Libertymen Ashore, 23rd May, Oporto

"That's what you get for bein' a Terpsy, ain't that so, lads?" Thompson said, looking round the table at the gathered Tars. He might have looked out of place, being a Marine, but that didn't matter when there were soldiers around.

There was a chorus of cheerful agreement. The barmaid reappeared with their bread and cheese, but she hurried off again when Dyer tried give her a quick pat on the rump.

"Flighty sort, ain't she?" Preddie said with a smirk.

Chase piled a thick wedge of cheese on an equally thick slice of bread and tucked in. "Oh n'tha's prime," he said around a mouthful. "Hurry up an' stuff it down, lads. Them cows yon are lookin' at us an' our scoff awful close."

"You'll give yerself a belly ache if'n you guzzle your scran like that," Thompson said mildly, but tucked into his own helping with a will. "They's can look all they like, but they ain't goin' to get their grubby mitts on it, that's for sure." He looked dismissively at the soldiers in the corner. "Ain't got a patch on you, Dyer."

"No, they damn sure - ain't," Chase managed, swallowing a too-large bit of cheese with some difficulty. "I ain't crossed jibs with no soldier 'fore now, an' I ain't gonna do it over food!"

Dyer glanced at Thompson and smirked, looking remarkably squirrel-like with a cheekful of bread.

"They ain't worth crossin' jibs with at all, I don't think," Thompson said, and used his teeth to tear a corner of crust off his bread. "Eye off ong-ee, iss," he said, and swallowed. "Nice soft tommy, this," he repeated when he was eventually able to make himself understood.

"Bobe," Dyer remarked, then blushed and swallowed his cheekful of bread. "Prolly can't even fight, neither."

Chase drank off the last of his rum and shrugged. "I dunno 'bout that. But we might find out 'fore the evenin's done."

At that, Shepherd looked hopeful.

Thompson chuckled at the young drummer's expression. "A bar-room brawl ain't summat you want to get mixed up in at your age, lad," he said. "Though I daresay you'd give 'em summat to think about." He drained his own tankard and sat back in his seat. "Dunno why they think they's so good, them swaddies. They ain't got to cope with bein' at sea for months on end like us'n do."

"Ain't no place fer lads, nope." Dyer nodded and helped himself to another wedge of cheese.

Chase glanced at Thompson and grinned slightly. "Could show 'em they ain't so good, y'know. Long's we keep Sticks outta it."

"We could do that, Cob. Though Stick mightn't want to be kept out of it." Most fourteen-year-old boys didn't, after all. Thompson wasn't going to report back on board with news that Andrew Shepherd had got his head kicked in, though. Not if he could help it.

"I ain't keepin' outta it!" Shepherd told them, sounding indignant. "I missed that last scrap, which ain't fair."

"Ever seen a tavern scrap, fella?" Dyer asked him. Shepherd had to take his head. "Ain't pretty, t'all. Even if ya knows whatchyer doin'. Worse'n a boardin' action."

"Got meself knocked silly once, breakin' up a tavern brawl," Thompson said. "Weren't much older'n... Well, was mebbe a coupla years older'n Tom Oxley. Had a musket with me, but someone clouted me from be'ind. Wasn't fun that. Had a head like a blacksmith's forge the rest of the day."

Chase nodded. "Me first brawl, I got a bottle end across me arm an' shoulder, from some lad off Billy Ruff'n."

"What'd y'do back?" Shepherd asked, all eager interest.

"Busted a table leg over his fat head," was Chase's answer.

"Dangerous things, tavern brawls," Thompson said. "You never know what might happen - or who's goin' to join in." He shrugged. "It's usu'lly worse when you're one of the party come to break it up, though."

"But they's fun too, if yer jus' ashore after a long cruise," Dyer added.

Shepherd looked at the seamen keenly. "Fun but dang'rous. Sounds like anythin' we does aborad ship."

"It ain't, lad. Not really," Chase told him. "But..." he looked toward the table of soldiers in the corner. "Well, if summat stirs up, ya oughta stay back. Mebbe y'might learn a bit 'bout tavern-fightin'."

'If'... Surely Chase meant 'when'. Their table was getting some ugly looks from the soldiers in the corner...

"I reckon we ought to be ready, lads," Thompson said, indicating them with a motion of his shoulder.

Preddie tossed back the last of his rum and cracked his knuckles. "Allays ready, Thompson," he said. Taylor, who had up to this point been unusually silent, offered a fierce grin.

"They's on'y soldiers, ain't they? No trouble to it. We used ta scrap with soldiers all time, back in me ol' ship."

"Good to hear it," Thompson said. The chatter from across the room was growing louder now, deliberately so.

"So that's what the cat dragged in."

"Smells of dirty ditch-water..."

This was getting better and better. The Tars pulled off their hats and loosened the chinstraps that were tucked up inside, so they would not loose them in the coming scrap.

Chase stuffed one last hunk of cheese into his mouth, then he nodded at Taylor. Dirty ditch-water. Really.

"You smell that, Billy?" Chase asked, putting his characteristically loud voice to good use, once he had swallowed the cheese. "I think there's some dirty ol' goats in here, right 'nuff."

"Oh aye," Taylor agreed. "Think they been rollin' in some Portugee dung, too. Even them Frogs don't stink harf so bad."

Thompson crammed his hat on and just hoped it wouldn't get wrecked in the next few minutes. Really... Couldn't those idiot soldiers think of any better insults than 'dirty ditch-water'?

Taylor's insult brought a burly soldier to his feet. "I dunno what that thing out in the river is, but it's makin' a right mess of the place."

"There's folks in here makin' a right mess o' this place, and all," another soldier crowed.

Thompson twisted round and looked at them disdainfully. "An' most of 'em are sittin' over there," he said, finishing off the last of his bread and cheese.

"What's this I sees, a disgrace fer a redcoat?" One of the soldiers leered, narrowing his eyes at Thompson. "Guess they'll taken jus' any fool fer a sea-soldier."

Another one scoffed. "Can't be worth much if he slums 'round with them bargemen."

Bargemen? That was plenty enough. Chase looked quickly around the table. The others had finished their drinks and the tray of food was nothing but crumbs. Good. At least they weren't going to waste anything. He adjusted the chinstrap of his hat and said, "Shepherd, be useful an' beat us to quarters."

Might as well let the lad have some part in what was about to happen. With a delighted laugh, Shepherd flexed his fingers and went right to work drumming on the table with the flats of his hands. The seamen were up on their feet and moving at once, cheering like madmen.

"They takes any old fool in the Army. Takes brains to join the Marines. But then, you wouldn't know that, would you." Thompson sent the man a disgusted look as he stood up with the seamen.

This was going to be one messy bar-room brawl...

"Lay off that bloody noise!" A soldier snarled, glaring at Shepherd.

"I'll show yew brains - " Another began.

Chase dropped his shoulder down as he lengthened his stride and drove hard into the closest pack of soldiers. Somebody cursed him colourfully then the other Terpsies leapt onto the other redcoats with another cheer. A hat went tumbling away, followed closely by a half-stunned soldier, before the redcoats recovered their senses enough to fight back.

Someone swung for Thompson who avoided the blow before landing a solid punch on the man. All around there were fists flying - and not a few feet and thrown objects. Thompson's first opponent went down hard and he went for another man, who had tried to give him a black eye.

A bottle spun past Chase's ear as he tried to ward off the fast, determined swings from a burly soldier. Several blows had already landed on the topman's chest and shoulders but he had so far deflected any solid punches. Then a lucky jab caught him in the jaw and he was knocked two steps backwards. Bloody land-crawling pig!

Chase shook his head and grabbed the soldier's wrist when the man swung again. There was a look of surprise on the soldier's face, then Chase drove his forehead into the man's nose. "How's that for dirty ditch water, y'smelly fat swine!" The topman cried and kicked the soldier aside.

Thompson was holding his own. He was no lover of the messy sort of fighting that bar-room brawls consisted of, but he was not going to be bested by the the damned foot-wobblers. And there was no way that he was going to let the sailors say they'd been let down by a Marine.

Someone came at him from behind and he drove his elbow into the man's stomach, leaving him gasping on the floor. He ducked as a tankard flew over his head to crash into the wall behind him, even as he landed a solid thump on another soldier's chin, snapping his teeth together jarringly.

'"M a better soldier than you lot, any day," he said as the man shook his head, blinking at him before swinging his fist wildly.