Allhands and bodies too, aft - 1st June

Thompson glanced down at the lad, feeling his head move under his hand. "I think mebbe I'm the only one, ever, who's talked to him prop'ly, sir. It ain't right, that."

"No," Farley agreed. Three weeks. He was only a little less new to the crew than Farley himself. Poor lad. "Perhaps a more concerted effort to do just that is in order."

"Mhhhhh..." The boy murmured something after, yawned and snuggled up to the arm, still mainly lying on his belly. He pressed his forehead against the said arm, sighed and continued to sleep.

He felt comfortable, at ease, safe, warm, light of limb and at peace. The stroking of his hair only made all feel so much better, nicer. He did not dwell on why he was feeling so, nor on where he was and whether he was asleep. He meant to enjoy it while it lasted, even if it was all just sleep.

"I never knowed anyone so... so... lonely," Thompson said. "He oughta be with mates his own age, really, 'stead of a Marine like me." He just wished he knew how to help the lad, how to persuade others to include him a bit and teach him the discipline and skills that he needed.

The boy grunted as if in protest, but made no further sound. Perhaps it was something in his dream that prompted him to the sound, though it appeared less so.

His hold did not let up, did not loosen or shift. He sighed again, took a deep breath and shakily exhaled it. For the moment laudanum held. Even so, walking in the next few days would prove an effort, and going to the heads for any number two, would not sound appealing.

Perhaps that was so. Farley could not judge the truth of it with any certainty. All the same...

"How does he behave around the rest of the crew, do you know?"

"He... um, he'm a bit cautious, I'd say. Still got habits he'm trying to get out of." He tried to think of a way to explain what he meant. "He... acts a bit snooty, times, if someone he don't know says or does summat he'd've taken exception to when he was still a middy. Think he'm a bit nervous, really, though he tries not to show it."

The boy was practically clinging to his arm, though he was out of it for now. Thompson was rather surprised that Mister Farley hadn't noticed - or said anything if he had noticed.

Hm.

"Gentle coaxing would be the best way," the surgeon mused. "Less of this brutish nonsense, certainly." His gaze touched briefly on the lad's newly-cleaned hindquarters.

"There's times he don't think, though. Jus' reacts to stuff. And that ain't good 'cause it gets him in trouble an' means folks think bad of him. But... it's summat like a cat trapped in a corner, an' I don't know how to 'splain to him that, well, it ain't that bad." He shook his head helplessly. "See, he listens, but it don't... it don't sink in right, or summat, sir."

"Clay is difficult to shape when it has already hardened," Farley remarked. An idea was forming in his mind. He would have to speak with the ship's captain about it. "Perhaps he finds it difficult to put store in the words of a common crewman, as he may view it."

"Maybe. I've bin doin' me best, but... but I know he listens, but sometimes I ain't got the right way of puttin' things. He'm better'n he was, though, sir, an' I think he likes talkin' with me. Even if he don't understand everythin' I tell him. I only want to help, see, sir."

Better was good, but clearly it was not yet enough. "Beyond his attitudes, what would you say is his most constant difficulty?"

Thompson considered the question. "I ain't sure. Fittin' in, I s'pose. He don't trust the men an' they don't trust him. Well. No, that ain't quite it. He'm all mixed up inside, an' a lot of it was from his first captain - like I said. He... I don't think he can trust folks to not change their minds an' to stay constant. He'm so used to his officers changin' their minds all the time."

He bit his lip. "I... Sir, don't get me in trouble for this, please. I don't think any of the officers here have thought about what he's had to do to... to survive his old ship. They only see him as a troublemaker when he's only doin' his best to... to live with things. He'm real nervous of 'em - I'd actually say he'm scared of 'em."

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear boy," Farley assured him. This was indeed an interesting case. He was, to say the least, intrigued. "No doubt it hardly helps he is afraid of his own officers. No hope for teaching him properly that way!"

Thompson kept stroking the lad's hair. "I know he's done things that've made 'em angry, but... but I don't think he'm worse'n any other boy. It's... He's had to... to look out for himself an' not let anyone get close or he'll get hurt. He was bullied pretty bad in his last ship, I think, too."

Undoubtedly.

"Well. It would seem the first step is repairing his relations with the officers." Which would be no easy task, by the sound of it.

"I think... I think that'd help," Thompson said, though he honestly could see no way of getting that to happen. But then, he was just a private Marine. "I'll help, sir, any way I can. If I can."

"Good lad. I know you will."

He would have to speak with the captain rather soon, before this poor fellow awakened from his sleep. It would be no end of help for him to be given duties below the deck, here, while he was unable to work in the yards.

Thompson nodded. "Oh. Did you hear 'bout the prank he pulled along of the drummers, sir?" he asked, unable to keep from smiling at the memory.

"I had heard something of it, from your Lieutenant Cartwright," Farley replied, nodding. "He seemed quite bemused by it all."

"He - de Guarde here, I mean, sir - he was on deck, lookin' jus' like one of they drummers, drum an' all. An' he ended up beatin' for the officers' dinner. I'd never've knowed it was him if I hadn't seen it with me own eyes," Thompson said. "So I know he's gettin' on with the Marine lads, or they wouldn't've done that."

Ah. If that was so... it was another piece of useful information.

"I see. One wonders then if the Navy is truly meant for him."

"I think he'd be a good sailor," Thompson said. "Though our officer - Mister Cartwright, I mean sir - he offered for young Mathew to be a Marine. Though, that was afore all of this mess started. He might change his mind, or... I dunno. The captain mightn't let him. But the officers need to know 'cause... well, sir, right now, they ain't helpin'. An' me sayin' that ain't mutiny, sir, I swear."

"Hmm. Well. I shall need to speak with them regardless, on the matter of this fellow's light duties. This will be a topic worth broaching with them, I can assure you!"

"Thanks, sir," Thompson said. "Hem only a kid, really. At least... at least the other boys have each other, sort of - they all understand each other an' look out for each other. Mathew don't have nobody, not really."