Writing home; 7th May

"Don't know how ter make it. " He shrugged his shoulders slightly and looked up at Thompson. " Ah, I'll hope they hold to that. Bein' dirty.. n' smellin' dirty... ain't summat you enjoy bein' about. " And then there was probably th wash day being a slight bit different than as when he was a midshipman. No need to think of it yet. Or maybe. If Terpsy was different from his other ship, he did wonder how different it was. Were what was standard on Confidence be the same here, or was it different.

"T' washday's. .how like on Terpsy? Fer sailors n' such?" He asked, daring to do so with George. He knew much more than he was shy to admit.. well more of what he wanted to know at least. "n'... after ye say... d' ye sew much of yer things? "

(ooc bye bye, see you later!)

"A shirt's easier to make than trousers. You just look at how your other shirts are put together, an' follow that. An' when we get a make-an'-mend day, there'll be plenty of folks you c'n ask about it."

He shrugged. "Washday's well, all right. You just have to make sure you don't hang y'r stuff where it's goin' to be in the way, that's all. An' everyone gets a turn to wash their things, though you might have to be quick, an' just do what's the dirtiest, so that everyone else can get summat of theirn done an' all."

And some pursers issued shirts ready-made up, and some seemed to prefer issuing the raw materials, in Thompson's experience. "I prefer makin' me own things, so I know it's goin' to be all right. If I get issued a shirt or whatever, I usuall have to alter it, or redo half the stitchin' anyways. It's just how it is. So I reckon most me workin' clothes is stuff I've done, though I ain't done anythin' to either me drill jacket or me red coat."

"N' yeself? When do ye do other than ye clothes.. as in.. yeself..like?" He listened on carefully though he figured again that neither was he tempted to ask for help from the others, nor to sew a shirt himself. The ones he was issued were, as Thompson had said, in need of a change here and there. He hadn't tried to render them, nor the slops, but only to do so that they would not be full in the way. As successful or unsuccessful as he had done it.

He wished for his coat and his breeches , his vest and shirt and obviously all the more that came with his clothes as a midshipman. It felt as if the fabric itself was better than what he was wearing now. The later had touched his nerve and had him fidget a couple more times than he would generally have wanted.

Not that he would tell Thompson how he hadn't wanted to ask anyone or the like. "Ye'um learned when comin' ere or known it from.. when ye were still 't home?"

(have to go now .. x.x so nighty night. And best sleep!)

Thompson considered. "Depends. I know Brannin' has his carvin' that he's allus doin' when he's got a spare moment. Me, it depends. There's me kit, or me sewin'. Or me musket. Or there's yarnin' - tellin' stories, or listenin' to 'em - or, well, 'most anythin'."

He shrugged again, smiling. "Learned the sewin' a bit at home but mostly learned it since joinin' the Marines."

"Tellin' stories ye say? So yer marines.. tell stories lots, when ye have time n' yer not workin' one way or another, be it sentry or.. well yer know wot' i mean?" He shifted a little to his other side, then turned till he was feeling comfortable, with the sun not in his eyes, but pleasantly at his skin so that it warmed him. His feet, still bare curled up near under him and felt colder, as used that they were to mid's stockings and shoes.

"I'um like ter read meself if I have t' time n' t' things I can read 'fcourse. Ye marines are right obsessed with yer kits. Never satisfied are ye?" He sounded amused:"Ever shined your kit into nothingness?"

Thompson grinned at that. "Nope, but I want it to look good, y'know. I'll mebbe be able to show you me musket prop'ly one day, an' you can see her better'n you could the other day. An' we all like lookin' smart, y'know. Wouldn't be right if we didn't."

He sat up and stretched before laying down again. "Reckon we ought t'be thinkin' about gettin' ready to go on duty again, though, lad."

"Ah , at last then you understand me not wantin' ter look sloppy n' dirty." His face brightened at the offer, for it was one thing to inspect and know a name by number but no more to that. It was another that the one whose musket it was, was willing to show it with pride for then it was a personal thing, from a friend to a friend rather than from a duty of one, to the duty of another.

"Ah.. if we must." He did not look forward to duty, but did to be called for 'Up Spirits' though he already had an idea where he would store his extra tot for later. Or maybe even both. "Should we go then? Meet yer where though, for t' tot?"

"Aye, but you don't have all the inspections and stuff that we have. An', well, I'll give it t'you down on the messdeck. An' then you c'n put it somewheres safe an' mebbe have it later. So's... so as not to get drunk, like."

And why was the lad more interested in the Marines' way of doing things than the sailors'? What was it that was stopping him from being able to talk to Cob, or Billy, the way he was talking to Thompson? The Marine didn't know, and didn't think he'd ever work it out, or how to get the lad to get them a fair chance to prove that they were just as easy to talk to as Thompson, or anyone else.

"Well true. If I were t' cap'n I'd have an inspection as often as you, and if I see them stinkin' or not taking care of themselves proper, their clothes or such, n' so... oh there'd be hell ter pay, I say." He shook his head disapprovingly. "Ye'um not ter trus' them yer know.. but t' marines..there wos' a one." He paused and held his hand before him. The right one again and the one that held the pale, yet not as thin a scar.

"Blasted dead 'e was... " He finished and looked up at Thompson. "Got 'is blood on me face n' all over.. standin' so close." He didn't smile, but looked more somber, perhaps even sad. Or atleast as much as he was willing to show. "T' marines are worthee o' trust. I think. N' you prove too.. I hope."

"So'um ..mess deck, where ye's are , right?" He might not stand out as much if there were men dressed in off duty shirts rather than their red coats.

"Our part, aft, by the wardroom ,aye."

He looked down at the lad's hand and saw the scar. He'd seen it before, but suddenly that, coupled with his words, seemed to have a more serious meaning.

"Want to tell me what happened, Mathew?" he said, speaking softly. It was a simple offer, and if he didn't want to talk about it, Thompson was fine with that too.

He looked back at Thompson and lowered his hand shifting it under his other. "Happened?..." He murmured and then tugged at his shirt till it was straight and as well without wrinkles as possible. Thompson's question waited to be answered. He felt that if he said no, the marine would not mind. But if he told him, would that be alright? So far it was. So far he felt here most at ease.

"..We was in battle... under fire 'fcourse. I'um.. well there we was standin' n' watchin' t' other ship.. havin' ter stand ter show t'was nothin' ter fear. Though we wasn't fairin' too well I think. But I'um not t' bes' judge on that...We was fairing worse than our Terpsy's battle." He nodded in agreement to that.

"Splinters gone in t' air.. summat worse sometimes than t' shots themselves or t' cannon balls." He looked uncomfortable at the memory. It wasn't one he was too proud of.

Thompson nodded. "Battle can be bad, aye," he murmured, encouragingly, and waited for the lad to carry on.

"So um' ...we stood there. N' sommat splinters came at us. But we kept standin'.. n' I wos'..." He shook his head. He could not admit to being frightened. Neither that he thought them all fools to be standing where some shot could get lucky and kill them. He was brave, always brave... even when not.

"N' so.. there was a marine. He was older like. Ol' kin' of bones.. ye see. N' then.. well there wos' t' firs' time we came rather close like. N' we had graplin' hooks n' had an intention ter board right? So I was with em' boardin' party n' we was on t' enemy's deck n' wos' fightin' like there was no tomorrow n' no today."

He shook his head. He hadn't wanted to go, though he went and would have jumped anyplace if only ordered so. He'd done anything if ordered for fear of what would have happened if he hadn't.

"So we wos' fighting. N' ye know..ye don't need ter be large ter be a real annoyance like. Had meself ter do a few good slashes too. "

"So'um then I was tripped n' came down. N' there wos' a man who coulda had me dead, was that in his eyes. T' madness. I wos' wantin' ter roll away n' then..."He looked at his hand. " Like if I were nailed there.. he wos' aimin fer me chest I think.. don' know.. but came me hand there instead. N' he drove his knife deep through n' into the board.." He frowned.

"N' t' ol' marine.. he wos' there.. n' he brought down t' man. Right as I say it. So then he freed me, n then we wos' chasin' t' enemy away..Had ter break appart tho."

But that wasn't all. Just half of the story perhaps.

"I wos' called ter t' cap'n then.. ter stand like we wos' before.. we wos' trying again. Not ter get on t' ship , because we've drifted far appart enough. Don't know why the order was that.. or why we did so.. but we did n'.. then we n' they was firing.."

He looked at Thompson as if wanting to see if he had heard and understood up till then.

Thompson could see it, the confused mess of a fight at sea, and the lad in maybe his first real battle, likely scared but still doing the right thing - the officer thing, fighting for his shipmates. And then in the confusion, tripped and helpless and...

"So what 'appened, then?" he said, quietly.

"We was' needed.. n' was firing again.. I wanted ter go ter t' surgeons, but wos' told ter stay.. was jus' a scratch.. they said. could wait a lil' while longer. ..they killed one of t' middies.. n' t' res' were needed below too. So t' marine .. he stood ter me.. n' he said summat .. n' then he was bindin' me hand. Because it wos' bleedin'.. " He looked pained at what he was to say next. It was that final straw.

"He.. jus' as he was lookin' at me all stood up, ready ter say 'e was done...t' cannon ball. It came crashin'.. n' hit him.. n'..i could near feel it movin' past me too, wos' so close.. if I had only stepped a step to t' side n' it would've been me... n'...I saw it..."His right hand was trembling, while his left began to pull and tug at the sleeve.

"His face...firs'.. kind like..nice like.. he wos' steppin' out o' what he shoulda been doin'.. but it was alright.. but then.. then ..blood ..wos'.everywhere.. n' matter..n' on me n'.... I fell. Not because I was hit.. though maybe I wos' then.. but because.." He bit at his lip. He was ashamed at how shocked he was at the time, how terror had gripped his limbs and if not for some strange power holding him awake, he probably would have fainted too.

" ..I remember bein'..slapped.. n' t' angry looks.." And the nightmares thereafter. "t' wound.. 's.. he bound it...."

"Oh, you poor lad." Thompson couldn't even begin to imagine that. It sounded as though that was the first friendly face de Guarde had seen aboard Confidence and then for that to happen right in front of him... no wonder the lad was shaking a little.

"I... I'm real sorry, Mathew." He bit his lip and looked into the boy's face, concerned. "An', thank you, f'r tellin' me."

"s'...why..." He began and found that his voice did not wish to come for more. He bit at his lip, chewed at it till it turned a faintly darker red and tried stubbornly to ease his mind from the memories that rushed again to him. He hadn't known why he felt more at ease with the marines than he did with the others aboard Terpsy, he just so did.

"..n'.."He began and looked again at Thompson."...I'um ..sure I didn't trip meself.. n' ... n' i don't remember an enemy bein' where I tripped..." He let the thought remain there, with his eyes moist but tears fiercely held at bay. When he trusted himself enough he spoke again, and was proud to know his voice was under good control.

"..you asked so...wos'....well only because 'twas you askin'.." He kept his gaze at the floor. " George.. don't be like..."But he couldn't bring himself to say it. He just didn't want to see his friend's.. yes friend's face to take the place of that man in a similar situation.

"Y'know, we don't none of us know when our number's goin' to be up, an' so we can't worry about it. If it is y'r time to go, ain't anythin' you c'n do to stop it, an' if it ain't, well, there weren't no need to worry. An'... he wouldn't have known anythin' about it. Would've been quick. Not like some other wounds. An' that's summat to be happy about, that he didn't suffer."

He looked at the lad. "But it weren't easy on you, neither, an' I can see that." He grasped de Guarde's wrist. "Mathew, you'm strong, on the inside. Learnin' to live with that ain't easy, but you c'n do it. Have done it, mostly, I think. An' it ain't easy, to see a friend killed."

It wasn't so long ago that he'd sewn Green into his hammock, and the loss of his fellow Marine was still painful.

"He wasn' a friend he was jus..." The closest that one to that, before this marine had come along. He forced a smile to his lips and slowly he nodded: "..I dun' know.. n' it don't stop me from fightin' now.. not me number comin' up like.... don't make me not want ter fight. I'um not doin' t' mistakes I did then.. George." He looked at the hand that held his, but felt more comforted about it.

"well.. yer know now how it 'appened. No heroic act that.." He smiled, for the terrible attempt to make light of the situation and thought. "..'ope yer not disappointed." He added.

"No, I ain't. Think I've got enough scars me own self that didn't come from anythin'... heroic." He shrugged, and let go of de Guarde's hand. "I don't think you ever stop bein' scared, though. You just... learn what to do, so's you can do it right when you are scared, so the bein' scared ain't so important. D'you understand me?"

He didn't mind being the lad's friend, but he wanted the lad to talk to some of the sailors too, and realise that they weren't... what his old captain had made them out to be. At least, Thompson thought it was the lad's old captain that had taught him to think that way, and the Marine no longer had any idea what he could do to get the boy treating them better, as people.

"I'um not afraid." he replied more forcefully that he meant. " Not o' fightin'..." As if their conversation of the storm and of the fighting never happened. "Hm..but now.. yer think we should really have ourselves up?" Perhaps a part of the problem had indeed been the captain, but on Confidence the state of the problem was seen also as the whole body that lived and worked there. The sailors were no better, if perhaps a good deal worse. Yes, they had reasons to act as they did, and could be as hateful and a lot more dangerous than any a sailor on Terpsy. It wasn't just the captain, though perhaps the captain made it to what it was then.

Thompson shook his head. "Only folks that ain't a-feared is either mad, or dead. An' you ain't dead, an' I don't think you'm mad. So you must be a-feared, even a little bit. An' it's all right to be a little bit a-feared, like, so long as it don't stop you doin' your duty."

He sat up "Aye, think we ought to be gettin' up. I'm likely goin' to be on sentry again, I reckon."

"...wonder wot' we be doin' ourselves. " He dusted at his shirt and slops and then stood, picking at the remaining papers, quill and ink bottle. "Thank yer... George." He pauses and turns to look down at the marine. "Fer t' talk n' t' thinkin' I'm not mad." Though he was of the thought he was certainly not, what Thompson said amused him a little. His name though was a good deal easier to say now. Practice makes perfect.

He grinned and got up. "Thank you, Mathew," he said, and touched his shirt. The pieces of paper tucked inside it crackled a little.

"You just... think about what I've bin sayin', an' talk with some of them sailors, an' listen to 'em and see... Well, just see what you think. Only, you need to give 'em a chance. Like anyone needs a chance, really."

He smiled. "I'll see you around then, lad."

"Aye, see you 'round later.. don' ferget ter not drink wot' ye be gettin'." He nodded and turned to look where the sailors have earlier been found doing their little tidbits of work. With his slops dusted again, and the unfamiliar feel of wooden planks and tar beneath his bare feet he went on to make his way mostly to get ready for work, now that he'd been well rested. And secondly, to see if his little container could bear with the tot he would bring it.