Day of the Flogging

Pte Owen Williams wrote:Williams watched Maggie as she jumped down. Although the memory of the previous night embarrassed her, she had clearly made her peace with Cotton, and looked much happier. Cotton too, though tired. "Taking the day off, are you?" he smiled and then pulled himself up. "How is it?"

Cotton twisted round a little to see who it was. Seeing the Welshman, he grinned, despite the motion pulling at his wounds.. "Hurts, but it could be worse, o' course. Makes it awkward to move prop'ly, of course, and I can't carry me pack. Hopin' I'll be able to march tomorrow, though, but I dunno what the surgeon'll say. Or Mister Vickery. How're you doin'?"

"C-conscious?" Tears were welling in his eyes in sympathy for the poor rifleman who'd been so nice to him. "He know it until he dies? Make mark don't come off?"

Harris regretted his words although he could remember old soldiers begging not to be flogged because of the shame of going home with a striped back. "He'll remember even when the marks have gone," he said, although the physical marks would not fade either. "But there are many who think it's something to be proud of. Or no worse than any other sort of wound."

"Proud? But it means officer think you done something bad." He shook his head. "I don't think Gabriel Cotton done something bad. I think he's nice. Him and his lady was nice to me and Ben, the first night, the night before which we found the Frenchmans. Not fair that he be flogged."

Harris patted Carty's arm. "Cotton is a nice man, Carty. And I don't think he did anything wrong either. Nor does Mr Sharpe. Or Cotton's officer, from what I gather. It isn't fair, but who ..." He stopped. It was not simply unjust, it was made worse by the fact that Cotton had been flogged for theft, not for some stupid military offence like insufficiently white cross-belts. Theft was a stain in the Army or out, and to Cotton, the stripes on his back would be a stain on his character. "The truth will out one day, Carty," he said.

"They said he stole something. A, um..." He shrugged. "Can' remember the word." He looked up; it appeared that soldiers were beginning to straighten up into file again. "We moving?"

"A watch," Harris said, pronouncing the word carefully. "A pocket watch. And he did not steal it - we know that." He smiled. "Cotton did not steal a watch, Carty. Say it." He got to his feet, and adjusted the knapsack. "While we march, again."

Carty returned the smile. "Watch, watch, watch. Pocket watch, pocket watch, pocket watch." He thumbed the pocket in his own ragged trousers by way of demonstration. "Cotton did not steal a watch." He nodded. "Gabriel Cotton did not steal a watch."

"Corporal said I could come and see how you were doing," Williams said, pulling himself up onto the rim of the cart. "He's not a bad lad, for an Irishman." He grinned back. "You'll be marching tomorrow, I'm sure, unless you can persuade them to let you ride at your ease for another day. Like a king, with your armed guard." He jerked his head to indicate the column of close to three thousand men. "And your lady to travel with you," he continued. "She was properly worrried about you last evening. You'll have to take real good care of yourself."

Cotton grinned at the picture Williams' words conjured up. "Funny sort o' king, ridin' in a wagon on his belly 'cause of gettin' flogged," he said, and braced himself to sit up. What he had to say would be better said if he could see Williams' face.

The movement pulled at the wounds under the bandages, and he bit his lip, finally easing into a sitting position where Williams could see him properly. "Thank you, f'r lookin' after Maggie for me," he said, and held out his hand. "That means a lot to me."

Williams grimaced. He had not been totally sympathetic to Maggie, he knew, but he had seen her back to the others attached to the 60th, and tried to get her to understand what Cotton would need - or what he would have needed in Cotton's place. "She was - She shouldn't have had to see that - last night or this morning. It's not right for a woman. She's a right determined body, and there was little enough I could do but keep up with her. That bastard that made her give evidence - had you upset him in some way?"

Cotton shook his head. "No, she shouldn't've had to see it, but she was determined to be there." He went to shrug in reply to the question, but thought better of it. "No, I'd never seen him afore he come ridin' up to tell Mister Vickery about the watch bein' found. But he ain't the sort of officer you want to be on the wrong side of, I'd say."

Williams grinned. "You don't want to be on the wrong side of any officer. You've been lucky in your officers, if you haven't got on their wrong side before. True, most aren't as ..." He tried to think of a word and failed. "Him and Hakeswill will both have been disappointed when it was stopped," he said carefully. "I reckon you ought to take care - and make sure your girl understands." He didn't think Maggie did understand - there was no dealing with the likes of Hakeswill, and though the officer probably was not quite as bad in some ways, he had a sight more power in properly legitimate ways.

"Oh, I've bin on the wrong side o' officers afore. Just not lately, and not so much as to get flogged. Well, not till now, anyways." He sighed. "I'll tell Maggie, o' course I will, though I dunno if'n I can make her understand properly. Why can't Hakeswill stick to bullyin' men in his own regiment without havin' to pick on the likes of us outside it?"

Timothy Willoughby wrote:
He gave a pause before he continued with his train of thought: "You have told me that you would not join me with the Scot Greys, so I would like to know, what are my duties till I rejoin the 15th? I am able rider and scout. I believe I am also a fair shot, if that may aid In your decision. " He hesitated. He did not wish to remain a burden who ate the food and drank the tea, and gave company to some. He was not afraid to face the danger, which was perhaps what his grandfather was not too pleased about. Surely he, when young had been as 'brave' but it was different when his only male blood line may end in the death of this boy.

Edrington hesitated. Ideally, the boy would just remain with them until he could be handed back, fully recovered, to his own unit. But clearly young Willoughby did not want to be a mere passenger while the Second Division marched. There was not much for a hussar to do - the dragoons provided the screen, the riflemen the flank guard, and everyone else would fight in the unlikely event that the column was attacked. One extra horseman would not make much of a difference. But the pride of the youngster should not be disregarded, and it might be possible to renew the suggestion that he return home and get his commission in the normal way. Gentlemen serving as privates were as likely to bring their class into disrepute as enhance it.

"You can serve as my messenger," he said. "We are spread out on the march, and the Rifles tend to pull ahead. Someone who can be sent up to remind them to slow down, or to check on the progress of the baggage train at the back." Someone, he thought, without any other duties, who seemed to welcome the idea of being in the saddle for most of the day. "You can ride ahead now and tell Captain Vickery that you will be drawing rations from him. I'll make sure the commissariat knows that his numbers are increased by one man, one horse. And wait to see if he has any message before coming back." He grinned. "I won't be here, of course, but somewhere along the side of the battalion you'll find me."

"Probably because they'd do for him, as soon as they could," Williams said cynically. "And with actual fighting coming up, that could be pretty soon. Anyway, I would wager that he bullies them too, as much as he can get away with. Funny, how some sergeants and officers think it makes them look like good officers, the more punishments their men get."

"It seems like you know now, what sort of regiment you're tied to. But it's a damned hard way for you to find out."

"Mebbe, but one punishment parade don't mean it's flogging regiment. We'll have to see."

He leaned sideways against the side of the wagon. "I think some officers just don't know the difference between respect and discipline, and fear o' the lash. And there ain't any way of learnin' it them, neither."

"Yes sir! Thank you, sir!" If anything could be said for the news that came in form of duty, it was that they were warmly accepted. The youth could barely contain himself from smiling as if he had won himself the war. Instead with a forced seriousness to his face, he saluted to his Lordship and sat straight in his saddle with wearyness gone.

He looked refreshed, renewed in his place, his gaze staring ahead with purpose. He spurred his horse on with great elegance and ease, glad at his new task. He feared before that he would serve as luggage, a boring existence with the prospects of action solely if the French were bold enough to strike. Some would enjoy having little to do, some would celebrate the times when they could have a fair excuse to languish alongside the column. But he was not one of them.

He glanced at the men that he passed. Now resting they would soon pack up their packs and continue on the muddy path. He sought the colour of green of an uniform, remembering the boy that he had met at the campfire. he was of the Rifles, but not the ones that he was to meet. Now Cotton, that lad was one of those who served under Vickery's command. He felt a sting of pain, his leg aching unpleasantly as it was pressed to the horse's side. "Hush.."He muttered to himself, not slowing the horse's pace even for a bit.

Vickery had wanted to see how Cotton was bearing up, so this break found him walking Brandy past the column to the baggage at the rear, where the surgeon's wagon was to be found.

He felt more than a little responsible for what had happened. If he had not been talking with Sergeant Fischer, Cotton would have been able to tell him about the watch before anyone else knew of its existence. And he didn't think he'd presented a good enough defence at the trial.

Well, there was the wagon. He was surprised to see Maggie Evans walking away from it, and supposed she must be going to check on her own possessions.

She paused when she saw the captain approaching. He must be coming to see Cotton. She wanted to pretend she hadn't noticed him, but that probably wouldn't work. Instead, she gave him a small nod and hovered uneasily, giving him a wide berth to go into the wagon if he so chose.

He was able to locate the 60th up ahead, but there he found no men by the name of Vickery, or of his rank. At first he satisfied himself with searching, till convinced an inquiry was in order.

"Jus' missed him."

He stilled his horse and looked to the man explain further. " Gone to the back." And he was pointed in the direction. Since Vickery had not told any of his reason to head down the column, the rifleman could not be sure as to the reason of his leave, but he was almost certain his speculation was correct.

"Look by t' surgeon's wagon. Prolly he's there."

Timothy nodded a small thanks, turning his horse near on the spot. As fast as he did earlier, he passed the men sitting and eating. His keep sake was yet to realise that with its new rider came actual work, much more than there was to do before. More running, more distances to cross and also more often to cross them.

It took a small while for the cart to come into proper view, but at last he had located it.

He didn't choose to go into the wagon straight away, but reined in and looked down at her, before shaking his head and dismounting.

"How are you doing, Maggie?" he asked, remembering that Waldegrave had used her testimony to back up his case.

She looked up with startled, almost frightened eyes, very wide and blue. She hadn't been expecting an address from the man. "Uh... Captain Vickery! Sir." She realized she was at a complete loss for words, and she had already forgotten what the question was.

"I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to startle you." He absently put a hand up to stroke Brandy's neck.

"How are you, after this morning?"

Her heart was pounding. That was strange. "Captain Vickery, I'm so sorry, sir," she said, her face stricken.