Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

"Jus' hurry up." De Guarde smiled taking a step to the side even if theoretically Ware could pass him and still have space between the boy and himself. He leaned against the wooden wall and gazed at his hat. After that he was to wait for the bells and hope there was a different marine listening in, so he'd learn what Ware was wanted for!

'Till relieved'. Oxley could manage that... only, what was Mister Cartwright going to say then? He bit his lip. He'd promised to try to keep out of trouble, and then he'd gone and helped de Guarde pretend to be a Marine.

That wasn't as bad as dressing him up as an officer... was it?

Private Ware was not happy with the arrangement, but he would stand his assigned watch as drummer. That was another minor difficulty sorted. Cartwright waited until the Marine had departed before turning to his tiny desk, upon which lay the detachment's orderly book. He needed to add a little more to the day's entry before he was free to return topside.

The bell pealed from up forrard, four paired rings. The end of one watch, the beginning of another. Cartwright brushed his fingers over the back of his hat, then made his way toward the ladder. Might as well see how well his little ploy came off.

He heard the bells loud and clear. End of watch. De Guarde left the mess in which he had made himself comfortable for that short time, staying out of the way. He adjusted his coat making sure that it stood on him in an orderly fashion, his shirt receiving a proper adjustment too with his slops dusted as last. They didn't really need the treatment, but he didn't want to appear dishaveled. He wanted to make an impression and so now, with Cartwright's request to takeover the watch that young Oxley was standing in for, he hurried up the companionway.

He felt anxious, wondering if it was a trick. In mid step he paused, stared up. The stock would get uncomfortable after a while, but he hadn't removed it all since putting it on for the prank. He tugged his hat lower and appeared on deck.

He saw Oxley there, possibly not expecting to be relieved. The two Shepherds were taken of duty and send to the surgeon's. There was nobody else to come unless any of the older marines were to be picked of it. He gulped and made across the deck with a business like step, as if he was really meant to be there. Cartwright wanted him, so he had to, he repeated in his mind.

".. Tom."

Oxley shifted as the bell rang out from for'rard, signalling the end of the watch.

He glanced towards the companionway as someone called his name, and his heart sank. de Guarde, who ought to have headed for'rard to his own mess and stayed well clear of it. What was worse was that he was still wearing his borrowed Marine uniform. He really shouldn't be here, not when the watch below were already coming on deck to take over. His relief was going to be here any minute now and de Guarde simply shouldn't be hanging around here.

"Scram!" he said in a low voice, glancing around. "Make yourself scarce, go on!"

"Can't. Been ordered.. t' lieutenant .Cartwright." He saw how worried Oxley was and couldn't pretend he was on the deck on his own accord. He wished to tease the lad but that look just made him rethink it in full. "Saw me below. Don't think he saw me.. but he said I'um ter take t' next watch.. which is now." He didn't want to draw attention to them by standing at the distance and chatting, though he knew he had to set the lad's mind at ease.

"Honest. Cartwright's orders." He repeated quickly, hoping Oxley would see he meant it.

What was the Lieutenant playing at? He couldn't stand here debating the matter with the lad, if that really was the case - someone would be bound to notice. He glanced down, unclipping the drum.

"You ain't supposed to be on duty now, are you - as a Tar, I mean?" he asked, though he was fairly sure it was de Guarde's watch that were coming off-duty. He couldn't be sure, though.

"Did... Did Mister Cartwright say anything else about it?" he asked, biting his lip as he held the drum out. "You got sticks?" he added hastily.

"No, wos' on watch when we was pullin' the ...this." Which meant, at about the time that Oxley had been standing in for him, and the time that was now ending for the next watch. It did mean that once this watch was over he would've had no rest at all, but go back to work again. But the boy wasn't thinking of that. ".. I'm off watch now.. officially." And on watch in the marine shape.

He took the drum from Oxley and clipped it easily to his cross belt. The exchange was going smoothly and innocently enough. He pointed at the crossbelt where all too obvious the pair of sticks were. "Got them, see. Easy Tom. Don't need to look like you's been scared stiff. They'll notice." He indicated the men, who were for the most part, not even paying attention to them, but if their exchange of wares would take longer, they might so decide to.

He took the boy's place and straightened a bit, adjusting his drum so it rested fairly comfortably on his shoulder. "Only said I needed ter call Ware to the wardroom. N' suggested I was a drummer. Nothin' else." He tried to remember their conversation. It was hazy only because he had been so nervous when they first spoke. "I don't.. think he said anything else, n' certainly wasn't looking angry , no." He smiled. "But I's official here now. So.. so's good!"

"Long may it last," Oxley said, somewhat grimly, and adjusted his hat. "You do know he knows you ain't one of us? A M'rine, I mean. And, well, he's a sneaky sort of officer, an' all."

And if one of the sea-officers took an interest in things, Oxley wouldn't know who to direct him to or how to explain it.

Didn't Thompson tell him to not judge people in a negative way, till he was sure they deserved it. He'd done this with the lieutenant, did his best to think good of him and try to convince himself there wasn't a trap being sprung at that very moment. Hearing Oxley made him nervous again, but if he disobeyed the order, could he have gotten in trouble for that?

"I didn't know." He was confused. There was Oxley telling him not to trust lieutenant Cartwright, and then there was Thompson telling him to think good about men first, before judging them. Why was it so bloody complicated?

"..but I couldn't...disobey him you know..." It was something he kept telling himself, the small excuse to throw all cation to the wind. "..You won't get in trouble.. I promise." He pursed his lips in a thin line. Having that heard said from a lad who enjoyed pointing fingers and setting up the grating was an interesting thing, none the less.

"I know you won't. He asked me, y'know, who knows how to drum. Didn't tell him your name 'cause I didn't want to get you in trouble, if he was aimin' for that." He shrugged. "Though you do know how to play it. Just remember it's Roast Beef of Old England, when they tell you to beat for the officers' dinner, all right?"

He grinned, though he was still nervous as to what Mister Cartwright was going to say about it all.

"Don't worry n' Thanks. ..You's a.."He hesitated and smiled more broadly. "..You're a real friend, Tom. " Perhaps he had said too much for he tried to look down and the stock reminded him that marines were not meant to see their feet.

He grinned and adjusted himself into a position of a good drummer on duty, one who was not skulking about, but meant business. He added with a quieter whisper: "Roast Beef of Ol' England." He made sure to repeat the tapping rhythm in his mind and nodded when he recalled it so easily. "Got it. You'll skulk about to remind me, eh?" He grinned and relaxed. It was all going to be alright.

Oxley opened his mouth and closed it once or twice. "I'd do the same for anyone," he said eventually, when he could think again. "I'll try to skulk about, but if Miater Cartwright wants me for anythin', I mightn't be able to." He shrugged. "You got a head on your shoulders, you'll do all right. Wouldn't have done all this in the first place if you couldn't, after all."

"Aye, forgot about him. Think you better go n' lie low then. Jus' so's he don't get all a'... in you know what. Well,... see you anyway, when all this is done, n' we can celebrate. I hope." He added with a smile. "Aye, I know them right." And they showed him as to when and how. It would be no problem. He could do it and would do it just as he was taught. He nodded. They trusted him, and he decided that he would make sure not to have that trust ill placed.

"Scam now. 'fore I get in trouble for not doin' me duty." He said with a grin and straightened a bit. There. Things were not at all going the way any of them had planned BUT they went fairly well still.

Oxley nodded. "You's all right, really," he said, breaking into a grin. "Shame you ain't a M'rine - you's just as good as us." He glanced for'rard; the sailors were going to their duties. He probably ought to slip below before folk started wondering why an off-duty drummer was hanging around distracting the lad on duty. He reached up to unfasten his stock, and pulled it off.

"I'll see you later, then, though I'll try to get up here afore you get relieved, to make sure you's all right."

De Guarde gave Oxley a nod and grinned. Right then. He was on duty. Right and proper duty. The sort, that they did not plan on , but it was perhaps less nerve wreaking. Or was it more? Who knew what that man meant to do! He glanced in the direction of the companionway and shrugged. No matter, he would remember to tap the right tune at the appropriate time, while hoping to learn about that Tar whose lass came on board, later.

He gave de Guarde a conspiratorial wink before making his way down the aft companionway to the Marine's messdeck, his stock clutched in his hand, wondering what Mister Cartwright was going to say about it all. There was little chance he'd forget the whole thing, and Oxley was rather nervous as to what he would think about it. Mister Shillingford, in Atalanta, would have hauled them all over the coals for it. But Mister Cartwright was different. You could talk to him - though that could lead to talking yourself into a whole world of trouble. Maybe he wouldn't mind?

Fat chance, Oxley thought, pulling his hat and crossbelt off to stow them in his sea-chest.

Being stuck in a guardboat, pulling in endlessly circles around the frigate, was nearly enough to put anyone to sleep. Johnson was glad to be relieved from such a tedious duty. Now, happily back on deck, he took advantage of the opportunity to stretch his aching legs. A casual stroll around the weather deck ought to do the trick.

He had not gone more than a few steps past the entry-port when he became aware that something was not right. There was something out of place. A light frown touched his brow as Johnson looked around the deck. What was different? Everything looked utterly normal. Seamen going about their appointed duties, warrant officers drifting about keeping an eye on them, officers in their usual places on the quarterdeck.

Johnson's gaze passed over the drummer standing at his own post, almost without seeing the boy, then, inexplicably, swept back toward the boy. At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about the lad. Just a young Marine with his drum. Yet there was something off about him too. The jacket. Johnson spotted it after a moment. The jacket was clean and in order, like the rest of the drummer's uniform. Almost too clean.

Time passed at a slower pace when one was told to stand in place, but the initial excitement hadn't yet worn of, so the lad did not feel it tedious. He kept his gaze for the most part where it was meant to be, and then from time to time, rather rarely, he swept his surroundings with it. It was so all untill he felt as if a pair of eyes was staring directly in his direction, not past him, not skimming about in joyous laughter, but there. On him. Staring.

He may have been imagined it though, so he kept his mind at ease. The time for the drum to be put to good use had not yet come, so his sticks still rested against his crossbelt. When he was about to shift his gaze he caught something red with the corner of his eye. It would not have caused him no worry, if not for the fact it wasn't moving and in ways it was a different sort of red, when he looked at it. Not the hue of red that is, just..

Did Cartwright return? He fought the urge to look. Whoever it was , would gladly pass him or if they didn't , it wouldn't matter anyway. He needed just to wait.

It was difficult to tell just who the drummer was, as the boy's face was concealed in the shadow cast by his hat brim. Johnson moved toward him. The drummer was about the same height as the Shepherds, but he couldn't recall seeing either of them look quite so brushed.

As he got closer, Johnson realised it was not one of the Shepherds at all. Not even that scamp Oxley.

"What."

For a moment he froze, and then almost wanted to say sir, before reminding himself. Corporal. It was corporal for a corporal, and only a daft man would call him sir. So he did what he thought was right and honestly did not know, nor was able to say anything else. "Corp'ral."

Of all the people to come, corporal Johnson was on the list of the least favourite. There was more though. This man had had him kissing the gunner's daughter once. He was cruel, grumpy, always of bad temperament, and he liked to box his ears - or perhaps, it was De Guarde's own fault for that.

De Guarde was too stunned to speak, his mind racing with all the things he could've said and feeling guilty, himself trying to reason again that mister Cartwright had sent him here, so he was pretty much on duty, officially.

"Name," Johnson said shortly. This would have to be the Shepherds' doing. They were for ever getting up to no good. He was going to have to sort those two out, apparently.

Bloody scheming drummer boys...

"Private, er.. drummer .."He came that far. Lie, and say he was a Shepherd? Tell the truth, and say he was De Guarde? Tell the truth, but say Buckles? He chewed on his lip for a moment and then blurted out: "DeGuardedutydrummer."

He looked at Johnson awkwardly. "Corp'ral!" He added shortly.

Johnson closed his eyes for a moment. De Guarde. Of all the boys aboard, why did it have to be him? He really was going to have to sort out the Shepherds. This sort of tomfoolery needed to stop.

"I'd like," Johnson asked through gritted teeth, mindful of the presence of officers only a few feet away, "to know what the bloody hell you're doing here, masquerading as a drummer boy?"

"...Mister Cartwright's orders, corp'ral." He was infernally grateful for the fact that it was Cartwright who found them. He was used as a splendid excuse this time. Had it been that Johnson found them first, things could've turned out to be very different.

"Tole me to take over from Oxley, after t' watch was over." He nodded quickly and felt relief rush into him. Johnson might've looked scary and upset and probably would've loved to break some backs, but he could do nothing! "I know what to do, corp'ral. The rhythm fer them different things. I know it." He was boasting, and he knew it.