Boys at Play, 2nd June

"Yeah - when you's already in pain an' 'e needs t'do it so you don't die," Terry muttered back. "An' I knw 'e pulls teef - who d'you fink it was done mine f'r me?" Except it had been the surgeon's mate, rather than the surgeon himself and he'd enlisted the help of one of the Marine drummers, with the idea that having a drum thundering away nearby would be some sort of distraction.

He found himself hanging back a little, hoping that the surgeon wouldn't be too cross with him for wanting to come and see where Buckles was working at the moment.

De Guarde peeked in, then waved Button to follow suit. "Come then. Wot's t' fear you're havin'?" He asked, amused. "Ain't nobody here who'll be pullin' yer teeth unless it's needed. Got a tooth what needs pulling?" He smiled and checked that all was in working order and clean, and at that, put away. Being a loblolly boy wasn't so bad really. As long as there were no things to clean for Tars who could not make their trip not even to the closest dump pit.

Terry followed Buckles, tucking his thumbs nonchalantly into his belt, though he didn't feel quite so relaxed and nonchalant as he tried to appear. There was no way he was going to touch anything without permission, not in here.

"No, I don't," he retorted hotly, and looked around at the sickbay, which was very neat and tidy.

"Sure you are." The lad stretched a little and leaned against one side. "So, this is where I work , this here is where, as you know, t' pained and the hurt come o'er ter be tended to. That's where they ought t' sleep..'s not much and you saw most of it already." He smiled and shrugged. It was just then that he realised that he had forgotten something, which he had left the sick-berth for, in the first place. He slapped his forehead and groaned." Stupid!" He called himself. "Stupid! I've forgot it." He looked back at Button. "Would you mind if we have a quick trip ter t' Tar's mess? I've completely forgotten t' papers I was meaning to get!" He huffed at himself. "And s' what I meant to get after a walk on t' deck too!"

"Papers?" Terry blinked at him, confused. He wasn't a warrant officer or anything. What on earth did he want papers for? "O' course," he said, stepping back to allow de Guarde out of sickbay again.

"Papers, ter draw on, or write letters.. or just write." He explained as he hurried in the direction of their berth and the chest which he shared with Chase Jacob. "See.. it's good practice, good learning and it is fun. It's a bit o' a record of htinsg that are though I won't be on deck to take in much of the coast, which I could have drawn too. " He gave Button a quick shrug. "You don't ever wish you could record yer past so's not to forget it?"

"Oh, right," he replied, still mystified. He knew Mister Foxley could write, of course, and the officers. Somehow, though, he'd never imagined that Buckles could - although it was obvious that he could, being an ex-midshipman and all. He looked at the other boy with something like awe, and shrugged at the question. "Dunno as anyone'd be int'rested in me," he said in response. "Ain't got much I wanna 'member, any'ow."

"...You know. There's many a boy or man who's got an interestin' story to tell. Of their life at sea, of their life in general." He smiled and ducked under a beam and then quickened his pace some. "It's wot' people read. Stories about other people, about their adventures an' their lives. S' wot' most of t' books are about if they ain't for learnin' from. History's a story too, of men and of their victories and deaths."

He lifted the lid of his and Chase's chest, and pushed the large shirt of the man out of the way, then a pair of his trousers and some of his personal belongings till he reached his own. There he nudged his shirt to the side, reached further in and from the bottom brought a tied packet of paper, and a pouch in which the ink was stored, securely fastened.

"Ah, there we go!"

"Don't fink I 'ave," Terry said. After all, what was so interesting about being an orphan in the workhouse and then being sent to sea?

Books were about people? Somehow he hadn't considered that, though even Mister Foxley's books were about people, sort of - who'd been issued with what and how much money they owed when the ship was finally paid off, though Terry didn't know anyone who'd want to actually read it all - apart from maybe the shadowy figures at the Admiralty whose very word was law, until a ship put to sea.

"Whyn't you each got one end of your sea-chest, rather'n each shovin' stuff on top of t'other man's things?" Terry asked, looking at their arrangements rather doubtfully. "Be easier to find stuff, doin' it like that."

"Couse..." Well, it was a valid point, but he was not used to share space with somebody else. Although more disroganised he did not consider the arragement worth changing or considering even.

"We's jus'... Dunno. Anyhow." He grinned. "Wot' would you write, if you could do it?" What would yer say if you had readers like?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Said I dunno I've got anyfin' worth tellin' folks about. Even folks who know me ain't int'rested in me like that." So why would people who didn't know him want to learn about him? That was just silly.

"...You're daft. You've got yer history and yer got yer life as a ship boy to tell 'bout. I'm sure that many would be interested in readin' bout t' sea and how young boys become men, when elsewhere young boys barely do." He shrugged and closed the lid and brought the pack to his chest and turned to have them both return to the sickbay. "Though there's most books written 'bout famous generals.. n'.. that sort.. I think t' view through t' eyes of someone... ye'd least expect." He hesitated. "I bet it's something people will like sometime. But who knows. I don't, an' I ain't someone who could pay fer t' works to be published or know anything much 'bout you!"

"Ain't nobody showed any int'rest in me afore, so why should they if it was all written down?" Terry asked with a shrug. "I ain't zackly a famous gen'ral or adm'ral, am I?" He stuck his thumbs into his belt, aping some of the older sailors. "You got some pretty strange ideas, y'know, Buckles."

"You're daft... 's what you are. People read all sorts o' things... I don't see why they wouldn't want t' read about that." He stuck his tongue out at Button. "Ain't a strange idea. I'd know. I can read and read lots o' t' literature, plenty of books both of stories and adventures that never 'appened and of those that did, and even of stuff I needed to learn as a middie." He sighed as he said the last.

" Hm. Wot' d' ye think if I were to become a marine?" He wondered what the other boy would think of that choice. If he could not be a midshipman, he was certainly not going to remain a Tar for his whole life. Of course his young mind thought that it would be possible and that his parent's finantial and social status hardly mattered. It did not appear to matter now, and that's what he thought counted.

"Who wants t'read about someone thay's never met and ain't likely to meet?" Terry wanted to know. Anyway, reading and writing were for officers and people - important folks. Not boys like Terry.

"You, a M'rine?" he asked sceptically. Now he knew Buckles was cracked. "Why'd you wanna do that? All they ever do is stand there stiff as... as... as broom-'andles. They don't get no fun, them, not like us. Never seen 'em skylarkin' or anyfin' like that. Well, not 'bove once, I 'aven't."

"You've never met any of them admirals or poets, n' yet.. some people write about them. " He did not press the matter however, but chose to listen to what Button said next. He frowned and shook his head. "They ain't just standin' stiff. They fight when we all fight in a battle. They heave their weight around when there needs t' be strength ter be used. Some even go up the masts and some even fire from them." He pointed out. "They do skylark too, I bet. An'... an they do have fun, they are jus'...didn' you look at their uniforms? That's summat real nice t' see too! " He smiled fondly. "They look proper smart! An'.. when they do drill, like one body. An' firin' practice an' all.. They ain't dirty like we is. Never!"

"All the time they gotta spend cleanin' them uniforms, though, when they could be 'avin' fun," Terry pointed out. "I wouldn't wanna stand all inna line like the way they do, for sure. And who wants to do the same's everyone else all time an' all?" He shrugged. "Why's you askin' about 'em, then?"

"...I was thinkin'. Though t' surgeon says I could become a Midshipman sometime.. .I don't think t' officers 'd have me. So.. I was thinking I could become a marine. I'd like that I think. " But while it was so easy to tell that to Thompson and be excited about it, telling it to a Tar, a ship's boy was completely a different thing.

"..You know....it'd be fun."

"Mebbe," Terry said. He hadn't really got an aspirations of his own - he hadn't even had the chance to decide for himself that he was going to join the Navy. If he was honest with himself, he was actually a bit jealous that Buckles could choose whether he wanted to stay in the Navy or become a Marine, and that jealousy was making him rather dismissive of it all.

"We goin' back to the sickbay?" he asked, changing the subject.

"..Sure." He studied Button. He sensed something was wrong, but what exactly? He could not decide whether Button just thought it was a stupid idea. Probably he did. After all, he was a shipboy and would become a full fledged Tar one day. He'd be proud to be a sailor and not want to do anything with a lobster. He sighed. The boy could not understand his sentiments and he doubted really, whether his wishes would come to be anything at all anyway.

"..Sure, ah.. we's going. Right." He had what he needed and began to walk towards the sickbay again. "Hey Button." He murmured thoughtfully. "If ye could choose. What would you be? I mean.. in life? Would ye have gone ter sea, if you had another chance t' choose?"

"Di'n't get a chance t'choose this time," Terry said. "Got told, me an' Jacky Fisher done. An' Fingers too, I fink." He shrugged. "Telled you I's from the work'ouse, di'n't I?" he said. "One day a gennleman comes t'visit an' takes me an' Jacky an' some uvvers away wiv 'im to a big buildin' that's the M'rine S'ity. Wasn't there for long an' we was give all new clothes - trousers and shirts and stuff, and brung down to Portsmouf and signed onto Terpsy's books. Din't get no choice, see."

"..I know, But if you did. If say.. yer got t' choose.. like go back ter t' past right now, and were made possible ter choose what you wanted t' do. What would you have wanted to? Would yer choose ter go t' path you were made to go and end up on board a ship? Would you have tried goin' another way?" He ducked under a beam and finally had them both enter the sickbay, where he took to leaning against one side, keeping his bottom well free of any contact with the wall or floors. He did motion for Button to sit down if he so wished, and even pointed him a better spot for it.

"..I know that... if I knew I'd go ter m' other ship, I'd never let me be sent t' sea." He shrugged. "But that's.. if I had a choice in t' matter then!"

"I dunno. Dunno what else I could've done. Prolly become a chimney sweep." He pulled a face at the idea, and dropped to sit on the deck out of the way, pulling his bare legs in to sit cross-legged.

"What would you've done, if you'd bin able to pick?" he asked, looking up at the older boy in curiosity.

A chimney sweep. Ah. Of course Button would hardly have had any good options available to him. Steal, sweep or starve. Perhaps there was another option when he'd have been younger but De Guarde did not know that female beggars would often borrow or have children provided, so that their begging for money was more successful. When older, what could Button do? It was nothing easy.

He shook his head and then adjusted his shirt and the cuff on one of his sleeves. "Me?" That was a question begging to be thought about and given more consideration than he had given it so far. "Well.. I'.." He began. He could have been a priest, but he knew that he would not have wanted to take up a career of prayer. No. It did not sound at all appealing to him.

"I dunno. " If he could choose? "I might've jus' chosen ter go serve in t' army. Had myself a rank bought like. Perhaps cavalry." He murmured. "Or.. if I did go ter t' navy, I'd have chosen a different ship or made m'self good acquaintances 'fore I went to choose." Not that much of the above could be decided upon by a young child at all. "Well.. if I could have afforded it, I think..." But he was not sure. No. "I think.. I'd still have gone an' served. I've not got t' mind ter be a lawyer. Maybe... I'd have gone ter study fer a.. uh.. darnit. Now t' word has gone from me.. Like a surgeon but mightily better educated." He grinned.

All the different things that Buckles could have done if he'd had the chance. Lucky boy.

Well, actually, not so lucky. He didn't look that comfortable standing there like that. Terry winced in sympathy; being caned hurt a lot, never mind being whipped the way he'd been.

"D'you mind bein' in the Navy instead though?" he asked, leaning forward a bit and propping his narrow chin on his hands.