4th June: With the rats, but no cats

After what was probably a third time, that he had made sure the table was clean, the bottles and newly cut strips of canvas, stored away, that any of the injured were made comfortable and were resting, De Guarde believed it was time he took some time for himself. He was still thrilled about the news of his dear friend 'rising in ranks' and he was feeling somewhat better, with the new dose of laudanum to keep his aches from bothering him too much. He still could not sit, but the wounds were healing nicely, and the rough fabric of his slops no longer caused him great discomfort, nor, for the most part, did it try to cling to his bum and stain with any blood from the open cuts.

He sighed contently. The hold was a better place to seek comfort and some sort solitude. Not many men came below and after the tease of the story in which he spoke of great ghostly evil that roamed the below decks, he believed that some had chosen to keep away for just that reason.

Even so, whatever the reason he relished in the dark and just the feeling that he was out of sight and could, for a short while, be with himself. He could not deny being unsatisfied with his situation. Though, now that he was trying to do his best, he hoped that the officers would notice and his path to becoming a midshipman or a marine, whichever did come, would be short and quick to conquer. He settled himself down on his belly taking care to find a spot which would not leave his white trousers stained as that of a coal master. With a fold of canvas he brought with him, he made himself even more comfortable. He pushed it under his elbows. Sure, he could not read here below, but he found it was better to write in the sickberth anyhow. When no injured were thinking of needing the assistance of himself and the surgeon, the hours were light to bear, and writing or reading made the time pass by quickly.

He had been in the marine's mess briefly. In fact, he had just come from there. Unlike the other Tars he was much more comfortable (and he was certainly not too unusual to come) to leave and enter the area usually governed by the marines. Alas, there were three drummers and one man who was no longer a private, that he came to see.

Well, all quiet now. He sighed contently. Peace and quiet. Sometimes that was good too, especially on such a busy ship.

From his pocket he brought a bit of wood. He was hopeless at it. Though, to be honest, he had not tried it all that much. Had not practiced, nor carved. He had no time and admittedly when he did, his mind strayed to other things. But, just as he lay there, he found that carving in the dark was rather dangerous to his fingers as it was really impossible to make anything well, when unable to see it.

With a sigh he returned the bit of wood to his pocket and rolled on his side, closing his eyes. He listened to the creeks of the ship, the squeaks of the rats, the shouts from above, the whisper of the sea, or perhaps it was only his own beating heart.

Without knowing why, he began to hum a melody. At first it was just a tune, no words to speak of. Then those were muttered softly. He was not missing a note, or making it dreadfully wrong. His voice was still not cracked and broken.

"Are you going to Scarborough fair,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Remember me to one who lives there,
She once was a true love of mine."

He made a face at the last words, shook his head, but continued with a few more verses. Then he became quiet again, mulling over the song, bt more importantly, on which he felt like picking as second. Here, below, in the hold he felt at ease. He knew he was a fool for singing, but it had been a while since he took up an instrument and played it, longer still, that he had sung. Laudanum might have been in part to blame for his lack of resistance against such an idea. Well, it did noone harm.

And then came the next song to mind, and with a faint smile he nodded to himself. While above there was not many who cared, none of the officers who he believed took notice, here his audience the rats, he felt at home. If he ever had told his parents so, they would have thought him raving mad. He did not write them letters of how he was disrated, nor ever did he tell them of any of his canings, here or back on his old ship. What they were concerned he was still a young lad, a midshipman on the way to becoming a lieutenant. Much a friend of those he served under, and those that served him. A bright young gentleman whose life at sea was an adventure, a joyous event, which brought prize money even in the dangerous events of battle.

He did not know whether they believed any of this. Whether they were informed , perhaps even by captain Bolitho, that he was no longer what he prided himself enough to be. He wondered if they would have sent him a letter thus, to tell him that they knew, if they had known. Perhaps not.

He sighed and recounted the several songs that he learned or knew. Most were too merry, too light hearted for his current mood. But there was one, that he remembered, that had struck him as well enough. There were a few beady eyes of rats staring up at him, curious at this strange figure, but calmed because there was no cat to chase them around just at that time.

He opened his mouth and again began to sing:
"As I was a-waking down by the lock hospital,
Black was the night, and cold was the day,
Who should I see there, but one of my shipmates.
Wrapped in a blanket far colder than clay.

He asked for a blanket to wrap 'round his head,
likewise a candle to light him to bed;
His poor heart was breaking, his poor head was achin',
For he's a young sailor cut down in his prime." And so the song continued, till the last words were sung, and then the boy was quiet staring into the dark, lost in thought again.

Time might have flown, as usually it did, but he knew that he had some left before he needed to get back into the bustle of the lower decks, the bright sun of the upper. He frowned and nestled himself back down. He made sure not to have his back in a bad arch which might only cause him some discomfort at first, but in time prevent hm from getting up fully.

It would be a long time yet, till they were back on land again. He did not mind that. He enjoyed the sea, and only disliked some of the company. There was excitement he would have cherished better if he had the former place. It was all the better if he did not need to face the officers too much though, they were scary beings which could and would do things that he could do nothing about.

He touched the fabric that stretched across his rump and winced. He had to make a plan of what to do the next time they were gathered like that to be washed. But what could he do? Running away on a ship was rather foolhardy. Eventually everybody would get caught. They would not forget about one boy, if it was the sort that everybody knew about, well enough. He was at least not insignificant. He scoffed. Hiding being out of the question, was there anything, anything at all that he could do, apart from...

Wait. No. That would not work, as he had been considerably clean up till the wash up, and they still demanded his presence. Just making sure to be fully clean would do nothing. Accepting his fate?.. Asking to be last? Or was being first the better choice?

A rat observed the lad. He was no different than the others. A scary human being, who shooed the likes of itself from food, who fed cats and encouraged them to hunt the vermin. This rat was a small thing though, older than a babe, younger than an adult. It moved closer and stopped, sniffing the air. There was no cat to be had. Good. The young thing looked harmless enough, though many a rat learned that it was not always so. Boys did catch rats and there was a mean dish to be made out of them. But this one did not look hungry.

It squeaked and turned when the boy shifted. There was something that its little nose did not miss. A scent of blood, dried up and some fresh. It lured the little rat closer. Perhaps this boy would die and then there'd be a splendid feast for all of them. Mmmm, that was a thought. Come boy. Drop dead already, there was a family of rats, several families, to be fed.

The squeak did not go unnoticed. De Guarde turned. There was movement to the left of him, too small to be coming from a dangerous source. He smiled when in the dark he saw a pair of beady eyes staring back at him. He should have shooed it away, yelled at it or threw something at the poor thing. Instead he was watching it.

He reached into his pocket and from it, he brought some crumbs. It was the best he had on him, but that he offered the little thing. He threw them closer, and watched as the rat backed away at first. "It's a'right. I ain't going t' harm ya." He whispered. "Should, but won't. "

What was this boy on about. Ah, he did want to cause harm. Here he was throwing something! As the crumb rolled closer the rat sniffed it and with more delight realised it was food. It gobbled it up looking up curiously. There was a few more crumbs not too far away.

Perhaps, if there was some effort made they could be reached? The rat scrambled closer, feasted on the next, and then another. Before it noticed it was already very close to the boy. It squeaked and bared its little teeth, trying to appear bigger and scarrier, but feeling very frightened for its life.

De Guarde waited patiently, offering the rat a few more crumbs and sparing some for when it would dare to come even closer. He was doing all this on instinct rather than any motive that would have been of benefit to him. It was a great way to distract one's mind, he could be sure of that. The whole spectacle made him deaf to anything but the movements of the little rat. The animal moved again a little closer staring up at the boy.

"Was good?" He murmured softly. "Just don't get used to trusting all men, a'right? Others might want to eat you..." As if the little beasty understood what he had said.

The rat approached to fetch another crumb. It carried it away. But just as the boy waited it did not return.Even as minutes turned into more, the rat had gone with its prize and seemed satisfied to take what it could, but ignore the boy being so generous in turn. It squeaked perhaps once or twice, or maybe it was a different animal altogether.

There was a stir among the small beasts. If money was to be put on something, it was on the arrival of Miss Emily. The hunt was on, there was a precious gift more to be delievered to Mister Leat or one of the fortunates.

"...lovely." The rat would not return. Be it that it was miss Emily's fault, scaring it away, be it that the rat was just a greedy little thing and now no longer hungry, would return only when it was. Even with the few squeeks in the distance, and a sound of clutter which suggested the cat was indeed there and might have only slightly misjudged her landing, the hold was relatively peaceful and quiet. There were the creeks and the sounds coming from above, the sounds that were normal for the ship, but which he could easily ignore. It could not get much quieter than it was. He supposed he could sleep here until he was to return to his duties.

It was dark enough that he could not be disturbed, if a man would not have gone straight across his path. It was nice, really. Nicest it could be, lying on the hard ground and surrounded by a very typical scent. Some of wood, some of tar, some perhaps of the damp which could never be completely avoided.

He could back to the sickbay and write there. Sleep there and then be about his business again. Get a dose that might ease his discomfort. That would be quite nice. And then,..why was he making plans of a day which would be as any of the ones before? Or after? All he spend his mind on really, was, what he would put in his letter. Another beautiful lie which would make the life at sea sound like a fairytale and himself appear a successful boy. Another lie, which would make his parents believe that he was on his way of becoming a lieutenant.

Of course he could suggest that he might have different interests. Give hint of his wishes, but no... it was better to lie. easier, for as long as it lasted and the captain did not decide , or any of hte lieutenants, to break the news to his folk. If and when that happened, he would be happier to know even if he was unable to prevent it. To know, so that his next letter would be.. full of reason and promise.

The little boy smelled of injury. A peculiar smell, that. Was he dying? He was seen earlier moving quite lively but now he scarcely moved. Perhaps an innocent nibble here and a nip there could make certain that he was either dead or still in a shape to cause harm.

With tiny steps the rodent made its way towards the sleeping boy, stopped, ran across the ground. Stopped. Hid, for the scent of danger grew quite strong. A shadow of a feline was then seen. The cat however found a better prey and soon bolted after one of its brethern. The rat was safe and so continued on its way towards its 'carcass'.

Up the pant leg it went. It squirmed its way in a few parts and panicked once. But the boy seemed still quite harmless. There, closer to the exposed..well not so exposed wound. There were a few cuts lower on the leg, not covered as that of the posteriors.

The rat gave one such an experimental nibble. Nope, the boy did not move. Dead. Excellent. So warm still, just moments from death!

It gave another nibble and froze. The body did move and the fabric came somewhat tigher across its back. Then with a third tug at the cut a hand came to swat at the spot and the leg jerked forward. The rat panicked.

What on.. OW. That hurt. It took Mathew a few moments to realise that the pain was not something from his dream but that there was something very alive squirming in his pantleg, going about his thigh.

Something very alive and furry and rather frightened by the time the boy began to hop about trying to loose its grip. "Out! Freckin' beast!" He hissed. The nerve of it! He had only fed it a few moments ago and now. Now it was trying to eat him!

He swatted and winced and cursed , but the rat in all its panic, wanted to go further up. Only it did not find a way out that it hoped for. It bit again, and the lad was quite fortunate for some of those bandages. They saved his skin from worse injury.

"Off! You fiesty monster!" He grabbed hold of the furry mass, right through the fabric. That was all fine and all, but how could he ease it downward, exactly?

Atleast he could stop hopping now. He hesitated. With one valiant jump and thump, he released the rat praying that it could not catch hold of anything until it was safe on the floor.

As luck would have it,.. he was for once right. The animal squeaked most viciously and bolted for the closest dark turn leaving the boy alone with his thoughts and upset.

"...bloody thing." He muttered. without further ado, he decided he was perhaps the wiser to head on deck. Maybe he could stop at the marine's mess and then... then back to sickbay to work and rest. He stumbled before making a further few steps. Bloody damn everything.

The rat soon after met an unfortunate end at the claws of miss Emily. She must have been quite satisfied with that day's catch, though what happened to the corpse of the rat and whether it became a gift to a certain lieutenant was not something the animal would live to see. With its neck broken, its small body dangled quite limply in the mouth of the cat.

As for the lad, try as the hairy beasts might, they could not find him below, only his scent, which would linger a while longer.

When he arrived in the marine's mess, it was near empty. Tom Oxley must have been on duty. As several of the men, and some of the others had clearly chosen the light of day to finish up with their sewing, or mending of cloth. Thompson was not found there either. This made the boy frown. He had hoped to see him before he returned to the sickbay. With awkward steps he passed the few sea-chests and leaned against one, closing his eyes. It was starting to hurt worse again. The stirring of his rather vigorous hopping did not help matters much.

"George?" No. The man was not there. There were footsteps that he heard. And one of the marines entered, glanced at the boy, looked mildly surprised and then went for his chest in which he had searched for his kit. Acquiring this he turned towards the boy again, then with a disinterested shrug left.

With a faint sigh De Guarde made his way past the sea-chests again, made his way about the clutter which would not last there long, and with a faint sigh began the long walk back to the surgeon's own part of ship. Hopefully there were no injured men in need of care. Some more peace and quiet would do just fine now.