OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Parties

He snorted "Pirates. We's s'posed to be the Royal Navy, us. An' Royal M'rines, too. Can't go 'round like a bunch o' pirates - ain't got no parrots for one thing. Nor no treasure an' stuff, neither." He grinned.

"Hmm. Wonder if we can go look, or if we's s'posed to stay here for a bit?" He glanced across at where Mister Cartwright was standing, talking to one of the Naval officers. "Even if you went back to Terpsy, you'd get tole to drop that there shirt over-side, I reckon. Stinks worse'n the bilges, it does."

"We stink enough like pirates though.. n' that's not jus' me so don't you be blamin' it!" He chuckled and touched his shirt, then made a face. It was wet and it still stank and he regretted crawling through all that filth just to come behind the French soldiers. He did get to their muskets and even to them a little, but was it all worth the price? Well, if it helped his party any, then it did!

"I Ain't walkin' around without me shirt, and that's a sure one. Nor me slops." Which were also not the cleanest at the moment. Who's idea it was again to use that path 'down the drain pipe?

"We could go ask if we can go .. see if there's any more Frenchmen hidin'. N' then.. means we can go see for a shirt too, how'd that sound?" Mister Hollow was gone and busy elsewhere, so he would not bother either of the two that he was sure of.

"I never heared that pirates stink like privies," Oxley retorted. There had to be something that de Guarde could change into, out of his horrible stinking shirt, though.

"Could take the shirt off - you have got a jacket to wear 'stead of it," he said, though possibly the lining was too coarse for him to want to wear it without a shirt on. "Could ask as well, o' course, though I don't want to run into that there middy again. Don't s'pose you do, neither."

The smile faded quickly at the mention of the middie and the boy looked at his coat, rather eager to have the shirt off even with the coarse coat to deal with. "...No.. .we can stay.. jus' hold that coat for a moment, will you?" He asked as he began shrugging it off.

"Jus' so I get the shirt off.. can't say I can do any better with t' slops.. but there ain't none to change into...nor am I thinking of t' coat being long enough." And even if it was, there was one thing he would not be doing, even if his slops stand to the heavens.

"The coat's got tails. It's longer'n a seaman's jacket, that, see," he said, obligingly taking his things back as they were dumped in his lap. "You want to be careful with that sword, mate," he said, catching it. Even his coat stank, and it wasn't helped by the fact it had just be worn over the top of de Guarde's shirt. "Good thing you didn't wear a jacket, comin' ashore," he said, as the red coat was dumped on top of everything else.

"Ye ain't suggestin' I go without t' slops jus' couse of them tails.. now?" He didn't sound at all wanting of any such an idea. He spared a glance at the slops which once had a distinct colour on them, but now they were... brownish, yellowish in places and in others he could not exactly decide what the tone of colour was at all. Except that around where he had to press himself to push himself up, it was much dirtier than where it did not.

He began to tug his shirt over his head once it was freed from his slops. With a grimace he dropped the shirt on the floor. "Sorry 'bout getting your coat worse than it is." He murmured as he looked at the fabric and saw that some filth from his shirt had gotten onto the inside of the coat too. Luckily it was very little and without it, and a few scrapes and brushes, it could be.. significantly better. Not perfect though, not without a few thorough washes.

"Coat now, I think." He felt cold and rather uncomfortable, standing there in just his slops. Though he had been a short while now, on the Tar's deck, standing half dressed still felt quite embarrassing." N' thanks fer it again. It's a real.. life saver."

"What's wrong with that?" he asked. "You'd still be pretty covered... though mebbe not in front, like." He indicated where the jacket was cut to waist-length in front. "It'd be better'n smellin' like a privy, that's for sure, though. Least you don't look like one. Much," he added doubtfully, seeing the colour of the lad's slop trousers. He shrugged, embarrassed by the thanks. "'s all right, mate. You'd've done the same for me, wouldn't you?"

"Is not decent ter.. walk 'round in but a coat and its tails ter cover ye. It ain't." He felt the slops cling to him in places where they were damp. One could worry about some ailment of the skin to follow up later if he would prance around in them for too long. Already it itched a little, though he wasn't sure whether it was because of the filth or whether the cool dampness was to blame.

"Not even if I had a long shirt ter cover me front." Though as he could possibly find himself a shirt, the slops that would not have him swim in them and think that atleast a pair of him, length and side wise would fit, were harder to get by.

He saw he had embarrassed the marine a little, and it was only his thanks to account for that. But the lad deserved those thanks and the borrowing of his coat. He had no idea what could've happened if that creature of a man would have recognised him. But he feared any scenario that his mind might have come up with.

"Aye. I would." He said with conviction. Perhaps a while ago he would've said no and meant it, but now the yes was just as well meant as it was said. "Though dunno how much help a seaman's shirt would be to you. It's not like it were ter conceal you much , or make yer look like sum'one else." He said half in joke.

"Might be able to find a clean shirt, like I said, if we get a chance to go an' have a look round. For sure you can't wear that one, 'least, not without it bein' proper scrubbed clean. Mebbe even boiled." His nose wrinkled as he looked at the filthy shirt in disgust. "An' not wearin' trousers'll be a sight better'n wearin' them ones. Dunno if even boilin'd set 'em right."

He grinned. "If it was the other way round, mebbe you'd lend me your blue jacket - though I know you ain't got that with you. An' not your middy's one neither. Ain't you got a proper blue jacket like the rest of 'em Tars do?"

"I'll have it boiled, three times if it helps at all." Though he had a feeling that the fabric would not give away that smell even if he had it boiled for ten days in a row. He needn't consider if the fabric survived such a treatment. With a glance at his slops he wrinkled his nose. They looked just awful. "...Couldn't ask ye ter lend me yours, could I?" He asked and sounded faintly hopeful.

"Ugh... I swear I'll never again be goin' up anythin' remotely related ter human or animal ...excrement. Ewww... n' I thought cleanin' t' privvies n' heads was awful!"

He looked at the boy." N' you know... you ain't smellin' of roses, neither." He grinned. " A sorry bunch we look like." He adjusted the coat, it was itching a bit and rubbing against skin. Not as comfortable as silken shirts, that was a fact!

He listened to Oxley and then at last nodded. "Aye, would lend it to you, if you needed it n' I had it." He pried a part of his pant leg from his skin. He had a few scrapes under there. What with falling over and his head still hurt and had bit of blood where he hit it, but atleast the shirt was no longer making it dirty.

"Do so, but it .. ain't with me here, as ye see." He shrugged. "Hoped I'd not need to use it.. is a bit big on me, really. Long on t' sleeves 'specially."

Oxley shot a glance at Foley. "We cain't have you in that state till we get back aboard, that's for sure," he said. "C'mon, let's go and see if we can't find summat better'n them awful things you've got on." He stood up and put his hands on his hips. "I ain't sittin' round with you stinkin' like a midden in high summer, I can tell you that for sure, Buckles."

He wasn't sure where they could find him a shirt and trousers to fit, but anything was better than just sitting around doing nothing. He just hoped they wouldn't get in trouble for it.

"A'right. we just can tell that'un marine .. ter report where we's going or we best go n' tell 'im ourselves?" He didn't want to waste too much time standing about. He'd seen where Mr. Hollow went and was determined that they would take the opposite direction and stay clear of the lad.

"Ye know, don't you be complainin' bout me smell or I'um going ter be giving you one filthy hug , jus' after I dump me shirt on your head!" He grinned though he tried to make the threat sound so real and serious.

"Well Ol' Tom. I'll go where you's going, jus' so you lead t' way!" He perhaps was not eager to soak in the sea to wash of the stench, but if there was a way to exchange his slops for the sort that was somewhat cleaner, or be able to wear a shirt under that coat too, he was all for it.

He glanced around. "Jus'.. let us not go that'a way...you know...keep ourselves out of someone's hair!"

Oxley grinned. "You don't mind if we go off?" he said to Foley. "We'll be just as quick as we can, honest we will."

If that horrible middy had gone that way... "This way, Buckles," he said. "Let' see if there's any inside you can have. And even if we can't find any to fit, better a bit big than nothin' at all." He pointed the way back into the building, thinking that the guard-room might be a good place to start... or there were the barrack rooms, if they could find them.

"Better big n' French than small and non existent." The youth agreed as he followed Oxley with a considerably light gait. "Think we could have a coat from them too? Not to wear, mind. Jus'... as a token , summat to have this place remembered by." Or a trophy. Now, the boy was thinking too light of what had just transpired, though atleast the guard room might've been promising what garments were concerned.

"There you said, didn't you?" He asked as they passed a body of a Frenchman killed in action. He had to walk around another and a barrel that had been broken down and had wood sticking out at all ends. The ground around it was moist and had a distinct smell.

"You already got a knife, didn't you? What d'you want a coat for, too?" he asked, cautiously pushing open the door to the main building. "We're jus' after a shirt an' trousers. Don't want to get in trouble for takin' anythin' else, after all. It ain't as though we ain't goin' to leave your stuff behind, neither. Swapsies - fair's fair, after all. Who cares if they's gettin' dirty stuff though? They's only Frogs."

"Ter keep me warm in t' col' nights, why o'course." The boy replied with a stifled laugh. "Aww.. you're not lettin' me 'ave no fun, you know that Ol' Tom!" He peered inside and slowly stepped in. He was glad that he hadn't taken the shirt that Thompson had made for him, on this occasion. Else he was certain that it would not have been left behind no matter no how. But more glad he was, because he knew it wasn't dirty as this one, or the one left behind in a pile.

"Seein' anythin' o' use?" He asked glancing around, alert for any of the French thinking that they could've hidden away here. None were there though. Which was a relief.

"Why we's bein' kind ter any Frogs, I'll yet have yer explain!"

"You got blankets to keep you warm, jus' like the rest of us," Oxley said, grinning. He looked around. This looked like the main guardroom, with a table and chairs in the middle and musket-stands along one wall. There were two doors and he pushed one open, to find a dormitory or something with beds in. There were a couple of chests and he went in to lift the lid of one.

"Here, Buckles." he said, seeing that it held various bits of uniform. "You reckon anythin' in here'd fit you, mate?"

"Lemme see." The boy answered as he scurried closer and peered into the chest. He looked thoughtful for a moment then pulled out a rather large shirt in good need of being made smaller. As he pressed it to his chest he saw it reached over his thighs quite nicely and came near down to his knees." Well.. it's certainly not.." He paused and smirked. "Too small." He finished glancing at the long sleeves that just as the length of the shirt, would come to cover his hands in full and still have some space for it.

"It's all right that length - means you can tuck it up, like I do. But ain't it a bit long in the sleeves?" Oxley asked, looking on in amusement. Shirts were supposed to be long in the body, after all, but if the sleeves were too long, it meant they'd be in the way when trying to work.

He rooted around in the other chest, and held a shirt up. "This any better?" he asked, grinning.

"Lemme see." He took the offered shirt. It was shorter in the sleeves, but nice and long about the body. Perhaps a tweak or two was still needed for the length, but certainly not as much as the other one. "Think I could try this one. "Nice and clean as it was. He could well use the too big one to rub himself somewhat cleaner and dryer. He did so first before the whole process of removing all the things he'd worn, just to have his jacket off.

Again he felt rather aware of the fact he had no shirt and tried to squirm as quickly into the one they found as if a sergeant waited behind him ready to strike him for slacking.

Oxley grinned as de Guarde squirmed hastily into the shirt. "Could do with some trousers now, I think," he said, digging through the chest again, pulling out all sorts of bits and pieces before he found a pair of slightly grubby white trousers. "Here, try these," he said, holding them out.

"They look somewhat long." He studied the trousers sceptically. "I can try it, but gimme one of them shirts ter wipe m'self with it if there's no bucket I can use ter have meself washed." He felt the filth on his skin and that was rather an unpleasant feeling. "...'least enough that I don't make t' new trousers dirty!" He looked around hopefully for a bucket.

"N'.. you could turn 'round once I uh. start changin' couldn't you?"

"Y'can always turn 'em up," Oxley pointed out, cheerfully. He was having fun with the situation, even if the other boy wasn't.

He goggled as de Guarde asked if he'd turn round. "You ain't shy, are you?" he said in disbelief. Twelve years of living in a small house with an older brother, then four years of living in barracks and on the lower deck had meant that Oxley himself no longer cared who was around when he had to strip off to change. He obliged, though he was grinning as he turned round to continue rummaging.

"Isn't I'um shy!" De Guarde protested, though he hadn't made a single move till he saw Oxley's back facing him. Only once he was sure the boy wouldn't turn he began to work on the buttons of his presently worn slops.

"Is jus'..." He began, but came no further with his thought or an attempt to find an excuse of that little demand. With his his slops off he hopped about and wiped himself on another of the clothes that they were not meant to use but, were indeed there. Perhaps the Frogs would have protested against such dear misuse of their fabric, but he was damned if he was to take the new trousers - possibly ridden with French fleas anyway - on with the filth still thick on the skin.

"Well.. is jus'.." He had one foot in the pantleg now. "Is jus' I ain't shy!"

"Well, you tell me jus' zackly what it is, if you ain't shy, then," Oxley said, and came up with another pair of trousers, these one smaller. He turned around, waving them. "You ain't got anythin' I ain't got," he said. "These'll fit you better'n them things. They's sort of white. Better than the horrid old things you just took off."

He grinned, thinking he could see a protest forming on the de Guarde's lips, and turned his back again, grumbling goodnaturedly. "All right, all right, though I dunno why you need to. Ain't no place private on the lower deck, you oughta know that by now."