4 June; Salty

"I would suppose that if a man does not get on with a neighbour, he will take the other side to that neighbour in war," Vickery said. "It is ever so, in civil wars, after all. Brothers against brothers, neighbour against neighbour."

He had another mouthful of tea. "I believe Mayden is of Loyalist stock, or else he would doubtless be serving in the American army rather than the English army."

That was true enough, McIntyre reckoned. He thought of that Continental officer who'd lost his leg and shook his head. There were men such as the greenjacket described, then there were the unfortunates like poor Mister... Croft, his name was, who were held back by their family's loyalties.

Upon hearing the name 'Mayden', however, all previous thoughts were driven straight from his head. "Mayden, sir?"

Even though it was utterly impossible. Tom Mayden had gotten his leg shot off at the Saintes. McIntyre checked himself. He was here, at war again, so in theory it was possible for Mayden to have found a way to serve again as well. If it was so, McIntyre had a very keen desire to see that old fool Yankee again.

Vickery nodded. "Though you may be thinking of the lad's father or someone, possibly. As I say, he's from Loyalist stock, but I believe he was born after the war - he's something of an age with Pye... No, I believe he's a bit older than Pye, and you wouldn't know him anyway. He's maybe four or five years older than Cavender, my bugler."

He picked up his plate; if he left it much longer, his food would be cold. "This looks good; thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

It defied belief. Even though he supposed that Mayden would have created a family too, rather like McIntyre himself had done. He shook his head slightly.

"S'hard creditin' it, I s'pose," he mused. "Wouldn't have pegged that'n for a family sort." Then he grinned. "Small world though, ain't it?"

Vickery nodded, smiling. "Indeed it is, Private." He inclined his head a little. "I daresay that several folks who have families were considered to be... less than paternal, in their youth."

Maybe he himself would settle down and raise a family one day, although for now he was quite content to remain single, despite all his mother's efforts to the contrary.

"Oh aye, that's so, sir," McIntyre agreed. "Tom Mayden wasn't ever of a mind to behave right when he was ashore. Him an' most of the lads with him. Gave a fellow grey hairs, that lot did!"

"I can well believe it!" Vickery was sure he had gained more than one grey hair since leaving Lisbon, with the misadventures of Newbury and Pye and now their capture together with Cotton. "I daresay your officers and NCOs had their hands full, then?"

The Irishman smirked. "We did, at that. Things was lively in me last ship. We had a fair officer but Sarn't Devlin wasn't half a terror." He poured a little water from the kettle into the pan and set the pan back over the fire. "You'll have a steady one in this young Mayden fellow, if he's anythin' same's his da. Even if he is a bit daft 'bout it."

"I will keep an eye on him, then." The food wasn't as bad as he had feared - quite the reverse in fact. He hoped that all his men were steady, although he was beginning to think that Newbury was less steady than he could be.

"You must have seen a fair fews scrapes in your time in the R... Corps." He caught himself just before he said 'Regiment' - the Marines were a Corps, after all, not a Regiment as the Army had them.

Better use two, McIntyre thought wryly. Aloud, he said, "There was a few, I s'pose. It wasn't so bad until the French threw in, though toward the end the Continentals started figurin' out how to be soldiers."

He grinned, one hand moving unconsciously to brush against his side. "We faced down one of their line regiments once. Steady beggars if there were any. That was an adventure all right, I'll tell you, sir."

There was a pause, as he took a sip from his canteen. "We was sent up - our ship, that is - to join the siege of Charleston. There was a wee island off the harbour mouth that had a fort an' battery on it. A party was wanted to go an' take it, an' that honour was given to us. 'Cept the ship's cap'n figured only half a squad could do the business, so there were only nine of us lads sent ashore. In two boats at that, but I'm glad for it now!"

Vickery noticed the unconscious rub Mcintyre gave his side, and saw ruefully that it was in just the same place as his own wound. He still wasn't too clear on how he had been sliced in that precise place by a mounted man.

"You faced down a whole regiment? Nine of you?"

And how that had not ended in disaster the way Vickery's attempt at facing down a whole French battalion of cavalry had?

He sat back in his chair, preparing to hear the whole story.

"Aye. It was quiet 'nuff when we got ashore. Nothin' comin' or goin'. One of the lads scoutin' ahead stirred up a workin' party or somethin', though. The clever sods had a huntin' horn with 'em an' gave the alarm with it. Things went sour after that."

McIntyre shrugged. "We drove off a cavalry patrol an' used their dead horses for breastworks. Helped a bit when their infantry came up, but damn if they didn’t keep comin’ every time we put a couple volleys into 'em. Then the cap'n had us up an' over, to make our own line. He reckoned we might's well meet our end on our feet, like. It all was a bit of a brawl then."

He smirked and shook his head. "We mighta come out on the hard end of it if them daft boat crews hadn't come 'longside, cheerin' like we was about to take a prize."

"Enemies seem to have a way of keeping coming, don't they?" Vickery remarked, finishing his tea and throwing the dregs away. 'A bit of a brawl'... funny how skirmishes always ended up as 'a bit of a brawl'. He had hoped that he would be able to acquit himself better than he had, although it wasn't his first skirmish as a Captain, thankfully - he'd had a couple of minor clashes under his belt, and Oporto before this latest debacle. And he was sure that Oporto would be awarded as a battle honour to the regiments who'd been present.

"Thank Heavens for the Navy. They saved the Army back in January, too," he replied. Though by all accounts, it hadn't been an easy battle - and it had cost the life of the British commander.

That they did. Now that he was thinking back on that brief campaign, the memories of it were returning in a flood. It was almost too much to sift through.

"We owed them our hides right 'nuff. That was a prime crew though. Prob'ly the only one what almost got to be easy with us Marines. They helped us push the Yankees back anyway an' that was the end of it for a bit. Their officer came 'cross under a flag for parley, but I dunno what all him an' the cap'n said. Mayden was with cap'n for it, 'cept he didn't ever talk 'bout it."

He shrugged. "It came out all right for us, I s'pose. We was let to bury our two dead an' that was it. We shoved off in the boats again, headin' back to the ship. I'll always be glad we never made it back to her, though!"

It didn't sound as though the terms had been all that advantageous to the Marines, although if they had been let go rather having been taken prisoner, that was probably advantage enough. Well, at least for the men in the ranks, anyway.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? For what reason?" He would have thought that they would have been less than pleased not to have made it back the ship - unless something had happened to her, which was always possible, of course.

The Irishman grinned broadly. "We was picked up 'bout a mile off shore by a sloop. One of ours an' packed to her gills with soldiers. Somebody got their signal flags crossed or somethin'. The soldiers was meant to be with us at the start. So we went back ashore within the day lookin' for a bit of our own back."

He shook his head and added, " 'Tween my lads an' the sloop's Marines, we kept them soldiers movin' on the march up. The cap'n had broke us into two columns. Skirmishers up front an' the rest comin' up behind. Worked a treat 'til the firin' started. Fair few of them soldiers with the cap'n went about an' ran off 'fore the wind, but we stopped that short with a couple charged bayonets."

Vickery chuckled. There was nothing quite like a defeat to make soldiers even more determined to win the next time - it was so in the Rifles and it seemed it was that way in the Marines, too.

'His lads'... from the sounds of it, McIntyre had been at least a Corporal at the time, too. Possibly even a Sergeant. And from what Vickery had seen of the older man, he was willing to bet he'd been a good NCO.

"You charged bayonets against your own men?" the Captain asked. It was quite a story, this - and it seemed that the older man had the Irish gift of the blarney to be able to retell it so vividly.

A simple shrug was the answer to that. "Could've let the sorry fools run past, sir, but they'd have taken the whole of the main column with 'em. We'd have been scuppered then."

Vickery nodded. If men were allowed to run, those who would otherwise stand would grow disheartened and run too. "That's why the Line regiments have file-closers and Sergeants behind them, of course."

It was why the Rifles placed a much higher emphasis on discipline and personal courage than the Line regiments - fighting in the skirmish chain made it easier for a man to decide to turn to flee, and made it correspondingly harder for the officers and NCOs to prevent the ones who chose to shrink from the fight.

Although, in practice, the Rifles had a much lower desertion rate than the Line... at least, they had at the moment. It was early days yet, of course, and who knew if that reputation would stay the course?

"I had a couple of men try to stay out of the fighting at Vimeiro," he said reflectively. "I ended up making them stand by the privy for an hour afterwards... each wearing a woman's cap. I never had that problem again."

"Aye, that'd have been nice. We turned 'em about again though. Those beggars learned to stand in their files shortly 'nuff, that's sure." McIntyre removed the pan and its sizzling, spitting contents and dumped it out into the dirt. "The Yankee regiment turned out to meet us. Part of it, anyway. Came 'round the fort in fine order. Near to turned our wee line to flight with their firin', but it was good steady volleys. The company's 'tenant wanted to run off himself, even. Said near as much to me! He'd have took his lads off direct if the cap'n's skirmishers hadn't come in on the Yankees' flank."

"He sounds a good officer, your captain," Vickery said, chasing a bit of pork around his plate with his fork before he could spear it. "Which regiment was it that was with you, then?" he asked after chewing and swallowing the chunk of meat.

His grey head bobbed in a nod. "Oh aye. Best one I ever known. He ended a major. As for them soldiers... they was some militia regiment or other. Surrey Volunteers they were called. Dunno as they had a number like a proper regiment. I'd say they wasn't worthy of a number, the way they was under fire."

Militia... that would explain a lot. "It is possible to turn militia soldiers into proper soldiers, you know," he said lightly. "It just might take a while. At least they know the drill when they do join a regular regiment, which is something, even if they don't know how to stand when under fire."

"They had their drill down decently, I s'pose," McIntyre allowed. "They figured the rest out 'ventually. Cuttin' down that Yankee detachment was easy 'nuff with the skirmishers joinin' in, then we moved on to the fort itself. That was a pretty little fight, I'll tell you."

The oldster paused, moistened his throat again, then shrugged. "We didn't get to do much of that sort of scrappin'. Sadly. It's good for the lads, so it is."

"I don't suppose it is the sort of operation that requires Marines, really, unless there are no other troops available. But I daresay you have done other sorts of... scrapping, as you put it, where we land-based soldiers would not be much use." He smiled. "You've probably seen one or two things in your time. Any officer worth his salt should value that, whether or not that service was on land or at sea."