25th May - Lieutenants in the tavern

"Can't even talk proper n' yer tellin' me you ain't drunk!" He looked around. "How many are we missin'? ..of the Terpsies?" Because it was about now that their timely arrival would be just splendid.

He cursed. "Easy.. you two." He so wished the marines that he had leaning on his shoulders would not have been just so much out of it. They could have been of use else. ":..Git' Mister Cartwright ahead o' us. ..." Which would only have hindered the men from the back, the ones from the side had as clean a way to come at them.

"Ah, shurrup!" Oxley almost wished he wasn't holding Mister Cartwright upright, so he could take a friendly swing at de Guarde. "I dunno how many there was come ashore." That was the officers' responsibility, not his, after all.

"On'y had a coupla drinks, though." A couple of stiff drinks, maybe, but at least he wasn't completely lushed like some of the others.

"..'couple enough that yer can't talk straight." The boy muttered gazing back at the Portuguese. They've finally passed the last of the houses and were in sight of their ship and men. Gunn stopped for a moment and turned back. This was the last chance for the Portuguese to commit a crime and get away with it. "al'right there?" He asked and studied the two boys and the men they were taking along. It was a comical scene. Officers, which were usually the ones hassling their drunk subordinates, now being carried and lead by them.

And even the ones who helped. Two younglings and one big man. If this had been caught by the eye of an artist, they could have been sure to expect themselves caricatured in one of the newspapers.

"Hey, you, by the boats!" It was the young lad's voice that carried across. Almost like a middie, only he was not. "Lend a hand here."

And then it happened. The Portuguese men, few of the bravest and rowdiest came after them.

There. The boat. Their boat, he was sure about that even if he was somewhat drunk and it was dark. He lowered the pair of their officers with some attempt at loosing them to the ground slow and careful. He turned in a hurry and made it past Oxley, and the drunk marines just in time to strike at the closest of the brave souls.

"Be gone, the lot of ya!" He cursed them in his own tongue then, and cursed them good. He resembled an angry cockerel who was sizing up his enemy, or perhaps a cornered feral dog, who was no longer afraid to bite. "Get lost! " There was the trace of English among his words, but then he reverted back to the display. The Portuguese would be less eager to continue their prosecution, when their prey was out in a boat, returning to its ship.

"What's amiss?" Jim Spencer asked no one in particular. A group of British men came running along the piers with what sounded like an angry crowd of Portuguese in pursuit. Was that their men? "Terpsichore!" he called to the ragtag crowd. In the moonlight he could make out the white crossbelts of the marines, and one of them turned and struck a Portuguese man in the face. The boat crew was already stirring to action. "Come on lads, look alive. Looks like a quick send-off."

"Aye, we're from Terpsichore. Git' t' officers on board." De Guarde urged hastly. The two drunken marines were rather heavy but at least they were now here and could be safely stowed away.

"Hurry!"

The Irish marine had dropped two men on the ground without ceremony. "All present 'n sober, if you please, sir," Spencer said hurriedly to the heap that looked like Mister Bush. He jumped into the boat and sat at the helm. "Oates, give 'em a hand down. Ready oars, lads. You marines, hurry it up!" He hoped that the marines' own officer present would not take offense. Looked like they had enjoyed a pleasant evening.

Groaning, Bush managed to raise himself up into a sitting position. Dear God, he was not going to forget this night for a long time. At least Gunn had deposited them on the ground by the boat, which meant he did not have far to go to get into it.

"Thank God someone is," he grumbled in response to Spencer's comment.

He attempted to force himself to his feet, but he merely succeeded in falling over into the dirt yet again, letting loose a string of curses in the process.

Still very much on the unhealthier side of paralytic and near passing out again, Leat could only moan pitifully as he was first dropped roughly onto the ground, then manhandled into the boat by the oarsmen, limp as a ragdoll with all the stuffing falling out.

"Careful there, sir!" Oxley said, a fraction of a second too late as Mister Leat just dropped into the bottom of the boat with all the grace of a half-empty sack of flour.

"You take it easy an' all, sir," he added, addressing the Marine officer. He hoped Cartwright was more sober than the Second Lieutenant, or they'd likely end up with the boat going over.

De Guarde allowed the two marines to drop back to the floor, safely away from the water, but close enough, so that they could be shifted into the boat, once the officers were there safe and sound already. He turned to look at the said officers then. One had been groaning like it was the worst day of his life. Perhaps it even was. He moved towards Bush, who was going to be the first in the boat. "Here sir." He offered an arm and tried to get the man to his feet. The boat was ready to shove of as soon as they were done.

"In ye'll be going, firs'." He he was out of breath. "Careful here." The last thing they needed was an officer in the water!

Feeling someone trying to help him up, Bush gave another go at getting to his feet, and managed to succeed this time. At least enough to stagger towards the boat. He glanced over to see who his assistant was--and was surprised to see that it was De Guarde, of all people. For a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him in his drunken state, but the lad really was there helping him.

"Thank...thank you, De Guarde," he muttered.

Mercifully it only took him a few shaky steps to reach the boat. Even so, he would most likely have topped over if it were not for De Guarde's help. As unexpected as many of the events had been that evening, to Bush this was surely the most unlikely event of all.

Poor dear Bush had to be really awfully drunk, when he decided to say thanks to the boy, De Guarde thought, though his words no less made him smile and nod. "Only right, sir." He kept his hold on Bush, aided him all the way through those few steps and kept a firm grip to prevent him from going where officers usually were not supposed to go. Not even if it should have felt tempting. Which surprisingly, it did not at that moment.

"Careful now." It was said both for Bush as well as for the Tars that would receive the man. "Almos' there." He nodded again. This had not been so hard. He decided he liked Lieutenant Bush drunk. He did not appear to scary then!

With the help of De Guarde and the oarsmen, Bush was able to get into the boat without falling into the water. As he slumped down into the seat, the only thought in his mind was: never again. Never again was he going to allow himself to get so inebriated as to lose all sense of coordination. He could not know Leat and Cartwright's thoughts, but he could imagine that they were thinking along similar lines. What grand fools they all must be looking to the sailors and Marines right now...

The only slightly drunk marine was still busy in keeping the Portuguese at bay. De Guarde turned once Bush was safe and secure in the boat and he was assured that he would not be able to see the fishies up close for no fun, and would thus not be able to splash and sink when he needed to be safely returned to Terpsichore. The same went for Mister Leat, safely huddled in the boat with him.

He looked at their next officer. "Lieutenant Cartwright 's next." He moved towards Oxley and the man he was helping to keep from swaggering in a direction that might end in his demise. "Can you handle him,Tommy?" He asked and then looked to the other man. "Come sir. We'll help you now. Slow n' steady. Inter t' boat there." He explained.

At the moment Leat's thoughts, if he even knew what they were, were simply voiced in another moan from the bottom of the boat as he somehow managed to raise himself into a semi-sitting position.

"Wh... 'M it... Willi'm..."

He managed to utter no more before he swooned again, his head unintentionally coming to rest in Bush's lap.

Bush glanced down upon hearing Leat's moan, then started in surprise as something fell into his lap--which turned out to be the second lieutenant's head. Poor Leat. He had easily gotten the worst end of their exploits this evening. But even so, Bush felt that it might be better for Leat to recline somewhere other than his legs. Gingerly--for Bush did not trust himself to move Leat very much at the moment--he slid his comrade off of his legs and laid him down against the side of the boat.

The second lieutenant made no protest at this save a vague mumble, curling into the side of the boat between Bush and the nearest oarsman.

"Wud yer 'urry up already?" Gunn shouted back. The Portuguese locals were obviously seeing their prey escaping and were again daring to come closer and some were attempting to come around the big marine, to get at the weak points of the defense. Oxley, two drunk marines that could not even stand, another small Tar. It was only the crew of the very boat who could offer some resistance and that was dispersed between the boat , watching out for the two drunk officers, soon to help the next officer aboard, and those of course who were getting up to offer a shield till the remaining of their runaway crew was loaded into the boat.

Luckily it was not only the Marines and Tars that were drunk, and luckily the Portuguese were just as well not as intent on harming them as they would be, if they were French. Still, they were a mob of people, and such a collection of bodies did not appear to think too much, or consider the why's.

Oxley staggered up, thankful to be at the quay-side already. "Here, gis a hand with Mister Cartwright," he said. There was no way that the Lieutenant was going to make it into the boat under his own power without tripping, or falling in the dirty water of the harbour, or even capsizing the boat - though it was one of the cutters, and would take some work to tip over.

"There room for me?" he added, unable to quite believe that they'd managed to forgo all precedent and tradition this time. It was always the most senior officer who got into the boat last, always. Apart from when drunk, apparently.

He barely knew what was going on. His thinking mind had long since gone happily to sleep. Cartwright was, therefore, perfectly amenable to being manhandled. It was amusing to him.

"Lively seas, eh?" He observed as he was bundled down into the waiting boat.

Good. Three lieutenants in the boat. De Guarde sighed with relief. That only left four marines to be dropped in and then they could happily row away. He hurried to the sight of the two drunk men, mumbling to Oxley to :"Get in the boat." A seaman helped half carry half drag the man over where willing hands reached out to ease the marine in. He looked about and called to James Gunn: "If yer can bring that marine over, we are ready t' go!"

Gunn turned. He studied the boy, looked at the remaining marine, then at the Portuguese locals. He ran at them yelling as if he was truly a mad thing. Then he turned a circle, laughing. He did not need to assist in the hefting of the last marine into the boat. Though De Guarde thought he would, it was one of the oarsmen that helped the man be tipped over and in. They made sure the two were not in any way pushing against the officers. If that meant that they would have to lie in a pile, fine.

Gunn began to back towards the boat. "Good day." He bowed one last time to the Portuguese and then started climbing into the vessel, watching the first stones and sticks be thrown.

Stuff it. Gunn was big enough to look after himself.

"Watch out below!" he called, scrambling down the steps into the boat. "Cripes!" Two Naval Lieutenants and Mister Cartwright, all dumped onto the bottom boards like so many sacks of flour. Oxley scrambler for'ard, to sit with the bowman as out-of-the-way as he could make himself.

"C'mon, guys, get aboard," he muttered, hunching down to make himself as small as possible. "Let's get out of here!"

"Think that's all of us." The lad pulled his legs up to his chest and out of the way just as the last marine dropped into the boat to take his place. Gunn was grinning and looked as happy as a cat on a sunny day. Sticks and stones missed them for the most part, made water spurt up where the flying object had sunk, and thumped of a shoulder, of a back or arm, of an oar or side of the boat, when the aim was more true.

"We're lucky, us." The young Tar murmured watching the shouting crowd. It reminded him of a barking dog who could not get over the fence, but this did not stop him in telling the person it wanted to sink its teeth in, how badly it would hurt it, if able.

"Row." But the men were hardly in need to be told that. The oars were splashing into the water, and having the boat gain some distance from land. There would be some trouble to get the other Terpsies but.. the crowd was more than likely to disperse when their entertainment was gone. It meant the boat could later return to wait for the others. "..Tommy, are our lieutenants' doin' a'right?"