carried on up the ladder and hoped he might find Mister Fletcher on deck.

Work? Poor Young Tom was going to be dead on his feet by the time he got off-watch, whenever that was. But then, Sticks was probably going to be more than half-asleep by the time he was relieved. Though Young Tom was going to have some kip between now and going on duty.

He happened to glance away for a moment and saw Mister Cartwright, who headed up on deck without taking any notice of them. He was probably furious, though Oxley couldn't see why. They hadn't done any harm, after all.

"Here, c'mon, mate," he said, addressing the other drummer. Hopefully they could have a word with Foley and maybe have a bit of an easier time of it.

"Aye aye, Corp'ral," Thomas said, striving to conceal his dismay. Wardroom work was for sailors! He followed Oxley without a word, however, and thankfully neither of them were called back or further spoken to by Johnson.

When they were far enough away, Thomas grimaced and muttered, "He's one who can boil his head!"

"Yeah," Oxley muttered back. "Waddaya wanna bet Mister Cartwright's goin' to walk in on us an' have another go?"

He didn't want to do a whole pile of work and then have to do double duty on top of it. "Um... how come you two got a triple watch each?"

That was something Thomas didn't fully understand himself. He shrugged. "I dunno," he admitted. "Even the corp'ral was only givin' us doubles."

"Yeah. Wish there was somethin' I could do to help," Oxley replied. "Mebbe... mebbe this won't be so bad." If he could find Foley before Markham grabbed them...

Thomas shrugged again. "It ain't so bad, I s'pose. We might be able to swap, even, if Corp'ral ain't watchin'."

Not that it was all that likely. Bah.

"Helpin' 'round the wardroom's better'n standin' watches anyway."

"Yeah, maybe so, but we still gotta stan' them watches," Oxley pointed out. "Can't b'lieve you two got a triple watch each. That's, what, twelve hours? Ain't real, that - they can't 'spect you to do that."

Double watches were bad enough, and Oxley wasn't particularly looking forward to that.

He looked across to one of the off-duty Marines. "You seen Foley anywheres?" he asked, preferring to work for the Marine if he could, rather than the wardroom steward.

"Nope." The Marine shook his head and looked back to his sewing.

Thomas grimaced. "Mebbe in the wardroom sommers?"

~



"Mister Fletcher, sir?" The duty master's mate looked quizzical. "Ain't seen him, no, sir. Not here'bouts anyway. Mebbe up forrard?"

Maybe. Cartwright nodded his thanks and pondered the wisdom of searching for the lad himself.

Oxley pulled a face. "Reckon we'd best go look there for him, then," he said, and reluctantly turned to head aft again.