OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Parties

"I know there ain't a place.. Well 'cept a time sometime." He held onto the new pair that would atleast not have him swim in it. It was smaller and shorter, better fitting than nothing and certainly than the earlier. The fact that it was nice and whiter was also of a benefit.

He began to change the first with the second pair, having the long shirt lifted and adjusted several times as its length kept on covering his front - which was a benefit too, but it made buttoning and seeing what he was doing somewhat harder. "..It's.." How could he even explain without a need to tell. "if you'd see it...ye wouldn't be sayin' that." He just hoped that the boy didn't come up with a completely atrocious reason as to what he should've been seeing and what the problem was. "They'um.. fit better than those." He murmured almost fully done with the tying and buttoning.

"I don't reckon it's half so bad as what you think it is," Oxley said, sitting on one of the beds. He paused and then swung round to lie down. "Mm... comfy but nothin' like so comfy as a hammock," he said and clasped his hands behind his head. "I seen all sorts - an' I've only bin four years. You spend much longer down on the lower deck, an' you'll see all sorts an' all."

"Tell me then.. wot' 'ave ye seen." He challenged the marine lad, turning quite tense as he heard him shift. He saw him lie down on one of the beds and shook his head. "You know, one would think you're makin' yeself feel at home, like that." He commented.

"It ain't swingin' that.. might be a positive thing when there's a storm. Else you go all black n' blue, be it yer close to a wall or snugged in 'tween them other hammocks."

"I've seen all sorts of fights, an' what it looks like after a floggin'. On me old ship, I once saw the cook's stump - 'e only had one arm, see. Usedta pin his shirt sleeve up like Adm'ral Nelson. Lost it a Trafalgar, see an' was lucky to get a cook's warrant." He shrugged. "Whatever it is you's so shy of, I betcha I've seen worse."

"..I betcha you didn't." The boy answered though he considered the arm to be an awful thing to see. No arm that is. Having one loose it. No, that was an awful thing to see. He scowled, and fastened his trousers up.

"Is..." he begun then turned silent and frowned. "Is not that I'm missin' somethin'. Don't you think that!"

"Did too!" the young Marine said, sitting up and folding his legs to sit cross-legged. "He had it off at the elber. Well, just below it - he still had the elber, see. Looked all sort of queer, it did." He clenched his fist and held it out. "Had about that much of his lower arm left, an' the stump looked a bit like that. Could still move the elber, like." He moved the fist a bit before shrugging and dropping his hands into his lap.

"Never said you was missin' anythin, Buckles. You shouldn't get so... all worked up like. Though it does make it fun to tease you when you do." He grinned, and cocked his head to one side. "So why don't you like gettin' changed where folks might see you, then?"

"How'd he loose it?" He made a face. What Oxley described looked like an awfull sort of thing to see. Unnatural maybe. Just, when you'd always expect a proper length of an arm and there was none, not even fingers or a hand, a palm, nothing. A stump that moved and was rather useless.

"n'.. how'd he use it too?" He couldn't imagine it would do any good at all. One after all could not use something with no fingers to grip!

He scowled when Oxley admitted he enjoyed teasing him. It didn't feel funny at all to him. He reacted strongly, perhaps, but he had a reason to! He did! And it was a shameful reason.

"..is'.. summat I dun want them to see." He murmured and lowered his gaze. "'cos.. it ain't. .. lookin'.." Why was he even telling the boy? Because he asked? No. Perhaps he was beginning to trust him all too much. Like Thompson, but he hadn't yet been burnt , had he?

"...'m..ashamed of.. "

"I dunno how he lost it, he never told us that. Though the fightin' at Trafalgar was awful fierce, to hear folks talk - you should ask Brannin' to tell you 'bout it some time. He was there. Lucky thing. That's the year I joined, see. I took the shillin' 'bout six months afore it - never got the chance to see Adm'ral Nelson."

He sobered a bit. "I won't tell anyone if you don't want, honest I won't, Buckles. Cross me heart."

"Maybe if ye was there you'd have lost summat too.. I dunno if all that's good ter wish for, you know... sure ye'd be out there but.. maybe ye'd not see t' Admiral Nelson any'ow." Perhaps the glory of the day was much to hope for, seeing, he could ask Branning about Trafalgar if the man was there. Well according to Oxley he was, but one was never sure till they asked. And even then he wouldn't be sure because he'd have nothing to compare it with!

"...Some know." Well, atleast about what they've seen, but those were all possibly officers or midshipmen, whoever stood right and then there was Johnson who knew. Knew very well.

"..well, mos' nobody does." He murmured biting his lip. He was comforted by the sworn promise, but still he fidgeted on the spot. Atleast some things could not be seen, he hoped. "...Well..." He was making it sound bigger than it was. Perhaps a mistake but he felt so torn between just saying that they ought to go and leaving it at that, and trusting the marine with something more.

"..You's.. really want ter see? N' real.. really promise not ter tell any'one ..ever, not even if ye be drunk or ye life be threatened...which it wouldn't be but.. not even if somebody wanted ter make you.." He thought of that one man aboard Terpsy who could, Claggart, and then shook his head wiping that thought from his mind. " Promise that ye won't?"

"I promise. Already said so, din't I?" He couldn't imagine what it was that de Guarde was so secretive about, but it obviously meant a lot to him. And hadn't he said that he hadn't gone to school? Maybe that was why he was so... private, about things. "Cross me heart, I won't tell nbody. Not even... Not even Ol' Cross-eyes hisself, I won't"

"...a'right." He was already regretting it. Before he ever moved his hands to the buttons he was thinking of changing his mind and not doing it. Twice his hands had first unbuttoned and then buttoned the slops again before he willed them to leave the fabric stay where it was.

"..that'un..." he whispered keeping his slops just low enough and his shirt just high enough that what had his cheeks turn dark red and himself look at the floor in same, was easy to be seen. "..you . .you lot thought I was an awful middie." He hurried to say. "..but'un... " He shook his head his knuckles as white as chalk. ".. I was.. n' more ways than one.." He turned silent. What he expected was something, not positive perhaps, a taunt? Something to be said in mean spirit? A laugh or a squeak of ..something..else.

What he he heard was a sharp indrawn breath. "That's must've hurt," he said, and then added, obscurely, "'M sorry, mate."

He'd felt the cane himself; he didn't think anyone could serve in the Navy without coming under some form of punishment. "They must've hated you," he said and bit his lip. "Y'know, it don't look so bad as you prob'ly think. Don't think I'd've see n 'em if the light in here weren't so good, y'know."

It wasn't exactly what he'd expected and though he tugged his slops back up rather quickly he turned and felt strangely grateful to the other lad.

"..did' hurt." He smiled faintly and nodded. Of course he inflicted worse on others, on those whose punishment was on their backs rather than bottoms. But it made him feel no better for it.

"Ye don't need ter.. say it nicely, Tom. I know it ain't lookin' nice.." He allowed the shirt to cover up most of his waist and some of his thigh. "..but thanks, jus'.. please dun' tell anyone.. 'aright?" He looked at the boy gravely. "...I mean,..how it is... I know 'lmost everyone got caned.. sometime in their life I jus' don't want... jus'.. " He leaned down to fetch the borrowed coat.

"..never did anythin' right wot' them was concerned. Or..that middie." A few marks were from that too. "I'um not lookin' for excuses on why I did what I did. There's none ter be given there. N' I shouldn't be judged more lightly for it. Like.. like you'd know, mos' get caned sometime.. or flogged, which is worse.. n' I got them too, you know. Tars from my ship."

"Yeah, but that was on your old ship," Oxley said, feeling strangely relieved once de Guarde had pulled his trousers up. "There ain't... ain't anythin' wrong in folks knowin'. Ships ain't all the same, after all. I mean, the officer we had when I was on Atalanta was... well, we only saw him for inspections an' stuff like that. It was the sergeant an' corp'rals we saw mostly."

"..Is everything wrong with folks knowing." He spoke haughtily. "They don't need ter see or know.. they don't need t' know any 'bout me." His eyes flashed angrily, and he didn't even know why he had been so worked up about something as banal. He pulled the coat over his shoulders once his shirt was tucked in the waist of his new slops. They were cleaner, somewhat big, but fitting well enough to be fitting his need. The smelly pair was still lying on the floor in a wrinkled pile. He returned the sword and knife and all he'd been carrying earlier back to its place and only then he spoke again.

"They aren't needin' ter know.. n' you ..." He frowned then, for he was harsh towards the lad who had been helpful to him, who'd gotten him out of a rather tight spot and he shouldn't have been. "I'um.. sorry. Ships ain't all the same, n' Tars ain't all t' same I know that... But human nature is.. similar.. quite a lot."

"Ain't," Oxley replied stoutly. "And you needn't get on your high horse, neither, you. You got to look at things diff'rent, an' if you don't, well, you'll only make things uncomfy for yourself." He shrugged, accepting de Guarde's apology. "I ain't goin' to tell them, but someone'll see, down 'tween-decks. You won't be able to hide it forever. Thing is, though, are you goin' to be 'shamed of 'em forever, or jus' accept 'em like... like folks do what've bin flogged?"

"..it ain't t' same!" He scoffed touching the hilt of his newly obtained knife. He meant to do nothing with it but maybe to have a last look at it, deciding if it's edge would need sharpening or if it would do well for carving or anything that he might need it for back aboard ship. he could just have it somehow tied ter him at all times like some of them had things from around their necks. Have it so that if he needed something to be cut with it, he could. And the more he thought of it, the better the idea that was forming in his mind as how he might arrange to carry it. For protection as well as simply for use.

What Oxley was saying was right as rain. He was able to have himself changed so's nobody was yet able to see, but it had been close once. His face darkened a little and his cheeks coloured as he remembered how shamed he was, scampering from between the two cannons in hopes that the smallest amount of men might see him.

"...They's nothin' ter be proud of! Nothin' at all." He spoke his voice strained. "..Why's you askin' such a... silly question anyway?" He scowled. "How can I be... all marry go 'appy with someone seein' it... Tom? You wouldn't be!"

"Never said you had to be proud of 'em. But you can't change 'em, so you'll just have to accept 'em, like any sailor who's bin flogged has to accept his scars. I dunno. I ain't..." He trailed off. "Y'know, I usedta get thrashed all the time by me dad. Well, seemed like all the time. He used to go down the local tavern, see, an' spend all his money on drink. He was right vi'lent when he'd had a skinful. Usedta whip me an' Sam summat awful, with his belt, see, an' one time he was that drunk 'e didn't know what end of the belt 'e was usin'. Got me right over the waist of me trousers with the buckle. Tore me shirt."

Why he was saying all this, he didn't know, but he pulled his own grubby shirt up and unfastened his trousers, loosening them enough that de Guarde could see his waist. "Ain't got so many scars as some folks, an' the ones I have got ain't fr'm fightin', see. But I got that, and for the same reason you got them."

It was a long thin white scar that ran round from his side to his back. He shrugged. "It's only a scar, see."

"But them scars they..." He wanted to say that they've deserved them alright, but so did he, just that some of them didn't really deserve them either, just as he didn't, some. He frowned and he listened, though at first he looked as if though he was refusing to try hearing anything that young Oxley was telling him. There the boy told him that he'd been trashed, which was never the case at his own home and for that alone she should've been grateful. Trashed silly by a father who was drunk, which his own was neither. Cold perhaps, but well sober.

He looked startled when the boy turned to show him, and didn't even request that he'd be quiet about it. He hadn't known he wasn't breathing for a few moments and inhaled sharply, his eyes on the scar.

"..is." It was only a scar. "..N' if they saw it, you could've told them all ..t' things n' not feel 'shamed. Couse.. they'd think you was brave fer living it through n' not guilty of it at all. They know you ter be a good lad, so they'd feel.. I think they'd feel sorry ye had ter get it, not deservin' n'all. " He was touched by the action though. It made him feel much less vulnerable as before, for they were both now, in a way equal in showing.

"Ter me.. they'd jus'.. they'd taunt me, I'm sure. N' say I deserved it. Not Chase per'aps.. he's a'right. But some of them others..." He looked at his smelly slops. Pick them up, or leave them, hmm.. he was tempted not to bother with them ever again.

It was only a scar. Folks got them for all sorts of stupid things - he had one on his arm where he'd got scratched by a bramble, once. He sighed and tucked his shirt back in and buttoned his trousers again.

"I... I know it ain't the same, like," he said, with a one-shouldered shrug. "Only, well..." He sighed. "You know what your other ship was like. If everyone on her was flogged or... or caned... don't that make it diff'rent, like? 'Cause they wasn't all bad folks, I'm sure."

And Sam had said earlier that he'd been flogged himself, though he didn't think he could share that. "You know, you's awful friendly with that Thompson," he said instead. "Didja know he's got scars like yours, an' not just on his back? An' it ain't like he's 'shamed of 'em, he just don't really talk 'bout 'em much."

" Not full everyone." Other than the officers obviously and captain, Mr. Hollow seemed to have an uncanny skill to avoid getting in trouble even if he was the cause of it. But others were not so lucky if he chose to point fingers.

"..George?.." He corrected himself quickly. "Thompson's ... he has nothin' ter be ashamed of , no. He's a fine marine. He's.. I don't think he'd hurt a fly bad, though he would a Frog!" He had to smile at that. "..Floggin'.. he was brave for it. Like you was too when yer father did that. I dunno..Wot' have I ter say 'bout me own? I wasn't brave... I wasn't a man...not caned that'un way.." He slid the knife back into its sheath and straightened. " I saw his.. t' ones on 'is back. Thompson's back.. n'.. you mean..which ones others do yer mean?" Why was he saying that. It wasn't something to exactly boast about!

"..I .. I dunno. Is not as easy as yer make it sound like!"

"He's got scars like yours, all across the backs of his legs, I think from when he was trainin'. I've seen 'em, when he's changed his trousers, see. You'll have to ask him 'bout 'em for yourself though." He shrugged again. "Even if they weren't all - and o' course the officers weren't not bein' officers an' all. Whoever heard of that happenin' to an officer?"

He pulled his legs up again to sit cross-legged on the bed. "But, see, if everyone - or most of 'em - had that, don't it go to show that you can't judge folks who've got them scars?"

"You lot.. are too attentive ter things." He walked across the room and peeked into another of the chests. He had all he needed and the two were rather safe from inquisitive eyes and minds. Not only for their display which might've accounted to something of a bad situation to walk into, but also for their time that was speant nearly as if of duty.

"No officers don't get ter be flogged like that. 'fcourse." He pulled another shirt out, studied it, saw something fall from it, but it was only a packet of letters and then shuffled onwards, encouraged perhaps by the find.

"You wouldn't judge folks while on Confidence, but here... wot' would you do? Ye had a middie who'd been right.. cruel by your standards, and then one day you find or see this? What would be on your mind then, Tom? I'm not sayin' you seeing George, couse as you've seen him, you still don't look at him any worse, do you? "

"Only know 'cause I sling me hammock near his,"" Oxley said. "He don't go showin' 'em off, see. Just... he ain't 'shamed of 'em and don't need to try to hide 'em all the time. If that makes sense to you." He grinned. "Of course officers don't get flogged. Wouldn't be right if they was."

He frowned and then turned to lie across the bed so he could look through the rest of the contents of the chest he'd pulled the shirt and trousers from. He twisted his head to look at de Guarde. "'Course I don't think of him any diff'rent. They's just... well, part of him. It don't mean he's any better or worse, see."

"N'.. of me.., do you think any different now that you've seen it? Mind.. ye's not ter tell anyone or else I swear.... I swear i'll do summat you will not enjoy at all." He scowled for his threat hardly held any water. How could he do something as a Tar, and in fighting he had learned he could as well receive a black eye as give one. Never to mention or forget that he could hardly threaten a.. friend.

".. ..Thompson's t' same to me....I mean, flogged or not, he's shown himself to be a good man. He's... not thought me all bad even when the rest of them lot did. 'least I think so, but you'd know. If he talked about that with you. Since you's a marine and marines talk with each other more than with Tars, no?"