Fifth Night in Camp

The game would probably be over soon; iy was beginning to be too dark to see anything. A grinning face, mud-streaked and topped with a mop of black hair, was probably Carty, and he vaguely thought it was Harris rolling on the ground, getting more plastered with mud but with a firm hold of the muddy lump that the ball had become.

Sims dropped on Harris, reaching for the ball, or what he hoped was the ball and not just extra coating of mudd on the other man. Cooper was close enough in tow, and was also getting ready to recieve the ball.

The spectators knew the game must be nearly finished, and they were becoming more and more vociferous as a result.

"Look out Harris!"

"Move, Carty, run!"

"Come on, hussar!"

"Get him, Cooper!"

Willoughby broke of into a run. This was the last bit of game, he was sure. Last opportunity to score. He bit down a grunt at the stab of pain from his ankle. Cooper snatched the ball at last, he nearly passed it to Carty, thinking him to be one of the men on his team.

" Here!" Willoughby yelled. Sims joined him. Two men now, that could take on the opportunity to get the ball.

Just before Cooper was tackled he threw the ball. Sims jumped , the ball slipped from his hold thanks to how muddy it was. It bounced from him and landed in the Hussar's arms instead. He ran, he dove for the kettle the ball in one hand.

And at the very last.. the soft echo of the kettle announced it's new content. Score. (just so we can bathe before we get lost !)

Edrington found himself running alongside the Irish lad, heading for the kettle as the Hussar dropped the ball in. Everyone was now mud-covered, mud-coloured, and voices rather than faces identified who was who.

He stopped and looked around. The game had apparently ended - although he had no idea of the score, nor whether any of the players would think that important. Former opponents had their arms round each other, and all seemed to have come through without either injury or ill-will. He rubbed at his ribs, which seemed to have taken a blow at some time, and wondered whether it would be appropriate to thank someone - Sharpe? - for his hospitality. The game had after all been successful in dispelling the black mood that had hung over him all day.

It was dark by now, and Sharpe grabbed the nearest man. "You're goin' down to the river to wash that mud off at some point. Take the kettle with you, or we'll be havin' mud for supper."

He looked around. That looked like the Colonel over there, rubbing his side. Sharpe crossed to him. "Good game, that, sir. Hope you enjoyed yourself."

He had never expected the Colonel to join in, and it raised him immeasurably in Sharpe's opinion. It had been a very Rifles sort of game, after all, and Edrington had struck him as being a very redcoat officer - all rules and inflexibility, though trying to let the Rifles do their own thing, as far as he could understand it.

But now... Shame he wasn't in a green jacket, Sharpe thought, and for him, there was a very high measure of respect in thinking such a thing.

Edrington looked up, smiling. "I did - I even scored a goal. It was a good game. I was thinking -" He looked carefully at the officer, and then changed what he was going to say.

"I had meant to find you at some point this evening. I think I owe you an apology."

Sharpe frowned, grateful for the darkness and dirt that hid it - or at least, rendered it far harder to read expressions.

"An apology, sir?" What on earth could the Colonel need to apologize to him for?

From a small distance he observed the two, who by the voices, could only be the two officers, and then began to stand. It was time to have the mud washed of his clothes, hair, face and all other places that it dared seep onto. With the sun setting the air was becoming increasingly less warm, and the cold mud clinging to his skin, certainly didn't add to the comfort. But he was grinning. It had been an excellent game and he could say he hadn't had such fun in quite a long time. Just mucking around after a ball in the mud, like children and yet also like camerades.

It made him near forget the afternoon encounter with the lieutenant. Atleast the part in which he had not been covered in filth, but rather had spun a few stinging words his way. Actually, he did forget it, up untill reminding himself now. Peh. He was more proud that the lieutenant had to be smelling a long way further! Bella was feeling better as well, and was with the greys, all thanks to the sergeant. A little treat the mare deserved along with good feed.

He wiped a handful of mud of his face, and felt along his hair which was so caked in it, that it was actually able to be modeled much like clay. "Hey Carty." He called to the boy and grinned. That boy was quite a runner and had energy to spare. Ben Perkins he was still strugling to recognise and hoped that once the mud was washed off, he'd know the good man as well. Who won? Who lost? He didn't know the result and it really didn't matter. They've all won in having the most fun playing anyways.

"For thoughts I had about you. The general wanted - originally - to talk about the problems between your men, all the riflemen, and the 62nd. Specifically he mentioned the incident earlier last evening. I assumed that you were supplying him with information about - " Edrington grimaced. "I was very annoyed, but that was not your fault."

He'd thought the General had asked him to spy on the 62nd, or something? Daft as a brush...

He held out his hand. "No, sir, he was just askin' me about Hakeswill. Thought it might be easier in private, like, seein' as it all happened when I were in t'ranks."

He grinned. "Ever though about joinin' the Rifles, sir? Reckon you'd make a good Rifles officer."

Edrington took Sharpe's hand in his own mud-covered one. "Yes - he did seem very interested in Hakeswill - I suppose he knew him from India." He shrugged, "But even if he had asked you about our problems, you could hardly have refused to answer."

He returned the grin: "No, I'll stick to my Line Regiment - but thank you for the compliment - or intended compliment. Seriously, I think we can make it work, and I'll say again: - if you do have trouble - with Waldegrave or anyone else - I had rather you came to me than went to the General with it. We are grown men - we ought to be able to sort it out." He looked at the Lieutenant, and knew himself to be in much the same state of disorder. "Grown men," he repeated, with a laugh. "I wonder if we could organize inter-Company matches. We'd have to come up with some rules, of course, or it will make relationships worse. Or do your men play cricket?"

"Some of my men might. Or... Captain Vickery's got at least one man from Kent in his Company, I think. Some of them might like to play. Though I'll just stand there and cheer for that one. I find cricket about as dull as you can imagine. And certainly I'll come to you with problems. Though I don't like feelin' too tied down, havin' to ask permission to blow me nose - or for me men to blow theirs."

He sighed. "Probably won't help what we're tryin' to do if Waldegrave has to be told to keep away from us, of course."

"But Vickery also has rather more Germans than English - though there is no reason why they could not learn. Cricket has the advantage that it is less likely to turn into a brawl - and it seems to be easier to bowl at an officer than to bring him down and steal the ball from him. But all of that must wait until we reach a more settled camp."

He wiped a muddy hand across his face. "I don't want to give Waldegrave an order like that - or anyone. I hope he's learned his lesson, over young Carty. I'm glad to see him happier, at any rate. And learning English," he said with a smile.

"Carty's a good lad, though he seems to have taken to following me around like a lost puppy, God knows why. He's been learning English since joining up, though it's taken lessons from Harris to get him to where he is now." He ran a hand through his hair, which just made it muddier.

"I think that we need to see action for each group - redcoats and greenjackets both - to appreciate what the other has to offer. Though maybe not action with the French. I know Captain Vickery wanted to do some sort of training day with his men. I don't suppose there's much chance of that happening soon, though."

"I doubt if we will have a full day before we join the rest of the army," Edrington said. "But if he can arrange something for the end of a day's march..." Although the length of each march rested with the divisional staff, not with him, and any such activity should not cut into the time needed to feed and rest the troops. "If he can work out what he can do, in a limited time, I'll find out if there is any prospect of a short day."

"I will ask him. I think my men could do with some sort of training too, and it would be good to see that we can work together on the field as well as off it."

Though how much even a couple of hours could help, he wasn't sure. But better even such a short time as two hours, than nothing at all, of course.

"Yes - if you can arrange something. If not, when we reach the rest of the army. There will possibly be time then." A thought struck him. "There was talk of a shooting competition, but..." It had been Cotton, of course, who had beaten one of Sharpe's men, he remembered.

"Back in Lisbon. A couple of men - one of mine and one of Captain Vickery's - got talkin' in a tavern and, bein' Riflemen and proud of it, they decided to show what they could do. I hear it was a draw, right till the last shot. And Hagman's the best shot of the Chosen Men. Which just shows how good the other man is. Cotton, I think it was."

It might sound like a strange way for two soldiers to pass an afternoon, but they were Riflemen, they were keen and they were proud. And they had every right to be proud, of course.

"What made you think of that in particular, then?" he asked, curiously.

"I wondered if it might be possible to hold another. It might take less time, at the end of the day, and be easier to arrange. It would give my men - the 62nd - some idea of at least one of the skills of riflemen. And give the riflemen a chance to show off."

"Maybe. The Riflemen do like being able to show off, after all. Bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone... Wonder if they'd let some of the redcoats try their rifles? Could be interestin', that."

"If you can bear to let them try... I did think about a competition of rifle against musket. But even our best shots would be at a disadvantage." He grinned suddenly. "And that would not do at all."

"Wouldn't be fair. But if we gave your best shots a quick lesson in how to fire a Baker, and let them have a go, wouldn't that be better? And then see how fast the Rifles can load a musket, to make it more fair on your men?"

This could actually be quite interesting.

(OOC - I have to go to work now. See you later!)

[OOC - have a nice day, now! And we'll leave the Girandoni out of this]

Edrington gave it some thought, frowning. "I like the idea - if your men will put up with giving lessons. How many of yours will have started in the infantry? They should already be familiar with muskets - perhaps they could shoot against our men at a range set for muskets... "

He rubbed at his cheek and dislodged a flake of mud. The man with whom he had left his coat and hat eventually managed to identify him and offered them to him rather dubiously "And perhaps we should clean up. At least the General has not summoned me this evening." He smiled at the thought of reporting, just as he was.

He observed the two officers for a short while longer, deciding that his lordship had more important things to do as of the moment and thus a private's plea could wait for the morning. Which the mud could not.

Looking to Carty and seeing him otherwise preoccupied as well, he begins his way towards the river, a small limp more evident now, that the adrenalline rush has been stopped. Arriving at the river he slid his coat off and found a place to wash it first , before he hung it upon a branch and then proceeded to enter the cold, so that the mud coloured the water and he felt the chill.