24th May, Morning - Deck

"How did you like it." He asked out of the blue then quickly changed to turn the musket around , onto the side, as it was indicated. He loosened his grip on it, then tightened again when his hand was holding it more comfortably, fingers curled around, and his palm resting atop it.

"..You 'ave an awful lot of things ter shine n' make proper.. though, t' musket should be, no? Is.. what you fire with and if it were not in perfect condition, it could fail ter fire, and that wouldn't do for a marine." He smiled faintly. "..though if yer bayonet was rusty, then it would do much worse fer any enemy bein' impaled on it.. I think... 'cos even if they didn't die.. they could later."

"If it ain't shined right, you don't half get to hear 'bout it from Corp'ral Johnson - or Sar'nt Quinn," Thompson said, dipping the rag into the tin and starting to rub gently at the brass plate.

"How'd I like it? Jus' fine. The woman I went with first time, she lived in the same house as us, see. She knew it was me first time an' let me go f'r free." He shrugged. "Wasn't quite what I 'spected, but it was good, like."

"They want it ter look as good as if it were new, don't they?" He asked wondering how much time, per day, one needed to spend only cleaning, rubbing, whitening and working on the uniform, the musket and all else that came with it. The marines had to stand sentry then as well, do drill sometimes and be prepared to fight. Compared to a Tar, who needn't exactly to be the shiniest of the bunch, nor did he need to be as prim and proper, well the contrast was rather intriguing. But as he continued with that thought he decided that a Tar could not spare so much time on his ..well it wasn't a uniform either, what he wore.. because he was needed to work the sail and tend to the ship's needs.

"Ah.." And here he thought of it, the girl sort, and how women were a mystery and he knew mostly just those from his world. The lot of them would never have gone to sleep with a man just like that, no he thought that they wouldn't!

"n'..yer.. everythin' was a'right after you'd done it?.." He dropped his gaze. "..I'um mean.....did'un you know 'zactly wot' to do?" How embarrassing it was to talk of it, but Thompson seemed quite like the only person he'd dare even mention it much. Perhaps it was the feeling that he would keep all that they spoke of a secret, that made all of that possible.

"Aye, they do," Thompson said. "Though when it's new, even, it's gen'rally in a shockin' state, like you wouldn't believe. Takes a vast 'mount of time to get it lookin' like this."

He smiled, wondering what was prompting de Guarde's questions. "Aye, everythin' was fine after. Though there was a sight of fumblin' an' I was as red as me jacket, all the way through an' most times I seen 'er after, for 'bout a month, mebbe more. She was a good sort, though, Ruth." He looked up. "Tell you what, lad, when you'm ready for that sort o' thing, I'll find you a nice, good woman f'r your first time, someone who'll show you what's what. If... if you want me to."

"Even when they'um new?.. But shouldn't they be in a perfect state once they's new?" He asked uncertainly. "I mean...they're new! s' like getting a uniform that's a'ready in a dreadful state n' you have ter clean it up all as if it had been through thick n' thin." He shook his head and decided that it wasn't a good thing when a new musket had to be treated to a longer bit of work than one used for a while.

He didn't want to turn as red again, and feel the heat of his cheeks, burning in embarrassment at even the thought of the offer, or for that matter, the thought of that sort of fumbling and shyness. He chewed at his lip, learning the girl's name. Ruth. A kind girl to have, well, it was a world much different than the one he was used to at home.

"That'.." He started and turned quiet again. He studied his feet, the soles of which were a bit dirty and so were the sides of his toes with a dark smear over one foot. He rubbed it up against his other pant leg and cleared some of the gray of it. "Um'.." He was chewing at the inside of his mouth a little. His hand holding Thompson's squeezed tightly. "I would like if you did." He blurted out. "You'd.. know which'un is good, wouldn't you?..How.. how do you know?"

"It's in the face," he said, feeling his hand squeezed a little. "You jus' see who's got a nice face. An' I'll ask her, too, o' course." He smiled. "You'll be all right, lad, I promise you'll be all right."

He dipped the rag back in the tin for some more brick-dust. "Sometimes you get stuff that's bin used by someone else afore you - like a musket, mebbe. An' it ain't allus looked after the way it should be. Or it needs alterin' to make it fit, like the jackets do. You should see it when we get new jackets issued. There's marines all over the fo'c'sle, cuttin' an' sewin' to make 'em fit neater."

"In t' face?.."He looked thoughtfully at his slops. Was the girl that they've met the evening earlier the sort. Would her face be the one telling him that. Did it? He hadn't seen a girl properly since the last time he'd left Confidence and then it was hardly a want to. "..a pretty face, that's t' sort? How do you know she's... going to do it n' not jus' smack yer for being inconsiderate. 'couse that's not how .. how I was learnt no!" He shook his head quickly. " T' ladies.. lasses I knew, they'd never!"

He looked so curious about it. Thompson seemed to know more too! "You promise ter ..ask 'er for me?" He asked shyly. "Though.. wot' if she'd think it was you who wanted 'er.. and she learn't it was me.. n' she'd be real 'gainst it!" He willed to hide his face but with both hands busy, all he could do was to drop his gaze, which he already had. And his hair was tied neatly behind his head so it didn't slide down to conceal it neither.

"Wot' do you do if ...you don't know how ter cut proper or sew or if yer as foolish ter cut too much then?.. I mean, you said you lot cut it.. and sew it up to fit better? where do t' strips o' cloth go? You throw'em away?" He was still torn between thinking and asking only about the girls - silly as that was - and to consider asking about the muskets too, which wasn't making him feel as embarrassed.

"I'd say it was for a friend, an' tell her a bit, make it clear. An' if she didn't want to, well, she wouldn't be the right sort anyhow." He continued rubbing at the strip of brass, not looking up at the lad. He didn't want to embarrass the boy any worse, after all.

He dipped the cloth again. "Well, the first time or so, you ask for help. Most folks are willin' to help the younger, newer lads, after all. That ain't to say they'll do it for 'em, but they'll show 'em how to do it, help 'em mark out what to cut so's they don't take off too much. An' most times it's only a bit that's needed to be taken off, so it does get chucked out, aye."

"But.. it would be a'right with yer to ask?.. I. mean, I dun' want ter be makin' no deals which obliege yer to do it, no. It's jus' if you want to! Though if yer want summat in return, then jus' ask too. 'couse... well, I'd give it ter you then. I promise. ... Anythin'." His smile wavered a bit at that.

"...n' i.. I was thinkin'. I decided.. that... " He hesitated. "I'd teach yer ter write... n' I dun'... need yer grog for it." Now that was something new. Before the deal had been just that, wasn't it? He smiled faintly. He felt safe with the marine and could forget about that master-at-arms and most things that ailed him.

He still held onto the musket and glanced up at how it looked now, with a few scrubs already given to her. "Your new uniform fitted you badly, too?"

"Wouldn't offer if it warn't all right with me, would I?" Thompson pointed out. "I'd do it 'cause I'd want to do it, 'cause of bein' a friend an' all, see. Wouldn't need anythin' in return."

He blinked and looked up, his hand pausing in its movement. "Would you? Would you, really?" He'd never really expected the first, vague lesson to be anything more than that, just a brief lesson in writing his name.

He found a clean bit of the cloth and rubbed the dust away, showing the newly-polished brass. "Didn't fit so bad as all that. Me first coat, though, that needed a deal of work afore it was fit for p'rade, though I din't get it all that long afore I first went to sea. They just make 'em up rough, see, an' if you want it to fit better, you need to take it apart an' redo it."

"A friend." The youth nodded and relaxed his hand that held onto the marine's fingers. It felt odd that he still held to them and that twice he had forgotten that his hand was there at all. It was comforting and, he bit his lip, and thought no more. "Yes.. friend." He smile brightened, bringing a soft light to the usually cold blue of his eyes. He was happy, and there was no doubt about that.

It wasn't hard to answer the next question, nor did he need worry that he'd change his mind or that he now regretted what he'd said. No,he would willingly teach the marine, and so too asking for nothing in return, but maybe for help in locating more paper!

"Yes, yes I would. It would not do that you know only to sign yeself, you know." He added with a small chuckle. "Wouldn't do at all! " He tilted his head a bit to the side. "...but you'd have to promise you would be an industrious student.. meanin' you'd actually listen ter me, like I do to you! "

He patted Thompson's hand and adjusted the way the musket sat between them and against Thompson's thighs. " I had me middie uniform properly fitted, you know. All with a tailor n' such.. though I guess I'll need much refitting if it takes long till i wear it again. I am growin' even if they starve us on this ship so terribly." He grinned. "Yours was too big? Too long? or wot?"

"'Course I'd listen. Ain't every day you learn to read an' write - an' you'm the first person who's ever offered to learn me how." He smiled and merely twisted the musket onto its side so he could get at the trigger-guard, smiling as the lad patted his hand. "The smallest the quarter-master sar'nt had in Stores was much bigger'n I was, me bein' so small at the time. All scrawny an' thin, that's me, an' allus was."

He dipped the cloth into the pot again and started working on the brass of the trigger-guard. "Don't you ever get tired o' talkin' to me?" he said after a moment, getting some more powder on the rag he'd wrapped around his forefinger.

"Scrawny an' thin? Well least yer gotten summat on you now.. though I'd think they still don't feed you proper in the marines, no!" He spoke, and sounded rather amused imagining the marine about his age ever standing the huge coat of his and looking more like a scarecrow, thin limbs and a small head, with the coat hanging from him like it would from such a thing. Perhaps he should not have imagined it as he felt guilty then, for as amusing as that thought was, the reason why Thompson' might've looked that way, wasn't.

The last question took him of guard, for he'd never considered being bored when in his company, nor tired of saying or asking things or even just having to listen to a sort of 'scolding' that he'd deserve.

"Tired?..No." He shook his head and wondered why. "..No, never. " And as he considered more, he could not disagree with the previously said. "..is'um.. nice ter talk to you..both couse you're nice n' interestin' n' the things. .you teach me summat new." He was certainly not learning any proper English though: "....is fine company you are, George." He didn't know why his cheeks colored red again and frowned reaching with a hand to them angrily.

"I must've looked a proper sight in that coat," the Marine said. "I was mebbe a bit shorter'n you, but thin. An' that coat could've fitted young Oxley. It was too long in the sleeves an' big to fasten up - we didn't wear 'em buttoned like we do now, but more like an officer's sort, with the facin's showin' at the front, and fastened with hooks an' eyes. White facin's, it was back then, 'cause we weren't Royal Marines yet. Not till... about five years after I 'listed."

He grinned. "Never had anyone think I was interestin' to talk to afore. Nice, that. It's nice talkin' to you, too. Never had anyone interested in me afore, not really."

"You wore them different?" He tried to imagine but did have some trouble. Well, he thought the picture he painted in his mind was about the same as Thompson described and was satisfied with that knowledge. "Silly thing. Well think blue's much better that way. White ,..white's fer t' crossbelts, n' that's right better." He wondered how the change felt for the many marines whose coats, to which they finally got used to, were suddenly changed again. New wool possibly, new coats to cut down and adjust to their bodies, new ways of wearing them,.. well it couldn't be as different as that atleast.

"Did yer hats change too?" He asked and that with a grin matching that of the marine he added :" Thanks. jus' you tell me...well, if ye do get tired o' me too. Is.. I'm glad ter be here, and to talk with you and ter find you sometime too.. so I might be a bit of a handful..'cos.." He shrugged: "..I'm not used to this...I'm used ter being...." He did not finish but rather stared at the musket.

"No, still the same hats, an' trousers an' everythin' else," he said. "See, we got blue facin's when we became Royal M'rines - the year of the Peace it was, '02. Easier to look after, the new sort of coats. Not like tryin' to keep the white clean."

He concentrated on the task at hand for a moment. "No, I don't mind you askin' questions. You make me think 'bout things diff'rent, 'cause I never had to 'splain it all afore."

"We have a white ...I had a white patch on my collar. Wasn't a whole thing really, but you see it there, don't you? Didn't ever understand why we have to wear so much white elsewhere too, we.. you.. n'all the officers like. White gets dirty so easy... n' so obvious. Though. .if it were another colour perhaps there'd be less yellin' at.. 'cos they wouldn't find t' dirt!"

He looked grateful and as his hand shifted it squeezed Thompson's again. Tight , then gentle as the boy thought and mulled over what he'd just heard. "If'un you want... you can ask me things too. I won't be as wise as you.. I know...But.. I can try ter answer to t' best of me.. former middie's knowledge.!" Perhaps he disliked using the word former, but saying a middie or midshipman did leave some pride.

"I dunno why anyone wears white, not really. Looks nice when it's clean, o' course, but it's awful to keep that way. An', well, I'd like to hear a bit 'bout your home, like I've told you 'bout mine... but only if you don't mind tellin' me. 'Cause I know it might be a bit hard for you to talk 'bout that."

He dipped the cloth back in the tin of brick-dust, polishing the trigger-guard carefully, concentrating on where it had gone a bit green.

White may have looked elegant, professional, prim and proper as he would call it, but it was not a colour that took on well with dirt. Never hid it really. A rat, the white colour was a rat, he mused.

"Me 'ome?" He asked and gave a small shrug, showing that he would not mind talking of it, though it might probably be a terribly boring ordeal. It wasn't a topic he would have discussed freely, or in detail and hadn't, or so he thought, done it since leaving home. "Me home was big n'uff. We had servants who'd dress me up in the morning, ..who'd make me bed and take away any things I had left lying around. They came and they left sometimes so smooth it looked like proper magic when things appeared.." He hoped that Thompson would not think that he was boasting. As he wasn't, just telling it as it was.

"..When I was a...little'un. I mean t' sort that can't even walk, n'all, I had a lass who watched over me, and did even as I grew older. Though then it was less n' less as I had tutors." He shrugged. "She was, ..well strict yes, but she never hit me no. Because me parents wouldn't allow." He had only mentioned them then and off handedly as if noting that it was sunny that day. "I didn't talk like this no... yer know, would've been taught ter talk all... fine."

"Sounds as diff'rent from me home as... as chalk fr'm cheese," the Marine said lightly, looking askance at what he'd just polished of the trigger-guard. "I mean, if I ever did anythin' I oughtn't, I got a clip round the ear from anyone who was nearby." He shrugged. "Didn't stop me doin' it, though."

"I didn't.. not from her atleast. I was never 'llowed ter go into m' father's office or do summat to anger me mom or him though. Had ter give them peace and behave like a gentleman... silent, composed n' there when i was called on. Like.. if we had guests comin'... or they wanted me ter play summat on the instrument fer them. Then I would have to come. Wasn't a no, I dun' feel like it...though that doesn't sound dreadful at all, does it?" He smiled glancing at the trigger-guard that Thompson was working on. Well, if anything that musket would be as nice and shiny as... a good new one.

"So...I had all sorts of tutors.. fer writin'. .fer calculations, fer music..and such. " He looked at the marine. "..I did do things that I shouldn't.. like.. one time when it was rainin' outside.. n' boy did I love rain!... well, I managed ter get out just after I've been dressed all finely. See, we were recieving guests that evening, for summat more of a splendorous thing. N'.. anyway, I ran out... and had m' maid calling after me. And there was this... terribly large puddle, all dark with brown mud n' water! " He grinned as mischeviously as he might've looked at the time. "And I ran straight for it. Had me breeches n' stockings.. pale blue n' white at the time! All the lightest o' colours even!"

"It sounds... strange, not really seein' your mum or dad much, though I s'pose that's what it's like, bein' gentry an' all," Thompson said. "Can't imagine gettin' any sort o' schoolin' at all, never mind the sort you got."

He chuckled at the story. "Can jus' see you goin' for a puddle like that if you wasn't allowed to get dirty," he said. "Mum din't much mind what me an' the other boys got up to, so long as we was back when she wanted us to go to bed. Was allus dirty an' that, like. Didn't make much diff'rence whether it rained or not." He shrugged. "I bet your maid was hoppin' mad with you, though."

"Oh, t' schoolin' isn't all that's up ter be. It takes long hours and lots of effort and... it's not as much fun as you wish it ter be sometimes. S'pecially if t' tutor's a sour bum!" He chuckled at the description. Had he envied Thompson's affectionate mother? Well, perhaps he did.

"Oh.. I was so dirty you can't imagine how! Covered in t' mud from 'ead ter toe, my hair was proper clinging to me head. And the guests were nearly arrivin' too! See, you shouldn't be ever late if you come.. but neither should you be too early. For.. if you are too early then you embarrass the host.. n' if you are too late.. well t' dinner has an arrangement 'round the table and so..,n'.. you'd disrupt the whole thing!"

"Anyway! ..so I was drippin' wet... and muddy, so m' maid was all horrified but she had to get me in first.. have the other servants clean after me feet.. I made a mess everywhere! Then I had to be bathed and dried and dressed again. My parents were furious when they found out." He nodded, but seemed no less discouraged about the idea he had and done. "Your mom' didn't get upset?...well, you wos' lucky then!" Though if he considered what sort of food he ate and what the marine did, he could well have changed his mind.

"When the guests arrived at last.. I was just done n' prepared. They knew not a thing. N' me parents.. they knew how to act perfectly well infront of 'em see. As if nothin' 'as happened. Saved all o' it for later, they did."

"Oh, we never had nothin' like that. No big grand dinners or nothin'. Mostly bread with a bit o' cheese if we was lucky, an' mebbe stew or summat. If we was really lucky we might get a bit o' porridge or summat in winter. But nothin' like the big grand dinners you'd've had."

It wasn't that he envied de Guarde particularly, but it would be nice to see how he lived... though he wasn't sure he'd like to show the lad round his own home. Red Cat Lane wasn't really the sort of place where you could take a nice, well-bred young man, after all.

"Maybe.." He halted his breath. Would he suggest it? "..mebbe if we ever get ter go back home.. or be posted close ter it... or such, I could take you there. You'um my friend so's it should be a'right." He felt determined that he would do anything needed that it would be so.

"Is.. if you'd want ter. " He smiled with that childish conviction that was often lost as boys became men. "It.. would be n' honour to me if you did though." He looked at the musket. "I'um sorry.. ye didn't have a.. dinners like that.. or food like. " He added as an afterthought, feeling a bit awkward at that.