The Day After

The rest of their work was rather uneventful. None of the sailors was bathed in salt water, though twice or thrice , young Mathew was tempted. His hands ached as much as had his shoulders and back, and he felt even more tired than before. Complaining less, but near earning himself a starter, when he had done his work slower than he ought to have.

But as the sailors were relieved the boy was brought back to his livelier self, and it took less time for him to be below decks again, than it had ever for him to do any of the demanded tasks.

Once down the ladder though, his motions became slower, and his hands were nursed with a gentle rub, gazing down at the rawer skin and frowned. He looked up then, and walked a few steps. He sighed. Then walked further. His first intention was to unroll his hammock and hang it up and then crawl up in it and sleep.

Instead though he heard noise coming from further ahead from their mess, the one he had known to be of the marines. He bit at his lip. He could see if perhaps Thompson was there. He scolded himself for even considering seeing the marine now, but then the want to have an ear to complain to won.

He scampered ahead and then took a few steps forward. "Um..., hello.. who's there?" He asked peeking into the marine's mess.

Thompson had taken his crossbelt plate off the pipeclay-whitened belt, and was polishing it, dipping his rag into his mug and then into the tin of brickdust before rubbing at the brass in small circles to bring the shine back. A small voice made him look up.

"Hello, there," he said, seeing de Guard looking in curiously.

His unusually bad mood hadn't lasted long, but he remembered his last words to the lad: "When you'm ready to learn properly, find one of us." He wondered what had brought the lad aft, to the Marines' part of the messdeck.

Well, wondering wouldn't answer the question. "Can I help you?" he said instead, even as Grattan looked up from pipeclaying his own crossbelts and raised an eyebrow questioningly at Thompson.

De Guarde glanced from Thompson to Grattan and his heart fell a little. With it it seemed, as well the courage he had been harbouring to even approach the marine's deck. He bit at his lip touching the bruise , granted by Chase , and was about to turn before he stopped himself again.

"..Yes. ..Chase needs to talk to you." He lied, shifting uncomfortably. ".. In our mess. He looked to the floor angrily. He hadn't needed courage earlier, when he was still a midshipman and felt himself a fool that he did now. His eyes narrowed and he spoke more clearly.".. .Actually.. I want to talk to you.. " His eyes briefly moved to Grattan:".. Without disturbance." Meaningfully to the man, as if ordering him to up and leave.

Grattan shrugged and turned his attention back to what he was doing.

Thompson sighed. "Where do you suggest we go, then?" he said, wondering how the lad would fare when he realised the lower decks had even less opportunity for privacy than the middies did. He'd prefer to stay below deck if possible, so he could carry on with what he was doing. It would be possible to do it topside, though the wind would probably mean he'd lose some of the brickdust from his tin. That was nothing that he couldn't cope with, hadn't coped with before. But where did the lad want to go?

Fixing a glare at Grattan, he frowned, seeing that the man would not leave or abide to the whims of a sailor, where before it would've needed but to tell a man to leave and they would. With his frown deepening he shrugged:".. I'm open to a suggestion.. were ye ter have any."

Taking a step closer to see what Thompson was doing, he peered with the mildest of interest at his hands. "... but now. Now later."

Thompson shrugged. "Topside then. Less'n you can think of a better place." He wiped the brickdust from the crossbelt plate back into the tin and put the lid on it, folded the plate into the rag and looked at the lad. "Foc'sle. Folks won't disturb us there." He stood up, opened his sea-chest and fished his forage hat out from under Vining's white canvas drill jacket, then gathered his things together.

"Still needs polishin', lad, topside or not."

"Someplace we can sit..." He looked to Grattan and then Thompson. " Jus' come a'ready!" He looked impatient and felt that the more time they were to waste below , the less time he would have to talk with the marine. " Can't we go anyplace further below? ..we can take a lantern..."

"Only if you want to sit down in the hold. An' we've got the whole watch below, anyway. I ain't on duty for... well, I got this whole watch below. That's eight bells where I ain't 'spected to be somewhere. There ain't no need to rush."

Thompson didn't mind where they went, not really, but it seemed the lad did. He shrugged. "Topside, or hold, then? Ain't nobody goin' to listen in, either place."

"Hold. " He felt more at ease somewhere that he could neither be heard, nor could he be seen. Solitude in the dark was better than company in the winds even if sound was lost both ways.

"I'ma goin' ter sleep what I can afford... later." He spoke and a large yawn that was hidden behind the back of his arm made clear how sleepy the boy was. He had a bit of dark under the eyes, and looked a fair grumpy young man, even as he stood there as impatient as he could be. "Don't take so long... might turn' grey before ye move a step." He complained shuffling out of Thompson's way to follow in his wake.

"You ought to stop tellin' folks older'n you what to do, y'know," Thompson said mildly, taking a lantern and leading the way down to the hold. He felt along the beam for a hook and hung the lantern on it, settling down cross-legged on the decking and getting his things out to carry on with what he'd been doing.

"All right, what do you want to talk to me about?" he asked, looking up at the boy.

He leaned himself to the side, adjusting his slops so that they didn't pull and press at his still sore bottom, and looked more seriously at Thompson. Earlier he had ignored his suggestion, eyes narrowed with purpose on where they were going.

"..Good yer here." He muttered and shifted himself again on the floor with a frown. "..that... thing ye needed me ter write for you.. When do yer need it." He looked from the marine. "..s' one of the things I wanted ter... talk to you about..."He added more subtly.

Now, that was something Thompson had been trying to work out. Why was de Guarde prepared to write for him? Just for his grog ration, as Mister Yates had suggested, not knowing his shot in the dark (which was all it was, now Thompson had had time to think about it) had hit home? Or... did he really appreciate the fact Thompson hadn't seen his family for six years, and hadn't had the chance to write to them in all that time?

He lowered his cleanind rag to the deck and looked at the boy. "I ain't decided what to say, yet," he said, and took a breath. "I don't want you to get in trouble f'r bein' drunk on my tot as well as yourn, neither. You... you've seen the cat often enough to know you don't want it acrost your back, I'm sure."

"Yer not asked ter worry 'bout me drinkin'..." He snapped back, harsher than he meant to. He looked angry, as if something that Thompson had said, had offended him greatly. "..what has you havin' second thoughts all of a sudden?" He asked even more harshly. "I've offered to write for you... and I've asked fer payment.. 's not for you to debate whether t' payment is good fer me or no. ..Ye've said it yeself. 'tis how sailors pay below decks."

He had wanted more drink than he received as a ration. It did not work with Yates, it had failed with Fletcher, and he hadn't dared try to bully a sailor into giving him his tot when he was still a midshipman. Still worse it was that now even the marine was doubting it.

"If you want to have the cat scratch your back, that's your business, not mine. Though you might feel different when you'm stuck in irons outside the middies' berth, knowin' it's Defaulters at eight bells and it'll be twelve stripes."

He sighed, moving his things to one side and shifting position to sit, leaning against the ship's side, one knee raised and the other leg stretched out in front of him.

"Why do you need more'n your tot?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle. "You wanted Mister Fletcher's, and Mister Yates's. An' now you want mine. Why?"

"I wont get caught.."He answered stiffly, though the thought of the cat had crossed his mind and it wasn't something he had taken lightly. Remembering the times when drunk sailors were paying the price for their poor judgement he thought of the cat and how often it had been granted, how terrible the man looked. Something he hadn't thought of before as a thing that was dangerous for him, if only because he was a midshipman.

"...I want ter.." He murmured defensively to the question. "...Who's told you I wanted Mr. Yates's.. or Mister Fletcher's?" He added, suspiciously, his eyes narrowing again at the marine. "..'s nothin' to you if I have it.. is it?.. we've had a deal!" He balled his hands into fists and looked frustrated as he moved again to what he hoped would be a more comfortable a possition.

"I want ter.."

"I was on deck at the time, an' saw what happened." Which was partly true, but only partly. "An' I said I ain't thought what to write, yet."

He looked at the boy. "Is that the only reason you offered to write for me? 'Cause you want me tot?" He was hurt by the thought, and it showed in his voice and face.

"..." He looked up at the man and at first wished to be spiteful and reply with a yes, if only to hurt one that he could. Feeling the opportunity, as if power was there, for him to grasp and bring down another man, yet at the same he found himself shaking his head. "..No... 'twasn't just for that."

He touched his temple and kept his gaze cast to the ground, before he spoke again:"...'s not jus' fer t' tot.." As if wishing to emphasize his earlier statement, make it as clear to Thompson as he could've to a child.

"'doesn't mean.. 's for free... but." He didn't understand why he had cared whether the marine would feel upset with him or not, and least he understood why he was trying to calm him and ease his mind of such a suspicion.

"You think me a drunk?" He asked boldly then, with both reason to change , divert their thoughts from the accusation as well as to toss the ball of accusations back at the lobster.

Well, that was something, a bit of reassurance.

"No... but I think you'm goin' the right way to end up one. One tot's enough for a grown man most times, an' to have more'n one... well, that's somethin' that folks value 'cause it don't happen so often." He paused, resting one elbow on his upraised knee, and linked his hands together. "You write f'r me, an' I give you my tot. I won't need another letter writin' for... ages. An' what are you goin' to do 'tween now, and then?"

He hadn't thought of that. The boy looked startled at the marine and shifted uneasily in his place. "I've hoped..." He began, chewing at his lip as he searched for words that would make his plight one of reason. "..Yer... payin' fer paper n' fer writing.. that's.. more than one tot." He hastened to say.

"More than one.. n'. .if ye 'um want ter write more... than jus'... " He looked up at Thompson, like a young negotiator at a fair, selling a delicately carved table and explaining its price.

"I'm no drunk.. n' I won't be one. " He insisted stubbornly, though he felt that the last few days had been the worst, for he had drunk little and most had been against him having more than a tot or even not one of that. "..Ye've said yer goin' ter give me your rations... in plural.. as .. more than one.. n' I'll be writtin' ye a letter. And I'll be 'fcourse writtin' more if ye'll want ter... but even for one, ye have promised.. more than one tot!"

"You said... you said one tot, or not even so much." He shrugged. "An' I won't be bullied, neither. It ain't fair of you to offer to do me summat I can't do f'r meself, then keep threatenin' not to do it 'less I give you what you want, and keep changin' what you want."

He sighed. "I know it ain't easy for you, but you've got to learn to think different now. Threats an' such ain't Terpsy's way, and you've got to learn our ways. I c'n make you a shirt, an' that'd be a fair exchange too."

"...but I don't want ter have a shirt.. 's I have this one.. n' that's enough." He looked at Thompson and there, for a moment he looked more as if he were pleading the man that he were to give him his drink, not just asking or worse, demanding. But pleading.

He tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, a habit that clearly indicated that he was nervous about something, or at times with lieutenant Leat, even that he would have been afraid. It wasn't the latter in this case though, as was clear with the boy not showing much fright on his face.

"I'd rather a tot than a shirt... I'm not daft ter have meself caught... n' there be more sailors ter go 'bout.. quite sure that none 'll notice. None will see a wee man." he indicated himself: "..takin' in drink." He hugged his own shoulders and frowned. " I can't threaten you.. I know.. 's nothin' i could threaten ye with...bein' a ..." But again he wasn't able to say it, so he turned silent instead.

"I don't mind you havin' a tot. But I like grog as well, and I ain't goin' to give up every bloody tot I get."

He looked at the boy, and sighed. "D'you want to talk, 'bout whatever else is worryin' you?"

"..Jus' one then... every second day?" He asked a slight nod to the agreement that not every could be given:".. Nothin' more...." He shuffled uncomfortably again and placed his hands to his temples and for a moment covered his eyes with their palms.

"...can't.. stand it. 's terrible. All of me.. aches.. n' I cant sleep..'cos I fear that one of em will come.." He spoke more openly than he had wished. "...n' have me dead in me hammock before anybody 'd notice. N' Chase. .. He said that they can't harm me when he's 'round.. but when he's not. 's all learnin' their way.. n' They hate me.. so's not a way I'd like ter try." His small form disappeared further into the gloom of the hold.

"Even that'd be too much for you. Two tots every other day... someone'd notice. An' you'd not be proper sober afore you was drunk again, and that won't do anyone any good."

He pulled the lad towards him and slipped an arm around him.

"Look, you'm safer on the berthdeck than you know. If anyone tried anythin', they've got to manage it without wakin' anybody. And out of a whole watch turned in at once, someone'd be bound to wake up and see summat's wrong."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "You've got a choice, you know. You'm goin' to do this anyway, bein' a sailor. Fine. Only, you can choose how to do it. You can go on like you are, not bothered, slackin' all the time when you can an' gettin' in trouble so you get punished all the time. Or you can choose to learn to be a seaman, and earn the rating you've been given. Ask questions, learn, listen and watch what goes on. An' folk'll like you an' respec' you for makin' the best of it."

"N' what if I want ter be drunk?... 's evening through night.. n' when I be sleepin'.. ain't nobody bothered.. or noticin'.. " He answered solemnly and looked away from the marine. "..I've no choice but ter do what ye others want... n' ..'tleast I can choose ter drink.. can't I? I've a knowledge of very little of use.. but that.. is summat I can trade... So, please private.. let me have that lil'..happyness."