Fourth Night in Camp

Carty shook his head as he listened to what Waldegrave was saying about him, gaping in horror at the untruth of it, before he remembered just who he was standing in front of, and stood to attention again, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Carty would have his chance to speak soon enough, and Sharpe would of course explain what he thought had happened. Edrington was not going to be best pleased with the Rifles, though. One of the 60th lads had been flogged this morning, and now one of his own men was being raked over the coals because a redcoat officer was too arrogant and to stubborn to know when to let something drop.

The Rifles were not going to be popular with Edrington for some time after today's events, Sharpe was sure of that.

"And you naturally stopped him to question him."

The boy had regained some composure but was still terrified of Waldegrave, and regarding him with horror.

Waldegrave's smile was a picture of satisfaction, as he turned to look briefly at the young Rifleman and said: "To bring him before you, my lord, on a charge of assaulting an officer."

Sharpe was going to find Waldegrave after this and beat him to a pulp if he could. He did not look at the younger man; he though that if he did, his tenuous control might break.

Of all the things to accuse Carty of, assault was the least likely to stick, though. It had taken Sharpe weeks to get him to even say 'Good morning!' to him. He would never dream of assaulting an officer, any officer.

And why would he assault Waldegrave, an officer he'd never seen before?

Waldegrave had turned to smile at Carty, and it had taken every ounce of self-control to maintain his composure in the face of that terrifying smile. But assault - assulting an officer! - that was thousands of strokes, if not an immediate hanging. He'd never assault an officer, never... but had they not been said the same of Gabriel Cotton, that he was a good man who would not do a bad thing? He moaned in horror, and clapped his hands over his mouth, staring wide-eyed at the Colonel.

"And this was two nights ago?" Edrington asked, and Waldegrave confirmed it. "Do you wish to say anything, Mr Sharpe?"

"Yes, sir, if I may." He took a breath. " Lieutenant Waldegrave has said that Rifleman Carty was drunk. I have a strict rule for my men that they do not get drunk without my permission, ever. And Rifleman Carty is the very last person to break any of my rules."

Another breath. "I ask you to bear in mind that this was the evening of the day that that Riflemen Carty and Harris made their rather gruesome discovery of the dead French patrol. It was in fact Carty who found them, stumbling over one of them. He was taking a walk to clear his head when someone walked into him in the dark. Of course, it isn't easy to see a Rifles uniform in the dark. He was immediately apologetic, but he is still learning English, and was so concerned and confused that he slipped into his own language."

He scowled a little at Waldegrave. "As for assaulting an officer, Carty is the last person who would do a thing like that. It took several weeks before he would even wish me a good morning, never mind hitting an officer. And why would he assault Mister Waldegrave anyway? They had never seen each other before that night, my lord, and no soldier would assault an officer he did not know in the middle of a camp-ground full of soldiers."

"A frightened boy might, though. One who thought he was under attack himself, who had just had a terrifying experience." Some officers would take an accidental collision and call it assault, and that is what this almost certainly had been. "A raised voice, a raised hand - on either side, a natural conclusion to jump to in the dark."

He turned to look at the boy. "Rifleman Carty, did you try to attack Lieutenant Waldegrave?" he asked quietly.

The Colonel had asked him a question, and at a look from Sharpe Carty tried to calm his breathing. Look at the Colonel. "Attack the lieutenant - you mean hit him?" He shook his head, tears spilling onto his cheeks. "No, sir, no! I never hit officer! Never attack officer, sir!"

"I know that Mr Sharpe has rules," Edrington glanced across at the Rifles Lieutenant, and hoped that in this case his judgment of his man was totally correct. He personally would have found extenuating circumstances if the boy had been totally drunk that night, but it would be easier if he had not been. "But is he right in saying that you were not drunk that night?"

Waldegrave shifted, angrily, and Edrington turned his eyes towards him. Closing this without either side losing face might be a pointless exercise, but at least Sharpe was not making matters worse.

"It's all right, Carty. Just answer the question." Sharpe spoke quietly, trying to reassure the lad, who looked fair terrified by the amount of gold lace on Colonel Edrington's coat.

"No!" Carty shook his head again, and then looked at Sharpe, who was standing by reassuringly, and calmed slightly. "Not drunk sir, never drunk. Mister Sharpe's rule - never get drunk 'less Mister Sharpe says. Drunk tea, not drunk, mar Mister Sharpe say so! Sir!"

"Thank you, Rifleman. Tea is much better for you." Edrington tried to sound reassuring - the boy was right to be frightened in this situation.

He turned to Waldegrave. "And just to confirm what Mr Sharpe suggested. When you say Carty was disrespectful, was this in English or Irish? What exactly did he say?"

Waldegrave looked furious. "He should speak to an officer in English, my lord. Not gabble at them."

"A good point," Edrington said. "Mr Sharpe. I think the only offence here - if offence it is - was that Rifleman Carty's English failed under stress. I can't think of an appropriate punishment - and this is not a formal court, anyway - but just make sure that he is given every opportunity to practice. As for the assault, if charges were brought, I would find against them in this case. An accidental collision in the dark." He looked at Sharpe for a moment before saying: "Take your men back to your camp, Mr Sharpe."

"Thank you, my lord." He pulled Carty away gently. "It's over now, lad. Time to go back to camp and have some tea."

He sent a venomous look at Waldegrave. If that man ever came near any of his men again, Heaven help him.

Perkins moved forward to see his friend, patting him on the arm. "You all right, Mícheál? See, it's all over and you're fine."

Carty blinked, stunned. It was over. He was not going to be flogged; the Colonel had reassured him, had believed him, and now there were all going back to their own camp. "Thank you, Colonel, sir! Thank you!" He saluted, and beamed up at Edrington as Sharpe pulled him away.

"Thank you, Mister Sharpe!" As soon as the Colonel was out of sight, Carty turned the full strength of his smile to his own officer. "Hundred thousand good things to you, all good things to you! Thank you! And I will make my English good, I swear! No more bad English! I was so scared, but is all right now!"

He grinned at Perkins. "No flogging, Ben! All good and fine, thanks be Mister Sharpe and the Colonel! All right - grand!"

It was wonderful to see how quickly Carty bounced back to his usual cheerful self. Sharpe grinned at him, his own spirits lifted.

"All right. You know my rules. Well, you have my permission to get drunk. Just don't get so drunk you can't stand up tomorrow. And Harris will keep an eye on you."

Waldegrave started forward. "My lord!" he protested, but fell silent as Edrigton glared at him.

Once the Riflemen were gone Edrington said, without emphasis: "I know, a collision can be an assault, and we must not let standards slip. But you don't know what the boy had seen that day. I do, and I am prepared to make allowances for him. The incident is over, and that is my final word. If you have any further complaint against a rifleman, come to me before taking any action. I do not want any more trouble between you and the Riflemen." He dismissed him, and sat thinking that he needed to speak to Sharpe too.

The boy's relief was infectious. Getting drunk himself, though, sounded like a much better idea than watching the boy do so.

"Yes, Sir. Does that cover both of us?" There would be gin, at least.

"And Perkins. But if any of you are too drunk to do your duty tomorrow, there will be trouble. Understand?"

He sighed. "And stay away from Mister Waldegrave. That goes for all of you."

"Thank you, Sir! I'll teach him to drink in English, too. Just in case."

[OOC: and go to bed - look at the time!]

"You are doing very well with him, Harris. Now, go on wi' you. Skedaddle!"

(OOC - youch! Yet again StC has invaded my sleepy-time thing. )

Perkins grinned. He didn't need to be told twice. "Thank you, sir!"

Timothy Willoughby wrote:(decided on a lady horse this time ;P)
Upon sensing the water in Joe's pot, Timothy's new mare lifted her ears with the greatest attention. While her rider was standing still, observing in silence as the colonel arrived and addressed both men, she craned her neck steadily towards the rifleman.

She inched her nose closer, the beady brown eyes observing the grass man with keen interest, but no keener than that for his pot. Her lips lifted to reveal a set of healthy teeth and she grunted when reins were tightened.

Again attempting her delicate procedure she dipped her snout first into the kettle and drank greedily. It was clear the horse knew this was not to be done, by the way she had tried to make little movement, and less disturbance of the pot before and after.

The confrontation seemed to be breaking up, after the colonel's arrival. Hopefully it would be for the best. Newbury stayed at attention until the officers had moved off, then the crowd of onlookers began drifting away to their separate camps. The pot in his hand bumped against his leg - it suddenly occurred to him that it had done that more than once in the past seconds - and he realised with a jerk that the hussar's horse was helping itself to the water inside the pot.

"Hey, there!" Newbury burst out, half in annoyance, and pulled the pot away. "Silly creature."

Bella jerked her head upwards and made a sound of disagreement, lifting her upper lip at Newbury. She shook her head and took a step forward and was near bumping against that man before she was jerked back by her rider.

"My , apologies, Newbury." Timothy spoke and had the mare take few steps back, whether she liked it or not. And boy did she not. At first attempting to ignore him, she was soon heavily persuaded to do as he demanded.

"I've been told that I should mess with you."H e added then remembering that a member of the 60th would be easiest to lead him to camp."..May I lend a hand there, then?"He smiled:"..Without Bella, ofcourse." The horse shook her head. All solved now, the little dispute, though he would have to go and ask, how and in which way it had been solved.