OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Parties

"..Me n' Oxley would, sir. Mebbe..." He looked hesitant. It was a far cry, a hope that had no basis in reality or certainty. "Mebbe we find summat goin' above our tunnel here. Sum'thin' that would allow a man through as easy as .. uh, 'ere?"

Oxley nodded, stepping forward. "He means me, sir. Sam, uh, Oxley's me brother, sir."

Deverel stared at the boy and then at the two Oxleys, frowning but not wasting much thought on the revelation. "And when you get up there and have an entire fort of Frenchmen to fight off? What then? No no, we should go out, find another way in. Or lieutenant, do you think we can go back and break up that table with some more blasts of powder?"

Sam jealously hugged the remaining charges to his chest.

It had been worth a try. The boy nodded and took a step back. He shrugged, glancing at Oxley - their drummer - and locking eyes with him. He looked him up and down and couldn't help but chuckle silently. He was one splashed, dirty, marine drummer! And he could see so little in the dark, so he must've been really looking awful.

Oxley met de Guarde' eyes and grinned at his state. He was covered in... unspeakable filth. They'd have to have a bonfire and go back to Terpsy naked, if they were to have any chance of getting rid of the smell. He probably didn't look too much better himself.

This was getting them nowhere. Cartwright peered up toward the top of the privy and frowned thoughtfully. Whatever Lieutenant Deverel thought was irrelevant. It seemed that there was a way around this particular obstacle.

"Why waste the powder, sir? I don't suppose any of you sailors brought some rope with you?"

"What happened to them fellows with the grappling hooks?" Butcher asked, looking around in the dark gloom.

"Went with Mister Bush, didn't they," answered Young. "They was supposed to climb the north wall, he said. Was what the admiral said before he changed his mind."

De Guarde shuffled closer to the drummer boy, while the officers were to consult on their next action. "Corporal Johnson'll have a proper fit when he sees you." He whispered to the youth and grinned. By the looks of it, the whole crew might have a fit. That and a unanimous decision that they not board Terpsy or Defiance till they are all nice, clean, brushed till their skin looks as fine as a polished boot.

He glanced at the sailor that wasn't of the Terpsichore with curiosity. If light had been any better he'd be finding small bits of resemblance between the two boys, not enough to have them look the same, but just enough to hint to shared blood. He'd heard them both called Oxley though. "Who's 'e?" He nudged the drummer boy.

That must mean the answer was no. All right. No rope.

"Give me another leg up, Branning, as high as you can reach," Cartwright said, guessing that Deverel would have nothing constructive to offer.

It didn't look as though the officers have been listening much at all. Which wasn't the young Tar's problem. There was only the hope that no shots would be fired while Cartwright was climbing up. Getting that sort of filth into one's body along with the general fabric material and a musket ball, was a sure thing, least favoured by anyone who wanted to live.

There were still no voices from above, which however did not equal as the French having left.

But damn, how it stank in there.

"What are you doing?" Deverel whispered to Cartwright. "He said there's not room for a man."

"A man of Branning's size, perhaps not," was Cartwright's reply, as Branning hoisted him up as far as his arms would stretch. It definitely was a tight fit, but not so tight that Cartwright couldn't wriggle his way up.

There was the tunnel off to the right that the Tar had mentioned. Cartwright used the musket butt to clear away some of the mess covering the tunnel's opening, then he levered himself into it. This space was not quite as narrow as the main shaft, which was probably a good thing. Carefully keeping his musket away from the damp and muck, Cartwright inched along this new passage.

Down below, Grattan nudged Oxley. "Glad I ain't gonna be anywhere 'round when Foley finds out 'bout Mister Cartwright's rig!"

"Quiet, you," Deverel whispered irritably.

He reckoned the tunnel might well become narrower before it would open up, if it were to do so at all. Haven't seen it though, it was any wild guess if the other tunnel lead anyplace, or if it forked out again. Didn't make those sewers, and sadly none of the men seemed to have the knowledge of these particular ones.

Never was one to complain about not being asked to get himself dirty. He grinned actually looking relieved. Word for such officers!

He moved a bit to the wall, but refrained from touching it. The filth on his palms had dried up a little. The marine atop whom he landed was certainly sporting a greater stain on him than he did. Best keep out of his grumbling way, once they were out. The marines that stood waiting looked glaringly out of place. Usually the 'dolls' of a ship, they were unrecognizable now, or would soon so be.

"Branning!" Cartwright hissed, nearly tumbling down out of the tunnel he had disappeared into. A muddy, stinking rush of water had swept him back down the passage - the result of his having been heard scrabbling over the slimey stone tunnel. The French had dumped what smelled like a barrel of galley scraps and water down the tunnel at him.

Branning held his ground despite the unexpected shower of mess, managing to help break his officer's fall. Roundly cursing the Frenchmen, Cartwright spat out half a mouthful of the rancid water. "I think their galley drains out from that tunnel," he said, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice. With that method of entry blocked now as well, he was out of ideas.

There was a sudden shock and explosive reverberation through the tunnel, the sound originating from their entrance. "What was that?" Deverel gasped and pushed through the group without waiting for an answer. The Defiances followed him, running.

"Sir, are ye alright?" Jack Holing, a marine of His Majesty's Ship Terpsichore came forward just as the ground felt as if it began to shake.

The young Tar was grateful for stepping back earlier, for the muck had missed him. Not much of that sort of luck with Branning, it seemed. He stumbled, pressing his hands against the wall. The vibrations were doubtlessly felt through the cold, slime covered wall. A few smaller chips of stone and the unmentionable, came loose with the shock and soft 'plock's were heard fore and aft of them.

"Just a little damp now," Cartwright answered, peeling a soggy crust of bread away from his wounded ear. "Get back toward where we came in, carefully as you can. And keep your powder dry!"

Branning made a face at that last bit, having noticed that his musket had gotten wet in the brief rush of water. It would have been impossible to avoid, of course, but it still left them short a musket if they should need it. The big Marine retrieved his officer's sword from where it had been leaning against the tunnel wall and started after Cartwright. It was definitely odd for him to be the one carrying a sword.

Deverel was standing at the very place where they had come in, but it was not the place where they would get out. An explosion had caused the stones around the opening to collapse into the tunnel, filling the gap and sealing them inside. He stared at the black rocks and tiny chinks of light shining through them, wide-eyed with shock for a moment. "Lieutenant!" he shouted, realizing that he did not even know the name of the Terpsichore man.

"He's me older brother," Oxley replied to de Guarde's question, before Mister Cartwright took it into his head to go climbing up to see what the other boy had reported seeing. He gave Grattan a wry look as he mentioned Foley's likely reaction.

And then Cartwright reappeared in the tunnel, picking kitchen scraps from his face and uniform. It seemed that way out was barred to them, too.

He fought down a sudden wave of panic as an explosion rocked the tunnel and the entrance behind them collapsed, sealing them in. There had to be some way out, but he couldn't think any more and held tight to the charges he was holding, biting his lip as he looked across to Mister Cartwright.

Marine Holing as the rest of the red coated men, had managed, insofar, to keep the powder fairly dry. The exception was of course, the marine who had been too close to Branning and the incoming Cartwright, and so received a splash however it wasn't necessarily that the musket had been hit right where it might have counted. It was too dark to make absolutely sure. The second had the butt of the musket wet - having used it to attempt keeping his balance when a boy's weight landed of him.

Both of the men were hardly to blame for their unexpected misfortune. Holing kept his musket safely out of the muck and way. He came to a sharp stop, when instead of their way out, they were faced with a caved in wall.

There was hushed curses come from some of the men, gasps of surprise at the sight. "What's it?" De Guarde asked before he too came in sight with the darkness that would not let them pass.

"...We can... dig ourselves out.. can't we?" He asked in a hushed whisper, looking towards his friend.

"Yes, sir?" Cartwright asked mildly, lifting an eyebrow at the sea officer. Was Deverel expecting him to get them all out of this mess?

Shaking his head in resgination - he probably was expected to get them all out of this mess - the Marine officer studied the caved-in rock. There was no hope for digging out this way, but they could try at another place.

He turned back toward their original point of attempted entry. "Not here, but we can try forcing our way past that table. It's our best option now."

"Blow it apart with some of the charges?" Deverel said hopefully. "You, Oxley, are you keeping them dry?"

"Aye, sir," Sam answered from the dark.

"What do you think, lieutenant?"

"Wot' if t' whole thing caves in on us, sir?" The boy piped in, regretting it the moment he'd said so. But the other charge had him afraid that more of it could fall on them and initially kill them.

"Bit late to be worrying about that, me lad," Deverel answered, his sarcasm surprisingly mild.