Leaving Terpsy.

The boat was being slung over the side as Padstowe stood on deck, watching the shoreline a few short miles away. Dry land, the army waiting and battle yet to be fought. He could not wait to get off this blessed ship.

Stephen, bending a little under his pack and nervously clutching his leather bag, stood behind Padstowe. He had made his farewells to the sick-bay, and left detailed written instructions for all the patients within it, and he felt optimistic for them. For himself, the two men standing with him, and the midshipman who was for some reason to be leaving with him, he felt somewhat less so, but for their own reasons they all felt eager to be away from the ship.

News of the army - the British army - had been brought to the ship, and Captain Padstowe had decided to leave, taking his prisoner and his doctor with him. Raoul had listened to what the men in the wardroom had said - the French army had retreated across the Douro, and now the British army was preparing to attack... But there was only the one bridge in Oporto - the pontoon bridge that had collapsed so catastrophically during the French storming of Oporto. And that could be destroyed on purpose as easily as by accident.

Raoul wondered what would happen - to the Army under Soult, to the remnants of his own Hussar Company, left behind under Lieutenant Mallormé, and to him. The future was as dark as the sea between them and the coast.

Bolitho stood on deck, not far from where the departing passengers were gathered, watching as the boat was lowered into the water. He was sorry to see them go, but they had reached their destination, and the time had come for the men to disembark. What lay ahead for them now was on land, beyond the Terpischore and her crew.

"Well gentlemen, it seems the time has come for us to part," Bolitho said, turning to the passengers, "I'm sure we all would have wished for a less-eventful voyage, perhaps, but obviously we must accept the things that are dealt to us as they come."

Despite some of the events which had occurred while they had been aboard, he hoped that none of them truly thought ill of him or the crew.

Padstowe took the Captain's offered hand and shook it firmly.

"Indeed, captain. I can only thank you for your continued hospitality, though thye voyage did prove so eventful. I hope we were not much of a hinderence."

Peter stood watching the boat, which would be in the charge of Dan Kinsella... His seachest was in the hold - all he had were his clothes, and one book. Everything else would be sent home. He had no idea what he faced, but there was more excitement in the glances he threw towards the land than regret. The Captain's voice made him withdraw into the shadows. There was nothing more to say, surely.

Beside him Fletcher stood waiting, and as Yates stepped back he touched his arm gently.

"Good luck, Peter," he whispered. "And do write when you are safely home."

Stephen stepped forward and shook Bolitho's hand. "Thank you for your hospitality, Captain. I hope all of your crewmembers recover fully."

"You are most welcome," Bolitho said as he shook Padstowe's hand, "And I assure you that in no way have you been a hinderence. It was a pleasure to have you all aboard. If you are ever in need of transport again, we would be more than willing to oblige."

Then he promptly accepted Maturin's hand, and remarked, "No, thank you Doctor, for everything you've done. I pray the men will all recover, though I think they have a good chance of that after having been under the care of a man such as you."

"It is in the hands of God now, and the sickbay's men," said Stephen diffidently. "I hope we have not caused you too much trouble at all."

"I will," Peter whispered back. "And don't forget to tell me if you change ship - or if you go off round the world, so I'll know not to expect another letter for ages."

The Captain was talking to the Army officer and the doctor - thanking the doctor for saving the lives of Dr Crozier and Billy Barrow....

"Take care, Simon. Don't go running into danger..."

"Of course not," Bolitho said firmly, "It was an honour and a privilege to have you as passengers."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bolitho noticed the movement of two small figures. It was Yates and Fletcher, the latter of whom was presumably bidding farewell to his former fellow midshipman. Bolitho had hoped to say good-bye to the boy himself as well, but he could think of no helpful words of advice to offer. So he simply settled on nodding in the boy's direction, hoping that would convey both his best wishes for Yates' future, and his regret at losing such a promising young officer.

Peter looked up to meet the Captain's gaze, and gave a weak smile in response, then touched where his hat's brim would have been, in a salute.

Flecther paused as Yates caught the captain's eye and saluted. So it was real then; this was it.

"I will," he promised. "And I promise I will be as careful as I can."

He held out his hand, feeling a small lump rising in his throat.

"Good luck, Peter. Safe journey."

"I'll be all right. As soon as this is settled there will be ships calling, and I'll be able to go home." Peter took Simon's hand. "You're the one who's going to be face to face with armed Frogs..." He glanced at the Frenchman who was looking across to the land. "Just keep your head down."

"Mister Bush said to keep your head up, or you might duck into a cannon ball. But I swear I shall keep a lookout."

He smiled, and took something out of his pocket which was wrapped in a handkerchief and offered it to Yates shyly.

"It's a French musketball. I saved it from the Victorieuse. I thought you might like to have it - to remember it."

Peter took it with respect. "From a French musket?" he asked, and then unwrapped it, to give the handkerchief back to Simon. "That's awfully decent. But you'll get more soon..." The thought of how that could be silenced him, and he wrapped the ball in his own handkerchief, and tucked it into his pocket.

The ship's crew were already climbing down into the boat, and Peter turned to follow them. "Come on, Yates!" Kinsella called, as he hesitated. "Good bye, then, Simon. I'll write - I promise!" And he left the Terpisichore.

"Goodbye!" Simon called, and leaned over the rail as he watched his friend climb down the side into the boat. That was that then; Dan would see him safe ashore. Silently, Fletcher prayed that Yates would be happy, whatever he would end up doing - and leaving the ship had put such a smile on his face that Simon was certain his hope would be fulfilled.

"You now, monseer," the sailor holding the man-rope said, and Raoul turned and started down the ladder, his saddlebags thumping against his back as the ship rocked, the boat below separating from the ship, then being pulled back. White faces looked up at him, including that of the young midshipman who was leaving the Terpsichore with them.

A hand reached out to steady him at the last step from ship to boat, and he turned to look up to watch the others descend.

Padstowe descended next, showing a slight twinge of pain when his weight was on his left arm, but he made it safely into the boat. Stephen, according to rank, was the last to descend; he nodded gratefully to the officers again, and clutched the man-ropes.

Jim Spencer, coxswain at the tiller, watched anxiously as his men reached up with helpful hands to guide the doctor into the boat. He wanted no further accident to befall the man that had saved Billy Barrow and the rest.

Stephen gingerly sought the next rung with a dangling foot, and it slipped off as the ship rolled; he clung and tried again, and risk taking a step downwards, and another, until hands guided his feet and then caught him as he slipped away from the ladder, catching him by his pack and gently and firmly seating him between the rowers.

"All right then, sir?" asked a man with a familiar grinning face, one of the rowers from the landing at Figueira. Butcher, Frank Butcher. "You just sit tight."

Chase glanced toward their passengers and sighed to himself. This last part of the cruise had been one disaster after another. At least they were finally putting the men ashore.

"Ready, Cox'n," Chase reported from his place in the bow.

"Fine," said Stephen tonelessly, looking at Raoul, then back at Butcher with a delayed smile. "Thank you, Butcher." He looked at the water, and the smile slid from his face.