Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

He looked like any drummer should look, though maybe slightly better behaved than was usual with Oxley or either of the Shepherds. There was something familiar about him, and Thompson couldn't help thinking that he knew the lad, though not in the uniform.

He didn't look like Oxley, but he'd seen the older drummer loitering near the companionway for some reason, when he'd come up on deck. It didn't look like a Shepherd either, not from where Thompson was standing. The face did look familiar, though the lad wasn't usually to be seen in Marine's uniform. He wasn't usually in any sort of uniform, not nowadays, and Thompson raised an eyebrow.

What was de Guarde doing, pretending to be a Marine drummer boy?

De Guarde couldn't see if Thompson had figured it. If he did the boy could have allowed himself a grin, but if he didn't the said grin would be anything but a tell tale sign - in his opinion at least - that he was not the boy of a profession he was pretending to be.

He waited. If Thompson made to advance he'd keep a straight face. If he meant to stay there, he might attempt to glance in his direction to see what he was doing. He had to be sure that the marine was looking away for it though. No sense in getting caught just yet. He flexed his hand a bit and relaxed. The constant standing in one place made him feel as if he was more unsteady at standing straight than usual. He couldn't roll his shoulders even if he had an urge to. He did have to rub his nose though. He was close to sneezing all thanks to a tickle at the very tip of it.

The problem solved, he gave Thompson a very quick glance barely moving his chin. His eyes tried to imprint the image and judge the situation all in a matter of a second.

He was doing a good imitation of a Marine drummer, Thompson would give him that. He was maybe standing a little too rigidly, though; the others fidgeted a little more, and he'd seen Oxley adjust his hat when he thought nobody was looking. He grinned openly at the lad, giving him a nod. He wasn't going to spoil the boy's fun, though he wondered what was going to happen when Corporal Johnson or Sergeant Quinn realised what was going on.

De Guarde bristled with pride, forgetting himself for a moment. Thompson recognised him, yes, but he approved. He nodded, and that meant that he did in the young former midshipman's books. The fact that De Guarde was now a Tar, had been a midshipman and was at present a marine drummer made him purse his lips to stop himself from chuckling. He was just a make believe marine, but he still knew enough to be a safe drummer. Thompson wouldn't tell on him, that was clear.

He itched to call the marine over and strut what he had on, but bit his tongue at such a silly idea. A marine drummer would never have been turning about all in a merry manner! Not on duty he wouldn't. Instead he allowed himself a bright, warm smile which inched into a grin, while he still looked in the direction of the marine. He returned the nod boldly, with confidence as if assuring the man that he , and whoever was with him, knew what they were doing.

The cheeky monkey. Thompson would have bet good money that the lad was itching to show off his uniform to him.

He slowly filled the bowl of his pipe with tobacco, enjoying the sunshine. He hoped that the lad actually knew what to do with the drum, though it was unlikely that he'd need to do anything with it other than beat for the officers' dinner, and the other lads had probably made sure he knew how to do that. Though it was fairly impressive that they'd managed to get all the kit together for him - that had taken some organising.

He thought he saw Oxley grinning up at him, though the lad's expression turned to one of innocence as Thompson looked down at him.

Thompson was not observed with a glimpse solely by the young faux marine drummer. The actual real thing was looking at him too and then acting as innocent as if he had not been privy to anything let alone a secret. De Guarde made the grin fade into a fainter smile. His eyes darted to the other side to see whether there was a man or boy, that he needed be careful about. He knew they were running a risk of getting caught by the wrong person. Quinn, Johnson, those weren't the preferable choices, but they were also somewhat more removed from the men then the men were from their own messes and men of the same station. This is why a midshipman could've not seen something out of place, De Guarde reasoned, and the private marine or Tar could.

Of course, it was no reason to get sloppy and careless and worse, do something that a marine drummer would not. He was on duty, and be damned if he wouldn't do as if he was there for real.

Absentmindedly he wondered what would become of the woman and of the Tar that she must've come see. He didn't know the details of what went on, but he could make small guesses. He glanced again at Thompson. He wondered if the Marine knew more than he. Perhaps he had been witness to it?

His eyes darted over to Oxley, as if suggesting to him that he asks about the very same thing. When he considered the hat, he actually could say it was rather useful. It shielded his eyes nicely, covered his head, and also somewhat hid him so it wasn't as obvious who stood under the hat. One single symbol of recognition could've been the mark on the back and front of his hand, but if he were to drum,the motion of his hands would not be observed. What he believed even, was that not many would think to look at something as common and every day as the ship's bell announcing what time it was.

Well, if he spared his time thinking so much just standing there, he could come up with so many little plans and ideas. No wonder the drummer boys were always up to no good, their imagination had to run rampant on duty!

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth with that. When all this was over, he would prance into the marine's deck and be damned if he wouldn't show off to the tobacco smoking marine. Maybe visit his own mess, before he'd return the coat. This made him a little bit sad and had him wish that the prank would last for a good long time.

Oxley was practically eating his shirt sleeve to keep from laughing out loud. This was going far, far better than he'd dreamed it could - even Thompson had had to double-check the drummer's identity, and he knew the lad better than almost anyone else aboard. Well, from all the time they'd spent talking together, Oxley didn't think anyone knew de Guarde as well as Thompson did.

He wondered if they could pull this joke off again... maybe have de Guarde fall in for drill with the Marines one day? That'd be good fun, too... If Sergeant Quinn didn't go absolutely spare when this little deception was discovered, maybe they'd try that.

He'd have to see what de Guarde and the Shepherds thought, of course.

[Coming up on deck from below.]

However, for De Guarde, things were about to go somewhat awry.

Having quit Perry and Allen's presence below Fletcher came topside, looking for Mr. Bush. To his surprise he could see neither him or Mr. Leat, nor the captain, and Heaven alone knew where Mr. Dwerry had got to...

It was as he was scanning the deck for some sign of a superior officer - Tadcock he had just spotted over by the catheads - that he caught sight of the Marine drummer on duty. His gaze almost passed by, but something made him look again at the lad. He felt a chill in his stomach. It was De Guarde - but in a Marine drummer's uniform! He stared, his eyes widened, his mouth unconsciously hanging open a little.

De Guarde was about to make a quick scan of the deck from where he stood and then spotted Fletcher. The boy's eyes could have been no wider. He looked stunned, shocked? He didn't know which, but the lad was staring right at him. De Guarde averted his gaze abruptly. There wasn't a doubt that the boy recognised him. Perhaps no sort of dress up could fool that lad. For what De Guarde did to him, he would certainly have his face imprinted in his mind.

The faux marine attempted to act as best normal as he could. Maybe the boy would forget what he'd seen or, or understand a joke? De Guarde could feel his heart beat hard in his chest. Mentaly he'd almost urged the boy to go onward, to forget, or to find it amusing, to understand. Anything. Or perhaps for something to happen that would need the poor boys imeddiate attention far from any officers with an ear to listen.

He dared to steal a small glance in the direction of the boy. He touched the brim of his hat and then resumed his position, only a faint smile on his face, a trace of that - please - on it too.

De Guarde was looking at him as if... Fletcher wouldn't call it threatening, but there was certainly a warning, or a question in there somewhere, thought what exactly it was he did not know. Casting a glance about him Fletcher wondered what he should do. If he were to call De Guarde out about it openly now the ex-Middie would certainly be put on defaulters for this escapade - but was there a reason behind this change that he didn't know about? There may be, but to find out Fletcher would have to go over and talk to De Guarde.

The boy felt his stomach flip. He could do it, he would have to do it if he was to become a proper officer at all. Chados would tease him for being scared, if he knew of what Fletcher was thinking; he would say all that mattered was that Fletcher was a Midshipman and De Guarde wasn't - anymore. So Flecther went over to De Guarde, trying to walk as naturally as possible.

"What are you doing, De Guarde?" he asked quietly, not wishing to draw too much attention to them.

He was feeling almost grateful that Fletcher didn't turn tail and run for the first lieutenant or even the captain to show him what he had found. The fact that he now saw the boy approaching, made De Guarde nervous but at the same time quite relieved. Mister Fletcher wanted to do something else. He could just hope it wasn't to tell him that he was to stand there till others came and that was an order he couldn't disobey. He knew full well how he had ttreated that boy. If the midshipman suddenly decided to be cruel, De Guarde could do nothing. And he would almost be justified to be cruel too.

The former midshipman felt a lump in his throat, which was becoming rather uncomfortable. He would have to have expected a question. Perhaps he thought that the boy would make a statement or a threat, but instead he only asked something quietly, as if respecting the very want to keep this from the notion of others.

"Sir." De Guarde touched the brim of his hat in salute. He must've been pale, just a little bit more than normal. His heart was beating fast enough though, too fast. "I..'um.." He began hoping that Fletcher felt no hostility from him. De Guarde certainly did not intend to have any right then. "..is jus' innocent fun, sir." He could've lied. "N' I.. I do.. I know all of them things how to do with the drum." He hasted to say quietly. "Please sir, mean no harm, sir." He couldn't believe he'd said please to Fletcher, but there it was, and he meant it too. It was all up to Mister Fletcher and what he decided to do. Either way, De Guarde could not stop him. Dared not do so.

It took a moment for Fletcher to realise what it was De Guarde meant. A joke, he'd said, and meant no harm. Fletcher did not quite see who it was a joke on, but one thing he did know was that if Mr. Bush found out he'd be far from laughing.

"Alright, so you've had your fun," he said, still quietly. "But that will have to be enough. Get below and find the real drummer, change clothes with him and send him back up here quickly."

He looked up at the Marine standing next to De Guarde.

"Take the drum from him. If anyone asks where the drummer is, say he felt sick and had to go below for a moment. Refer them to me if they disapprove."

".. I have my clothes, sir. All the drummers have their own. "Well, actually, one didn't wear his own, but he did have them. That one drummer was wearing Tar's clothing, and made sure that the others did not notice that there was a boy gone from the ranks.

De Guarde didn't want to go just yet, but he couldn't say no. If he would've openly disobeyed orders then, he would've put himself in danger of rightfully receiving something much worse. But, he could try to convince one last time, couldn't he?

He'd got caught off guard, so his mind raced and one thing it did not do, is use common sense. The latter would've had him unclipping his drum, handing it and the crossbelt to the other lad, it would've had him saluting and leaving silently. It would probably have been for the best.

But instead, he wished to try and come close to pleading for Fletcher to let him stay. After all, the only men that did notice so far were Tars, Marine privates. Even a middie had gone past without seeing. If not for this middie, he'd have been still standing rather thrilled about his place.

"Please, let us stay till we the watch is finished. It's not going ter be long." He hated the fact that the young lad was his superior now and that he would have to listen in the end. He was older and.... he realised he understood how some new men might've felt when first receiving orders from the midshipmen, young gentlemen.

"nobody noticed it so far...leas'... nobody of rank." He reasoned, or tried to at least. "Please, sir." What he was not realising was simply that Fletcher was actually doing him a favour. By letting him slip off the deck and offering even to cover for himself, he was letting him go without even a warning. But De Guarde didn't see that just then. His mind was far too preoccupied for that.

Fletcher's cheeks flushed pink. He was being generous to De Guarde, he knew it, but De Guarde was having the cheek to ask him to do more, to turn a blind eye until someone more superior noticed - someone of rank, implying that Fletcher noticing did not matter! And when someone of rank did notice, there would be questions, and Fletcher would have to admit he knew, and then he would be on defaulters for not doing his duty. Meek though he might be Fletcher did not like the idea of carrying the can for De Guarde. He glared at the older boy fiercely; the image must have been something very like a dormouse squaring up to a rat.

"I said give him your drum, De Guarde."

Oxley swallowed. Best go and rescue the lad; they didn't want to have de Guarde get in trouble after all. He snatched up his coat and crossbelt scrambling into them as quickly as he could and jammed his hat on his head.

He saluted Mister Fletcher before winking at de Guarde. It might not have worked out quite the way they'd intended it to, but there was no point in pushing things and having someone get into trouble.

"He knows the stuff, sir, we made sure of that," he said, though he made a quick gesture, out of Mister Fletcher's line of sight, for de Guarde to unclip the drum. "Wasn't goin' to have him do it without bein' able to do it, sir."

Fletcher's colour heightened a shade more, though it looked as if they were finally going to do as he said. So Oxley had been in on this too?

"That doesn't come into it, Oxley. Be very glad I am not Mr. Bush."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Oxley looked suitably abashed, and paused, waiting for de Guarde to hand the drum over. It hadn't hurt anyone, and it had been fun while it had lasted.

"Sir.." De Guarde began. That glare would be intimidating given a few years when the boyish, more childlike features were gone. It would perhaps one day instill fear into men, as Lieutenant Bush's own glares did, or that of lieutenant Leat, who had successfully stared down and humbled the former midshipman in question. But now, it would've been merely adorable if not for the underlining authority that it held.

"..." De Guarde didn't make a move just yet, but his hand that was on the sticks, tightened its grip enough that the knuckles had turned white. Would the rat win out in the staring contest, or the dormouse?

He didn't have much more time. Even if he didn't say no, if he did not move in a given, normal amount of time, he could have named it a silence answer too. He averted his gaze. Dropped it to the third button of Fletcher's midshipman's coat. ... yes, sir." He finally said, his shoulders dropping low as well. He'd have liked it if he could have stayed for the whole watch. The loss showed clearly on his face as very slowly he began to unclip the drum from where it was attached to the crossbelt. He sighed. Sure he'd have hoped to actually have a try at the drum. He hesitated, staring at it for a moment and then finally held it out to Oxley.

"Trouble with my drummers, Mister Fletcher?" Cartwright asked, casually making his way toward the trio. He looked over the young faces without outward expression, though he could tell something was amiss.

No. Not good. Was there the slightest chance that Mister Cartwright would let de Guarde escape below before they attracted Mister Leat's attention, or worse, Mister Bush's.

"Gis the drum, mate, quick," Oxley said in an undertone, looking nervously from Mister Fletcher to Lieutenant Cartwright and then back to de Guarde.

De Guarde saw Carwright approach and was quick to stiffen to attention. The drum was now in Oxley's hands, and he decided not to make a grab towards it. Not unless he was told so, which he supposed would not happen.

He remembered how smart the marines looked when they'd done it, he'd practiced that too. This time he just hoped it was smart enough and quick enough, and his head was lifted, his eyes trained on something ahead as if they had a purpose with that. At best he could make himself as insignificant and as logical to be there as he knew the marines to manage doing. They were just expected to stand at certain posts. So usual they became in those posts, that one would've only noticed it, if they weren't there, but would not have remembered the face on one or another watch, just because he'd not have even looked.

He listened, and wondered if all the excitement, both positive and negative might drive him to an early grave.

Now this was a curious thing. A midshipman, two marine drummers and a marine officer all engaged in conversation. It wasn't something to happen often. Even less to have the drum exchanged during the watch and they hadn't had a sick drummer just yet to see that happen.

Was this what he heard said below decks. Of some mix-up. Was it the reason for one of the Shepherds dressing up all in a sailor's rig. He'd thought other ship boys were joking, spinning a yarn, but it looked as though it was true. Yes, it was true and he'd just come at the right time to sit back in the gloom and see what would happen next.

Fletcher started and whirled round on his heels. Where on earth had Mr. Cartwright come from so suddenly? He hadn't even heard him approach! But this presented Fletcher with a new moral dilemma; admit the truth to the lieutenant and see De Guarde and the Marine punished, or continue with his current course of action, risk being found out and punished along with rest. He saluted hastily, decided to push on regardless in the small chance that no one would be punished.

"Sir. The drummer was feeling ill, sir, so I told him to go below. Off you go, Shepherd!" This last was said to De Guarde.

Shepherd...? Cartwright lifted an eyebrow and looked more closely at the two Marines. That was not... ah. It was not meant to be Shepherd. Clever lads.

"Send your brother along, should you see him," Cartwright added, trying nobly to hide a grin. "I'd like a word with him."

De Guarde was startled. He had expected young Fletcher to betray him to the marine officer, but instead he'd called him Shepherd. He was about to touch the brim of his hat and turn when the officer seemed not to have recognised him. he wasn't quite sure it was that, but by what he said it seemed so. Maybe Mister Cartwright really hadn't been there for long enough to know who was who?

Not believing his luck would hold for long, nor wanting to test Fletcher's patience or the length he might go, he finished his salute, drawing his hat much lower on his head and turned about. He had almost said aye, but instead in what he hoped to sound as a queasy, 'ill feeling' tone he uttered: "Yes sah." To both of them. One boy, one man, both persons of authority. Then his step was made, turned directly towards the companionway.