11th June; A Vinegar Cure-all

And here Thompson had thought blood was supposed to be thicker than water.

"Seems to me he's made one mistake an' cause he don't usu'lly get in trouble, not bein' that sort, he didn't know what to do over it," he said. "I'll have a word with Mister Sewell, though, an' see what can be sorted - if you'm proper set on shiftin', that is."

"Aye. I am." Andrew hesitated, then scowled. "Woulda reckoned any lad carryin' the name Shepherd would know better'n to turn to bein' a poxy lyin' coward, but seems I were wrong. Let him slum with his ilk, if that's as good's he really is."

Thompson leaned against the fat post of the foremast where it passed through the deck, and folded his arms. "Right... 'Cept Thomas here, not bein' so likely to get into scrapes as you, dunno what to do when he does get into 'em, an' likely panicked over what me an' Corporal Johnson was goin' to say an' do." There was a very slight stress on the word 'Corporal' - Thompson had noted the absence of the honorific, even though he was still getting used to being addressed by it.

"I'll have a word with Sergeant Quinn an' Mister Sewell an' you can shift your hammock an' mess by supper if they give the say-so," he added. "What about your dunnage? I know you share a sea-chest, too."

This time, Andrew curled his lip. "Proves he ain't learned a thing what I've taught him. Devil rot him. That new lad, the Irish one, he's got his own sea-chest. I'll go splits with him. Corporal."

Trailing behind the two, Thomas was hard-put to keep a neutral expression on his face. He should have expected this, if nothing else.

Thompson let out a huff of air. "Don't be too hard on him. He's your own brother - an' we've all made mistakes." He glanced behind Andrew to his twin, trying to catch Thomas' eye. "I know I have, for one. Ain't stopped me gettin' these." He tapped the chevrons bright on his right sleeve. "Thing is to learn from 'em, an' not to do it again. I reckon you'm both sensible enough lads to learn from 'em an' not do it again."

He pushed away from the mast. "Let's get back aft an' sort your dunnage an' messin' arrangements out, then."

Neither Shepherd offered an immediate response to that, though there was a quiet huff from Andrew. For Thomas' part, he did not feel like anything he did say would be sensible, so he held his silence. Both followed in Corporal Thompson's wake like a pair of ducklings with ruffled feathers.

Thompson shrugged. There was nothing else to say about it, it seemed. He just hoped that the boys would sort their differences out, and soon - and without resorting to their fists again.

(They head aft here.)