The Great Ball Game, 5th July

The 60th were bivouacked outside Castelo Branco, where there was an open space apparently used for a market. Of course the various Army regiments had co-opted it for use as a parade ground for inspections and the like. Right now, it was being put to another use completely.

Vickery had provided a ball, and Cotton had dragged Roper, Jacklin and a couple of others out to this open ground where they had pulled their jackets off to use as makeshift goalposts for a bit of a kickabout - there was nothing like a bit of fun, after all.

He intercepted the ball as Jacklin tried to pass to Zeb Palmer, throwing it back towards Roper who dived for it and missed. The ball went bouncing off towards a couple of soldiers who had paused to watch.

"Hi there!" Cotton called. "Can we have our ball back?"

Freddie, watching the game wide-eyed while cleaning his rifle, scrambled to his feet and run to intercept the ball.

He had no idea of the rules, but by now he had at least managed to establish that it was important to aim at the space between the jackets and kick or throw the ball there.

So when he had caught the ball, he placed it before him on the grass, took aim and kicked, making up for what he was lacking in skill by pure enthusiasm.

Roper ducked as the ball went sailing past his head, and grinned at Rottländer. "That's summat like!" he said. "Good lad!" It was Palmer who got the ball, and Cotton brought him down in a tackle that had them both on the dusty ground.

"Get the ball, then!" Roper called - Rottländer was closer to them than he was.

Freddie frowned for an instant before he realized what Roper meant, then dashed forward, trying to pluck the ball from the fray without actually getting caught in it.

His joy at finally not only being able, but indeed being asked to run around at top speed expressed itself in a loud hoot of pure exhileration.

The lads were having a game, and a rousing one by the sound of it. A good piece of fun was not something to turn down. Yet Mayden stood back to watch, his worn forage cap barely covering his untidy mop of hair. It was nominally safer, he thought, to stay out of that young German's way.

Unless, of course, that ball were to come in Mayden's direction. He took a swallow from his canteen and grinned. These 60th boys could at least make their own fun. He'd give them that.

Cotton scrambled to his feet, ignoring the fine dust that coated his shirt and trousers. "Go, Friedrich!" That youngster could run - and there was no danger of falling over guy-lines or into fires out here.

Freddie snatched the ball up in midrun, then nearly slipped on the dry grass as he made a tight turn, leaning into the curve with his whole body. Once he had caught himself, however, he sprinted towards the goal as fast as he could, dodging left and right to make it harder for the others to catch and tackle him.

He hoped that anybody from his own team who was in a good position or had a plan and wanted the ball would make himself known - while he could see the general proportions and colouring of the other players, once they were more than a few feet off, it was difficult for him to recognize them.

Vickery had got wind of the ball game - he'd had a sneaking suspicion something was in the wind when Cotton asked him for the loan of the ball (which he had requested from Blackwood back after he had confiscated it from the Hussars after they had been playing around with it too near the surgeon's wagon).

He was not surprised to find his men down on what had become known, in the brief time the Division had been at Plasencia, as 'the parade ground'. They seemed to be having fun, which was all well and good.

Rottlaender had the ball at the moment, and was running towards the goal with it. The kid could run, Vickery already knew that. He wondered briefly how it would look if he joined in, and then decided that he didn't really care what anyone from another regiment thought, and pulled his jacket off, adding it to the nearest pile of coats forming one of the goal-posts.

As nobody really came close enough to tackle him, Freddie made it to the goal nearly unmolested. Blowing his fringe out of his eyes, he saw Captain Vickery there. He wasn't quite sure whether the captain really wanted to join in - he was an officer, after all - but then, if he did't, he could just ignore the ball. It would be better than ignoring him, Freddie thought, and passed a slow, carefully aimed ball to the Captain.

------

Edward had been drawn by the shouts. Originally he had wanted to inquire after a cup of tea, but when he saw the game, he quickly forgot about that and settled down on a convenient log instead. Edward had never aspired to be one of the Corinthians, but he appreciated sports for artistic reasons and soon had his sketchbook in hand and tried to capture the joy, emotions and high tempo of the game.

Vickery had just opened his mouth to cheer Rottlaender on, when the Rifleman saw him. And more - he threw the ball across, though it was a slow, uncertain sort of pass. Vickery grinned, grabbed the ball and threw it to cross the goal-line before running after it himself and returning it to play.

~ ~ ~

Cotton hadn't quite believed his eyes when he saw the Captain himself joining it, but there was no better way for the officer to show his approval of the game. The ball came his way and he grabbed it, though there were several Riflemen between himself and the goal.

"Over here, Gabe!" Roper called.

"Not on your life, Tom," Cotton retorted in reply. "You'm on t'other team, ain't you?" He passed the ball across in Rottlaender's direction, hoping that the lad wouldn't fumble and drop it.

Freddie nearly jumped out of his skin, plucking the ball out of mid-air. When he came down, he hogged it close to his chest and ran, dodging to the sides like a hare.

-------

Edward was doing one quick sketch after the other. Sofar he had captured some good likenesses of Cotton, Roper and a few other riflemen, and had also collected a few lively fights for the ball. He had been a bit surprised by Vickery's participation, though not in a disapproving way, but rather by the fact that an officer could do such a thing. And after a few moments he had stopped thinking about any such things anyway and instead tried to capture the dynamics of how Vickery had thrown that ball.

Now he kept his pen poised over the paper, watching. His little servant was running like a mad hare, but between him and the goal were two riflemen, and dodging them would probably give the ones behind him a chance to catch and tackle him. Edward wasn't quite clear about who was playing against whom yet, but while from an artistic point of few he hoped for a nice tackle, for Rottlaender's sake he hoped that if one of the men there was of his own team, he would make himself known - with his head ducked down over the ball and his fringe flapping around his forehead, Edward doubted that Rottlaender would be able to see much.

Pye was observing the chase after the ball. He had to get some food for little miss Peggie, which meant that he could not yet join in..should he even do so later. He got up, waved at Freddie as if to give him a sort of indication that he would be back later, he was not quite sure, and then moved off. That Vickery joined in, surprised him yet again, but, made him glad no less. "Come on Peggie. Lets get some for you." And with that he was gone.

Edward raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised that Pye did not immediately join in. "Are you on duty?", he asked, mildly curious and sympathetic.

"Oh no , sir." Pye straightened. He had thought he had left unnoticed, but for his friend and did not even see Torrington until he had spoken. "I've only got a few things to do first." He said hastly and smiled. He glanced over to the side, noticing a couple of Hussars who had neared the square once one of them had noticed a ball in use.

He shuffled his feet just a little. "Do you need something ter be got , sir?"

"A cup of tea would be very welcome ..."

Edward had spoken before he had realized where he was and whom he was talking to. He certainly had no right to send soldiers for tea whenever he pleased, but sometimes, habits died hard, and concentrating on his drawing, he had instintinctively reacted to the tone and question. Trying to make amends, he put down his pencil and added quickly:

"I believe Rottlaender has left some to keep warm on the fire." He gestured slightly. "Please take a cup yourself if you want."

"I'll bring it quick, sir. " Zachary nodded quickly. He hoped he could get a mug, be it right there by the fire or here or he would wash one very thoroughly and maybe that would be good too. Not daring to ask more of the man, being that he was an officer, he quickly turned then sheepishly added. "...Thank you, sir." Before he seemed nearly to bolt for the camp and where the tea would have been kept warm, ready or where he could make it proper for Torrington.

He had nearly bumped into two hussars who had come to observe the chase for the ball. A third he had glimpsed disappearing back towards their own side of camp, but paid little attention to that.

Hoping that he had smoothed over the slight slip-up reasonably well, Edward took up his pencil again. His little servant was once more running at full speed towards the goal, his rather long curls bouncing excitedly behind him. Edward couldn't help himself - he sketched a bright-eyed, very eager puppy with a ball in its mouth - and somewhat belatedly realized that he was gripping his pencil very hard when another player bore down on him. He even feared that a 'Look out!' had escaped him ...

The two hussars waited. Standing by the lines meant that the youth would eventually pass them. The goal was to the left of them. Suddenly the burlier of the two began towards the ball carrier. The second, leaner youth began right after him. He however had not bolted straight for Freddie but made a somewhat larger circle to block him and close the trap.

The reason they had started had not merely been the young lad running so close, but also the sound of hooves that announced a trio of riders nearing.

"Behind you!"

Edward couldn't tell whether Freddie had heard his shout, but the young rifleman had turned and was trying to escape to one side, hugging the ball tightly to his chest. The grassy ground made sharp turns difficult, however. Twisting like an eel at the hook, Freddie tried to stay upright, not to crash into an opponent and most of all not to let them get their hands on the ball.

The second turned and reached for he lad's arm, while he burlier one went to tackle him while his friend attempted to slow him. "Get the ball." The bigger one hissed. The riders were getting closer. The nostrils of horses flared, their heads thrust up, ears back.

Their large legs thudded against the ground throwing back rock, dirt and grass.

Freddie had a choice: Holding fast to the ball and cannoning into one opponent, only to be tackled then by the other, or letting go of the ball and safe himself a twisted arm.

He was saved from that painful decision, however, by the sound of hooves. For a moment more concerned that his lordship's horses might have escaped (especially Balthasar the pony was quite skilled in opening knots and wandering unattented), he paid too little attention to the two cavalrymen ... and the ball was gone.

The ball was grabbed and then before the other riflemen could get too close, it was passed from one of the hussars to the other and then to the nearest horse. Pratt leaned from his saddle to fetch it. He passed it on to Kerr who had turned his horse about. The ball changed hands again. This time it had been Kenley that was in possession of it and then, after the horses had turned, avoiding trampling Freddie, the ball was thrown and expertly caught by he third rider... Willoughby who had slowed sooner than the two and had now the benefit of space to bolt.

"What the ...?"

Edward dropped his pencil and jumped to his feet. He wasn't quite sure whether the cavalry attack was part of the game or something more sinister, but he knew that either way the riflemen on foot stood not much of a chance to recapture the ball.

There was one thing, though, they might have neglected to take into account: While Edward did not think that he would have stood any chance out on the playingfield, he knew he was a quite creditable rider ... and seated on the sidelines, he wasn't too far from where the horses for the officers were kept ready.

While Rottlaender scrambled to his feet again, and shouted indignantly in German, his officer made a dash for his own mount. Later he would probably blush for running in a rather ungentlemanly fashion, but right now, he wanted a horse, and then he wanted that ball back before some hussars could get away with it!

And the ball had been snatched by troopers of the 15th, one of whome was on horseback.

Vickery didn't spot the Engineer officer running for his horse, but he did see the interruption to the game, and could hear the indignant yell and curses of the Riflemen.


"Stand fast there!" he bellowed, though there was not much chance of being attended to. He was going to report them to their officer the first chance he got!