7th July: Come along by horse

Freddie had unsaddled both horses and settled them as quickly as possible, promising them a good long rub later. Then he quickly tried to straighten out his uniform.

"Ready ... yes?"

He made his acknowledgement more a question. Talking to Captain Vickery still instilled holy terror in him.

"Don't worry...we'll be alright. We did more n' our share o' helping t' officers." Pye smiled and patted his friend. "And if there's trouble... I'll take t' blame, alright? Don't want you loosing place with Torrington.. though... I don't think there will be any trouble. We'd done more than good." He paused and tugged his friend along with him. "Come.. the sooner we've got it over , the better and then..."

He looked rather like he was a starving orphan when he said this: ".....we get to eat something really nice after we're done?"

Freddie nodded decisively, although even he was starting to wonder how he would be able to fit all he promised to do into his evening without neglecting any of his usual duties.

"I will make ... meat in the pan? Cut little? The butcher gave me all meat raw!"

He straightened his shoulders and clutched his rifle. He was quite touched that his friend had offered to take the blame, but he wouldn't allow it, of course.

Pye took his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He dusted his uniform and picked a few leaves out of Freddie's. "There.. now we're presentable."

He considered for a moment. "Lets see if we can find Vickery at his own tent first.. That is,.. captain Vickery." He licked his lips. "And...meat in the pan sounds brilliant!!" He then proceeded in the direction of the riflemen's camp, slowing pace to such that the two could walk side by side.

Freddie skipped a few steps to walk besides Pye, but fell back a bit again when they reached Vickery's tent.

"Uhm, do you see Cotton? Or should we just call?"

Cotton had just delivered a mug of tea to the Captain, who was very thankful that he could delegate this evening's duties to his senior Lieutenant.

The Rifleman ducked out of the tent, carefully carrying the box containing Vickery's pistols, and nearly ran the two youngsters down. He had not expected anyone to be there.

"Hulloa, lads," he said, looking from one to the other. "What's the matter?" he added, seeing their nervous expressions.

Freddie nervously shifted his weight to his back foot.

"Uhm ... is Captain Vickery there? We need to tell him something!"

As if Cotton couldn't guess that. He nodded. "I'll tell him," he said, putting the brass-bound mahogany box down out of harm's way and ducking back into the tent.

There was a hushed murmur of voices and Cotton came back out, followed by Vickery himself, bareheaded and holding a tin mug of tea.

The Rifleman gave his friends a reassuring smile, and took himself and his chores to a nearby fire to give them some privacy.

These two, again.

"Report," Vickery said, only just barely preventing himself from asking 'what is it this time?'

Freddie drew himself up to full parade ground attention and stuttered:

"C..c...captain Vickery ... Sir ... Cap..ptain Torrington said we ...must tell you ..."

He got stuck in his sentence and suddenly decided to abandon it, rushing through the next part.

"French! They shot at us! They hit Mr. Atkins. The hussar! While we were taking measurements! The Captain will come later!"

Rottlaender could talk as fast as he could run, apparently. Vickery blew the steam off his tea and took a sip - it was that or sigh and he didn't think the latter action would help anyone.

"Calm down, and take your time. Tell me exactly what happened, as far as you can," he said, speaking calmly.

He really was going to have to do something about Freddie's absolute terror at speaking to him, if he could.

"What he'um saying, sir." Pye piped in rather defensively of a friend. "There's an officer that got injured pretty badly. Got stabbed an was bleedin' all over everythin only when we came back he was still alive n' kicking.. well a little less kicking but ...a fair ammount of living, I think."

"Only.. we were there when he got injured.. an'..he's with the Hussars... his a cornet  or sumthin' silly like that... that is.. the word's silly sounding like... not t' officer!" He said quickly and apologetically.

"If I understand you both correctly, while you were surveying, your party was attacked by a group of Frenchmen and Cornet Atkins was injured," Vickery said.

He would have to get someone to teach this pair how to make a neat, tidy, comprehensive report that could be understood.

"Where is Captain Torrington now?" he asked. He would get a far more sensible report from the Engineer, he was sure. If the French weren't about to attack the camp, anyway - though the picquets would hopefully give enough warning of an attack that the men could grab arms and ammunition if necessary.

"Yeah....somethin' like that." Pye nodded then glanced at Freddie. "Torrington went ter report ter t' hussars... sent us here to get you too, since we's yours." He hesitated. "...Atkins' real bad,..but we had that'un... a hussar there what took things mostly in hand... he's the one.." He had only remembered him because he had somewhat known him from before. "....wot' we found so long ago, of what I heard anyway. You know......t' one with the injured leg?"

"Mylord says he ...'will come as soon as possible, but it might be better if he doesn't hear of this third-hand' ... uhm ... sorry, Sir!"

Freddie did his famous beet imitation - he had quoted Torrington verbatim, even mimicking his diction, as he was wont to do when he tried to relay messages he was not entirely certain how to phrase in his own words, and he had needed a bit too long to realize where the important part of the message ended.

Rottlaender had obviously just relayed Torrington's message exactly as the Engineer had given it, and flushed scarlet as he realised he may have repeated a little too much of it.

Vickery laughed - it was typically Torrington to phrase it thus. "So, Trooper Willoughby was there as well. What I should still like to know is how many French attacked you, are we in any danger and do I need to do anything, such as getting the Company to stand-to?"

"Aye and the younger one... the one who's always chasin' the ball..." He hesitated then considered the next question rather than to think back on who stole the ball back. "...No.. don't think we're in any danger. Was really few men.. and they were all on foot and we were all on horses. So's....they couldn't follow us.. don't think they did. Right, Freddie?" He glanced at his friend. "..they was properly beaten!"

Freddie shrugged.

"We shot at them and ..." He tried to find a more heroic way to say 'run away', but didn't have much success. "... gallopped away?"

He fidgeted. While he could feel the impulse to give in and say that they had beaten the French completely, decisively and better than even Wellesly himself could have, he was worried that he might have gotten it wrong and endanger the camp. Where was Mylord Torrington? He would have the correct answers to this ...

So he started with the bit he felt relatively sure about.

"They are slower as us. They were ... two or three for one of us? Uhm ... more than twenty? Not much more?"

"We'd done what we needed and we was planning to return.. jus' happens we had met them, 'fore we packed up neatly." Pye piped in. "..But they was beaten back. " Pye was braver than Freddie in casting such a claim. "Even if we was much fewer!"

"Think they were not the light ones...they looked same as any Frenchman...that is.. not like those that got more blue on them like...think they had to be the line. Yeah.. t' ones that we see most of.. the line ones. Know the colour on their shakos n' shoulders too!" He said with more conviction.

"Don't think they expected us...though they must've seen us first." He took a deep breath. "...No horses with them, when we was there. That I know. Couse if they had, I bet they'd not just stand and wait! We'd have seen'em!"

He hesitated again. "Think they was...least three times both hands."

"I think the word you wanted was 'retreated', Rottlaender," Vickery told the German rifleman. He had relaxed a little at learning that the French had been infantrymen, and - from what he could gather - not a large group of them, either. Although thirty was certainly a larger number than the British party.

"You held off thirty French infantrymen and all got away intact apart from a wounded Cornet? It seems to me that you did very well," he said. "Cornet Atkins is not your responsibility and I am sure that the surgeons will do their best for him."

He turned to Rottlaender. "Would you let Captain Torrington know that I shall call on him shortly, please?" He looked from one to the other. "Unless either of you have anything else to add to what you have told me, you may be dismissed."

Most of the time, Freddie was a rather truthful lad, so he felt compelled to add:

"And a hussar ... they wounded an other hussar. In the leg. With a bullet."

He saluted.

"I will let Captain Torrington know that you shall call on him shortly. Yes, Sir! I will ... tell him you come later?"

He rephrased, just to be sure he had understood correctly.

Vickery nodded. "Ich werde ihn aufsuchen," he said, just to make it completely clear what he meant. "Shortly, in a little while... bald," he added, to aid in Rottlaender's being able to tell Torrington in a language the Engineer could understand.

Wounded a Hussar in the leg. Well, that could not be helped, and doubtless the soldier would also find himself in the care of one surgeon or another. It seemed that the officer's wound was the more serious one - either that, or the two Riflemen simply considered that it was more important Vickery learn of the officer's injury and the soldier's being wounded was incidental.

"There was....." Pye started but then gladly grasped at the opportunity to be dismissed. "Sir." He saluted and grinned broadly. "We're going!" And with that he was quick to follow after his friend.

"There was...?" Too late; they'd gone. There was what?

That would teach him to dismiss either of those two until he was absolutely positive there was no more information to be had from either of them. 

He sighed, and took a long drink of tea. It was still a little too hot to drink comfortably, but he needed the drink.

He just hoped that Torrington could fill him in on precisely what the 'what' was.

Torrington came back half an hour later in a rather exhausted frame of mind. He slipped into the tent and unbuckled his belt, dropping it onto his bed next to his gear.

"Rottlaender? Pye?", he called out, trying to locate his young assistants. He supposed he should go see Vickery, but he hoped that despite his remark before there would be a cup of tea ready before he had to launch into another round of explanations.