Prisoners.

Cotton felt all wrong without his rifle and sword bayonet, and it was made worse because he was worrying about Maggie and where she might be and how the French were treating her.

He scowled at one Frog who'd poked at him with the muzzle of his musket and snarled something incomprehensible, and looked around helplessly at the other greenjackets who'd wound up as prisoners.

He hoped that somehow Maggie had got away, though he couldn't see how. The reinforcements had got there just that bit too late, because of the way the French had come at them from the side, seemingly ignoring the scouts they'd had posted.

The laudanum had long since worn off. He now felt every bump, ache, and twinge keenly. His exertions during the brief resistance in the baggage train had not helped him any. It felt as though his knee especially would not object to falling off. Walking, therefore, was no easy task. The Frogs were not much help either.

"Shove off, you bastard," Newbury snarled at the Frog who was prodding at him with a bayonet. He was reduced to leaning on the muleteer's staff he'd grabbed earlier - and had held on to only because of Mister Todd's insistence. It was just about the only thing keeping him on his feet.

It was an awful feeling to be walking on the wrong side of a musket. Instead of holding his own rifle trained on the Frogs, he and so many others were now having their backs poked with the sharp ends of fixed bayonets. Something, which ought not to have been possible was now a grim reality. He grit his teeth in silence. Poor fellow, Newbury, over there, was having an obvious battle with his injured knee. Who was winning was hard to discern, but he was still on his feet so.. good on that. He was unwilling to look any further, else he might have noticed another familiar face. His injured hand held close to his chest, his other clutched onto his coat and there concealed his only treasure that he had left.

He had not managed to locate either Lucy or Davy, but hoped that this was because they were safe, escaped and rejoined with their army. Surely the whole of British army could not be held as prisoners of war. No... as great an amount as it seemed now, there were more people yet free, somewhere. He tapped his fingers gently against the soft head of the small chick. The little animal gazed up at him, concerned and confused. He had been fortunate that she'd been removed from the sack before that was taken away.

Quiet, just one of the many, that was Pye's plan of survival. If he kept from the attention of the Frogs, then they would leave him alone, no close inspection would mean he kept his what little he had left until... until, as he foolishly hoped, their army would free them again. Or, they'd escape. Or,... or be exchanged?

"Move along," Jérémie growled, keeping his musket levelled at the sour-faced greenjackets. All this dragging of feet was beginning to get on his nerves.

Whatever the Frog had just said, Cotton didn't have a clue. He just stared sullenly at the Frog with the musket and shifted a little closer to someone else in a green jacket. He glanced up at the man's face. "Zack? You seen Joe anywheres?"

And where was Maggie? He could only hope she was well away from this mess.

Pye tensed, jumped and then blinked at the familiar face that was Cotton's. He had glared sullenly at the Frog. Whatever the bastard said, it was nothing that would help them escape and it was nothing that was in their favour anyway. He nodded slowly in reply and spoke quietly. "He's over there. See'im? .. he's got a bloody ugly Frog pokin' at his back." He forced a smile to his lips. "...you're a'right?"

"Sorry, mate, didn't mean to make you jump, like," Cotton said with a wry grin, and looked around for Newbury. This was just no damn good at all, and it probably wasn't going to get much better. He nodded. "Is he all right, d'you know?" he asked, wondering if the Frogs would allow them to move together. And he hadn't seen the Captain, either. Although, if they'd captured the Captain, it was hardly likely that he'd be put with them, not being an officer, after all.

"His knee's.. bad. Don't think walkin' is doin' him any good." He was with the wagon, riding in it for just the reason to have as much stress off of his legs and his ribs. Pye looked thoughtful. "He's holdin' up, what I saw but....this isn't t' right way fer him ter be going. ...Ought t' be in the wagon."

He looked around. "..did we loose all t' rifles?" He chewed on the inside of his cheek before adding. "....did they break t' line?.. they must have. You're here, an' you were back there fightin'." He frowned trying not to imagine that Wellington might be now forced to leave Portugal, Spain and pehaps that the war had just been won or would soon be.

"..We tried. ..we fought'em, Gabe. Tried our best t' keep our rifles, n' protect t' wimmen."

Cotton shrugged again and sighed. "Got round us - distracted us with the cavalry an' came at you lot from the flank. The Captain managed to send a message off before they got to us, so we had reinforcements - or, well, you did. Don't think they got us all - hope they didn't, anyway. Though, really, I'd be surprised if they hadn't, comin' at us from behind an' all they way they done."

"...Did the 95th get away? Or them Foot ones?" He really just meant the other regiments that were wearing the red coat rather than a green one. Perhaps the enemy did get many of the 60th, but if the army still had the 95th, some of the 60th and many of the rest of the cavalry and the greater number of the rest of the foot soldiers there was some hope still. Hope that this March would not lead them all the way to France.

"..Don't think t' captain will be happy we lost our rifles." He scowled. "...Do you know where they keep'm?" He whispered that. Whatever the French soldier ordered them, he could honestly only shrug to it.

"I dunno. Don't s'ppose the Captain'll be too put out - not seein' as it warn't our fault, like." And, apart from not knowing what had happened to Maggie and the Captain, losing his rifle was the worst thing, pretty much, about this whole sorry mess. "Think t'others got away. Least, I ain't seen any 95th uniforms around hereabouts. Nor any redcoats. Which ain't to say there ain't any. I jus' ain't bin lookin' for 'em."

"True'nuff." Pye sighed tugging his ragged coat closer. The little chick had very grim future if they were to march for days, weeks or months in the company of Frogs. He could not excuse the demand for seeds and the like, as he did with the rifles. He had some in his pocket, but the supply would not last. Less so, if the Frogs caught a whiff of it.

"I didn' see your girl." Which was true. He only saw Jenny and some of the other girls, one of which was of nobler birth by the looks of it. "Maggie. She must have escaped." He could not be sure, but he thought Cotton wanted to know about her.

"Oh, I hope she has. I don't want her gettin' caught up in this mess," Cotton said. He wasn't sure if not seeing her was better or worse, if seeing her meant she was captured too. And of course she'd be worried about him, too.

"There's got to be a way to get away," he said, though really, their chances were pretty slim at being able to get out of here.

"If there's any way I can help, I'm in, Gabe." The lad said in earnest. Even if it would be to do something which would enable the others to escape, he was fine with it. " Gotta be a way tho.." He whispered and grit his teeth. There was a jab in the back that both riflemen received and another unpleasant muttering. Was it a warning? Possibly.

Something jabbed him in the back, hard. Or rather, someone jabbed him hard in the back with a musket and muttered something that sounded distinctly uncomplimentary. Cotton half-turned, before shrugging and hunching his shoulders a bit.

"Reckon we didn't ought to say anythin' more. They'm gettin' edgy," he muttered warningly. "Good of you, lad. We'll have to see what we can do. If anythin'."

".. Do they understand any of what we're saying?" Pye held his injured hand close to his chest still. He was fortunate his coat was not worth a dime any more, else it would probably have been donated to the Frogs. The prod was unpleasant, the jab even painful, but it was nothing compared to what a constant pain in the knee could be like. With every step possibly growing worse. "..Can't go without Newbury." He eyed the Frog behind him. The man became more weary as if thinking that suddenly both of the riflemen might think of trying to jump him and escape. He clutched his long weapon tight in his arms, and glared back. It was not a dare, it was a warning that they better go forward or they'll be kicked and beaten into submission.

"Dunno," Cotton muttered back. "Mightn't be able to get him to come with us if his knee ain't up to it. Though... I ain't goin' to leave him if I can help it. Not Joe. Not after everythin' we've bin through, I ain't. Captain'll have me head if I do."

"..We'll get the others to try it too. The more o' us that try running, the harder it will be for them to stop us. "Only, it sounded so simple in theory. Convincing everyone however to risk being shot later, or even to reach everyone so that they might know what was planned, was a rather too complicated a thing.

"Mus'.. see who's all guardin' us. They can't afford to keep too many with us. They need picquets for sentry duty against the Portuguese." He nodded sharply. ".....well...I think so."

"Might be an idea. Dunno, though." He really didn't fancy his chances of getting away unscathed - the French would probably shoot anyone attempting to escape. And trying to organise some sort of mass escape wouldn't go unnoticed - it couldn't.

"I dunno if it'll work, Zack, lad," he said, with a shrug. "How's your hand doin', anyhow?"

The Frenchman poking persistently at him with the bayonet was babbling at him now, too. It wasn't like Newbury was being slow because he wanted to!

"Piss off, you great stupid hopping bastard," the Rifleman snapped, trying to brace himself up with the muleteer's staff after tripping over a rut in the road. His knee was really not doing well. He had strained it badly during their short attempt to escape from the baggage.

"S' near perfect fine." Pye lied smiling. He lifted his hand a little as if to confirm that claim. The cuff of his tattered coat concealed much of the hand leaving only the fingers poking out, its length still too great for the young lad. "Can fire if'n I wanted to." Which was surprisingly not a lie. If the want was great enough, he could make another shot as the last time he did. It was only, it would probably not be many more shots that followed in quick succession.

He glanced towards Newbury. His voice of protest nearly carried over to them, but as he was ahead of them, much of the voice still traveled ahead, rather than to the back. "Think we could get over to him?" Probably not, the Frogs would neither understand nor be willing to make it comfortable for the men. Curse it all.

"Dunno," Cotton said. If they were careful about it and didn't make it look as though they were trying to get nearer to the other greenjacket, maybe it would be possible. "Take it slow an' easy, an' we'll see. Don't rush it."

Though, really, would the French care that much? Surely they'd understand the natural desire for friends to stick together. He hoped.

"Don't mean to..." He could not see why he would ever consider rushing into the direction the enemy was wanting him to go. "..Will he let us help him?" If the Frogs allowed it, would Newbury? Pye looked on. The chick chirped softly, and the lad cleared his throat. One of the men that walked behind them arched a brow and looked at the lad. He must not have heard the chirp. Pye covered the small animal and prayed it would remain quiet.

"Over there. There's the women." He pointed, seeing some herded with the men, and even some children.

Newbury's Frenchman finally had enough of his prisoner's slow hobble. He called to his friends nearby to send over a couple of their own grasshoppers to assist their injured mate. It would take all night if they waited for the idiot to walk on his own.

"Why'n't you say somethin' a decent person can understand, eh?" Newbury asked his guard, who simply stared back at him, not understanding. Honestly. These damn Frogs thought they were top-draw now, didn't they? Uppity bastards.