Fifth Night in Camp

The day had been marked by corrections, at first only by Harris, then Perkins, and soon it seemed the entire 95th was correcting every word that came from Carty's mouth - every incorrectly pronounced word repeated and repeated, vocabulary built, grammar endlessly analysed, regional dialects dissected, and every accidental Irish word met with friendly shouts and gentle cuffs about the head, until even Carty's endless cheerful patience wore thin. He sulked for an entire mile, which was unprecedented, and that afternoon he was allowed to odd mistake.

As the 95th sat down or began searching for firewood before the redcoats beat them to it, Harris had come up with the idea of practicisng commands, creating a simple game in which words like "Throw!" or "Catch!" were replaced by common battlefield shouts, and Harris, Perkins and Carty tossed a 'borrowed' leather ball about. But when Cooper and then Harper decided to contribute to the English lesson, the transformation was inevitable, and now half the riflemen were engaged in a fierce game of what Carty and Harper called caid, and what most of the other soldiers called football.

Harris despaired of them. The idea had been a good one - to cheer Carty up after a day's teasing had driven him into a fit of the sulks, and to teach him a few more essential words of English. The second had gone by the board fairly soon, as Carty could not cope with the increasing numbers, all demanding that he repeat and remember the words they were shouting at him. Then Harper had grabbed the ball as it was thrown to Hagman, and passed it quickly on to Slattery, who was brought down by Hagman...

And the English lesson deteriorated into a game that only vaguely resembled football.

Sharpe stood watching for a time as the game built up until half his men were throwing and kicking the ball around, watched by the other half and some of Vickery's men who had drifted over to see what all the excitement was about. Well, he stood watching until the ball came towards him, hard and fast. Whether it was sent his way deliberately or accidentally, he didn't know, but he snatched it from the air and returned it as hard as he could.

"ME! ME!" Carty shrieked excitedly, waving his arms in the air as the ball sailed towards Harper, only to swear loudly when Sims caught it and lobbed it at the kettle which was by general unspoken consensus the target.

Sharpe grinned and rapidly stripped off his jacket. The next time the ball came near him, he was ready for it, and sent it back at Cresacre as powerfully as he could.

Carty dived and intercepted the ball - he was thrown down by the force of Sharpe's return, but he rolled and was up and running towards the kettle like a bullet.

"Stop!" Harris yelled, hoping to distract him as Cresacre dived for the boy's feet in a flying tackle from a standing start that just left him lying in the mud as Carty ran on

"Ha ha! Ha ha! Fág an Bealach!" Carty shouted as he ran, diving for the kettle.

It was a good dive, but left Cresacre spitting mud, and without the ball. Sharpe had no idea who was on what side, but then, it didn't really matter, did it. The whole point was to have fun and let off a bit of steam.

At least the day's march had gone smoothly, and tonight, with fires alight and rations cooking, there had been no reports of any problems at all. At least, so Edrington hoped, until he came wtihin earshot of the 95th, and heard, before he saw, what sounded like a mass riot or skirmish. Except for the occasional burst of laughter. Intrigued, Edrington walked across towards a line of green-jacketed backs, all watching - a game of football?

Carty threw the ball at the target, making both kettle and ball bounce, and gave a high-pitched yell of victory as Jenkins kicked the ball back into play.

The ball came directly to Harris, who booted it back towards Jenkins and the kettle, and then settled himself down to play rather than disapprove of the levity. He followed the ball into the melee round the kettle.

It had dissolved rapidly into a melee, and there were gales of laughter every so often, from either players or spectators. The next time Sharpe got the ball, he threw it at the kettle, before anyone could jump him and wrestle it away.

Carty saw Cooper catch the ball when Sharpe threw it, and he dived for the other rifleman's legs, clinging to one ankle - Cooper continued moving towards the kettle, trying to ignore Carty.

"I have you leg, Cooper! I have your leg!"

A very young rifleman was being dragged along the ground, clinging to the leg of the man with the ball. Edrington recognized him as the boy who had been the centre of the trouble last night - the one who had first discovered the bodies. Unlike those previous occasions the boy was full of glee at his capture of his opponent's leg and Edrington grinned - at least the boy was resilient.

At the last moment, as the man with the ball, slowed by the weight on his leg, was about to reach the kettle, a large man, with Sergeant's stripes threw himself at him and the ball, which shot clear. Man and sergeant fell.

Parry Jenkins had the ball now, and turned to throw it to Sims, who was closer to the kettle, but Sharpe brought him down first, turning to see the ball grabbed by Slattery. "Damn you!" he growled.

"Yay Sarge!" Carty sprinted after the ball and jumped on top of Slattery. "Got you!"

"To me," Harris called, as he loped towards the kettle, unmarked by any of the other men. He wasn't quite sure who had the ball - Carty or Slattery - or which side any of them were on, but there was - damn, there was Mr Sharpe.

And there was the ball. He picked it up and threw at the nearest unmarked man - Harris, he saw - just before he was borne to the ground. "Gerroff!" he growled.

Harris held the ball, and lowering his head ran at the pair between him and the kettle. But Cresacre was there, coming up from the flank and caught him hard so he dropped the ball and toppled over. Everyone seemed to be on the ground now.

"Mister Sharpe!" Carty leapt off Slattery, pushing him into the mud, and grabbed at Sims' collar. "Off now!"

And the weight was gone. Sharpe scrambled to his feet to find that Carty had pulled Sims off him. "Thanks, lad," he said, grinning.

"Glad, sir!" Carty grinned back, then pointed. "Caid! Ball!"

"That's right, lad. Ball. You're doin' very well!"

"No! BALL!" Carty said, stepping in front of Sharpe to catch it.