The Morning After - day

The doctor had given order that the boy was to be moved to the sick berth where he could be properly treated.

The midshipmen that were still gathered looked on with relief. Not that they would expect more to happen here, but they were well pleased to be on their way. Atleast that thought went for the most of them. Fletcher particularly has lost his apettite and now one would wonder when he would regain it again.

Probably, soon.

Dunnock looked to his two seniors. He knew how much Kinsella had been bothered by the name that the new middie was making for them. Before the officers, infront of the seamen and even the guests that they were transporting, the army. He had overheard the discussion that boy had with Chandos. Hushed and harsh whispers perhaps, but the two midshipmen agreed. They were rather unhappy, no.. very unhappy with the boy's conduct. Fletcher on the other hand could feel some pity. Though fear of the boy still came first. He touched his shoulder where the youth had dug his fingers in. It still hurt and he could bet that there were small bruises there too.

Between them, Johnson and Higgins were able to heft the middie up and carry him away. The sawbones had already gone ahead of them and the awkward trio followed him as best they could. Johnson felt a little disappointed now that the punishment was over. He felt no pity for the midshipman and wouldn't make any special effort to coddle the boy once the sawbones was finished with him.

Assuming of course that the midde was foolish enough to come anywhere near him again!

"..slower.. please....c-careful." The boy had finally spoken a pained expression on his face. His voice was timid, soft, light and barely audible.

Just as he spoke he realised how dumb the request had been. Especially to this pair, and worse so to the corporal. He grit his teeth and pursed his lips.
He watched as they've gone, sparing a glance to the other middies shamefully. He saw Yates there too and looked away abruptly.

"All right, Mister De Guarde, up here on the table. The rest of you, out." Dr. Crozier gave the marines a mild glare - not that he blamed them, for the boy had clearly had it coming. But what a wretched business. He had seen the boy's existing scars and had felt disgusted by the whole sorry tradition. When he had finished dealing with the wounds, he sighed and told the midshipman that he could dress himself again. He made a pretense of tidying the cabinets until the boy was presentable again.

"Mister De Guarde. You don't have to answer this question if you don't want to, but I have to ask. How many times have you been beaten with a cane?"

The doctor was careful enough so the midshipman relaxed. He kept his gaze firm on the opposite wall, his lips tight against one another, his hands gripping at the table, knuckles white. But he was not tense because of Dr. Crozier. Only when the pain was worse like. When the doctor finished the boy was startled but extremely grateful that the man had turned and left him there to dress himself.

It was a hard and slow process, where the breeches were pulled up so tenderly as if he was dressing up a most fragile a vase. He fastened them later, and buttoned the flap breathing in harshly, for the course fabric touched against his treated wounds.

He watched the doctor come again and listened silently to his question. He felt wretched at the moment, as he had always done, and tired. This was a new surgeon. His previous, their previous never gave much of kindness but solely a work of a professional.. and lots of laudanum. Considering that, would he get any?
He was startled.

"..." He was deciding whether to answer. The surgeon was a different person than a midshipman, a sailor or marine. He was somehow bound by different rules. Wasn't he? "..why do you wish to know that?" He prolongued his answer, still deciding. It wasn't a secret and the doctor would probably be able to read it, he knew he had written his times in himself.

Why indeed? It was a difficult question to answer, and Crozier wasn't sure that his own curiosity had not prompted him to pry. Medically, it did not matter how many times the boy had been caned. But mentally and emotionally, how had it affected De Guarde? Were the beatings a symptom or a cause? But as surgeon, was De Guarde's mental and emotional state any of his concern? Perhaps... if it was going to interfere with the running of the ship.

Having overcome his brief hesitation, Crozier answered authoritatively, "Because I am a surgeon."

A fair answer. He was a surgeon, a different man to others.

".." How hard it was to answer though, as if by admitting to those punishments he was admitting to being a terrible person too. "...I've been caned over the cannon.." He looked uncomfortable but he thought the only person he could trust to keep it silent, keep it to himself, was a surgeon. And he would only be interested in it from his professional view. Perhaps there was something wrong and the surgeon needed to know, so that he would know how to fix it.

"..fifteen times..." But that wasn't all. There were thinner scars too, scars different to the rest.

"And..."He looked again uncertain though also sad. "With t' Puss... eight times. About. I think." Eight different occasions. It was what the surgeon wanted to hear, right? Ofcourse you had those small smacks here and there, that were to liven up a middie, not needed for the captain's attention. Those were nothing though, quite unworthy of mention.

"I see," Crozier said, nodding thoughtfully. "And that was all on your last ship? The Confidence?"

"Yes, doctor. It was my first and only ship before coming here." He answered helpfully, finding the question easier than the one before.

"And how long were you aboard the Confidence?"

".. About two years." Looking thoughtful:".. Give or take..if you will." He continued to stand for it was least uncomfortable that way.

"I see," Crozier said again, thinking to himself. "And perhaps you can tell me about the other midshipmen. Were they good lads? Pleasant company?"

"..." At first he felt that it was not much of the surgeon's business how his fellow middies were, but it was more pleasant to talk here, and he was again reminded that the surgeon was a different man. He was interested in this from a medical point of view and other than in healing his ailments he was hardly connected with his daily life.

"..no. We lived and worked together." He frowned recalling. "But we weren't a company like. We've all gotten in trouble many a time and we've had a hirearchy of our own. 's why I say not company, not friends.. " He shrugged lightly :" But that's normal like, no? "

And with his mind distracted he tried to return it on proper track :" Well, so.. we lived alongside n'.. if you were older than the others, you could tell them what to do, and if you were younger you had to listen and do so.. It was favours n' seniority like."

He nodded softly trying to elaborate :" See.. if I were the youngest I'd have to wait for t' best pieces ter be taken.. n' only as last could I take what was left. if I was most senior though, then I'd have others shine me shoes, n' have me things ready n' clean. N' if somebody said no.. I would have others that woul' help me set him proper!" He shrugged faintly. "..some were allright like..but .. but there was our senior, he was daft you know...daft like , hadn't passed t' exam. Twice like. N' he was oldest.. but meanest too! We've never gotten along. N' he loathed it most if you rubbed it in. That he was still a middie. Not a lieutenant. Still a middie!" How odd it was that this felt good to be shared. And it felt only the surgeon could listen and forget it easily.

Dr. Crozier frowned thoughtfully. "That sounds like an unpleasant experience. But perhaps the lieutenants were kinder?"

"The lieutenants enforced discipline sir. They weren't there to be kind and considerate parents, but to see that the ship ran smoothly. They have greater authority of course." Feels more at ease with the conversation. "Stricter like, but ..well they were as lieutenants should be."

"Yes, of course. And how did they enforce discipline?"

".. by punishment of course. How else, doctor?" He looked somewhat confused why the surgeon would ask such a silly question. "And shouting.. but that was jus' so we could hear them rightly."

"I see, I see," he answered vaguely. The boy's answers had given him much to think about, but perhaps now was not the time for a lecture. "Well, I hope you'll find yourself fortunate - and happy - to be on the Terpsichore, which is a different sort of ship. I won't say better," he added to prevent De Guarde from protesting the merits of his former ship, "but different. You'll soon see that, I think. Learning a new ship is like meeting a new person. Not everyone is the same, and it takes a little while to get to know their ins and outs. Just watch, observe for a while. See if you can spot the differences, and adapt yourself to them, all right?" He added with a light smile, "And hopefully I will not have to see you in here again for any new medical complaints. Now off you go."

"I've spotted a difference alright. In my own ship they'd never throw me over board." He answered somewhat stiffly, and so quickly he was returning to his normal self. Spiteful and unpleasant. He made a few slow steps and then turned to the doctor: "Before I go, do I get any laundanum? I've gotten it at me ol' ship. Just for the pain. "

Crozier frowned. It was unnerving how accustomed this boy was to the procedures of punishment. "No, Mister De Guarde, it will not be necessary for twelve strokes. Now run along."

The boy's face contorted into a glare. So this is how it was then? The doctor shouldn't have bloody cared how many strokes there were, but should've given him what he asked for. To think he had told him something as private. The boy was brimming with anger inside. Foolish idiot. The doctor wanted entertainment with a story and gave nothing in return!

He hadn't said anything as he turned on his heel and he left the room in a huff, ignoring the pain for the sake of annoyance and anger. Blasted, cursed, bastard of a surgeon!