Day of the Flogging

Someone had given her his jacket and shirt, and she handed him the latter. "I don't know about your pack and rifle. Maybe Sergeant Roper knows, or - there's Joe Newbury, I'll ask him. Do you want them in the wagon with you?" She smiled, belatedly realizing what he had said. "I can wear your jacket, really?"

"Yes, Maggie, I want them." He smiled at her, then bit his lip as an incautious move set his back on fire again. "Yes, you c'n wear me jacket. We'll have to find you one of your own if you'm staying with the Rifles, y'know, lass."

After all, lots of women wore the jackets of their men's regiments. They didn't get them new, of course, but passed on when new ones were issued to their menfolk, or picked them up from the field after a battle. The women were just as proud of the regiment they belonged to as were the men they followed, and Cotton did not see why Maggie should be an exception.

She was touched, but at a loss to explain it. Smiling down at the ground, she turned away to speak to Joe for a minute. "He's going to get your things," she told Cotton, reaching out to help him with his shirt. She paused, noticing for the first time her locket hanging from his neck. "You wore it!"

"Yes, I did.  Didn't you want me to?"

He eased his shirt on slowly.  Any move made too fast turned his back into a sheet of fire - and that was only after fifty lashes.  What would it have been like if he'd received the rest?

He smiled.  "I'll always wear it, 'less'n you want it back, Maggie, sweeting."

The horse was ready. Clean, saddled, bridled and prepared for the journey. Since he hadn't brought much with him, most all on the horse had been obtained along with the animal. All deducted from pay of course. His sabre was slung at the side of the saddle, and bound in soft cloth. It couldn't fit into the scabbard, which remained packed away. He had tightened the girth some, knowing the horse has puffed himself broader when the saddle was first fitted.

Then he had pulled himself up onto the saddle, lifting his leg easily across the animal's back. He kept his right out of the stirrup for now. A first test of the animal's temper was made. A backing followed by a turn to the right. Not exactly what the Hussar had wanted. The new horse was still learning the ways of his rider. Back, a stiff stubborn stand. Then an easier walk ahead. He realised that they might have chosen one that they themselves have been having problems.

Could be a fair assumption, and could just be that the animal was having a bad day. He winced. Another turn was made, but it was this time done on purpose, having the horse make the smallest possible circle.

Asserting authority.

He had the horse back again, and counted the steps. 7.. and stop. 3.. stop. 5.. stop. The horse did it fairly well. He still felt rather strange to ride though. Quite unlike Bayard.

He frowned. A left turn on the spot. A right turn. They were progressing. A turn was then done, resembling a fair rain drop. A stop. He nodded to himself, more satisfied. Walking the horse to a less cluttered an area, he had him start a trot and then a near sudden stop again. He seated himself heavily in the saddle, and the horse slowed down. He leaned down and petted the horse's neck a couple of times. There was enough time later to continue the exercise and learn more about his horse.

Maggie smiled shyly, looking down and remembering his kiss last night when she had given it to him. "Of course I wanted you to. I just - I'm glad you did." It was the only piece of jewelry she had ever had, the only precious thing she owned, simple though it was and not even real gold. Plus it had exceedingly great sentimental value, having belonged to her mother. It felt a little strange not to have it hanging from her own neck. She had never let someone else take it, not even Jem, not having thought of it until it was too late. But she liked seeing it there on Cotton. "You keep it for me."

"I will, lass. I'll keep it safe for you, I promise."

And maybe one day he'd get her a ring for her finger, and then she'd be his woman properly. If she wanted to. But he had promised her that he wouldn't rush her, wouldn't force into doing something she didn't want to do. And he was happy to wait till the right time to ask.

"Will you ride with me, or won't the surgeon let you?" he asked, wanting her to stay close to him today, after everything that had happened.

She grinned eagerly. "Course I'll ride with you. Why walk when you can ride? There's nobody else, so he said I could come along." She squeezed his hand. "I should get my knitting. Or... anything you want mending? Anything of Mister Vickery's?" Then her face grew dark. "Though maybe I shouldn't... maybe he won't want me touching anything... But you - you and Mister Vickery are all right, aren't you? I mean, you'll still be his batman?"

Cotton's face fell a little. "I don't... I don't know. Oh, he said I would, but that was yesterday, before... before all this, an' he might have changed his mind now that... now that I've bin flogged for thievin'."

He tried to smile. "I've tore me other shirt on a nail or summat like. Would you sew it up f'r me? An' if'n there's anythin' you want mendin' or summat, I c'n do it. Need summat to do wi' me hands, after all. Like you do."

She laughed. "You doing my mending?" She laughed quite a lot before finally regaining control of herself. "No thank you, dear Gabe! I'll do it myself." She chuckled for a moment more before exclaiming, "Oh! I know what you can do. You can learn to write."

"I din't mean your sewin', you daft besom!" Cotton said, finally able to grin his old grin. "I meant, if'n there's anythin' of yourn that's broken that I can fix." He shook his head, still smiling. "Whoever heard o' learnin' to write, at my age?" Then he looked away, shyly. "Though I'd like it right well, if'n you think I could learn. And I'd like you to learn me how."

She raised her hand to give him a playful slap, but remembering his wounds she contented herself with a light tap on his arm.

"I think you could learn. Of course. Look, here's the wagon. Step up! This is luxury, isn't it!" she exclaimed, helping him ease down onto the padded mat. "I can't believe - I'm glad there's nobody else wounded or sick or anything. Lucky you," she added with a wry smile.

"Rather be with my Company with me skin whole, than here like this," Cotton said. "Only, you'm here, and you ain't with me when I'm with me Company, so I reckon I like it well enough."

He looked at her and sighed. "Sure you ain't got anythin' I can fix for you?"

She eyed him skeptically. "We only left Lisbon a few days ago. I haven't had a chance to break anything yet. Unlike you and your shirt," she added with a grin. "I wonder if they'd let me have Jessy along behind the wagon. Though maybe that'd be a bit much to ask. Let me go get my things and I'll be right back," she said, slipping into his jacket with a pleased little smile.

Cotton sighed and settled down on the mat, finding that the most comfortable position was on his front, arms folded under his head.

He waited for Maggie's return, pleased she liked wearing his jacket. He would have to see about getting her one of her own, someday soon.

Ben Jacklin poked his head into the wagon. "There you are, Gabriel. I brought your pack and your rifle."

"Ben! Thanks." He shifted around a little, as much as he was able. "How's things with the Company?"

Jacklin grimaced. "As you'd expect. Lads were that done out to see you up there. But you took it well, Gabriel. Did us proud. Never a sound out of you to give them redcoats any satisfaction. You all right for now? Here, brought you this too," he added, slipping a bottle out from under his jacket.

"Are you folks tryin' to get me drunk?" Cotton asked. "Roper slipped me a bottle earlier, an' all."

He had done it; made them proud.

"You better get back up there. An' have a good march, won't you?"

"Have a good ride, yourself," he said with a grin before hopping out.

Cotton shook his head. If he were to drink everything the Rifles pressed on him, he'd be half cut by the time they stopped for the first break. Best to save it for when he needed it, he thought.

Pte Owen Williams wrote:"I'll go up and see at the first rest - if that's all right with you, of course," Williams finished with a quick grin. "He's being taken care of by his mates from the Rifles at the moment, and his girl, and the surgeon won't want me around too." He busied himself collecting his things together and slinging his knapsack. "He took it damned well, after the first one made him jump - new to him, of course. Of course, he didn't know they were going to stop it, see. And with it being undeserved, it comes down hard, however few it is. But - you're right Corporal, fifty is better than the two hundred."

"Course," Grogan said, nodding. He didn't see the worth in telling Williams that he couldn't go and check on his mate. A flogged man was best served having friends about to look after him, once the flogging was done. "Must be a good'n'staunch fella, that one. Ain't easy takin' a floggin' wi'out crackin'."

Lord knew he'd seen some tough lads cry out when put under the lash. Grogan shook his head. It was over and done with now. Thinking about it served no purpose. "Better find some breakfast if yer hungry. We'll be formin' up soon enough."

"Thanks, Corporal. He is that - and a very good shot with a rifle. Though he looks a soft lad if you just go by appearances."

Williams turned towards where the pots were being tidied away. "I'll grab something." He was not hungry now - some things just took your appetite away, for a while - but he knew better than to turn down food. A mouthful of cold tea now, and a hunk of bread stowed in his knapsack would be doubly welcome at the break, and he could gnaw on it as he went to see poor Cotton.

He had his horse watered and fed. Packing some food for the march, he was now seated a small distance from the animal, watching the going ons of the camp. He had somehow managed to obtain some cold tea, and found the liquid pleasant. Snippets of conversation merged, men walking past with purpose. Some were standing or sitting, even kneeling as they were packing their belongings, immersed in light talk.

He cought sight of a woman passing in hurry, her eyes set with purpose. Then again others, men in search of their last drink, a piece of bread or a lost part of their person. It was interesting to observe as solely a spectator. So many stories were made with a single stage of the camp soon to be on the move.

Newbury had passed off Cotton's pack and rifle to Ben Jacklin, as he was unable to deliver the items himself having been named as one of the advance scouts by Sergeant Roper. It rankled a bit that he couldn't check on Cotton at least one more time before getting on the move, but he supposed that he could visit during one of the breaks later in the day.

"C'mon Zeb," he said to his designated scouting partner. It made no difference to him that he'd be out there with Zeb Palmer, even though the other Rifleman had been one of the lads wielding the cat a couple hours before. "Better get a-goin' afore that red-coat officer takes a notion to stir more trouble up with us."

Zeb managed a shaky grin, then looked immediately around as if afraid he'd see that lieutenant from the 62nd close by. He followed Newbury without reply and the two Riflemen made their way along the road ahead as the column began coming together in readiness to march behind them.