Friday morning with the Marines

"Don't break him too much - he still needs to be able to go on duty," Thompson said, though it wasn't clear which of the two combatants he was addressing.

"Dunno if it'll make much difference." Ware ducked away from the two fighting Marines, not about to catch a wayward fist if he could avoid it.

Everett had apparently resigned himself to the inevitable drubbing and was now trying to twist around so he could better defend himself. He was still going to come out on the losing side no matter what he did but it was always better to try to fight back.

"Hey!" Branning burst out, appearing from up forrard. "Stoopit blaggards, you 'specially!" He grabbed hold of Shriver's coat and pulled him backward. Several Marines groaned. They had been placing bets on how long Everett would last.

"Good ol' Brannin'!" Oxley chirped, making sure he was safely out of the way.

Thompson merely rolled his eyes. Branning against Shriver was a fairer match, but that wasn't the point.

The unlucky Everett was dragged backwards, his collar still in Shriver's grip, as the two big Marines squared off.

"What're you doin'?" Shriver snarled. "D'you want a drubbin' too?"

Branning eyed him in disgust. "Like t'see ya try."

"Go Brannin'!" Oxley said, sitting on someone's sea chest on the other side of the berth from where the two were squaring up.

Thompson grinned and carefully stuck his needle in his sewing, leaning forward to get a better view of the proceedings.

That was enough of a challenge for Shriver. He snarled a curse and, shoving Everett away, went right for Branning. The two big Marines clashed with a pair of loud oaths.

Ware pushed Vining aside so he could get a better view, and cheered when Branning landed a good punch to Shriver's gut. This was even better than the almost-scrap with Everett.

Oxley winced as Branning landed a good one on Shriver; that looked hard. He wasn't quite sure why they were fighting, but who cared?

"Go, Brannin'!" he called again, hoping the big docile man would get the better of the bad-tempered Shriver.

Another quick, hard punch found its mark, then Branning was knocked back half a step by an answering blow.

Everett, having swiftly recovered from his brief involvement, was watching the altercation intently. He cheered when Branning struck back at Shriver, succeeding in getting past the other Marine's guard to black his eye.

Oxley winced as Branning managed to black Shriver's eye. He put his hand up to his own black eye, wondering how Mister Cartwright was going to deal with the aftermath of this fight. He didn't want to be anywhere near Shriver if the big, bad-tempered Marine ended up on the same punishment duty.

This was not going to end well. Foley knew it. His gaze slipped past the two fighting Marines and the ring of men watching, for he knew Mister Cartwright was bound to turn up at any moment. He had the uncanny knack of knowing when something was going on, and it was something of a wonder that he had not appeared before now.

"Bit slow, aintchyer," Shriver sneered, after having bloodied Branning's nose. "That'll learn ya, tryin' to stick up fer mealy-mouthed filth!"

Branning said nothing, but he stood back abruptly, lowering his fists. There was a confused murmur from the watching Marines, then an instant hush fell. The ring of spectators parted swiftly, letting Mister Cartwright pass. Foley shook his head and sighed. Even he had not expected the officer to appear from up forrard. Hadn't he been in his cabin this whole time?

How... how in the world had Mister Cartwright managed to get here from for'rard?! Oxley gaped, realised his mouth was hanging open, and closed it abruptly. He'd been in his cabin when Foley and he had come back to the Marine's berth deck... hadn't he? Or had he just missed something?

The lieutenant looked around the gathering slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. Branning kept his gaze lowered to his shoes, entirely ignoring the slow drip of blood from his nose, while Shriver simply met Cartwright's gaze belligerently.

"I had thought," Cartwright said after a moment, "that there were Marines aboard this ship, not mindless apes. Open brawling on the messdeck is behaviour more suited to soldiers, which it had been my hope that I was not inheriting a detachment that was prone to such disgraceful conduct. I do not require excuses, sir!" He added sharply, raising his voice just slightly when Shriver attempted to speak.

The others were now studiously avoiding the officer's gaze.

Oxley was suddenly glad he still had some growing to do. It meant it was easier to hide from the officer's furious gaze as he looked around the berth. He was in trouble for fighting himself, and that had been in private, between two boys... and it wasn't as though he'd been caught red-handed, either. Just black-eyed.

He gave his cross-belt another desultory rub and wondered what Mister Cartwright was going to do to Branning and Shriver.

"You two," Cartwright went on, pointing at Branning and Shriver, "will report to the sawbones immediately. When he is finished with you, both of you will report back to me directly. Is that understood?"

Branning looked miserable. "Aye sir."

Shriver, on the other hand, simply grunted. It was not the right response, but it seemed that Cartwright had expected it.

"Corporal Johnson!" He called out and Johnson appeared at once. "See to it that these two Marines report to the surgeon and then back to me. Neither of them will delay or stray off."

"Aye sir," Johnson said.

How stupid were they? Getting caught in the middle of a fight... Even Oxley hadn't done that. He wondered what Cartwright was going to do, and was obscurely glad that his own punishment was probably going to be light in comparison. He glanced at Foley, and bit his lip.

It was certainly turning into an interesting day.

Johnson was quick to escort the two battered privates away.

"The rest of you," Cartwright said, once they were gone, "will roll up your hammocks and shift all your sea-chests to either side of the deck. Any repairs or cleaning of kit will take place on the foc's'le. Is that understood?"

There were nods and muttered "Aye sirs".

Thompson swallowed a sigh, rolled his sewing up into one neat bundle and grabbed his crutch before that was cleared away by mistake.

Oxley shrugged, slipped his crossbelt over his head and started to help shift sea-chests around, wondering why on earth Mister Cartwright had decided that they should re-organise the berth-deck before heading topside.

He waited until the deck had been suitable cleared before speaking again. "Every lad topside. Except you, Everett. Fetch three buckets, a mop, and two holystones. You will assist Branning and Shriver when they scrub and wash the deck."

Everett looked miserable. "Aye aye, sir," he said.

So, just how much of the fight had Mister Cartwright seen, then? Oxley shifted the last sea-chest out of the way and hung back a bit, waiting till some of the others had started topside. He didn't want Cartwright's attention drawn to him any more than necessary, not after what had just happened. He was on punishment duty himself for fighting, after all... and he was going to help wait table at dinner this evening, which he suddenly found himself dreading rather more than he had been.

Foley was shaking his head as he put his cleaning kit away. He was no longer surprised by anything Mister Cartwright did. The chosen punishment made sense in a symbolic way, too. Branning and Shriver had soiled the messdeck by using it as a boxing ring - and Branning had dripped blood all over, too - and it was only sensible that they should scrub it clean.

The steward fell in behind Ware - who was quietly commenting on how unlucky the two brawlers were - and tramped topside.

Oxley shrugged, grabbed his pipeclay and followed Foley on deck. He thought he'd managed to get off light, though it probably wouldn't take the three of them long to scrub the messdeck. Unless they started fighting again, but even Branning and Shriver wouldn't be that stupid. Probably wouldn't be, he amended.

"That beats all," Vining was saying as the Marines got settled on the foc's'le. "Never seen lads put to holystonin' 'cause they was caught fightin'!"

Foley grinned a little. They were learning the very thing he had mentioned earlier. Mister Cartwright definitely had some strange ideas, but they all made sense after a time.

"Never heared of a lad gettin' made to be officer's steward 'cause of scrappin', neither," Oxley muttered, settling down out of the way to continue working on his cross-belt. Mister Cartwright was a strange one, there was no mistaking that.

It beat cleaning the heads, though, that was for certain. Even holystoning the deck was better than that.

"How's that?" Grattan asked, intrigued. The others looked at each other in plain interest. Ware, who had heard the story before, grinned.

"Don't you lads know? Our own Foley here got caught at fightin' his own self, an' the 'Tenant took him on for a steward."

Foley blushed. The other Marines were chuckling.

Oxley flushed. He hadn't meant to refer to Foley's ending up as steward, but to his own punishment duty of shadowing Foley. He shifted a little, ducking his head so that the others wouldn't see his own black eye and remember why he was doing what he'd been doing since parade that morning.