June 6th French encampment (Just before the escape) Francois/Pye

Francois had thought he was quite tired but he wasn't falling asleep as easily as he figured he would. A few sneezes didn't help any, in fact one of the annoyed veterans told him to go sleep outside the tent if he was going to keep making noises and tossing about. With a sigh and an unintelligible mumble, the young man did as strongly suggested and went outside. The weather wasn't bad at all, sleeping without a tent or a roof over his head wasn't all that new to him anyhow.

However, he was just starting to nod off when someone quietly approached, he turned to glance upward.

"Sayvay?" A voice spoke in a hushed whisper. He only meant to wake the boy up, and not the whole of the French group that was close to him. He saw him stir and move even before he spoke out,which made him smile. Had he not been with the enemy, they might have enjoyed a mischief or two together.

"You'um up?" He had his canteen with him, slung over his shoulder. His knapsack however had already been left in a previously picked place.

"Well....I am now," nodded Francois as he sat up. What did this one want with him? After their earlier rather heated exchange, he was surprised the Englishman would have any interest in coming to him.

"It's late, your picket duty over?" he had to ask, keeping his own voice at a whisper so he did not wake the others.

"Almost. " Pye nodded and smiled. "Well 'tis over but for' wot' I've been asked ter fetch..Would.... would you be willin' ter help me?" He asked sounding hopeful, but not too intrusive. He too was whispering and keeping his voice low at all times.

"Fetch? What do you need to....we need to..fetch?" with a sigh the young Frenchman got to his feet then. As long as he was awake he might as well do something.

He hoped this was not some bright idea of that other Englishman, Bright? He despised that one. What was it about Englishmen and turning to treason? Although to be fair, he knew there were many French over the years who had left France due to the Republic then later Napoleon and now served in foreign armies. Something he would never do.

He had taken his coat off and his shoes so he was barefoot and his shirt was even open.

"Do we have to go far? Do I need to get dressed?" Hopefully this 'fetching' was not some major task.

"Well, we're not to go far, I don't think. But I'd recommend that you dress yourself no less. We's to see t' sergeant with it after all." He paused and shrugged. "I think they've tole me where it was but....it's French..and I've. .yet to master it." The language he did mean, and in this he spoke no lie, for his French was limited to a few words, few phrases and curses.

"I'm surprised you can understand as much French as you do," Francois commented as he did what the other one suggested and got into his shoes and uniform coat also. Leave it to some unreasonable sergeant to be upset for him being out of uniform though in truth most units in the army that he'd seen so far were quite lax in the matter of proper dress and what did and what did not constitute uniform.

When he was ready he reached for his musket, "Do I need this?"

"..I lissen. An' ask." The lad murmured with a small smile. He glanced at the musket, though a few moments and then shook his head. "No, 't'll only get in t' way. An we'll have our hands full as is." He indicated to the lad of about his age, that he may go.

"I..only now realise how important it is ter know it...'fore I though other talk an' books were .." He blushed at that and was glad that it was dark so his embarrassment could not be as obvious. "...jus' well t' books were fer other things entirely. I think I still do."

Francois walked next to Pye but obviously was letting the young soldier pick the direction. Both were careful to step softly and quietly so as not to wake any others.

"I like to read books. My parents used to buy my sister and myself books. But I learned English from my mother, not out of books," Francois commented in hushed tones.

"Where are we going?" he still wasn't sure what they were supposed to fetch?

It would all have been well if Pye knew which wagon would have had the precious cargo. Ignorant of that he was at first leading the boy away from the dozing group and only then considered to stop and ask.

Which he just did, looking as annoyed as if he had truly not understood the directions that he was given." Hope you might remember where've ye seen t' things couse t' sergeant's directions...pardon m' saying so, were too much in French. There was enough of tut and drow, and drow.. alone. I've no knowledge of wot' he meant and when.." He looked at Seviere. "'s t' rifles he was wanting." He wanted to make it shorter and less complicated only so it would be more believing.

Once more Francois struggled just to understand him, truth was Francois felt he could speak English better than this one.

"Rifles? You mean the rifles we seized when you and your lot were taken prisoner?" the young Frenchman inquired.

Why would the sergeant want the rifles? He had heard around camp that the Emperor was not enamored with such weapons and there would be no use of them in the Imperial Army. Strange too, since the soldiers he had talked with spoke of the greencoated English riflemen and their accurate fire with a mix of respect and even fear.

"Well, I don't know if they are the only ones that you have. 'twasn't 'zactly specified which ones but aye.. t' rifles no less." Pye nodded in confirmation, eager but not too eager not to be suspicious.

"I know where they are....I saw them piled in the back of a wagon ....just down the road a bit," Francois pointed even as he headed that direction.

"I suppose some high and mighty officers want to appropriate them and take them back home for hunting on their estates," Francois huffed. Everyone looted in the French army, it was to be expected. Of course it also often made them hated in foreign lands.

"Maybe. " Pye agreed. "They might'a tole me but.. I don't know French enough t' be sure." He gazed at the lad and motioned to him to lead the way. He did not know which of the wagons the rifles were stacked in, nor whose they were, but the weapons if still with them, he could not leave here.

Napoleon perhaps did not care for them, but some French could. Even if they took them solely as something to remember their victory by, or even as something to use elsewhere in private ways, he did not want them to have them.

"They sure are good 'nuff fer that." He hid the feeling of pride in the rifles.

"Well better they be used to shoot deer or boar than my comrades...our comrades," Francois corrected himself but still found it hard to swallow that the young man would so willingly abandon his fellow messmates to jump to the winning side. And another thought - if things began to turn again in the war and the French had to turn about and flee to Spain or even further. What might Pye do then? Turn his coat once again?

Orders were orders though and Francois was not one to question the actions or motivations of officers. They'd bring the damned rifles to them.

"Umm, it's hard to tell in the dark....no, not this one...." Francois looked carefully at the first of a line of wagons just off the road, teams unhitched. No one seemed to be around to guard them but then they were amongst the French encampment.

"Ahh, here...this one," Francois smiled, he was certain and his look changed to one of triumph when he threw off a canvas tarpulin and beneath it were a pile of firearms, including the precious rifles.

Pye had to contain his excitement at seeing the precious cargo. This was what he came for, and for these weapons he had worried so, untill being able to take a glimpse at them again and see that they were fairly well off. They needed a more thorough scrubbing, some tender care, but they were not broken down.

With a curt nod, he smiled at the other fellow: "Those are all they'll be needin' eh?" Were they all the rifles they have kept, or were some elsewhere? No, he hoped this was it. "Can you take a handful, and I'll take t' rest?" This is what he had brought the boy here for, too. He could not easily take all of the rifles, his broken fingers a hindrance too.

"Then jus' follow me. M' sorry I had t' wake yer for that, eh?" Polite, friendly, catious as one who was new and did not know where to put his foot down without stirring up the wrong sort of people.

"If our troops have more of the rifles, I would not know where they are then. I just happen to spot these the other day when I walked past the wagon and they were uncovered. Lucky for you, otherwise you'd have to go back to the sergeant to ask," Francois pointed out.

"Can you take a handful, and I'll take t' rest?" the ex-English soldier asked of him, Francois nodded.

"Yes, that's what I'm here for," he remarked as he then reached for some of the weaponry, using their slings to put one over each shoulder then carrying two more.

"Then jus' follow me. M' sorry I had t' wake yer for that, eh?" Pye declared.

"It's alright, I wasn't really asleep yet anyways," Francois shrugged, "I don't understand what you've done, but as long as we are now on the same side, we need to cooperate. We now share the same enemies."

"Aye, that's true." Pye nodded after the remaining rifles were taken. He knew the path well and though he did not let it be too obvious, the direction he took was at best avoiding places that somebody could be encountered and strayed when it could, across others, where there were fewest men.

He walked in silence at first. He had chosen a good path and only hoped it would be too late that the boy notices his err. It was a pity they had not been fighting on the same side, but war was like that. Could not be helped.

"Your English is good..but I could yer tell me, how'd you come by it?" He spoke in whisper.

Francois was just about to ask where they were going? An army encampment was always scattered about and God only knew where a headquarters tent for some important officers might be located but even so, he was beginning to worry. However Pye's question interrupted his train of thought.

"My mother...she was American born, came to France and married my father there. She insisted I learn English too and was a serious teacher. I think I learned quite well, not?" Francois said with a some pride.

"You did. I'll need t' learn French better.. bu' I worry I'll not reach t' skill yer have in t' English." The boy murmured with a kind smile. " How did you come to serve in the Grand army?" He asked, genuinely curious. Talking also distracted the mind from wondering, from observing too much and from noticing things he did not want the lad to notice at all.

"'tis a hard language, French. Isn't it?" He asked shifting his load a bit on his shoulder.

"My older brother was drafted but my father thought it better if I substitute in his place so here I am," Francois replied, "Such things are done often, the wars seem to drag on for so long and our Emperor never has enough soldiers."

"And no, I do not think French all that hard to learn, it is a beautiful language, like its women," he smiled, caught up in the conversation rather than where exactly they were going.

"Women? Do many travel with you?" He did not know how beautiful French could be. It was all mumbling to him, but then he did not understand anything at all. Perhaps if he knew more, he would have known to appreciate it better.

They passed a large boulder, which he marked in his mind, as another post from which the prisoners could later continue. It was rather quiet now, but for their hushed voices. "Do you have a sweat'eart at home, that you hope t' return to? Or per'aps one here?" He asked with a playful grin.

"Women travel with every army, you should know that, we captured some of yours even," Francois pointed out, "but do I have someone special here? No, thank God, I would not want her to be in a such a dangerous situation with Portuguese lurking about everywhere to torture and kill anyone French."

"But, since you are curious, I do have a girl back home, a village girl, father thinks below our station but I don't care. She is sweet with dark eyes and hair. I think I miss her more than my father," he frankly admitted.

"Does she know that you fancy her?" Pye smiled and then shook his head. This french boy was of a higher station, of a better breeding. Would he continue to speak with one, who was far from it? "Will she wait for you, or has your heart been taken as uh they call it, but there'll be none from it?"

He glanced ahead of them. Just a little further and then he could tell the boy to place the rifles down. He could already see the landmark that he chose as appropriate to conceal them untill they could be retrieved. Them and the boy.

"Yes, she knows...she knew," Francois nodded emphatically.

"But I cannot expect her to wait for me. Unless I come back she will have no idea what becomes of me. In France there are so many men who have never come back and we often do not get any notification from the government, unless one is an officer...was an officer."

"My father would not bless such a marriage anyhow," he sighed, thinking back on how much he missed his home and yes, even his father for all his faults. He'd lost track of their path to whereever they were at the moment.