Leaving Terpsy.

As they pushed off, there were few curious idlers who spared them a glance. A couple of young midshipman and a few odd seamen had come to wave goodbye to Mister Yates, and a few of Barrow's followers were waving farewell to the doctor, including the tailor who had mended his coat.

Raoul smiled as the doctor took his seat, and relaxed. This boat was small, but the sea was calm, and the men skilled. As they pushed away from the side he felt a surge of relief.

"Where are we going?" he asked. "Do we know where the British are?"

"On the south bank, so we'll land you there, as you captain asked," said Kinsella. "We'll land your dunnage and horses with the General's horse after the fighting is over, sir."

Stephen looked at his companions - Raoul looked relieved, smiling gently; Padstowe was examining the shoreline with a soldier's eye, a determined expression on his face, and Yates looked excited. He stared into the water.

As they approached the mouth of the river and glided along the south bank in search of a suitable landing, a figure at the top of steep embankment called down to them in Portuguese, waving and gesticulating.

"Hey, what the devil's that?" Williams burst out, twisting partway around on his bench and unconsciously slowing his stroke.

Obliged to slow his own stroke, Chase cursed at him for his distraction. "Mind yer oar!"

"Oi!" Spencer, the coxswain, cursed at them both. He looked up at the figure on the embankment. Where the hell had he come from?

"Didn't know we were expectin' a welcomin' party," Chase grumbled, after kicking Williams in the shin.

Stephen heard shouting in Portuguese as the boat neared the bank; he turned around, looking over his shoulder. "Who is that?"

Chase made a face. "Dunno, sar. Just popped up."

Nearly dancing with impatience, the stranger switched to English, and this time they could hear the words "skerry, reef," and most insistently "larboard." By now he was joined by a woman who was apparently calling out the same warning in Portuguese.

The word 'reef' was enough for Spencer. He put the tiller over and barked "Chase, get the lead over!"

Chase heaved his oar inboard and grabbed for the lead that lay between his feet. He cast it over the side immediately, while Williams and the other oarsmen slowed their stroke slightly.

"Two fathoms!" Chase called. "Rock and sand."

They should be at no danger with two fathoms beneath them, Stephen thought. "Is something wrong?" he asked Cob Chase softly.

"Go around, go around where the current is!" the man called, pointing. He was running along the top of the embankment by now, following them. "You can land by- pull away, to larboard! There's skerry ahead, pull away, bloody lubbers!" Several other choice epithets were rained down upon them as they pulled closer towards the spot where he had indicated the reef.

Allen raised an eyebrow as he watched the man hurrying along above them. What was his problem? Something about a reef? But Chase had just said there were two fathoms under them; that sounded fine. And it seemed like the sailors had everything in order anyway.

"What's he on about, then?" Allen remarked, to no one in particular.

Spencer suddenly swore and pulled hard to larboard, having seen the troubled eddy at last.

Thompson grabbed at the edge of his seat to avoid being thrown into the lap of the sailor he was sitting beside.

"Think he meant that, mate," he said to Allen, indicating the swirling water with a thumb.

"Over there, pull around over there," called the stranger. The place indicated was a thin beach of scree below the steep embankment, very narrow, but there was another boat pulled up onto the stones, probably his own.

"Ah," Allen said, glancing at Thompson as they were all jostled by the sudden movement of the boat, "Well, that would explain a few things..."

OOC - Bloody thing logged me out, I lost my post.

"Nothin' wrong t'all, sar!" Chase answered belatedly, grimacing as he tossed the line back over the side. He had avoided being thrown about by spreading his legs out wide in the curved boat hull. "One an' a half fathoms, heavy rock!"

Stephen gripped the seat under him as the boat shuddered, and glanced worriedly at Raoul, who looked pale and anxious. "All is well, Capitaine."

"What's he think he's playin' at, yelling like all that?" Thompson inquired, addressing nobody in particular. "Thought they was all Portugee round hereabouts, anyhow. Nice to know someone speaks English."

Kinsella looked up and down the river bank, feeling uncertain. The scree beach looked the most likely suitable place, and seeing another boat there was reassuring. He had wondered at first if it could be a trap, thinking of the disastrous events at Figueira, but it was unlikely anyone would have gone to this much trouble and have placed the boat there so quickly, when no one had known they were coming.

"Spencer, take us to that beach," he finally said.

"Aye sir," Spencer replied, adjusting the tiller. "Steady stroke, boys."

Chase hauled the lead back into the boat and glanced toward Spencer. " 'Nother sounding, Cox'n?"

"Man yer oar, Chase," Spencer answered without returning Chase's glance. The coxswain's eyes were on the beach that was their destination.

About time, Chase thought as he shoved his oar outboard again.

"Over here, over here!" the man continued to call, even when it was obvious that they were pulling for his little beach. "Saw you nearly hit the skerry, ha ha! That's it."

"Noisy bastard ain't he?" Williams grumbled, as he and Chase banked their oars and hopped into the river, their bare feet scrabbling on the loose stone of the river bottom. Aided by the men still at the oars, they were able to run the boat securely up onto the beach. Then the two bowmen tied the mooring lines to a pair of nearby rocks that were large enough.

"All secure," Chase declared. He glanced pointedly up at the man on the embankment. "Can we do anythin' about that loose gob up there yet?"

Thompson and the other Marines waited until the boat was run up onto the small beach before standing and making their way for'rard, jumping into the shingle of the beach. It was their job to ensure the safety of the passengers, and each Marine was conscious of the failure on the day of Mister Crozier's operation.

Thompson swore, quietly but viciously as he nearly turned his ankle. He'd had to cajole his way into the landing party and had protested that his ankle was recovered and he was hardly even limping now. Twisting it in this shale was going to set him back a bit and he really did not want that.

"What's an English feller doin' out hereabouts anyhow?" he wanted to know, looking up at the man. He looked very like a sailor to the Marine.

The young Portuguese woman had by now caught up with the man, and she babbled away to him in her own tongue, looking nervously at the sailors and marines. She tugged at his arm, and he finally relented and moved away with her back up the slope.