A Good Bit of Scrubbin'

Shameful. That's what this was. Cartwright watched the ongoing struggle on the weather deck and shook his head sadly. He had hoped De Guarde might have possessed more self-discipline than he was showing, but clearly he had overestimated the boy's worth. To resist so stoutly against a simple order to stand quietly and be bathed... no, it was plain that Cartwright had erred in his backing of the boy to Captain Bolitho.

And the captain no doubt shared his opinion, at least in respect to De Guarde's insubordinate nature. The grim, disapproving expression on the man's face - mirrored on the faces of the other sea officers on deck - revealed as much. A shame, indeed.

"You're a silly," Thompson said, taking the brush "This could've all been over a damn sight quicker if you hadn't gone actin' like a kid." He wasn't minded to take it slow, not with the cold water making him shiver as it sluiced over them.

"What you need is a bit o' self-discipline - a damn backbone," he commented, trying not to pull as he fought a tangle in the lad's hair.

"...I d-did not w-want to be s-stripped.. 'front of t-them." He murmured quietly. With the chase finally over, and so the excitement, he was slowly beginning to realise the extent of the damage his little display had caused him.

He frowned. Was it not to have a backbone when you stood behind what you believed?

"Tough. There's allus things we have to do that we don't want," Thompson said, briskly brushing the lad's hair out. "Who wants to have to strip to face a floggin', after all? But I done it - aye, an' so've others. An' this ain't anywhere near so bad as that."

De Guarde glared at the ground. Even if Thompson may have pulled on his hair a bit more here and there, he kept himself from complaining. "...To you, maybe." He muttered. His hands were balled in fists, so tight that the white of his knuckles was seen. He dared steal a glance towards the officers, whom he just realised were there. Great. He should better have not done it. His hands relaxed enough that one covered his front best it could, and the other rested on the pinkish scars of the latest caning.

Thompson would not understand, the others would not. And right now he was too upset. Just too upset.

"Y'know there's folks as is 'shamed o' the scars from a floggin'," Thompson pointed out. "An' they still have to strip to bathe, don't they?" Finally, de Guarde's hair was as clean as he was going to get it, and he glanced at Evans. "Want him for anythin' else, Mister Evans?" he asked.

"I got no more use for him, Thompson," Tide said brusquely. "Give the beggar to the Master-at-Arms."

Enough time had been wasted on this little fool. The next boy in line, Johnny Stenhouse, shucked out of his clothes without hesitation and stood stiffly as the jet of water sluiced over his bare skin. Tide claimed a fresh brush and set to work scrubbing the boy to a shining, reddened state of clean.

"Get your clothes, Mathew," Thompson said, and glanced across to the Master-at-Arms. "He'm all yourn." He just hoped de Guarde would have enough sense not to protest any further.

"...." He opened his mouth to question why he was to be given to the master-at-arms if, in the end, he had behaved and had indeed sat or stood still, till Thompson was done with his hair, even if it meant he would shiver from the cold. Even now, he was still cold, and his lips were not their usual pinkish colour. He was relieved, more than anything, that the washing was over. The onlookers received a glare.

Taking his clothes he began to dress himself. They would be somewhat wet but would dry soon enough. His shoulders still shook, while his hair clung to his neck, his face and his back. He wrenched some of the water out of it. Then the shirt was pulled over and he looked at the new victim with a sense of resignation. The boy did not try to run or protest, though he looked just as unhappy.

Of course he would not run. He knew what awaited him, if he did! But the Shepherd's ran and got a red cheek for it. So it was not as if he was the only one, was it? His slops were yanked up quickly and buttoned all in one go. Well, almost as fast, if not for his numb fingers being somewhat unhelpful and clumsy. When he was ready he moved towards the Master-at-arms looking less sure of himself.

The Master-at-Arms' leathery hand fell roughly onto De Guarde's shoulder. "Gundeck," he rumbled, glad to finally have this distasteful charade over with.

Terry's mouth fell open as the Master-at-Arms took de Guarde into custody. "Coo. Who'd've thought it?" Mister Evans must be pretty mad with him if he'd had the Master-at-Arms come to take him away like that.

OW. He did not mean to run. It did not feel like the master-at-arms knew that, or wanted to take the risk. He nodded sullenly, quickly. He concealed the yelp by the clearing of his throat. As he made his first step forward, he rubbed his hands together to warm them. His lower lip and chin itself were still trembling a bit. "..um...?" The sound meant to serve as a question. Why were they going there?

A scowl darkened the big sailor's already swarthy features. "Irons," was his reply. "More'n due, at that!"

This boy must be addled, to effect confusion at his fate. Certainly he didn't expect to get away with such blatant disobedience and insubordination? He wasn't a damned midshipman any longer - and so much the better, in the Master-at-Arms' opinion!

That halted his breath. Irons? He stared at the master, wide-eyed. somehow he had hoped that his antics would have been forgotten once his bath had been finished. He did not expect that he would first be forced to have it all done, with everybody watching and then off to the gun deck.

"...I did.. do it." He mumbled.

"After ignorin' orders an' kickin' up a wild childish fuss," the big sailor grunted. "Disgracin' the deck yer stannin' on with it all. 'Spect the cap'n'll wanna see you, 'ventually. Now move."

Tide gave the shivering Johnny Stenhouse the long ribbon recently removed from the boy's hair and quietly bade him step back out of the way while he redressed. It was obvious Stenhouse was unhappy about the whole affair but he had borne it silently.

"Shepherd."

The twins glanced at each other, then the one with the bruised face stepped forward, already half-undressed. Tide nodded at him. "Good lad." Whichever one it was, anyway.

A nod was given to the master-at-arms, a last glance to the boys waiting to be washed. It was the finest example to have them all behave their best. If they saw a boy made example of, a boy taken in irons, who else would dare stir up some dust? Nobody, that's who. Not the dirty Fingers, or the mischief driven Button. Not even the two pranksters , the Shepherds. Oxley was old enough to have sense anyway, but he probably did not have much reason to protest on this bathing.

Any other young lad would think twice. Stood to reason. He sighed and began to walk. It was a steady pace, quick even, not one that would suggest he was hesitant or unwilling.

Well. At last the boy was showing some sense. It had taken him long enough! The Master-at-Arms touched his hat in the direction of the quarterdeck and followed his charge closely below.


They go here.

They'd got one of the Shepherds now. Maybe he could sneak away... if only the big Marine would let go of him. Fat chance of that happening.

He ran his foot up and down the back of his other leg, hoping they'd forget about him.

"Mister Evans, Mister Evans," Chase said, a little abruptly after skinning off his shirt. "I'll go next, I will. Promise not to bite nobody or nothin', either."

There was a broad grin on the seaman's face and his hair, newly let down thanks to Will Taylor's quick work, made him look somehow younger than he truly was. The carpenter's mate took charge of his mate's shirt and stepped back away from the stream of water from the hose, even though he was already half-soaked himself.

Terry grinned, even though he still didn't want to go under the quartermaster's brush himself. His breath caught at the sight of the seaman's back, though, and he had to look away. The scars were still too new for him to be able to look at for any length of time... not that he particularly liked looking at anyone who had been flogged, not really.

A giggle escaped from Fingers when he saw Chase pull off his shirt and ask for a washing too. Silly Tar! But of course he'd one, working in the rigging all day. Moreso than Fingers, certainly!

"Reckon his queue been pulled too tight," the boy commented wisely.

"Here, Cob," Thompson called, and threw the brush he'd been holding to the sailor. Well, that made a change from the fighting, kicking, reluctant boy he'd just been dealing with.

The one Shepherd was as good as finished. His hair could be brushed through by his brother. It would need to be anyway, for it to be properly retied.

"Daft beggar, you are, Cob," Tide said, skimming his palm over the brush experimentally. "Oughta use a horse-brush on you!"

Chase fairly beamed, the brush tossed his way from Thompson in one hand. "Oh I don't need that, Mister Evans, I'm as clean's a clean thing!"

"Spray that fool, Colburn!" It was hard to make the order sound serious when one was busy trying not to laugh.

Thompson grinned. "Got room for a lobster there?" he asked, slipping his shoes off and following those with his shirt and trousers, which he dropped to the deck. They were soaked through anyway, and a bit more water wouldn't harm them.