The Day After

"You don't get a whole night... Terpsy' a two watch ship. Means four hours off an' four on fer you Tars." He sighed and picked his crossbelt plate and rag back up, even though the glow from the lantern was so feeble as to make his task all but impossible down here.

"It's forenoon watch now. Then there's afternoon, then there's first dog, which is when it'd be best for us ter get together so's I can tell you what I want wrote. An' you can have me suppertime tot, how's that? Just don't get caught drunk. I don't want you gettin' into no more trouble, all right?"

"..'s good." Nods with a smile, more genuine than he had had them all the times before. "I'll be sure not to get meself caught drunk. Would be daft if I wanted trouble.. even worse as a.....what I am. ..'s ten times worse t' punishment. " He thought for a moment about Chase and felt himself wincing at the thought that he would be so taken to the gratings and there flogged. He hadn't even noticed reaching to his back, as much as his hand could go with it's length, just as to make sure it was well and unharmed.

"Your suppertime tot.. n' me writtin' fer you. " He repeated just to make sure that they both knew what would go on, and that he would surely at last, receive a second drink to his own. "....'s why you care whether I get in trouble or not....that I wonder." He at last said and looked at the marine. "...other than perhaps it could anger T' Terpsy's... yer people."

"Don't like watchin' anyone gettin' scratched by the cat. Never have. An' if you was to, you'd want to be one of us even less than you do right now." He dipped the rag in the water and then the brickdust to start polishing again.

He rubbed for a moment in silence before speaking again. "If... if you've got anythin' you want to ask, there ain't nobody else 'round to hear it. An' though I dunno about the sailorin' stuff, I can talk 'about most anythin' else to do with Terpsy and life belowdecks and, well, whatever."

He wondered if the lad would open up again down here as he'd started to a little in the middies; berth only a few hours before.

"...If I was...." He looked at the floor and flinched at the mere thought of it. "...if i's really worse.. than what we have. .. then.." He shook his head again and rather preffered to concentrate at the task that the marine was at. The motions seeming somewhat soothing to the boy, his mind distracted by the prospects of a sailor's life.

".....then...start with..." He began and slowly inched closer, stopping again uncertainly."...What..yer doin'....n' why?" He whispered, glancing up at the man's hands and what he held in hand. It was a simple task and perhaps needed little more than logic, still it was a start and it was that or that he were to be silent instead.

"It's the plate for me crossbelts. Holds 'em together, where they cross, see. An' it's got to be shined up - sea air makes the brass go green. So that's what the brickdust is for." He indicated the tin of dull, brick-red dust. "Damp cloth, but of brickdust and plenty of elbow grease. Have to do all me brass the same way. Like the ship's bell and the quarterdeck rail and other stuff has to be done, by you sailors, ready for Divisions on Sundays."

He continued working, angling it so the boy could see what he was doing. He dipped the damp cloth into the tin of brickdust and then rubbed the cloth in small circles on the oval brass plate in his hand, working on one small area at a time.

"..don't say.. like we..... them." He looked somewhat hurt as if the very truth still unnerved him , perhaps more than the attire he was to wear, far from one worthy of a midshipman. ".....I'm not... I don't like to hear it..." He added then slowly he inched closer again, till he was at the marine's knee, peering down at the brass and his work.

"...'s... a way that I may.... try it?" He asked and bit his lip, already scolding himself for ever suggesting. What a young fool, to be laughed at the next given moment. And by a marine no less. And asking? Something quite unnatural in the past times.

"Best get used to hearin' it, lad," Thompson advised. "Some of 'em'll call you a sailor all the time - more, if they learn you don't like it. An' it ain't no more'n the truth. An' you c'n learn to be proud of it, like I'm proud of bein' a Marine. Might take time, though."

He passed the plate and cloth over. "You'll have ter learn how ter do this anyways. Best you learn here. Bit of dust, not too much. An' small circles. A bit a at a time, done proper, is better'n tryin' to do it all at once and doin' it bad."

"You chose ter be a marine... I DON'T.... I don't like it." He shook his head vigorously, and looked from the marine near stubborn. ".. I don't want to be called that. ..even if it were true...'tis an insult ter me." He gritt his teeth. ".. I hate it.." He added with a growing frown.

Feeling the plate laid in his hands he slowly turned to look down at it, taking a hold of the cloth with his other. Listening only half attentively, still shaken by the suggestion that he ought to be proud to be a mere sailor, he took a bit of dust as told and then began to rub the cloth against the plate. At first the circle was large, almost as if he were wanting to wash the plate, like a dish. Then with a small grumble the circles began to grow smaller in size, till there was a tiny bit only that was 'scraped', his hand inching from the spot slowly to the next.

"..ye'd not be happy neither.. if ye were called summat ye felt demeaning.." He muttered as he busied himself with the plate.

"Mebbe, but I've learned to keep me mouth shut an' put up with it. An' no, I only had the choice of bein' a Marine, a soldier... or gettin' pressed for a sailor. An' I thought, well, I liked the smart uniforms of the soldiers, an' if I was goin' to go to sea, I'd choose how and when. So I 'listed for a Marine. Weren't no choice at all, really."

He shrugged and looked at what the boy was doing. "Aye, like that. That's good." He thought for a moment. "You've seen Samuels, ain't you? What d'you reckon is the difference 'tween you, an' him, seein' as neither of you's here 'cause you wanted to be?"

"There's a big difference 'tween him n' me." Lifting the brass plate up, he studied it critically for a moment then lay it back down, to continue at the spot he had earlier left off from. " Fer one..I'm a midshipan... material.. n' I was a middie... I'm a gentleman.. n' he's surely not. ..m' also.. well, far from bein' summat as common as him!" He looked up from his work, and studied the marine thoughtfully. "..s' like this... he's a stray, bein' picked of a street.. n'.. I've a fine breed kind... that's been only taken .. ter ..well, ye know wot' I mean.. don't ye? He's been 'born' ter be a common low'st rank.. n' I've been born ter be a middie and up.. 'tleast!"

"Lots of captains and other officers started on the lower deck, you know. And neither of you chose to be where you are, but Samuels is doin' his best to make the most of it an' learn his trade. So Billy Barrow's taken him under his wing. An' what you'm born to be don't make no difference right now. It's what you are that matters, 'cause that's what folks'll see when they look at you."

"I'm not a sailor!" He snapped, though atleast he had used the word and even in the relation with himself. "...Don't you be sayin' I am! I'm NOT." For a moment he had a mind to just up and run, and throw what he'd held in his hand to tend to, across the hold, not minding what would happen to it. But luckily instead of throwing a fit and making a right spectacle of himself, he just gripped at the plate stronger, glared at it's surface and chewed at his lip till it was starting to turn a fiercer tint of red.

"Samuels n' me.. 'ave nothin' in common.. nothin!.. " He hissed, and his voice was shaking, so heavy was the thought of what he had been made to be. His arms had been aching and so did the palms of his hands and worst of all, his pride.

"You should take a look at y'rself, then. You look like a sailor t'me." Thompson understood the anger, and thought it was better to have that out down here than for him to vent it in front of Chase or some of the others.

"But you'm right. You ain't a sailor. But you'd best learn to be, if'n you want to be a middy again. That's what the Captain said, ain't it?"

The boy looked at the marine as if he had spat a worse insult at him, when he solely said that he looked like a sailor, and hurt and angry as he looked he turned abruptly from him again, his knuckles white at the grip he had on the plate.

His shoulders looked as stiff as that of a marine, after he's forgotten that he even ever had his limbs to stand guard with. "I don't want to." He muttered, speaking more quietly. "...I want to be a midshipman now....I deserve ter be one. ..This... this was wrong, most wrong to be done. Don't you see... 'twas... a moment of madness... that's what it was!"

"I know you don't want to. An' I know you want to be a middy again now. Trouble is, we don't allus get what we want. An' we have to make do with what we've got. An' you've got a good head on you, so you'm clever at thinkin', ain't you?"

He spoke quietly and calmly, trying to calm the lad a little before he broke something, or did something he'd regret later.

"....yes...I'um clever..." He answered, his attention caught at the thought flattery, suspicious of what the marine wanted to say with that and more so, where he was going with it.

He still looked ready that he would snap something in two, but atleast it was clear he was not going to run, nor that he was going to yell any longer.

Well, he was listening, which was something, at least. Thompson continued, "So, mebbe it is a mistake. But you can't tell the Captain or a Lieutenant that. So you should mebbe learn what you can while you can, and show them it was a mistake. And you'll learn all sorts of useful things that you won't learn in the middies' berth."

"..n' if I don't learn them in t' middie's berth there may well be a reason fer that. ..t' reason' being, that I don't need them ter be a middie, or ter be a lieutenant or higher, no? " He shook his head as if it had made less sense why he ought to do it, than it did earlier.

"...t'... ..trouble is." He sighed and began to rub the cloth against the plate again:"...... summat like that...... it doesn' jus' change back easy......I fear... that it won't change at all..."He looked up at Thompson , a sad look on his face. "..s' not being called it.. t' only las' thing... I have."

"Ah, come here," Thompson said, slipping an arm round the lad and pulling him close.

"It ain't. You c'n read, an' write, which is more than most of us. You'll learn to understand how us folks think, which most officers don't understand an' never learn."

"..n' what good does it ter me... alright.. 'cept fer.. you." He stood still for a moment then slowly he moved and hugged closer to the marine, sighing. "..Yer ..sayin' .. like that knowledge were ter help me any....Thompson." He lay his head against the marine's shoulder, glad that they were safe in the dark and solitude of the hold. "...but wot' good will it be.. when I'm still amongst yer?.....I jus'.." And he didn't continue, for if he were to say the next words some men would consider him suggesting desertion. And as miserable as he felt, and as much as he might've said it, or even mention wanting to just go, he would never have gone and done it. In part for fear of hanging and in part for having too much pride and he would not have wanted his family to be shamed by his actions of a coward.

"Because... because you c'n be an officer again. You just have to work hard, show you'm a good sailor, an' can be trusted an' that. Like I said, lots of good officers started on the lower deck. Ain't anythin' to be 'shamed of, not in the Navy. It might just take a bit longer, that's all."

He rocked the boy a little, soothingly, and hoped he was starting to get through to him.

"..I'm ..gon' ter turn gray before it 'appens....n ' what if t' captain is killed in battle?..He... " He started, feeling much safer and strangely, much calmer also, in the embrace. "..is a man who.. though I doubt.. but he might see sense.. but ...t'.. others.. they'd rather ter see me.. in these slops til a cannon ball strikes me of t' deck." He sighed. Though the words of the marine were wise, and some nearly touched him, there was still a great deal more spite and anger and hate, poor manners and also the more wrongful of teachings, that clung to his mind not wanting just yet, to let go.

"Maybe they do right now, but if you learn to see 'em different, as men who've got pride in who they are an' the ship they belong to, they'll learn to see you different an' all."

Thompson thought that the lad was a nice enough boy, but was confused by the evidence he'd seen of life aboard Terpsy conflicting with what he'd be taught - and taught hard, most likely - that an officer should be, as seen by the captain of his previous ship. And that previous ship had been his first introduction to Navy life.

No wonder he was so confused, and nervous.

"..They'll just laugh. " He lowered his gaze and then on impulse rather than thought, he buried his face against the shirt of the marine, and hoped that he had not overstepped his boundaries and would not have the other man push him away , harshly or worse.

"....please... don't tell anyone ..'bout wot' I said... n' what we talk of... nor.. nor of our agreement. Some would not.. understand it right..."

He pulled the boy a bit closer. "Any of the men would understand 'bout your writin' f'r me. I'll have to tell 'em if they ask, or it'll look wrong. But I won't tell 'em anythin' else. All right?"