Fifth Night in Camp

Edrington wrote:Edrington rubbed at mud on his chin. "I mind about a man's past - but not about his birth. You've made your own past now, and it shows you can do the job. You've had to fight your way up, and it shows. But - I'm not saying it's the same thing at all - I have to show I can do my job. Fighting my way down, you could say."

"I reckon you've got it easier'n me, though. The men don't like an officer from t'ranks, neither. They like their officers to be born privileged, with money an' that. You wouldn't believe what I had to do to get the lads down to Lisbon safe."

He felt a chill, well greater than the one he was feeling now, all wet n' cold. He cursed himself inwardly for not being present when the trial and flogging had commenced. In such a way he might've remembered the face better.

"Certainly, shouldn't be a problem." He answered and motioned for Harris to take lead, and so he would follow. "Where do I start?" He sat at the bank, and brough both of his legs forward , while he leaned back on his hands. "Bella, that's whom I currently ride, had her bowels stirred a good deal. Been feeling poor and agitated the whole morning. Had to have her take a proper medicine to ease her up."

He brought a leg up higher, and rested it flat against the floor, wrinsing at the edge of his trousers. "So after she was given it, we've had her walking it off. Have her bowels moving so she'd purge herself." He grinned, though his voice was quiet enough that no officer could hear it. "Did stop right infront of that lieutenant. Mind, not intentionaly at all. She should've still had time ter spend on the move too."

Edrington nodded. "I didn't mean to imply I haven't had it easier - and the men do love a Lord." He glanced sideways at Sharpe. "Many of them do - but not all, I suspect. And I like to think that I can change that." Further down the bank the men were dipping themselves or their clothes in the dark river. Edrington sat on the bank to remove his boots, folding his coat carefully and placed his hat on top. "But I would be interested in hearing about your journey down to Lisbon. I imagine it would have been - difficult at the best of times, and winter was not that."

"Dear God! She was being purged?" Harris could not keep the amusement from his voice. The story had travelled swiftly, but only in the most abbreviated form. "Carry on, Willoughby. I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."

Carty had been unable to follow much of Willoughby's story, and the obvious amusement in Harris' voice only made him feel more frustrated. "What happen? Harris?"

"Willoughby's horse crapped on Lieutenant Waldegrave," Harris said seriously, on the assumption that all those words would be known to Carty - well, maybe not all. But knowing the riflemen, they would have taught him that.

"It was easier once I'd got Sergeant Harper on my side. Though he wasn't a Sergeant at the time, and I'd had to fight him for it. Proper fight... got his respect though, and the men's. And then someone taught me about rules. Keep them simple, and let the men know what you expect of them. So I got me three rules. And... and I trust 'em. Which most born officers don't seem to."

He shrugged, and sat to pull his boots off. "It's hard work, learnin' how to do it, but I've got the best men in the Army. An' I reckon they might be startin' to like me, a bit."

"The horse? On that..." Carty looked at Willoughby, scarcely daring to believe it, a look of mingled shock and hilarity and terrified delight on his face.

He nodded just barely keeping a chuckle in line. The sergeant had given him a good scolding, but no matter how much he thought about it, it still was amusing! "Yes. So you see. She's been standing there and he's standing right behind her, but atleast a few paces away. So she starts moving back. Oh that's nothing bad ye'd think. And neither did we. So we stop her, and he's.. well he's been right annoyed at her and at me. " he couldn't help but grin. " So he looks away distracted by something. The lass. First she flicks her tail at him.. like she was swatting a fly and then..." He shook his head again. "Her aim.. eh, we could've tried, n' we couldn't have set her as spot on as she had herself standing." So, there he was grinning. It wasn't his fault his horse thought it right to take matters into her own .. hooves.

"When it was all done, he was dripping and smelling terribly foul." He made a gesture to his nose, to conclude that even a thought of it, would bring the smelly back. If this man had been an officer, he knew he would never dare tell of his adventure. But the man felt likeable, wasn't an officer and he disliked the lieutenant as much as he himself did.

"I must say,.. I was surprised how calm he was. Wouldn't know if it happened to him before, mind." He shrugged. " There he's jus' demanded his coat cleaned. Didn't really get the smell out, or much of the staining, but what can you do." He then looked a tad bit uncomfortable and did not fully finish. Shouldn't have said no to an officer, even if he were demanding to wipe those boots clean with his very own pelisse. He smiled at Carty and nodded again:" Yep. Crapped, like 'twas dooms day."

"They seem to do that, and to trust you in return. So you must have learned well. But - " Sharpe had been a lieutenant for over fiver years - surely he should have learned enough about commanding men before that. "Whose Company were you in before you were separated from the 95th?" he asked curiously.

"Did you get that, Carty?" Harris asked, and turned to the Hussar. "He's still learning English - so I may have to cut it back to its essentials. But it's a good story, and will be all round the Division by morning - some of the lads got it from one of the 27th's boys. And of course, you are the only Hussar we have with us, so it was easy to guess that it was you." He stared at the youngster for a moment. "He didn't put you on a charge, or anything like that? That must be an offence, surely." Or perhaps they were right, and Waldegrave was aiming his spite directly at the riflemen, and did not want to waste time on a lone Hussar.

"Go right ahead. And if he.." He paused and looked at Carty smiling:" If there is anything you would like to ask, shoot." He paused at the choice of his words."I mean,... ask."

Then he turned his attention again to the big rifleman who looked amused and contemplative all at the same time.

"Well.. no, he didn't. He did say I'll be worst of once we meet with my troop. But.. he's just demanded the cleaning. Nothing more." Here was, where it got tricky and confusing. Not only did Waldegrave leave without much than words of spite, and an attempt at a humiliation, but though he openly disobeyed an order, he was spared even that.

"Must've been enough for him just standing there, smelling like that, I guess."

Edrington wrote:"They seem to do that, and to trust you in return. So you must have learned well. But - " Sharpe had been a lieutenant for over fiver years - surely he should have learned enough about commanding men before that. "Whose Company were you in before you were separated from the 95th?" he asked curiously.

"I'm from the ranks... I was a Quartermaster. They don't make men like me into proper officers, in charge of the men," he said, tamping down on the bitterness he still felt over that. It was hardly Edrington's fault, that, after all.

That explained it, thought Edrington. "I could understand it, if you had been promoted because of your expertise with stores - but you earned your promotion on the battlefield, surely, not ordering blankets and cross-belts." He grinned. "We'll make better use of you than that," he promised.

"He'll get his own back," Harris was quite positive about this. "What happened - he wouldn't want that to go onto the court martial record, sent to the Judge Advocate, to Horse Guards, even. Think of all those clerks reading it and for the rest of time, they'd talk of a horse doing a Waldegrave all over someone. And snigger." A quick brain, Waldegrave, even if his conclusions were warped. "So he takes no action over that, and later, when you least expect it, he'll have you on some flogging charge which leaves him..." He grinned, "smelling of roses."

"I c'n sign me name, and count to ten. Where else would they put me? Nobody wants an officer from the ranks, not really." He sighed. "I want me Captaincy, and there's only one way I can get it - by fightin'. You can afford to buy your way up, bein' an Earl an' all, and you've done well f'r yourself. But me? I have to fight for every step I get."

He grinned. "Even had to fight for me Sergeant's stripes, back in India."

(OOC - Time for this Rifleman to find bed...)

"Smart thinkin'. You're right." A flogging was nothing to grin about in his opinion but the logic of the rifleman made more sense than anything he could've come up with. Ofcourse, the lieutenant didn't want to get such a fame and be put into an expression which would never die, never be forgotten.

"..must say, it's true what they tell you." He grinned at Harris:" The riflemen really are a class of it's own." Yes, smarter in some ways than many of the soldiers one would meet. "You don't suppose he'd hold a grudge till he finds satisfaction, do you?" He began to scrub at his other boot, as his first finally regained some of it's luster.

(OOC - claims the first bed in sight XD and also goes sleeping)

Edrington swore. "I wouldn't have you as Quartermaster, Sharpe. I expect good records and accurate book-keeping, and if you seriously mean that you... You don't mean it literally." He hoped that was right. "I won't say you're not right - the regiments don't want officers from the ranks, normally. And even once you're in you have difficulties - it isn't cheap being an officer. I've been a charge on my estate since 1792, and I doubt if I will ever make a profit. If you don't have something to charge the costs against, you are always in debt or - forgive me - scruffy. "

He sighed and slid down the bank to stand in the strong cold current. From somewhere light shone on the river, picking out ripples in red, and gold and a sombre purple "I was born to it, Sharpe. I buy my way up, but I work for it once I have it. And before I get it.

"My grandfather fought at Fontenoy, and Culloden, and his last battle was Minden. His father was at the Boyne and Malplaquet. My father died in an ambush in the American Rebellion, as a Major. I was two years old." For a moment he met Sharpe's eyes. "Getting in and getting on was easy for me, Sharpe, but there is still something to worry even me." He reached out a hand in case Sharpe wanted help on the bank.

Sharpe grinned at the reaction his words had provoked in the Colonel. "'Course I was jokin'. Can count to twenty, easy and read proper-like. Learned in a cell in India."

He took the offered hand. "Thanks. And even joinin' a new regiment, you've got it easier. You've got the money, as you say, and I don't reckon you ever had to learn to command, like I did. Givin' orders is easy, but that ain't commandin'." He grinned at the man. "Such a lot of famous battles your family's fought in. Me, I've just got to worry about meself. Make a name for meself, an' hope it's a good one. That's what happens when you're born in a brothel - you never know your father."

Edrington bent over to duck his head under the water, and rubbed his face clean. He ran his fingers through his hair, to rid it of mud, and pushed it back from his face as he looked up. "I was - theoretically - head of my family at the age of two. I believe they ignored my orders for a few years after that, but ... even then I was taught how to command."

He thought. "You have to earn your Captaincy, you're right. And do it in plain sight - or as plain sight as the rifles can manage. Purchase - even if you could afford it - wouldn't do at all. Seniority might not take that long, but would do nothing to increase your acceptance. I could start sending you into positions of maximum danger, or when we attack the French, you could volunteer for a Forlorn Hope? Or would you prefer to survive?"

Guess that had been a fool's question. That lieutenant looked like he could not have forgiven loosing a game when he were a child, let alone a good fair dung bath. This was the reason why sergeant Grey had told him to gather his papers before they met with the 15th. Even with those papers his motifs could still have been questioned and for a moment he wondered about his prospects and cursed the French for coming across their path on that cursed day.

"A fine game it was today." He spoke instead. "Hope there's no hard feelings for the mud. " He smiled politely. His speech was less muffled, words not bitten down into fragments of their former self.

"Don't seem to have much trouble surviving. Helped blow a mine, once, in India."

He splashed water on is face, then ducked his head right under the surface and rubbed at the mud in his hair. He surfaced again a moment later.

"Seems silly to be talking like this and then for you to go callin' me Lieutenant in private. or even Sharpe. D'you... d'you think you might call me Richard? Just, y'know, in private, like."

Harris brought his head up, rubbing at the red hair. "It was a good game, and I'm not one to bear a grudge - not for a fair contest." He removed his shirt and began to wring it out.

"I don't know Waldegrave," he said consideringly. "We've been attached to the 62nd for less than a week, and I've only seen him the once. I would not want you to take what I say, and count it as evidence. Speculation, that's all it is. But I've seen his sort before, officers and men. Spiteful and unforgiving, I'd say. I have to admit that even I would want to have my revenge for what your horse did to him."

"Wouldn't hold it against you." He placed his left boot to the side and inspected the sole of his right. Tilting it over and around, he looked fairly satisfied and placed it beside the left. Which he picked up again and began to pull it on, wiggling his foot to get it in easier.

"It's not as if I'd planned to soil an officer. You, I thought of getting into the mud, fair competition in mind, of course." Smiles in a goodnatured fashion. "But Lieutenant Waldegrave, I would have been seriously hating my life if I wanted that." He shrugged and began to pull his next boot on, bitting at his lip when it pressed against his injured ankle. Managing to pull it through to the sole he sighed with relief. " I'll trust your word. Better be safe than be sorry strapped and naked to the waist."

"I could," Edrington agreed. He grinned. "My friends call me Edrington," he said, "although some of them stick with Colonel." He did not add that even his brother called him Edrington, and his Mama's letters began 'My dearest Edrington' with 'Thomas' reserved for serious ill-health. Only one person called him Thomas.