Drummer's Jacket, 26 May

"Might?" Thompson had thought that the captain would have given his decision there and then, though he still couldn't quite believe that the Lieutenant's offer had been for real. "Did he say what you'd have to do for him to make up his mind prop'ly, one way or the other?"

"No, though I reckon." He shrugged. "That he wants me t' behave properly and see ter it later. Don't...sadly mean I'll get away without a scratch.. I mean.." He waved his hand towards where he had stood earlier as drummer. "...Fer that prank... Whether I join ye, or stay with m' own... There's still punish'ed ter be given." He frowned and then scurried closer, with a look of curiosity and even a bit of hope, on his face. "..See, George.... is t' punish'ent with you lot.. better n' with t' Tars?"

Thompson shrugged. "Depends what you're bein' punished for and how angry the officer is over it. An' Mister Cartwright's pretty new aboard, so I don't know all that much about him an' what he'll decide. Though, seems to me, he's got a pretty funny way of punishin' folks. Made Tom Oxley do duty with his steward for fightin', an' got Shriver an' Brannin' to clean the messdeck 'cause he said they'd disgraced it when they started fightin', too." He adjusted his forage hat, thinking. "Might be the gunner's daughter, might not, but I really don't know what it could be."

"Gunner's daughter?" The boy did scowl at the suggestion of that. "We didn' even endanger the ship. None of us. I learnt it all proper, practiced till I knew it, even if I'd have been sleepin'!" He did not look away from Thompson and seemed to try and see whether the man had been serious at his last suggestion or not. Surely, the earlier punishments could not suggest something as bad. He would not be afraid to serve at a dinner, not really. It would be somewhat humiliating, since he had been one to sit at the table before, and he would certainly feel hungry, but he was not afraid that he'd do something wrong. He was not as intimidated by most, though perhaps that lieutenant Leat and Bush could have him, somewhat uneasy. But the midshipmen, nah. Not afraid of them at all!

"I know - heard you. Least, I think that was you, bangin' away for the officers' dinner," Thompson said, and ruffled the lad's hair. "Might've bin a diff'rent story if we'd bin at sea, but there's n tellin', an' I dunno what Mister Cartwright's like with you lads. Can't see him handin' out the same punishment to Oxley again, an' I really don't think he'd like both of the Shepherds to go traipsin' after Foley at the same time."

De Guarde couldn't help grinning. "Well, if he might have those Shepherds do sumething like that.. He'll regret it as long as he's alive.. Ain't double t' help double t' speed things are done." He shook his head and continued till they were in an area, less occupied with Tars. Less, of course did not mean, completely unoccupied, but on a ship, he did not fantom there would be a place completely private anyway.

"Think there was mention o' Johnson pickin' the punishments though. ..Don't think that's a smart thing to do. Not that man, no. Would be awful fer, Tom, n' t' boys!"

"Cross-Eyes? Could be interestin'. Well, for us, if not for them. There's one thing I'll say for the Corp'ral. He might have a temper on him that you wouldn't b'lieve, but he's fair." He looked down at the lad. "So, if it's goin' to be Corp'ral Johnson handin' things out, you reckon you still want to wear a red coat?"

"...is either him or Mister Leat.. or Mister Bush. Dunno if I don't see much of a.. better in having either of them decide on it. Any of the three even , they'll all know ter make it hell. You call it fair, I'll prefer callin' it...unfair solely on account o' how much 'ed enjoy it!" He arched a brow. "N' how would it be interestin' fer you now?"

"Well, depends. It's kind of fun watchin' folk do pack drill round deck, prob'ly 'cause it's someone else doin' it." He ruffled the boy's hair. "Still, I dunno that it'll be e-zackly bad, 'cause Mister Cartwright did seem to 'preciate the joke, didn't he?"

"Wot' is pack drill 'zactly though?" He made a face and hurried to settle his hair back into a better form, though many of the strands had gotten loose and now stood at funny ends. He frowned even more at that, feeling the little disobedient bits wanting to make him appear like a sloppy, messy being.

"He did appreciate it!" He beamed proudly." Think he'd liked it very much.. might've.." There his voice had become more hushed and quiet." Been proud couse his marines.. could fool even t' Tars.. like'um... even t' navy officers! Mebbe that was how he felt n' feels even now!"

"Pack drill is jus' marchin' round an' round an' round the deck, in full kit. For us, it's with a musket an' can be with a full pack as well, dependin'. It's jus' borin', but you've got to watch out for the ring-bolts in the deck, an' listen in case the corp'ral decides to halt you to do a bit o' foot drill, or arms drill." He grinned as de Guarde attempted to tidy his hair a bit. "Mebbe that's so, lad, mebbe so."

"..Foot drill? ..you havent shown me that.. 'fore. I don't think." He lifted his gaze to the Marine. "N' you'll be doin' m' hair. . couse you messed it. Be warned o' that." he touched the top of his head again. "Best you start of now, 'fore i'm needed again personally!"

"Oh, you'll be shown all the foot drill - an' everythin' else. When you'm standin' there for inspection afore Divisions, you'll wish you was a Tar again, an' you'll be all-on worritin' your crossbelt ain't as bright as ought to be, or your shoes don't look as polished as everyone else's." He chuckled. "Reckon we'll get told regulations've changed and we all ought to have short hair, afore you know it, lad."

"I don't want t' have short hair though." He touched his tail, which he was near proud of. It was perhaps not in fashion any longer, but he liked it and even prided himself that it could be the length and that he could indeed wear a queue with it too.

"..Don' make it sound like it's a harder thing than bein' a Tar, George. Ain't fair, you scarin' me like that!"

"It prob'ly is. Well, in a diff'rent way... I reckon they'm both pretty hard to do." He sighed. "Don't really want to have short hair meself, neither. I've allus had a queue, since I was a boy. You'll be all right."

"Well then.. we jus' won't have it short. N' I still mean you ought ter set m' hair to rights. Is only fair, since it's you who'd messed it ter t' wrong." He shifted a bit, to show what he meant. It was evident of course, but he seemed to delight just a bit, in being a bit bossy as well.

"..I know you tole me Vining is not in t' best of things.. considering his uniform.. n' he's still there , so it can't be that harsh!"

"Tom Oxley's got short hair," Thompson pointed out, reasonably. "An' if the regulations say we have to, we'll have to." He looked at the lad. "Don't look to messy from where I'm standin' it don't. An' Vinin's skatin' on pretty thin ice when it comes to how he treats his kit."

"...I'll refuse." He said, so convinced again, that he would've had a say in how they could or could not wear their hair. Perhaps as a midshipman he would've had some call, but not as a private marine.

"It's awful messy, standin' at all ends. if Lieutenant Cartwright'd have seen it, he'd say I was an embarrassment to the coat I wore earlier! Even you could see that, can't you?" His eyes narrowed on Thompson and he sucked in some breath, trying to appear taller, bigger and much more intimidating than his short height allowed him to be.

"Won't be allowed to. Regulations is regulations - they'm very nearly like the Articles o' War." He drew himself up to his full height and looked down at the lad. "It looks very well as it is, boy," he said, though he was smiling to take the sting out of the final word.

"N' if I say no? Wot can they do?" He inquired and when he saw he lost the battle of heights, he looked around in search of something to step on. He scowled and began to climb up onto the railing, which would certainly make him taller than Thompson, if he stood.

"..M' hair's a mess, so I say. N' you'll fix it, so it'll be right! Man."

"Trust me, you don't want to be sayin' no - an' I wouldn't advise doin' that, neither," he said. "C'mon, let's go an' see what to be done with your hair. Though you do look a little funny havin' it as a Marine's queue when you ain't one. Yet."

"Why not? It's jus' hair. It's not like i'm sayin' I ain't wearin' a crossbelt. Now that's summat important." His smile brightened the moment he was told he had won, and he hopped easily of his perch, walked a bit like a proud cock, and held his chin high.

"Don't matter how I look. Tars can wear wot' they want, see. Well I can. N' nobody said nothin' bad bout it either." He patted his queue.

"Because you'd be the only one in the Corps who looked diff'rent, an' you wouldn't want that. Anyhow, Sar'nt Quinn'd likely make you get it cut off - march you down to the barber hisself if he has to, he would." At least they didn't have to powder their hair the way the Marines had done when he was a boy, before he'd enlisted. "You wouldn't be a Tar any more, wouldn't even be a gentleman, so's you'd have to do what the rest of us do."

"Only look different from t' back. I'd still be t' same from t' front." He stuck his tongue out at Thompson. He shook his head when Thompson decided to accuse Quinn of doing something so unfriendly. "He would not! Sar'nt Quinn's a fine, great man! He'd never do summat like that! .. He'd understand n' say.. a'right. You can 'ave long hair. Jus' keep 'em in a proper queue! That's what he'd say."

He tugged on Thompson's arm, almost like a child trying to pull his mother towards a window, behind which he had spotted the most delicious sweets. "Come on, queue makin' time! N' don't you ever suppose Quinn would do bad! He jus' wouldn't!"

Thompson chuckled. "All righ, leave go of me arm, you young limb! I'm comin', ain't I?" He grinned down at the eager young lad. "He would too, though. Sergeants have ways of makin' everyone toe the line. You'll learn."