Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

"You ain't a Shepherd and nor you ain't Ol' Tom here, neither," Button said, grinning. "Though you look right, sure 'nough." It was a good joke, too. "You know how to use that there drum?" he asked curiously, sidling a little closer. He glanced over at Mister Evans and shrugged. "Sorry, din't mean nothin' by it."

".. I do know. Woudln' be a drummer if I couldn't." He whispered back, and grinned. "But 's how Evans said. Better not be so loud. Really don't need ter have t' others know,do we?" Best Button was let in on the joke or atleast told not to have everyone else alerted.

"Wasn't shoutin', then," the lad pointed out, and shrugged. "So long as you know what you's doin'. An' who's takin' your place in your watch, then? Else there'll be a row that'll make you stare."

Evans looked innocently away skyward and clucked his tongue. "Dunno that's somethin' needin' knowin'," he observed offhandedly, guessing that once the barest word of what was going on got out, there would be merry hell to pay for it.

Button prepared to dart away if Mister Evans looked as though he was going to clout him. "Wasn't plannin' on tellin' anyone," he said. If it was a prank - and it looked as though it was, and a good one at that - he wasn't going to spoil it by telling on them.

"Good lad. Can't tell you who's standin' in for me.. Button.., but be assured I've got that covered. "Just barely. The boys had been planning the marine prank so intently, that rare one thought that there was another place needing to be filled. If not for Shepherd's thinking, there could have been a problem.

"Now, let me do me duty. Can't go chattin' away with you Tars!" He kept his voice low and relatively quiet.

"A'right. Was only askin' - ain't no harm in that, is there." He gave a half shrug. "Anyhow, it's only the officers that call me Button. Me name's Terry. If you want to use it, that is."

"Ey, is 'alright. Didn't mean it as if I was scolding you." With his eyes still ahead, it looked rather silly when he spoke and it seemed as if he was talking to himself. Though for the most part he opened his mouth very slightly, to hide even that so perhaps from a distance it would not have been noticed.

"Terry. A'right. N' you know wot' I be called 'mongst t' Tars. Buckles. At all other times but this'un of course." He grinned.

"I know that." Button grinned, and Oxley rolled his eyes. "Go on then, Terry. You'll make 'em all suspicious, you stand around talkin' like that, y'know."

Button stuck his tongue out and darted past Oxley, punching him in the arm as he did.

"Lets hope that next he comes back, he'll have any more news. That woman had made quite a spectacle. Could hear 'things all t' way here. Jus'.. nothing more useful." And then the young drummer was quiet. It was a fair workout to do nothing but stand in one place, with the drum slung over a shoulder. He smiled. It wasn't as hard as to last the whole watch though. Hah, and the officers were none the wiser. Though the Tars seemed to have noticed it soon enough, and one marine, if he counted the one that didn't know it already.

"Oh, that's just Terry Button. He's like that." Oxley shrugged. He really shouldn't be hanging around here - it was going to catch someone's attention sooner or later.

"I oughta go - 'fore someone sees me, who shouldn't," he said. "Don't want to risk givin' the game away too early, do we?"

"Aye, best you go. If there's anythin' drastic that'd happen, don't forget what it was. I want to know all about it when this watch is over." He stared ahead again. Ignoring those who were passing for the benefit of sending out the image of a drummer boy. There for everyone to see, and at the same time probably one nobody noticed till he used his drum to relay a certain order.

So far it worked fairly well. Not too many had noticed him or recognized him. And the some who did, needed a moment before they figured it out.

"Officer comin'," Evans muttered, just loud enough for the boys to hear.

"Time I wasn't here," Oxley said, glancing towards the approaching officer. He ducked down the companionway, trying to lurk nearby but out of sight, though if it looked as though the officer was going to notice him, he'd be able to slip away towards the Marines' mess-deck.

Mathew stiffened and straightened a bit where he stood, though he was already near perfectly positioned. He stared ahead, listening to the footsteps, should he hear them, rather than actually turning to look. He couldn't anyway. Just hope the officer would pass nicely, as some others have done. His hat was resting alright on his head, just as it should, his crossbelt weighted down on his shoulder, carrying the whole weight of the drum. It had not bothered him now, and probably wouldn't later even.

Evans knuckled his brow. "Fine way to spend a mornin', ain't it, sir?"

The midshipman seemed not to have heard him. "What is going on?" He asked, sounding a little sleepy. "What - who are you?" The boy had caught sight of the drummer and was looking at him closely. Evans hid a frown of alarm. How did the boy suspect anything was amiss?

There wasn't anything going on - not anything an officer would pick up on that quickly, anyhow. Unless he'd heard all the row from up on deck, which was always a possibility, of course. Though, from the way the midshipman was looking at de Guarde, it wasn't the row he was asking about.

Drat. Though... maybe the lad would appreciate the joke, being as he was about their age. They could only hope.

"Terpsy's drummer, sir." De Guarde answered, what looked to be in a relatively calm manner, his voice composed and matter of fact. He wasn't trying to be a smart ass, all he did simply was to answer a question. " Thomas Shepherd, sir." It was worth a try. Really.

Shepherd. Mister Slater studied the boy a moment, then nodded slowly. "I see," he said. He looked up at the sailor. "And you're...?"

"Evans, sir. Quartermaster."

"Right. Well. Carry on, then." The midshipman hurried toward the rail, to see for himself what all the fuss was about.

Shepherd. Oxley had to duck his head to hide his grin. He looked nothing like either of the Shepherds - if you ignored the absolute similarities: a head, two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth.

Slater wasn't half going to be confused when he saw both Shepherds together later on... This whole thing was just getting better all the time.

Mathew relaxed. It was really great when it worked. Slater didn't recognise anything amiss, he'd agreed with the fact that he was a Shepherd, which coincided with the watch order as well. If he was asked by anyone or asked anyone who's turn it was to be on duty, they would answer the same.

Inwardly he counted the number of tars or marines who knew, and officers who did not. Worked like a charm. Moments passed, and even if he did not see what had been happening earlier he was assured he would learn of it once he came off watch. Oxley saw the exchange, and if he could judge by his own reaction to it, it was that of amusement. Evans allowed the game to continue. He'd not pointed out the mistake, but rather easily answered his question and kept quiet. That was just great !

Oxley took care to keep out of Slater's way; the last thing he wanted was for the midshipman to notice him and order him away from where he was. After all, what was the fun of arranging a joke on this scale if you couldn't see the results of it?

With the boys left in peace again, De Guarde relaxed. It didn't show in the way he stood though. He could hear a bell and knew what time it was. He still had a good deal of time to go. He hoped that after this was done - and they were successful - he could finally learn what had been going on on the other side. He couldn't hear any shouts of any women. If there would be orders needing him, he was self assured that he could do them well. One thing the drummers and he had made sure was, that even if their pranks was in process of happening, at no point in time would the ship have been endangered because of it.

He flexed his fingers a little, dropping his gaze briefly at the drum that rested on his shoulder and thigh. It showed signs that it had been used frequently, but didn't have the wear that would suggest it was on its lasat legs. Hardly t hat. It was nice and round and well taken care of. This was no surprise. The skin was just the right sort of taut and would give a fair sound, when and if he needed to tap on it.

Thompson needed a smoke. He had his baccy pouch in his hand as he headed topside, glancing at the young lad with the drum, who was standing in his usual place. He pulled his pipe out of his pouch, and paused. Something didn't seem altogether quite right with the drummer, and he gave the lad a second glance, frowning a little. There was nothing wrong with his uniform, or his drum and he couldn't think what had caught his attention at first.

He'd caught the sight of a very familiar face arriving on deck. He could barely even see him where he stood, but he knew he was there. De Guarde felt his heart race in anticipation. He wondered how long would it take for Thompson to realise what was going on. Perhaps he wouldn't register it, or perhaps he would take time to point a finger at what he was seeing. He hoped he wouldn't realise it right in the first moment. This seemed not to have happened , which made the boy fight down a smile. He had to act natural, and he could not permit himself to behave like a goof!

What was Thompson doing? What he was able to see, the marine looked once, then another time at him. He couldn't risk getting caught, so his gaze was quickly averted back, ahead of him. A bit of a blank, bored expression couldn't hurt. It was the 'trained' sort of look of a marine, atleast of the ones he had seen stand sentry or by a drum, like Oxley and the Shepherds.