The Middies' Berth

"Being turned before the mast, not punishment?... you are right. ..it's far worse than that! The mere thought of it." He was visibly shaken and disgusted at the thought. "..'s dishonourable, awful. Humiliating. Yes, it's by far worse than punishment. Than the cat or the cane!"

"You have too great a trust in your ship, ..Thompson. Sayin' they'd make it to help me. No. Anything but that. It would be a malicious thing... but 'fcourse. one not happenin'. ..but even the thought,.. cruel!" He probably did not understand an ounce that Thompson had just told him, except perhaps that the ships were different.

"Sir... why do you think I trust me ship and me Captain?"

"..Don't know. You know no better?" He shrugged: ".. Do you trust your ship n' your captain?"

"I've been a Marine for twelve years, sir, and I've seen all sorts of captains and ships. And yes, I trust Captain Bolitho. I know that he wants the best for his ship and his men. And I know that sometimes what is the best don't seem like it at the time. We lost a good man off Cape Horn when the mizzen-mast went by the board, and Captain Aubrey had to cut the wreckage free to save the ship, knowing that the sailor would die."

".. He made an easy decision then." He sighed and closed his eyes. ".. it lasts too long.." He muttered. The battle was, and even talking could only help for so long. He was beginning to feel restless, and Thompson's suggestions of 'before the mastness' were starting to get to him again. And he wished to put those worries to rest. The only reason to do so, was of course, with the lieutenant or captain coming and telling him so. But as long as the battle would last, there wasn't a chance for that.

"Mebbe... mebbe that weren't such a good 'zample," Thompson said. "Like I said earlier, I ain't too clever at thinkin'. I just... I just want to help you a bit, to find your feet and become on of us, a proper Terpsy. An' I don't know how else I c'n do that."

" If you were more learnt, would you have written your mother?" He murmured. Thompson was an unlearnt man, a simple one. Perhaps it was just a bad example, or it was his nerves. Or.. he didn't know anymore.

"Yes." He'd last seen her... at the end of the Peace, about six years ago, and hadn't had a chance - or a friend who could write - to send her a letter.

The simple question made him swallow a little as he realised just how long it had been since he'd last seen home.

"..I will write for you, if you want." He paused a moment. " Untill you might know how to do yourself." His eyes were serious as they narrowed on Thompson. He saw the expression and understood that Thompson must've missed her and wished to send her word at least.

"....but.."

"You... you would, sir?" Thompson smiled shyly at the youngster. Then his face clouded a little. "But?"

"Yes I would but... could you give me your grog ration, full...half?.... n' not tell anyone?" He looked at Thompson. "..'s a fair price.. since it would be me supplyin' t' paper n' ink.. n' those don't come fer free either. But I won't ask yer to pay for it, or for me writing. 'cept for that." He looked anxiously at Thompson.

Grog was a common currency belowdecks, where money was scarce and had no buying value anyway. Thompson didn't mind the thought of trading some of his ration for being able to write home.

He nodded. "Yes, sir. Only... don't get too drunk." It was a friendly piece of advice, given in a friendly manner, and he wished someone had given him that same advice when he was the middy's age.

"I'll be sure of that." Or not, but he didn't quite care. The prospect of a fair trade had him smiling a bit too pleased. "Well then, I'll be writing fer you. Yer can count on that. " But not teach him, else his grog supply may run dry. It was easier to demand it in a form of a deal than just demand it without reason. Less possibilities that the one he traded with would run to complain to an officer. And it seemed that this was a lot more important here on Terpsy than it had been on his former ship.

"You... you'm a real nice young gentleman," Thompson said, his eyes shining a little in the gloom, despite the lump that had appeared in his throat. "An'... an' that's real kind of you, sir."

There was hope yet... that was the first real sign he'd seen that De Guarde could become a proper Terpsy, after all.

He didn't think it was something special that he did, or that it was a deed that could be called kind, so he was somewhat startled at how strongly Thompson reacted. he flushed and looked down. Kind. He was described as many things, and kind was not one of them. Not atleast since Confidence. Back home parents did say many things, some true and some not.

"'s allright. Private. " He added feeling awkward. "..m' not.. a nice ..."But he didn't know what to say and so he rather said nothing, his cheeks still red in embarrassement. He'd just offered to write for grog and Thompson had made him seem he did so much more.

"I... You middies write home ev'ry week, even when there ain't anythin' to say." He took a breath, trying to control his emotions. "I last saw my mum six years ago, and ain't anybody offered that before, who could write, I mean. An' you... you don't know how much it means t'me, sir."

"..Aye." He smiled. He wasn't one of them writing often, a bit out of habit that he picked up at Confidence, where he was still upset with his parents for sending him to 'hell' and a bit because he did not want to write when he had nothing to say and he couldn't complain. But every so often he wrote, and his last letter was to say he had been transfered to a new ship. The Terpsy.

"We don' write that much private but... " Six years was by far the longest time for one not to speak with their parents and it hushed the boy up for a moment. He blinked and looked at Thompson, not believing it at first. This was the man that was enjoying his childhood enough, by the word of it, and he loved his mother so..

".I understand, ..Thompson." He used his name as if to comfort him:" I'll write when ye'll want ter.. n' if ye get any post.. I can read it fer you." His mother was probably as unlearnt, but she could find someone whom she would pay to write for her, the youth had no doubt in that.

"Thank'ee, sir. Mister De Guarde. When... when this is all over, would you do it then, please, sir?" He looked shy as he asked the question, and more shy as he said the next words. "You'm got the makin's of a proper Terpsy, like I knew you had, sir."

"Sure, I can. Unless I be sent on duty that is. Then ye'll have ter wait till i'm free." He nodded lightly not minding that he were to be working on a letter so soon. He knew how to write and if he could use it , why not. It was making the private so happy that it made the boy still more embarrassed that he was the cause of it.

".." He didn't know how to take the compliment. He did not have the highest of opinions about the Terpsy, but knew that Thompson saying it meant it in the highest regards. The private did think of Terpsy as much. "..Thank you. Private Thompson." He murmured. "..though if t' Terpsy was as right, I do think you would not be needin' ter have me write." He smiled.

"Mebbe so, sir, but most of me mates can't read nor write... and I can't hardly ask Sarn't Quinn now, can I? An'... I'm sorry if'n I embarrassed you, sir. I never meant to."

But to have the chance to write home to his mother and sister... He didn't think he'd be able to stop grinning for a week.

"'s not yer fault, private.. 's not like ye've embarrassed me in the negative sort of way. ..'s jus' I wasn't. I didn't think it was that much ter ye. N' you look like I've given yer a life time of gold n' silver." He shook his head and when he chuckled it was a true sort of chuckle. Thompson had amused him.

"Jus' . .don't forget. Allright. I get t' grog." He looked serious at that."..n' nobody 'as ter know. if anybody asks.. where ye be gettin' written letters, you make summat up. Agreed?"

"Ain't anythin' wrong with payin' in grog," Thompson said, aware that maybe he shouldn't be saying this. "Lots of men pay for things that way, below decks. And there ain't anything wrong in folks knowin' you'm doin' me writin' for me unless.... 'less you'm 'shamed to help me? An' I'm sorry if that's what it is, sir. I don't mean to 'shame you, like."

"No. I'm not ashamed ter help you." He answered more firmly than he had wished to. "I wouldn't have thought ter suggest it, if it shamed me in any way.. yer know me that much, don't ye." He looked at the private, his gaze strong and intense.

"Jus'.. ..the officers may not be as happy ter hear 'bout it..t' grog pay, not ter writtin'.. n' Jack Tars.. n' even lobsters have tongues.. sometimes far too long fer their good bein'. ..Though.. I might be givin' them too much credit fer bein' smart." He shifted and felt more relaxed against the marine.

" What do Tars on Terpsy pay in, other than with grog?"

"Baccy, sometimes. Or doin' odd jobs... like, if mebbe one man can sew neater than someone else, and wants summat, he'll offer to do a bit of sewin', like. Or us... if someone can't pipeclay too well, but can polish brass, he'll arrange to swap with someone else who can pipeclay. That sort of thing. An' the officers don't mind... so long as a man can do his job properly when he needs to, anyway."

He felt the middy relax against him and shifted his arm a little to be more comfortable for both of them.

"..like ..we did then. Me bein' able ter write 'stead of you." He touched his hand to his forehead and then rubbed his finger light against the bridge of his nose before sliding it across to his temple. " Wot's takin' them so long." He complained, though he had more than enjoyed the company he was having.

"..'s like they don' think' of fightin' but are goin' bout drinkin' tea." He felt warm and comfortable and he had even forgotten mostly about his sore bum. The later showed on his face which was relaxed and glad except for the present complaint of course.

"So... how can pipeclayin' even be a hard kin' of job?"