June 6th: Cleaning Up A Mess

Theodore hadn’t had a good night’s sleep –he still missed his brothers and mother, the whole day consisted of him running errands and cleaning messes causing him to be even more dog-tired than he had been ever in his life. Theodore had just eaten dinner when he had been told that someone had made a mess on the Foc’sle. Theodore couldn’t wait till there was a moment in which he could hide somewhere or, at least, the moment he would go to bed.

Once at the Foc’sle, Theodore began to scrub away what looked like barf –someone had thrown up. With a bucket of water next to him and a wet rag, he began to scrub. He, himself, was having trouble from not throwing up from the very sight!

((I hope I did this correctly. Please correct me if wrong =D))

As the day had worn on, the number of men stricken with the flux seemed to rise, and with it the number of men forced to queue up for the heads. Fingers himself remained unaffected, for which he was quite grateful. Even though such a state meant that he, along with most of the other boys, were excused from their usual duties so they were free to dash about the ship cleaning up one spot of mess after another.

It was enough to make Fingers wish he didn't have to grow up. Which was a wish he had often as it happened. Being adult hardly looked fun at all. Being sick like this, having to work so much, worrying about girls... no, Fingers was perfectly happy to be a ship's boy and have only a few responsibilities to claim.

He pattered up the forrard ladder with a bristle-brush and bucket gripped awkwardly in his one good hand. The surgeon was insistent that he keep his left arm in the sling. That having only one hand meant doing anything was twice as hard did not seem to matter to the sawbones.

"They gotchyoo up here too, Teddy?" Fingers asked, grinning at the sight of the other boy, busy swabbing clean a patch of foc's'le deck.

A voice had spoken to him; well… it wasn’t a voice but a person for they had said his name! And that person had caught Theodore by surprise. Theodore had been deep in his thoughts about his family until he had heard his nickname. He turned around to see Fingers.

“Of course, they have.” Theodore bitterly responded to the younger boy, still scrubbing away and feeling rather nauseous. “Everyone seems to be dying on this blasted ship. Good riddance.”

It was an over exaggeration on the boy’s part, but he was both tired and feeling funny in the stomach.

Dying? Fingers' grin faltered a bit. None of the lads had died from this, had they? No. He'd have known if they had. It would have been impossible to not know.

"Mebbe they's some wantin' to die," he said cheerfully as he set down his own bucket nearby. "But that's no kinda fun, izzit?"

“No, I guess not.” He apprised. Theodore himself didn’t want to be on the ship, he wasn’t used to slaving away. Somehow he thought working at factories better than working on a ship. A ship was a small area with crowds. And in these crowds were moronic fools, lack of good food and sicknesses.

Theodore had momentarily stopped scrubbing when Fingers had spoken -completely forgetting that he had to continue working, “But why would anyone in their right mind want to die?”

How he wished the sawbones would let him be rid of this hateful sling! It was impossible to do anything with his left arm bound up in it.

"Dunno," Fingers answered, dipping the brush into the bucket and setting to work scrubbing at a fresh stain of something unpleasant on the deck. "But they prolly ain't in no sorta right mind if they does, mebbe."

“See, you’re not as stupid as I thought you once were. I can see you’re actually quite smart.” Theodore responded thinking what he was saying was more polite than rude, and still not getting to work on the scrubbing of the mess. He only watched the other boy clean away, “How did you manage to get your arm like that? Are you sure you can even clean? Or do any other work for that matter?”

Theodore imagined that the boy might have been in pain, “Do you want me to clean for you? Does it hurt much?”

The first comment brought a frown to Fingers' thin face. He wasn't stupid! Maybe he wasn't as smart as some of the adults, like Danver, or all-knowing like Mister Bush or even the captain, but he wasn't hopeless.

"Smart 'nuff to work fer the gunner," he stated. It wasn't easy work, either. Especially not with Mister Hennock teaching him bits and parts of the gunner's trade. Fingers swiped at his nose with his sleeve and went back to scrubbing, not sure if he liked Teddy so much anymore.

"I tripped onna bucket what was tipped over. Ain't bad 'nuff to stoppit workin', izzit?" He ground the brush over the deck, determined to show he was fit to be working and therefore useful.

Theodore thought to himself: Must a person be smart to work for the gunner? Perhaps they might, but I am still older than him. Gives me some bit of authority. Fingers was really working! Even if he had one arm only since the other was in a sling; whereas, Theodore was only sitting there and talking –perhaps he’d get in trouble or something because of it. Getting jealous of the other boy’s ability to work even when injured, Theodore began to scrub the mess even harder and thus applying more water which only made this a lot more wet.

“You tripped on a bucket?” Theodore didn’t know whether to laugh or to be concerned, “How long does it take for that to heal up? Do you know?”

"Dunno. 'Cept the sawbones sez it'll be a coupla days." Fingers shrugged and examined his progress. Whoever had soiled himself here certainly made a heavy mess with it.

"Ain'tchyoo bin sick too?"

“I haven’t been sick. No. But I feel ill now smelling in this spew.” Theodore answered. But Theodore hadn’t made the cleaning any better by adding more and more water, yet he had thought it would make a difference. Instead, the barf (or whatever one wishes to call it) had spread farther than the spot it had only once sat in. Theodore was very much disgusted by having to clean up someone else’s filth, even if it was his own or any of his brothers, he could have felt sick all the same.

Fingers’ arm would heal in a couple of days? Theodore thought that had it been himself who was in a sling, he wouldn’t have bothered with work. “But, still, why are you bothering with work? Wouldn’t you much rather lie down?”

Fingers looked surprised. "I still gots one hand, so's the sawbones sez I'm fit ferrit. Can't be slackin' onna ship, see. Bad luck!"

Theodore couldn’t help but laugh –disbelieving the other boy’s words, “Bad luck to rest when your ill or hurting? That’s a funny one.”

Wasn't that what he'd just said? Even though he couldn't see the humour in it.

"Aye. 'Sdes. Sommody gotta keep the deck clean, ain't they?" It was an ironic statement for Fingers, who ordinarily saw nothing wrong with skiving off. Except this time was different.

Theodore never was the sort that got along with other boys, he wasn’t good with socialising. Even his own brothers, he seemed to be the ‘mean’ one, he’d often read a book in the corner rather than play in their games.

“I guess I agree with you.” Theodore said scratching his head, “But come to think of it, I am getting sick just doing this sort of work. How about a break? We could play a game!”

Theodore got up from where he was previously working. It was clear that he was more suited for fun and games than he was for cleaning. He could care less about working for that moment, he wanted a short break. If he got in trouble for it, then fine –well, fine as long as he didn’t get pummelled to death.

"A game, is it?" repeated a voice coming from behind and above them. Lieutenant Deverel was standing there, holding another boy by the collar of his shirt. "I have a game for you. See who can avoid getting his ears boxed. There's another mess to be cleaned by the number three carronade." He released the other boy into their midst.

Terry had been minding his own business, and hadn't managed to get out of the way quick enough to avoid the Third Luff, whose hand had closed on his shirt collar, making him cringe.

And he was dragged to where Fingers and Teddy Dunsany were scrubbing the deck, and then pushed towards them, reflexively tightening his grip on the bucket and brush in his hands. It was the purest good luck he managed not to spill any water.

He glared at the deck... glaring at the Lieutenant would mean a whole world of trouble.

A game is it? Theodore heard a man’s voice say, then followed more words. There was also another boy just as fortunate as Fingers and himself. Theodore was frightened of getting into trouble despite his ‘rebellious’ (if one would call it that) sort of behaviour. The man’s ‘game’ didn’t sound nearly as fun as what Theodore had in mind. He wanted to ask if they could have a small break, but he doubted that would be granted.

“So, we have yet another mess to clean?” Theodore grumbled under his breath -to himself more than anyone- and he began cleaning the mess he had been previously cleaning.

He had been about to agree wholeheartedly to Teddy's suggestion when a new voice - a distinctly officerly voice - beat him to it. Fingers winced. At least it wasn't Mister Leat, or Mister Bush. Though of course Mister Bush himself never troubled himself with the ship's boys.

"Aye aye, sir," he squeaked and cast a wide-eyed glance at Button. What was he doing on deck anyway?