June 6th, Early morning: What goes bump at night

Francois glared up at Palmer, not that he knew who the Englishman even was but a retort was not possible. And there was Pye! He turned his glare to that young man and muttered French curses into the gag in his mouth.

"Why?" Zeb asked, staring down at the lad.

"You'll see. If'n you let me go ter fetch it a'ready." He paused averting his gaze from Francois. The boy had no right to glare. He glared at him for 'changing' coats so this should've been much more pleasing!

"An' soon."

"Go, quickly," Fischer told him. "Cotton, go with him." He turned to speak to the captain again. "We do not have a planned route. Are you able to show us the way?" He was speaking quietly, but he glanced at the French soldier and lowered his voice further, stepping a few feed away. "Does the army retreat to Oporto?"

"If we're stoppin' a bit," the jacketless redcoat wanted to know, "do ye mind if I puts this 'un down a tick?"

Newbury grunted his agreement with this question. He was feeling fuzzy-headed from being upside down.

"I'm goin'," Cotton replied shortly, and turned away to follow Pye on whatever fool's errand he had concocted now. If the lad was going to try anything... Cotton was going to keep a close eye on him for the foreseeable future, supposing they got out of this mess now.

Pye lead the way much more hurriedly. More time spent waiting here, could loose them their present advantage. He was glad at least that they were moving at all and that soon they might gain that distance which would have them safe from the French, their scattered cavalry and imprisonment.

(They go here: Fetch sweetheart rifles )

While the sergeant spoke with the captain, Zeb Palmer gave Newbury a hand, easing him to the ground. "All right there, Joe? You'll soon have Miss Jenny to look after you, aye?" He squinted at the coatless redcoat in the dark. "How about you, mate? You done in your arm? Jeb an' I can spell you for a bit with Joe."

Even though it was his attacker, Pye, who left back into the darkness, Francois was silently alarmed at the young man's departure. For he realized that Pye could have killed him earlier and did not, instead tied him up but he had been decent enough to leave him alive. Now though, some of the other English prisoners might not feel so merciful and here he was bound and helpless.

As he sat there, his hands twisted and tried to stretch the simple bonds which held them behind his back. Pye had done it all hurriedly and was hardly an expert with knots. He could begin to feel more give...the bond was weakening. Maybe he could free his hands at least? Of course that still left his bound ankles. But he had to try before things took an even worse turn for him.

McCoy glanced towards their prisoner. Well, technically they had inherited the prisoner, but at present his escape might mean their discovery, and it was thus that it was safer he was to be kept under close watch. They had been rather lax in that. Concentrating on their officer discovery, they had thought the boy tied up well enough and harmless.

But then McCoy thought he had noticed something off, something he could not put his finger to right away, but which he disliked noticing very much.

"Oi. What are you tryin' to doo?" He asked sharply and moved off to walk towards the lad and check him. If the blasted brat tried something... he had a fist waiting to thump a good few Frogs.

Francois paused in his efforts when he noticed one of the English looking his way.

"Oi. What are you tryin' to doo?" the man headed straight for him too.

Francois would have denied doing anything except for the fact he was also gagged and anything he tried to say would be unintelligible. So he tried for a simple gesture, shaking his head 'no', "Mmmph..mmph."

"Sit tight Frog. Don't attempt somethin' foolish." McCoy glanced in the direction, in which the two riflemen disappeared to. If Pye made a run for it, they'd hear Cotton yell out and then they could give the lad a proper beating. But if Pye managed to knock Cotton out cold?

If they were not back soon, he would certainly go and check were they had gone. He sat himself down beside the French lad. "You don't understand what I'm saying do you. Froggy boy." Still keeping that gag where it was. No use in risking the lad's shouting.

Thinking of his wife, whom he would see very soon and hold again in his arms, Zeb Palmer grew impatient. "Where'd they go off to anyways? How are we gonna find the women? Pye said they're waitin' for us. And now we're waitin' for him."

The man told him to sit tight, like he had much choice in the matter? Francois stopped struggling though, at least til they were distracted again possibly. Then the man sat right next to him.

"You don't understand what I'm saying do you. Froggy boy."

Francois did though and tried to indicate that, shaking his head up and down in an attempt to convey 'yes'. He also tried voicing it thru the gag.

"Myessh" was the best he could do.

"We're going to see our sweets, Zeb, patience. You know the women are slower n' us." Which would probably prove to work against them, should they want a quick march out. Women were camp followers perhaps, and perhaps quicker and more resilient to walk than those who did not follow the army, yet still they were not riflemen, nor adept to this at all.

He studied the boy who had either wanted to say something, or he was having problems with his gag. He was not particularly interested in what the boy had to say. It would all be in the wrong language anyhow. "Think he's going to choke on it?" Why he had cared as much to ask was beyond him too, but he was impatient and anything was a good distraction.

He leaned back a bit reaching towards the lad's arms. Another way to settle himself into doing something was a check of the bonds. He did not trust Pye to do them well.

(coming from here Sweathearts and fetching them)

Back. Hauling the rifles along in a hurry, it was Gabriel Cotton first, Pye with the second batch of weapons, second. He knew that it was now the riflemen would realise that they had been had. Well, they had misunderstood his promise, even if the latter was actually done deliberately to make them think what they wanted else they would still be sitting in camp bickering over whether they wanted to escape or not. Which, in it's own, made Pye wonder what worth his 'sacrifice' had when the men had not wanted to go in the first place.

Had he done the right thing? He knew he could not have helped the women escape. He'd tried, but there were too many guards to take into the equation. The more, the greater the chance one of them would wake early or be discovered sooner.

Well, here they were now and ready to move off, take the redcoat with them and... hopefully return to the army. "We're.. ready ter go." He tensed for a moment at a sound that he thought was the French, but all that walked past, was one of those horses, freed from their line, mulling over grass, and ignoring them somewhat.

His gagged mutterings were doing him no good, the English did not care so he stopped. One of them bent down behind Francois to check on his bound hands. Since the young soldat had begun to loosen their tightness he did not wish the man to notice and before the Englishman could get a good glimpse, Francois laid on his back, and in effect on his hands. To see the bindings the fellow would have to literally roll him over.

Just then Pye was back, with the rifles he, Francois, in all his blind stupidity, had helped carry out into the middle of nowhere. How could he have been so naive? Last time he trusted ANY English! That is if he survived this. The twice traitor Pye declared they were ready to go then. All Francois could do was hope the English decided him not enough of a risk thus letting him live. Angry as he was at Pye, it was that young Englishman who was his best chance to make it. He tried to meet his gaze.

Pye glanced at Seviére. The lad was awake, aware and looking as though he wished for something. Help? He looked towards Cotton, then at the other men. He did not know how they would take the news that their sweethearts were of the rifled type. He also did not know what to do with the boy. They could not take him with them. He would slow them down.

"...Sewer." He couldn't say his last name just right. He walked past the few men, and knelt at the lad's side. McCoy glared at him but said nothing. "Hmm...what?" He murmured, but did not reach for the gag just yet and the rifles were kept well out of range too.

Pye noticed and knelt beside him. However while the Englishman could of course talk, Francois himself was still gagged. Made for very one sided conversation.

"Mmmphh," he tried to gesture with his head holding it up toward Pye, maybe he'd get the hint and remove the gag if only for a short time.

"You'll be spared.." Pye murmured very softly, so that Sevíére could hear. "I'll take the gag out, couse it seems yer wantin' ter say summat. But.. so help me if you yell. M' mind 'bout lettin' yer live will change.." He glanced at McCoy, but the man was distracted and so Pye carefully removed the gag if only for that short time, his other hand ready to cover the French boy's mouth should he dare to attempt a scream.

The words Pye said 'you'll be spared' were a huge relief to hear, that is if the rest of the English went along with it. But Francois grasped at any good news he could get. Francois nodded in the affirmative when the Englishman surmised he had something to say and removed the gag.

The youthful soldat very deliberate kept his voice only at a whisper, knowing the consequences and besides he was truly grateful to Pye for his mercies and would not break that trust.

"Thankyou..thankyou...I will not cry out, my word of honor. I know nothing I say can change your mind but you and the others....you should not run off. You are still far from your army and we will pursue. And I'm afraid that when our men catch you, it might not go so well for ....at least the ringleaders of this escape."

It was left unsaid but quite obvious that Francois regarded Pye to be one of if not THE ringleader.

Pye studied the young Frenchman who could have been his peer and friend perhaps, if they had not fought on opposite sides. He shook his head, but was glad that the lad kept his voice at very best, a whisper. Good lad, that is what he was, even if he had been fooled. Anybody could commit such an err of judgment. "..I will gag you again, Sewer." He murmured softly. "But I will try ter have you where t' others can find you. ...I ask that yer don't tell 'em of t' way we'd taken...Consider it t' price fer lettin' you live."

He was hoping that the French would not discover them gone too soon. He also had doubts of the other lad doing as he had asked, but he felt as if letting him live was the right thing to do. Something that the others might disagree with but..

"...We can't go back, you know that." He murmured then, glancing towards the other former prisoners. "They won't catch us...and we can't go back."

McCoy was still distracted, but this would not last long, nor would Padstowe's novelty at being there. "..If wors' comes, I'll strike you and..should you not faint, pretend so." This was whispered so quietly that he hoped Seviére was able to hear it at all. What a fool's risk he was taking, for someone he would not ever see again.

Francois listened to Pye but when the young Englishman asked that he not tell which direction they were going, the French soldat said nothing, rather than lie. He had a duty to his country and his fellow French soldiers and would not lie for this enemy. Even so, a part of him definitely hoped Pye made it back to his own army. If God willed it, just maybe both of them would survive the war.

Pye seemed so sure they would escape, Francois saw no use in trying any further to convince him not to attempt it. In truth they already were too far along in this attempt what with their sneaking off, stealing back their rifles (thanks to his own idiocy Francois blamed himself there), and jumping guards.

"..If wors' comes, I'll strike you and..should you not faint, pretend so."

Francois understood exactly what he meant and why. He nodded in agreement, "Oui."

While Jed Palmer was picking through the rifles to see if he could find his own, Zebulon had something else on his mind. "Oi, Pye, where's the women meeting us?" he asked impatiently.

They were still too close to the French camp that he could afford another disagreement but if he lied now, he would have no excuse for it when his lie was betrayed as such. With the rifles he had. Sweethearts of that kind replaced the sweethearts of the living kind.

" I said sweet'earts. An' there they are." He murmured. "We must go now, as soon as possible." He added as if to try distracting the man with the other, more pressing matters. "Don't know how long it will take for them to figure out we're gone. They catch any of us.. and we're probably facin' death." He pressed the gag bag into the French Boy's mouth. They had talked enough.