Chat on the Foc'sle

"...yes they should, n' they should have all t' middies doin' it too." Well of course he would agree to that now, he had done it and he'd wished it on everyone else as well. Yates, Kinsella, Chandos. All of the midshipmen he'd have been very eager to see on their knees and scrubbing the deck.

"Well.. Tar." He murmured then and nodded slowly." Now that I know they'um not tryin' ter kill me, is a'right. They'um nice enough. Like that Westdale. Yer know, we were makin' things from wood. Like little animals! Started on a bird." He didn't think it would be good to mention that the goose had a few marine's details, and looked remarkably like Johnson.

"You were right 'bout it, but hush, n' don't tell others I said that." He smiled. "...but 'um....it's not that bad, still would like ter be a middie, mind. But Tar's not t' end of the world neither!"

"Really? You makin' a whole set of animals, are you? You'll have to show me when you've done 'em. An' I said it weren't the end of the the world, livin' on the lower deck, didn't I? Only you didn't believe me, then. I ain't never lied to you, an' won't, neither." He grinned. It seemed he was coming to terms with his situation, which was good. Hopefully, he'd learn valuable lessons about people, as well as sailing, but he couldn't say that to the lad.

"I'll show you! When then'um are all finished, I will." He grinned and after a moment decided to add. "Thompson, if ye were any animal yer could , what would you have wanted ter be?" He shrugged as if that had just come to his mind, and he was curious to ask anyhow.

Thompson was right though. He'd never lied and that had him have a place of one he trusted. Not something that was easy to achieve. Not to the point that the marine did, when the youth actually allowed himself to say things he could worry about being used against him at some time.

"I didn' believe yer, cos'.. well.. I didn't know, n' you did. N' I just feared cos' of wot' I was. See. It's easier fer a landsman, I'm sure. Fer he's just a landsman n' nobody holds nothin' against him. Does he?"

"Dunno," Thompson said, frowning a little in thought. "Hadn't really thought 'bout it. An otter, mebbe. Which it's a land animal happiest in water, sort of. What d'you think?"

He looked up at the canvas of the fore topsail. "I think things is only as hard as you make 'em. There are landies that don't want to be seamen, don't learn an' allus end up feelin' the starter, and then there's them that realise they'm at sea, they can't go back to bein' how they were, an' they put theirselves to learnin' everythin' they can, and make right good sailors. But it's summat a body has to choose, else they'll just suffer and get driven to everythin' and make life hard for themselves."

"An otter." He smiled. "It'd fit you. You'um smart, able, n' I think you like t' water lots, not fer swimmin' but like here. Being a marine." He nodded trying to think if there was another animal that he thought could fit the marine as well. Something loyal, kind and patient. It would've been easier really, if he wasn't still a bit drunk. Still her tried.

" Couldn't say yer a lobster eh?" He teased. " I dunno, I'd have yer something that others look up ter. Not because of height, but jus' because yer like t' North star, Polaris. 'least I think so. Don't laugh." He looked up. "There, yer asked me of an animal n' I gave you a star. " He shook his head, not too satisfied with himself. "..N' me?..Here I'll think on wot' you could be, n' ye think if yer think for me?" And he would think good and hard, though perhaps Thompson was right. If only otter had all those noble qualities too.

"I guess yer right." He then added smiling." ..I loathed ter do wot' I did... being a Tar, n' then I didn't do a too proper a job. I probably still don't but now 'tleast I can say it is... since I've not done it as a middie." He grinned. "That's a fair excuse, isn't it?"

"I'm only a Private, me, don't reckon anyone much looks up to me. Dunno 'bout you, though. You're summat fierce but friendly when folks get to know you. I think you're like a cat, but that's only 'cause I know you, a bit." He sat up. "An' I think you're right, now. You've made up your mind to do as good a job as you can, so folks'll see that, an' they'll know you don't know some stuff, 'cause you didn't do it before. You'll do all right, you will."

"...I look up to you." He whispered, and it seemed he said that more to himself than to the marine, for he didn't repeat it, nor did he raise the volume of his voice to be heard.

Not till he was to say something else altogether.

" A cat. Um.. cos' I do things how I want them sometimes too, don't it?" He grinned. "N' aye, all wot' yer said. N' I get to do other things , like skylarking. Which isn't a job, n' mebbe I couldn't do it so well if I was a midshipman. So it has its perks. Though I wonder, when will yer have a skylarking too? I mean, t' sailors n' t' marines that aren't drummin' like Oxley, n' them lot? "

"You do. An' I dunno, though we will someday soon, I daresay." He shifted till he was sitting against the ship's side, and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged. "It mebbe ain't the fine life that you Quality know, but it's a good life, sure 'nough, an' has its good times, as well as the bad'uns."

"Us Quality." He yawned, stretched a little and looked at the sky. He looked for something that wouldn't have him be sliding while he rested, and looked to observe the marine. He remembered the comfort the man gave him as well as if it happened only an hour ago. A hug and then, later that midshipman, Yates, entered. And he'd acted all odd. But ever since, it seemed the boy just forgot about it and acted no more odd.

"Don't look so much like Quality now, do I?" He asked rubbing his eyes.

"Well, you got rich parents an' live in a big house, an' had all special schoolin' and stuff, ain't you? An' me, well, me mum's a whore, an' my home's a brothel and I can only write me name 'cause you showed me how. An' if that don't make you Quality an' me a bastard, I dunno what does." He smiled as he said it, though, and his words held no venom. "Though it's what's inside that makes a person who they are. An' that's the important thing, really, not how much money someone has."

He listened with a curious expression on his face and chuckled for he saw that Thompson was not bitter about it, only that he said it. "You ain't living in a brothel now, as much as I'm not livin' in me big rich house!" He crossed his hands.

"We're both on Terpsy, 's just you havin' a nice coat, n' me havin'.. a nice shirt." He beamed when he sad the last. "Maybe I'um privileged in that. havin' a nicer shirt than you!" He grinned.

"Um....in t' brothel, did you have like a skylarkin sort of thing , well t' sailor's kind, all of the time? Not you children, but t' rest of them people?" It was such a strange world, that Thompson came from, and it was harder to understand how he could be as he was. He'd imagined someone coming from such a place to be completely a different person. Certainly not like Thompson, and he still asked about it, and wanted to know more even if he knew his mother would have turned her face on it with scorn.

"No, I ain't livin' in a brothel now." He grinned. "I'm real pleased you like the shirt, though, honest." He laced his fingers together and put his hands behind his head, leaning back. "Didn't have a skylarkin' sort of thing, not really, 'cept at Christmas, a bit. Folks was allus busy, see, 'cause there was never much money around. I never had new clothes - brand new, I mean - till I 'listed, see. Never had shoes afore then, either."

"Ah. N' wot' did you think of them new clothes?.. Ain't so speshul, are they? They'um jus' new before yer put them on anyhow. Then they're already worn. " He shut his mouth for he realised that if to him something was just the same, it could probably be a lot more special to someone who'd never had it.

"I'um.. sorry." He said quickly and bowed his head. "Did you like t' shoes?" He tried instead." ..better than'um.. not havin' em?"

Thompson lowered a hand to run it over the fabric of his white trousers. "It's all right. It was real strange havin' trousers that weren't patched or frayed at the hems. And shoes... Well, they were real strange at first. All sort of heavy an' clumsy. An' there's gaiters, too, and when I 'listed we had waistcoats that we wore under the jacket. I don't think I'd ever bin so warm when I was outside as when I had all that lot on for the first time. An' it was clean too, proper clean."

He grinned and tried to imagine having a pair of shoes for the first time. It was hard to do when he had thought them for granted. Then again he had worn none for most of the time since he'd become a Tar. He couldn't keep his Middy's shoes with the shiny buckles even if he'd wanted to.

"Did yer trip over them shoes when you first had them? Yours are a bit different than ours too, but with gaiters. Oh, not even us wore those or do now." He mused and wondered how those felt really, and how all those buttons weren't too much trouble to button when putting them on. "Is it hard now, that you've had an injury? I mean, gaiters are righter fittin' enough, aren't they?" Well yes, of what he'd seen at least: "So... with all t' bandage, n'all.. wasn't easy to button them then eh?" He chuckled at the mention of waistcoats too.

"You ought ter tell me more, please. How it was when you got all them new things." He paused for a moment uncertainly. What if Thompson thought he was thinking it some silly joke: " I'm real curious, so.. so you know." He added quickly, in earnest.

The Marine grinned. "They're shoes, not boots, like yours. They've got buckles on an' all, only ourn are brass. Our shoes are a bit heavier, though, 'cause we do drill in 'em, and marchin' and all things like that." He unfolded his legs and stretched them out so de Guarde could see his shoes. "And I couldn't wear me gaiters for a bit. Only managed to do it up properly this mornin' - wasn't wearin' 'em when I come to see you yesterday, 'cause the ankle was still pretty bad and the bandage made it even bigger."

He grinned. "All right, picture this in your head. You see what you'm wearin' now, right, jus' a shirt an' trousers. Well, when I was your age, we wore breeches all the time, like the officers do when they'm dressed up real smart. And like that shirt was mine an' I cut it down for you, I never had anythin' that hadn't been wore by someone else afore I got it. Sometimes by more than one person. So shirts was usually worn thin, or patched, or both. An' sometimes they was too big. Breeches was the same. They were usu'lly ragged round the hems an' patched across the seat. And sometimes it was patches on patches, and you couldn't tell what colour they'd bin to start with."

"Yours is heavier because they should make more noise then? When you march, so as you're heard better, n' with drill the same. Is it so?" He imagined one and the other and looked at the shoes that Thompson wore. He wiggled his own bare feet which he had moved into view as a bit of comparison too. His own needed some washing before sleep. They had a clear showing of having been used, walked on all over the place. Perhaps why shoes were better. They kept any dirt off you.

"But if they were patched as much, did they feel anytime uncomfortable? I mean.. with all t' different edges they had in places they needn't?" He couldn't exactly imagine , not unless he thought of the boys he'd seen when he arrived at port. Even then to imagine having to wear the sort, so patched up that one had to guess at the colour, no. No wonder anybody getting all t' proper clothes of a marine would've been likin' it a fine deal.

"Then.. were you cold, I mean.. with all t' shirts so thin?" Slowly, bit by bit, his imagination would paint the scene that Thompson described, all the way from the shirts and breeches, children and even the brothel. Little details the man described filling in the painting almost as well as any artist would.

"No, heavier 'cause they have to last longer with doin' drill and marchin' and all sorts." He shrugged. "We was used to it. Never had clothes that wasn't patched, see. And yes, it was cold, 'specially in winter. Like I said, the first time I put me uniform on was the first time I felt warm in just me clothes. And we did a lot of runnin' around, us kids, which helped, a bit."

"I see. " It was cold even in the big houses sometimes. Of course there were enough ways to get warm so that such a discomfort wasn't much of a problem. Nobody liked to be cold.

"But.. did t' oldest then get a new shirt , or.. where'd yer get yer clothes like? Well not t' younger ones, but t' eldest ones n'all?"

"There's shops that sell old cast-off clothes. Or, well, a man'd have a new shirt and hand his old one down to someone, and we'd all get new clothes. Well, new to us, anyhow. We managed, somehow."

"You did, else you wouldn't be here. " He nodded slowly. Hand-me-downs, clothes that were patched and all that, and yet it didn't look as if Thompson complained. Rather he talked as if it were a fact but nothing more. And he even had a tailor take his measurements. Two worlds that were as night and day.

He looked at the sky again and didn't know what to say to that. His image had been completed for the moment, a painting of people dressed in clothes that were tattered, but they smiled and there were children chasing one another, while the weather persisted in being miserable, and there were men who brought in old clothes, and the women who cut them, smaller.

Thompson glanced down at the young boy, who was lost in thought. "I'll show you, one day. If you want," he said, wondering just what de Guarde would make of it.

De Guarde stirred and turned to Thompson. He smiled and gave the man a small nod: "Deal." He murmured softly. He wanted to see this world, perhaps it was a childish curiosity or perhaps a wish to know where his friend came from, or it was just because Thompson said he would.

"One day." Which could even be the next time they went for the port, for who knew how long it were before they did take that path again, and the very same landing.

"Is colder 'ere now." He murmured and turned quieter again, just glad for company and the feeling that all was fairly well with the world.

Thompson nodded. "Aye, one day. When we're in Chatham, an' we're allowed to go ashore, I'll show you. And it is colder now, ain't it. You'd be warmer in your hammock, that's for sure."

"..Mmm, yer tryin' ter send me off back to me hammock, so yer can have yours?" He rubbed his arms to bring some warmth into them.