25th May - Lieutenants in the tavern

Mister Cartwright was staring at him in confusion, but he did manage to stagger to his feet. Oxley offered an arm, thinking the officer might find he needed something hold onto.

There was a woman shrieking at Gunn now, clinging to his arm, and the older Marine merely shook her off.

"Hey, Gunn! Put him down and help Mishter Leat up," Oxley said, pointing at the still-moaning Second Lieutenant. He turned back to the Marine Lieutenant. "You all righ' there, shir?" he asked, worried that he might not be - and Grattan and Dickin were in no fit state to help anyone.

The daft boy did not even hear what he said, and Cartwright was sooner on his feet than Oxley helped him any. Well, atleast they were more separated now and Bush was no longer being entangled in the web of foreign limbs.

He let the drummer lad take care of the mess there, and turned instead towards Mister Leat. The group that was there was not giving them a sense of comfort and safety. He undid his neckerchief and offered it to the lieutenant, making a face. The vomit was turning his stomach as well, but he tried not to think of it. "Sir, yer can wipe t' taste off, with it." He took a gentle hold of the man's arm. "You'll come up with me.. slowly. A'right? ..."

He turned to look towards Gunn:" Get Mister Bush, marine. And do drop that man!" He agreed with Oxley.

James Gunn looked annoyed at the two brats who thought that they could just take command. Neither was an officer. One a mere drummer and one even just a Tar! He drove his fist into the man's belly and then knocked his head with a final blow against the wall, releasing him.

The intention had been to knock him out senseless, and he looked to have succeeded in doing so. The bearded man suddenly forgotten, he turned to have a look at all three officers and then at the crowd that had gathered and began to jeer at them.

"... bauchaillí." He addressed the two young ones: "One of you take an officer, an' one of you 'elp those two to come 'long." He pointed at the poor drunk marines. He thought to carry two of the officers, which looked all very logical and simple to an also affected mind.

Ignoring the offered neckerchief, mostly as he did not register it was there, Leat swiped at his chin with his cuff, moaning again.

"Oh God, it hurts..." he mumbled. "Oh God..."

That person, whoever they were, was pulling at him, insisting that he had to get up. But he couldn't. It hurt too much.

Freed from being tangled up with Cartwright, Bush began to slowly stagger to his feet. Leat was lying a short distance away, moaning and writhing in pain. He wished he could help Leat up, but Bush feared if he leaned down to offer his hand, he would only succeed in falling on top of Leat just as Cartwright had fallen on him. There were Marines all around them, though Bush could barely discern who they were. That impeded him from ordering one particular Marine to assist Leat, so he simply called on all of them.

"Marines! All of you...any of you...help Mr. Leat!" he barked. "And let's...let's return to the ship!"

De Guarde tied his neckerchief again and frowned. He could not carry mister Leat, as he was too heavy for him. He could not make him walk neither, as was obvious. Mister Leat was in great pain. He flinched knowing just how badly that spot could hurt when kneed.

"Sir...." He turned about to look at Gunn. The big man could carry a lieutenant, surely. "We'll get you help." He murmured. The marine appeared to have an idea of his own already. De Guarde frowned hoping Oxley could deal with Cartwright. And then, there was also the drunk marines to worry about. He did not know their names, but the faces he had seen before, often enough. They could not walk on their own and would probably follow if not assisted, as willingly as a pair of poor-behaved pups. They needed guidance, if even a hand to support them a little, and a sure foot to lead them across the 'dangerous' terrain.

"I carry them." Gunn said, his mind already set on what they could do next. He did not care what the two young brats wanted to do. They were too weak to accomplish it all on their own. "...Mister Leat and Bush. Will be faster that way." He said, not appearing to take no for an answer. And here, the closest was lieutenant Bush. The man, he approached, and with a simple: "'scuse me sir." He then proceeded to take the man by his waist. He lifted Mister Bush bodily of the floor and had him slung across one shoulder all in one move. It looked no different than placing a heavy sack there, though with the obvious, that one such man could writhe and could fall off more easily if not held well.

The crowd seemed to tighten the circle around them. Some had picked stones off the floor, hearing the woes and cries of the distraught woman who thought her husband dead, or at the very least terribly wounded. The situation was getting very serious.

"There you go, sir." Gunn grinned and turned towards the second lieutenant of the navy, lying and moaning on the floor.

"I--you--what are--" Bush sputtered. One of the Marines had just lifted him bodily and swung him over his shoulder like a sack. He struggled somewhat against the Marine, whom he now realised was Gunn. "Not me, Gunn! Get Mr. Leat, damn you!"

"I'm getting him too, sir." Gunn's hold on the squirming lieutenant tightened so that he would not free himself and manage to fall right on his head, thanks to his own foolish pride. "Be faster." He muttered something in Irish then, since the proper English words eluded him.

"You..." Oxley broke off, shaking his head as Gunn swung Mister Bush onto his shoulder. "That ain't the offisher you need to worry 'bout. He'sh down there sht... still."

He looked at Mister Cartwright. "You all right there, sh... sir?"

"Getting to!" He'd give that lad a clip around the ears if he was closer! The nerve of the boy whose tongue was in a twist and not willing to uncoil.

Gunn knelt at Mister Leat's side and began to lift the man as well. But with two, it would take some time longer for him to actually get upright. Especially as the latter had to be scooped of the floor. He again said something in his tongue, and it could have been a complaint about alcohol and about officers drinking it, but nothing was said in English to confirm it thus.

Bush grumbled, not at all pleased at being manhandled by the Marine. But as long as Gunn was trying to help Leat as well, that was all that mattered. After all, Bush was not exactly steady on his feet at the moment. Perhaps it would be better if he did not have to worry about walking back to the ship...

The sensation of being lifted once more bodily into the air and thumped onto Gunn's shoulder very nearly had Leat throw up again - though fortunately there was nothing left in his stomach for him to do so. It was perhaps merciful for Gunn's sake that Leat weighed considerably less than Bush, and so made a limp, groaning burnden, but at least a manageable one.

"Fine, fine," Cartwright told the drummer, his attention directed more to the angry, stone-wielding Portuguese. "If you're ready, sirs..."

While Gunn moved to follow Cartwright and the drummer, De Guarde hurried to the pair of marines, helping first one up and once Grattan was leaning much of his weight on his shoulder he turned to help the second marine.

The first attempt made Grattan fall back down, and his companion follow suit. The second finally had both leaning unsteadily on the lad's shoulders. He took hold of each at best he could :" A'right.. step n' by step." He said to them.

There was something shouted at them in Portuguese. The stones were raised. De Guarde cursed and called ahead:" Run, they'll throw it soon!"

"I think we're more than ready, Mr. Cartwright," Bush remarked from over Gunn's shoulder, "Being as we seem to be receiving a ride back to the ship and all..."

"Run? You ain't bleedin' serious," Oxley said. It wasn't that easy to keep his balance, especially as he was helping Mister Cartwright to keep his, too. Dickin and Grattan had, somehow, managed to pick themselves up and were supporting each other, although they looked as stable as a rowing-boat in a high storm. They each had an arm around the other's shoulder, and one of them - Dickin, by the sounds of it - was bewailing the loss of his bottle of wine. Poor de Guarde looked distinctly unhappy, squashed between them and trying to help them retain some sort of upright-ness.

Lieutenant Leat gave another feeble groan as Gunn lurched forward, the rest of the party following suit and beating a semi-hast (if lumbering) retreat to the sounds of angry abuse hurled after them in Portuguese.

Gun picked pace with the two Lieutenants. This however did not prove to make it a comfortable ride for the pair. Hopping on his shoulders they were certainly more prone to empty their stomachs again. Still. With the large brute the crowd was beginning to give way to them.

They were satisfied with shouting and a stone or two thrown in their direction. They did follow them close on their heels. And a pair gave a kick to the two drunk marines who could barely walk. What they shouted was anybody's guess. Gunn turned to look whether the rest had been following him. "Scram!" He shouted in a deep, enraged voice. This was made more frightening as he cursed at them in his own tongue.

"Come along now." Although their progress was not as fast as the sober one of the bunch would have hoped, they already distanced themselves a bit from the cursed house where their lieutenant earned himself a beating. Gunn would probably have been delighted to return and give them a thumping if not busy with the pair of lieutenants which could not just be dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

"Tom, get Mister Cartwright to follow as fast as he is able." There were just too few adult men that were able to walk on their own. If they had but one additional marine and their progress would be quickened tenfold. Atleast what the officers were concerned. They were the ones they needed to protect. Them, the two private marines, could somehow deal with the consequences or hope that the populace had become bored with them.

"..do ye know of any other lad who could help us fetch someone o' t' ship. Jus' a small detachm'nt. Enough ter assure us a safe passage back." He could not try sending Oxley as he had Cartwright to take care of. He could not go himself, as two marines drunk of their heads, could certainly not move an inch in the right direction, except if pushed, and then they would fall and stumble. And as for Gunn, he was as well with his hands full of officer.

"What d'you think I's tryin' to do?" Oxley retorted in answer to de Guarde. "Can't 'zackly pick him up, can I?" He turned his attention to the officer. "You all right there, sir? Mind tryin' to go a bit faster? Though I ain't runnin', sir, if you don't mind!"

He shot a glance over his shoulder. Dickin and Grattan had somehow managed to pick themselves up and were weaving along, held up by the much smaller form of de Guarde, and were singing something rowdy, slurring the words.

"No, bu' rushing along would be best... what the Portuguese are concerned. Can worry about dignity once we're safe with our own." Atleast the ship was becoming a landmark much closer to them, and the Portuguese still had not gathered the courage or had the stupid idea come to mind, that it would be best to beat them all into bloody pulps. Perhaps the little group was not the sole representative of the British forces, and the sound of distant singing, of a much closer conversations in English, confirmed that, leaving De Guarde more at peace. They could shout for help.

"You try rushin' when the ground don't wanna be'ave and you's tryin' to hold your officer upright," Oxley muttered, and went pink as he realised Cartwright had more than likely heard his words - and the Marine Lieutenant wasn't as badly off as the Navy officers.

"..You's drunk." De Guarde observed correctly. Oxley had been under it, that much he knew. Just not as drunk as most of them. "I've got two on me... who ain't actin' too light." He huffed and then changed his tone, glancing towards the group. A few of the men had begun advancing on them, their prime target of course Mister Leat, carried by the big brute.

"I ain't drunk," Oxley retorted, with dignity. "Not prop'ly, so, anyhow." He had certainly been drunker than he was now. "Anyone seen anyone else in the liberty boat?" he asked, looking around and noticing the approaching Portuguese. "We'sh had enough of you lot, shove off," he said, scowling at them. "We'sh goin', ain't we?"