Libertymen Ashore, 23rd May, Oporto

This time, they had been put ashore in the town itself, instead of at that bloody fort. Chase tugged self-consciously as his shore-going jacket and went over the plan that he and the other Tars had come up with for their evening at liberty. A tankard or two at the first tavern they came to, then a quick bit of food, then on to the next tavern. Rinse, swab, and repeat.

"Do they got good rum here?" Preddie asked, peering toward the bustling dock-street.

"Course they do," Dyer answered. "But it'll cost more'n it should, I bet. Mebbe we can swipe some from them soldiers that're crawlin' every-place."

There was general agreement to that. Chase grinned to himself. This was going to be a good time.

It wasn't often the Marines got a run ashore. Thompson had given his jacket a final brush before pulling it on, with his newly pipe-clayed bayonet belt over the top. He pulled his hat on and scrambled down into the boat, unsure whether to be amused or offended by the fact they were in the same boat as those lucky few Tars who were also on a run ashore.

They'd been dropped off actually in the town itself and it was only once they had their feet on dry land that the sailors thought to ask about the availability of rum. Thompson wasn't sure whether he wanted the rum so much as to find a good woman for the evening, but he wasn't about to go spoiling the Tars' gaiety.

"There'll be rum round hereabouts som'ers," he said. "What 'bout this'n here?" He pointed to a likely-looking tavern.

"Won't find out if we don't go look," Chase said cheerfully, giving his ribbon-adorned jacket a final adjustment before striding off in the direction Thompson had indicated. Some of the others followed, while one or two slunk off elsewhere, in search of something other than rum.

"C'mon then, Thompson!" Andrew Shepherd cried, nearly tripping over his own feet in his eagerness to follow the seamen.

Thompson raised an eyebrow. "Can't believe they let you ashore, Shepherd," he said, adjusting his bayonet scabbard and following Chase. "S'pose I'm goin' to havta make sure you stay out of trouble, ain't I?"

He grinned as a couple of men sloped off in another direction. He was going to stick with Chase and the greater number of Terpsies. There would be time for that sort of thing later.

"They din't," Shepherd told him gleefully. "The Toms is coverin' watches for me. Why d'ya think I'm lookin' like a Tar for?"

Chase paused just before shouldering open the tavern door, a knowing smirk on his face. "Don't get after the lad for it, neither, he sure din't manage it all by hisself!"

"I know that, Cob Chase. Might've guessed he'd weasel his way inta gettin' kit from your lot." He grinned. "If Mister Cartwright finds out, Andrew, he didn't hear it from me. Just don't go gettin' in any scrapes, all right?"

He followed them into the tavern and looked around. There was a likely-looking table in the corner, with a drunk soldier slumped over it. Thompson shrugged and simply tipped the chair over, dumping him onto the floor.

Chase's grin broadened. "Maybe he did, maybe he din't. Don't matter. Now c'mon you lads. Wastin' time!"

The others were already inside by now, though they moved toward the table that Thompson had just cleared.

"Just don't get so drunk you can't see straight, that's all," Thompson said as Shepherd slid into a seat. The older Marine turned to see if he could catch the eye of one of the barmaids. He chuckled as Preddie kicked the unconscious soldier out of his way so he could sit down.

Shepherd shook his head. "I won't."

"Barmaid!" Chase called out, looking around. "C'mon, y'fine miss, lend us a minute?"

Near the table, Dyer was searching the unconscious soldier's pockets for any forgotten coins.

Thompson grinned and studiously ignored the sailor rifling the soldier's pockets. it was none of his business if a soldier ended up so drunk he couldn't remember what he'd done with his money, after all.

"Wine. Vinho. The good stuff, not the crap piss-poor stuff we had in Lisbon," Preddie said as a barmaid came over.

The barmaid regarded him for a moment, then cut loose a fast rush of Portuguese. Chase blinked, looked at Preddie in stupid uncomprehension, and picked up the tankard that had previously belonged to the soldier now on the floor.

"This stuff, whatever it was," Chase said, holding it out to the barmaid. She nodded once and bustled away. Apparently she understood.

"What'd that idiot have, anyway?" Shepherd asked.

Chase sniffed the tankard and grimaced. "Smells like rum, I think, but there ain't no tellin' in this place!"

Thompson gave the unconscious soldier a kick in the side. "Bet that was his first tankard, too, the lightweight," the Marine said scornfully, taking his hat off and putting it on the table. "How much of it did he get through afore he passed out, then?"

Chase passed the tankard across to the Marine so he might inspect it too. "Just over half an inch left in it," the topman said. "Pity they don't teach them soldiers nothin'. S'what ya get, though, bein' a land-crawler!"

Thompson glanced into the mug. There was, as the sailor had said, just over half an inch left in the bottom. He grinned, took the mug, and tipped the dregs over the head of the passed-out redcoat on the floor. "Stupid sod. Should've joined the Marines," he said, putting the now empty tankard back on the table. "Cheap though. Not even finishin' the one tankard."

The Tars around the table laughed. Served that redcoat right!

"Course they can't hold their drink," Dyer remarked, by now having finished his search of the soldier's pockets. "Can't do much else of use either."

Chase grinned. "His bad luck, innit? Here then, lads, let's see what gut-rot that fellow did himself in with." He passed around the newly-arrived tankards with undisguised excitement.

"Nice of him to pay for us, though, ain't it," Thompson said, giving Dyer a wink, and accepting a full tankard from the barmaid. He raised it in a toast to her - she had a very nice figure, and filled out her corset wonderfully - before taking a cautious mouthful. "Ain't so bad, that, neither. Not like the blackstrap you get in the Med," he said, putting the tankard down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Dead nice of him," Dyer agreed, nodding conspiratorily.

Preddie shuddered and took a hearty gulp from his tankard. "Blackstrap. Ugh."

Chase reached out quickly and stopped Shepherd before the drummer could take a swallow from his own tankard. "Sips, lad, not great gulps. It'll sit heavy in yer stomach, else."

"You listen to him, lad, he knows what he's about," Thompson said, grinning at Shepherd. "We don't want you gettin' pissed your first time ashore, after all." He looked around the tavern. There were quite a few soldiers there, though it didn't seem as though they'd noticed the Terpsies' entrance - or cared, if they had noticed.

Shepherd nodded, a little grudgingly. "Arrigh'. There anythin' that oughta go with this, so it don't sit so hard?"

"Some good steamin' stew," Dyer answered.

"No," Chase said. "Plate of bread and cheese. Thick-sliced. Does the trick everytime. Like what them soldiers got over there."

Thompson nodded. "Aye, he's in the right of it." The barmaid swung by, on her way to replenish the drinks of a group of soldiers sitting in the corner, and Thompson grasped her wrist as she headed back to the bar. "Here, Miss. We'd like some food, an' all." He indicated the table of soldiers Chase had and she nodded.

"Easy enough. Nice girl, that, too," he said as he let her wrist go and watched her cross the room.

"Good lad," Chase said, glad that Thompson had placed the order. Hopefully the bread and cheese would not be foul.

Shepherd was eying the soldiers warily. "Don't seem natural, that lot. They ain't got blue facings like us."

Thompson grinned. "When I 'listed, us Marines had white facin's. Only had the blue ones since the Peace, an' that was seven years ago. But you'm right. It don't seem nacherel. Can't be so smart as us, them not bein' Marines." He picked his hat up and needlessly straightened the plume up a bit. "Ain't got the right hats, them, for one thing."

The seamen grinned at that. Shepherd took a measured sip of his drink before looking down at his borrowed slops. "Next time I'm turnin' out proper."

"Daft sorta hats, those things," Chase observed. "Look like fire-buckets."

Thompson grinned. "You's all right, lad. I'f'n you'd turned out proper this time, I reckon ol' Cross-Eyes might've noticed you sneakin' inta the boat." He grinned, holding his hat up appraisingly before looking across the room. "They look like fire-buckets, don't they? On'y, fire-buckets with big brass plates on 'em. Not like ourn. Not so smart as ourn, are they, lad?"

"Nope," Shepherd agreed.

Chase shook his head. "Ain't no hats anyplace smarter'n ours, lads," he said and touched his tarred hat.