To be sure or to be sorry

The sky had turned dark with clouds reflecting some of the moon's light. It cast shadows upon the path that the youth was taking and lengthened the shadows almost eerily. Soft footsteps crunched against small pebbles and mucked and squeeched where they slipped into mud puddles scattered about the camp floors. His clothes still clung to him as if afraid that they would loose its keeper should they let go. He felt the chill and wondered why the time beside the fire hadn't dried them completely. It was no use to ponder on the discomfort, nor dream of camp fires and their pleasant heat. He's made up his mind to approach Captain Vickery that night, as if there was a need for haste, and now he found himself before making true with his decision.

His dolman was buttoned up smartly and he'd gotten his pelisse just for the occasion (if it's finished or not). In his hand he held a set of folded papers, two of which had already been completed. A surgeon's note and his own recollection of the events, carried so that they would not get wet. His boots had been shined so that they looked almost new, though their wear made itself clear when light shone on them.

He halted before the captain's tent and requested to have himself announced, hoping that the man had both time and willigness to accept him at this hour. He repeated his request so many times in his mind that he thought that he heard an echo to them with the whisper of the trees. Such a strange request it now seemed.

Vickery pushed the Company papers to one side as a voice outside asked for admittance. He wondered who it could be; he wasn't sure he recognised the voice. Well, there was no need to keep wondering, of course, when its owner wanted to see him.

"Come in!"

"Sir!" He entered with a heavy step, but with no limp as if forcing himself to look his best even in that aspect. He had still felt rather humbled by the sergeant's words though he was so loud in claiming he'd have done it again, if he needed. But this was an officer and things were different. He saluted the man, glancing briskly past the table and back to the captain straightening some, as if in pride.

"I have a..." So much for his excercise, he felt quite foolish just standing there. "..I hope I do not intrude.. sir." He said instead. He couldn't be bold in requesting the moment he'd entered. Manners. The air inside felt warmer, so that his skin coloured a bit in responce and he felt himself less prone to shiver.

"Ah. Our misplaced Hussar. And what can I do for you, Private Willoughby?"

Even as he spoke, Vickery was taking in the details of Willoughby's uniform. It was beginning to show signs of wear, certainly, but the pelisse had been repaired, and the boots were gleaming, although they were certainly no longer new. The Hussar appeared to be somewhat damp, however, and as they certainly had not had any rain today, Vickery could only conclude that the lad had found himself taking part in the 95th's impromptu ball game, become covered in mud, and had to wash both himself and his clothes. There was a tiny speck of mud clinging to the lace of the pelisse which bore this theory out. The Hussar would probably be mortified if he realised Vickery had seen it however, so he stayed resolutely silent, wondering what had prompted this visit.

"There's the matter of my arrival here, sir." He began straightening some more, eyes ahead, focused on nothing in particular. "..arrival to the Second Division, and my discovery beforehand by your riflemen." He took a deep breath and held it.

He felt he couldn't ask the man to do work in favour of a private, a Hussar more so, and so a moment passed in which he was silent. He shifted slightly and felt his neck tense under the pressure.

"I was informed that I should need papers confirming the circumstances by an officer of the riflemen that made the discovery.. and..."his voice trailed off and he looked towards Vickery seeking out a reaction of sorts.

"You would like me to write a report concerning how you came to join us?" He raised an eyebrow slightly, and pulled a clean sheet of paper towards him. It was an unusual request, certainly, and probably meant that some officer was not altogether happy with Willoughby's presence with the 2nd Division, rather than his own regiment.

"Should I ask which officer it is that might need these papers?" he said, pausing as he reached for his pen.

Did he dare say that he needed the papers in the case that lieutenant Waldegrave should press charges against him on the account of his accusations, or should he have mentioned the name of his on officer which may or may not be interested. The sergeant didn't care for them, he only wanted the young fool to have them.

"I would need them sir .. should there.." He hesitated :" come to a case of wrongful accusations on the account of my intentions of parting from my troop and coming here."

His voice was clearer:" Lieutenant Waldegrave had brought up the essence of doubt I wish to be cleared from." His pride had been harmed with that man's words and it showed in his eyes, contained anger that was there yet under his full control.

"Mister Waldegrave accused you of deserting, did he? I have never yet known a deserter to go looking for any part of an army from which he absconded." He took up his pen, grateful to have one of the new brass-nibbed wooden ones, rather than having to cut a quill every time he needed to write something.

He looked at the cavalryman who was still standing there. "Weren't you hurt? You were limping rather badly when my men found you, and that can't have healed by now. You'd best sit down while I write this; it could take longer than anticipated." He indicated his second camp chair.

"I know sir. .. but I am certain evidence could be produced in which I would be seen as guilty.. even if I am not." The last was spoken with firm conviction that allowed no place for doubt. He hadn't deserted and he took offense that a man, such as the lieutenant dared to question his motifs in coming the said direction.

He felt grateful to the captain when he offered him a chair. He'd run in the mud game and his leg had protested against the abuse but was as easily ignored. Now it felt that it was finally coming to its senses and that counted as spreading pain as well.

Slowly he moved to sit, shifting his injured leg from under him.

"It was two days ago that you met up with us, wasn't it?" Vickery asked, dipping his pen in the ink.

"I think so sir. I've joined the night before...Cotton's trial." (I think it was, had been most confused about that. )

The trial had been a part of the reason that he took this so seriously. If a man who looked innocent and had many people convinced he was, was able to be flogged here, what could stop another innocent suffer the same.

" You,.. ought to understand my worry sir. Cotton's own.."He hadn't wanted to sound as if he doubted authority, especially with his limited knowledge but he hoped the man would agree. Hussar's trait shone through, speak before you think. " ..situation. Beg pardon." He glanced to the paper. " It sheds light to how.. easily events my be differently interpreted."

"It does indeed. And that was a sorry story, that one. Let us hope this will help you avoid an equally sorry story." He bent to write his short report.

To whom is may concern,

Sir,

I write with regards to Private Willoughby of the 15th Hussars, and to inform you of the manner in which he came to be with the 2nd Division of the British Army now in Portugal.

It was on the 11th May when the advance scouts of the 60th came upon Private Willoughby, being helped along by a Portuguese local. Willoughby had injured his leg, such that he could not walk on it unaided, and was showing signs of being concussed. He reported that his troop had had a minor skirmish with some French cavalry, in which he was injured and knocked unconscious, his dead horse rolling on him and pinning him down. His fellow Hussars had moved north in pursuit of the French, leaving Willoughby behind, presuming him to be dead.

On coming to, Private Willoughby found himself alone, his carbine useless and his mount dead. He managed to free himself and determined to find the 2nd Division, who were marching north, as he knew it was highly unlikley that he would be able to find his own troop.

It was in this state that he was found, as stated, by a Rifleman of 3 Coy 5/60th. Willoughby reported to Colonel Edrington of the 62nd (to whom 3 Coy is attached) who made him galloper for the 62nd until such time as the 2nd Division fall in with the 15th and Private Willoughby is able to rejoin his own regiment.

(signed)
Jno. Vickery, Capt. 3 Coy, 5/60th Rifles

He sprinkled sand on the sheet to dry the ink and looked up.

"I take it you can read," he said, and held the paper out. "Does that meet with your approval?"

Taking the paper into his hand with great care that he would not touch the ink, if by chance it hadn't dried or that it would smear in any possible manner, he nodded in response to the question. He had read the letter once and came to read it again. His horse had been dying at the time of the fall, wounded to the extent that no manner of help would have kept it alive. A detail he thought unimportant to point out. As it was, he had known this only for he woke in daze and saw Bayard alive, yet already stiffening to the death's grip.

He lowered the paper rather quick after he'd gotten it, for he read easily and fluently as he was learnt.

"Yes sir." He spoke and felt greatly relieved. It had gotten through well and smooth and only lord Edrington needed to confirm this when he was given time. The writing was good and he would have commended the man if he hadn't thought it would not be received as a compliment since a private would voice it.

"Thank you, sir." He spoke, and his posture was more relaxed, his smile present.

He looked to the captain and wondered if he could ask, as his thoughts were materializing. "Sir. There is another thing... if I may dare to take an ounce more of your time."

Vickery raised an eyebrow, curious. "It's rather pleasant to be distracted from yet more paperwork,"" he said. "How else may I be of service, then?"

"Since I am at present a cost to your list..." He began and hid the amusement raised by that comment. Most privates needn't concern themselves with paperwork, though he was an exception. The officers though could suffer the burden though also its pleasantries.

"I would like to.." He motioned light with his hand :" ..inquire if there is a manner in which I may also be of service to your Rifles." As a galloper he was not the only who passed messages. It was that he also desired to test his hand at the weapons, but would not openly speak of that. And he was certain that were there a need in which he could aid, if at all, it would most probably not be in relation to their prized tools.

Vickery hadn't been expecting an offer like that, and it took him by surprise. He studied the young Hussar for a moment. An unusual young man, Private Willoughby was turning out to be. Able to read and write, carried himself with an indefinable air of something, and volunteering to be of aid if Vickery needed him.

"I cannot think of anything you might do, although I will bear your offer in mind. Circumstances change, after all. Although there is one thing. Rifleman Cotton is at present not marching with us. He has received permission to ride with the surgeon of the 62nd, at the rear of the column. You, more easily than the men, can cross the distance between the Rifles at the head of the column, and the baggage at its tail. My men would like to know how he is doing and would appreciate a report when they come to set up camp."

He smiled. "This is not an order, and you are free to refuse. But would you consider visiting him in the evening and letting the rest of us know how he doing? He may very well want to visit us anyway, but to have some idea of how he is before he gets here would be appreciated. Even if it's only to inform them that he's thirsty enough to drink their kettle dry."

"I will be glad to, sir." He showed a sense of eagerness and considered the request for but a moment before he agreed. Bella would be right as day tomorrow, most able to cross the distance between the very front and flank of the 2nd Division and if the men wished to know how Cotton was fairing they shall recieve the fullest report their hearts would content with.

"Is there any in particular that I should best pass the report to, so that he may share it with others, sir?" He wondered to ask if the captain desired that he would do so that night, though with Bella in town and resting, he'd have to find different means for the same kind of result. But he would, if so asked. And speak not of his situation either.

"Newbury, I think, or whoever you mess with. Saves you having to find a total stranger in the dark. And they'll pass it on well enough."

He smiled at the young trooper. He was the sort of man who would make a good Rifleman; keen and eager. Though that sort would make a good soldier whatever uniform he wore, whether red coat or green - or the blue of the Light Cavalry, as he was wearing.

"I am sure your officers will want you back as soon as possible, Private. You are a credit to your regiment," he said. "Did you want anything else?"

"Has me learn a new name or two though. Better know more than fewer of them. Is fair, since they have to bear with A Hussar tailing along." He smiled and then added a little hastly:" Sir."

He found himself grining proudly at Vickery's words, and could barely force himself to make the grin less. "Thank you, sir. I am honoured that you believe so."

He thought on the question and saw that there was nothing more that they needed to discuss. Except, could he inquire on the suggestion of a weapon? He had his sabre surely, but if the captain could suggest where he could acquire a firearm more able to do it's work than a sharp edged sword.

Feeling awkward to prolongue again the time that he had taken of the captain he looked at the man and then dared:".. Sir, this .. is my final question...I'm certain." He looked hopeful to the man that he would not anger him with this dare.

"Do you know perhaps, where I could acquire a weapon, borrow it mind, till my troop may supply me with my own? I'll have it payed for." When he could afford it. Well, at least the managing of finances wasn't a foreign thing to the lad, as poor as they were for a private.

"I am afraid you will have to wait to be reunited with your troop before you can replace your carbine. I think even a Baker rifle will be too unwieldy to be much use on horseback. As for your sabre, I suggest you try the armourers with the Scots Greys, who may be able to make your sabre better resemble a weapon than it does at the moment."

He sighed. "I have inquired about trying to get you more suitably armed, but the 62nd's Colonel seems to think we are not far from meeting up with your 15th, so that question may be a moot point in a few days."

"The rifles are shorter than muskets I've seen." He hesitated and then with a faint look of disappointment he lowered his gaze. It probably wouldn't do to compare the said weapon to a hunting kind, any how. He had considered approaching the armourers of the Scot Greys but then Bella got ill and he'd had her to tend to, rather than his trusty sabre.

"..thank you for trying, sir."

The flicker of disappointment hadn't escaped Vickery. "I am only sorry I couldn't do more to help you," he said. "Do you want anything else, or would you rather see to your horse than spend the evening in the company of an officer?" The last was said with a smile; most soldiers that he knew felt uncomfortable around officers.

"If the officer would wish for company, ... sir."

He carried a smile on his face. The captain had done more than would have been required of him and for a moment he had wished that his officers had been the same.
He had no firearm he could speak of and he hoped he would not need it till they would meet with the 15th. For which he felt now he had enough papers so that even if Waldegrave attempted his accusation, he could defend himself rightly.

"I ride with my horse for the whole of day, I'm sure she celebrates the time when she is free of my presence." He kept the smile and the light spirited tone. He hadn't considered the question to be serious and it probably was not. Officers did not mingle with their men for longer than they needed. Even as well bred men as this one. He was tired but warmer now, and relished at the comfort that the captain's tent provided. His clothes still clung to him, though atleast it felt that the trousers were drying. Which he could not say for the thicker wooled coats.

"I think that's all, then. I'll let you go if there's nothing else."

He let out a small sigh. Paperwork; there was always paperwork.

He stood and saluted: "Good night, sir." He glanced briefly to the paper work that Vickery still needed to swim through and felt sympathy for the man, but then decided that as an officer you certainly weren't too bad off.

With a slightest of limp he left through the door, clutching his own papers as dearly to himself as if his life depended on them.

[Ooc - and now it's the time for this Hussar to find himself a nice warm spot beside t' campfire n' go sleep it away! Good night n' see you tomorrow!]