Meeting the Green

"Ye'um not t' same. Your officers don't flog." He answered with a smile followed by a small nod.

"He asked 'bout t' writin'. Couldn't say I ever learnt. Don't understand wot's all 'bout t' scribllin'. How you can know what's there's beyon' me too." He shook his head.

He'd halted again when they reached the door and looked back at Cotton. "Ye'um sure they don't?" He asked only half serious and stole a glimpse at the entrance and what lay beyond it.

Then taking a brave step forward, he entered.

"He ain't flogged anyone yet, which don't mean he won't. He'll just try every which way he can think of to punish first, afore he can't do anythin' else." He shrugged. "Ain't anybody likely to push him that far, neither, though. An' as for the writin', it's as much as I can do to 'member what it all means, too. Like I said, i can only just write me name. Learned it the day I was flogged. Was all laid up in the surgeon's wagon an' Maggie showed it me."

He led the way into the house to find that Tom Roper and Joe Cavender were the only ones home. Young Cavender looked up from rubbing at his bugle. "Hullo, Gabe," he said and fell silent as he saw the newcomer.

He'd remembered the flogging. How the trial went against this man's favour, but try as he might, he couldn't point a finger at him now and think him guilty. That's what it probably was too. The officers listening to the wrong type of mouths.

He looked at Cavender and dropped his gaze.".. Hey. " He began. " I'um Zachary Pye." He held his hand out. They didn't bite after all, he hoped.

Cavender looked a little shy, but he followed Roper, who shook his hand. "Tom Roper, Chosen Man," he said, grinning. "That's a bit like a Lance Corporal in the 60th, though it means different in the 95th. This here's our bugler, Joe Cavender. And the kettle's just boiled if you want a drink, Gabe."

Cavender shook Pye's hand too, deciding he was probably all right - he was wearing the right jacket, anyway. "Are you new?" he asked - the jacket certainly didn't look worn and faded the jackets of the other Riflemen.

Cotton grinned and pulled out his mug, holding a hand out for Pye's.

He held out his mug and nodded quickly at the question. "Aye. Jus' joined t'day. T' rifles that is." He smiled, hoping that it would be understood - and probably would be anyhow.

"A couple of hours ago, is it, Gabe?" He looked back at the man.

"Jus'..tried my.. my lass." He said more hesitant, lowering his rifle, resting it against the ground.

"Aye, summat like that. And there's water enough for you clean her out with an' all. After all, treat your rifle right, an' she'll treat you right." Cotton poured hot water into each mug and brought Pye's over to him.

Cavender was looking at him, wide-eyed. "I want a rifle an' all, but Mister Vick'ry won't let me till I'm sixteen. An' that ain't for two years yet. Was it good, firin' her, like?"

"Thankee, Gabe." He took the mug, careful not to burn himself with the hot water.

He grinned at Cavender, replying as expected. "Was great, it was! She's kickin' back a lil' but you hold her right, n' she'll behave near like a lady! Still has some flame in 'er always of course." He nodded. Cavender's reaction and question had just hit the right spot, and though still shy, if he could talk about something he'd enjoyed, liked and was excited about, he felt more at ease.

"You'll love it, I'um sure. Jus' know t' pick the right one. Like Gabe 'ere said ter me 'fterwards!"

"Ain't never fired a rifle," Cavender said. "Though I will one day. Ever'one says so. Got me bugle, though." He held it up for Pye to see.

Cotton ruffled the lad's dark curls. "We'm goin' to be lost without you tellin' us what's a-doin'," he said. "An' you might decide to stick with the bugle anyways, even after you turn sixteen."

Pye looked at the bugle with interest. "s' a fine thing you got there too! Mighty important for.. us." So it seemed. He'd have to learn what the bugle calls meant anyway.

Cavender buried his grin in his mug of tea.

Cotton nodded. "Like anythin', officers have to be able to pass on orders on the battlefield. In a redcoat regiment, they use drums. In the Rifles, we have buglers, like Joe here. It's pretty simple to learn it all. Like I said earlier, you just follow the rest of us."

"Easier said n' done, with all t' green. Need t' get used ter lookin' fer smaller bits o' red now." He indicated the cuffs and collar. "Else I migh' be standin' right beside ye all n' thinkin' I'm on me own." He felt his cheeks hot a little, and lifted his mug, to hide it.

"How'um...long ye been with 'em?" He looked at Cavender. The youth didn't look, if age be judged, to have been able to be there for too long.

"Me? Since not long afore Christmas. Dad was killed at Vimeiro and Mam took up with someone else, an' neither of 'em didn't want me." The boy shrugged.

"So we took him in, an' the Captain made him his bugler. Ain't that right, Joe?"

Cavender nodded.

"He's our good-luck charm, is Joe Cavender. Ain't you?" Cotton grinned as Cavender flushed pink.

"I'll 'ave ter stick by you. Ain't nothin' better than good luck." He smiled at the boy, chuckling as he watched the boy blush with all the talk about him. He didn't know what a family was, having not had one himself, but guessed that this was as good as it could get. Made him grin again right then.

This was as near a family as Cotton had had since leaving home five years before.

He propped his rifle up in the corner and found himself a seat. "Why don't you come an' sit down here, Zack, an' mebbe tell us a bit about yourself?" he said, cupping his hands around his mug of tea

"Sure." Pye moved over to the little circle forming, taking a seat, with his rifle in one hand and the mug in his other. Propping his lass against his leg, making sure she couldn't fall, he leaned back a little on one arm.

"Wot' d' ye want ter know?" He asked taking a sip from his mug. The tea had cooled just enough to keep his tongue from getting an unpleasant surprise and burn, but not too much that it wouldn't be comfortably hot.

"Anythin' you want t'tell us. Where you come from, why you joined the Army, how long have you been in. That sort of thing." Cotton took a sip of tea and smiled reassuringly at the new Rifleman. "You don't have to tell us anythin', or you can tell us everythin'. We just want to get to know you a bit, that's all."

" Alright." Was fair, and it wasn't as if there was anything to hide. Not really. So where could he start? Well first question was just as well. "Hail from London' abouts'..dunno who me mam or pa were." He shrugged. "Coud say miss Streets n' Mr. Alleys." He smiled and lifted his rifle up a little.

"Spent part a time in t' orphanage, enough t' get meself a name. They did good on that." He grinned.

"So why'd you join up?" Roper asked, though it was pretty obvious why, of course. "And how long've you bin in the Army now?"

They were all paying attention, wanting to get to know Pye, as Cotton had said. And there was nothing wrong with coming from the sort of background he had. There were rumours that Lieutenant Sharpe, of the 95th, had that same sort of story, too.

"..Well ..not quite joined up. " He looked at Roper. "Wos' jus' fine livin' by t' by out in t' .. uh country like, later." He glanced at Cotton when saying that.

"..but anyhow. Got meself at a wrong place at a wrong time. Been seeing they were willing t' give some free feed n' drink.. lots of t' later. T' next mornin' I'been woke up n' told I signed." Didn't need to say what his reaction had been, nor what had followed that.

"Been innit, since." He tried to add up the years but came up with several different numbers in the few tries. " 'couple o' years." He shook his head. "Don't remember quite how long."

"And now you'm with us," Cotton said. "It'll be the best choice you ever made, I promise. Though things might seem a bit strange at first, but you'll get used to 'em real quick." He grinned and rested his arm outstretched on the table, though he still kept hold of his mug with his other hand.

"You got anythin' you want to know about us, or how we do things or... well, anythin'?" he asked, slightly surprised Pye hadn't been asking questions non-stop since they left the Captain's billet.

"Aye. Yes, if I may. 's a first, wot' kin' of questions I can't ask n'all?" Though his mind had been filled with questions, and more on the way, he had been shy to ask as much as he could've. Now, with the opportunity ripe and an offer given, he thought he could try and hope they didn't think bad of him later.

"Well, a firs'. Ye'um really catchin' rabbits were supper when ye can? N'...whats' capn' Vickery's mind on t' free roamin' farm life? N' s' your marchin' different much from how we do it? S' it 'ard ter do it?.. I'um seen ye sumtime, but bein' that we'um marchin' too I couldn't right go off an look at it better!" Well, Cotton and the lot might well regret giving him this chance.

"N' there any special rules 'bout t' eatin' time like? S' a different way ter clean a rifle to cleanin' a musket? " He halted, knowing that if he were to continue asking, they might well forget what all he had wanted to know and, with a sinking feeling, he feared he'd been too excited in grasping the opportunity.

Cotton grinned and held up a hand. "Hey, hey, one at a time! Aye, we do catch rabbits when we can. There ain't no private estates an' things here like there are in England, so it ain't stealin', so the Captain don't mind it., though if belong to folks, you can't take it 'cause that'd be stealin'." He had a mouthful of tea. "We march faster than the rest of you, though it ain't by much. We do a hunnerd an' twenty paces a minute, the quick march, and the rest of you's do seventy-five, which is ordinary time."

He took a breath. "If we'm marchin' at seven, we need to be on parade before that, at about half-past six o'clock, which means gettin' up at five if you want a cup o' tea with your breakfast. Dependin' on how far we'm marchin' or whatever, we eat at noon. Usu'lly a bite o' bread and whatever's stowed in your haversack. You get a proper cooked meal when we get into camp, though everyone helps in gettin' firewood and all that sort of thing. An' that's ration beef and whatever else we can scuff up. And no, cleanin' a rifle's just the same as cleanin' a musket, 'cept the lock's a bit smaller, like."

He swallowed half of the tea that remained in his cup, and grinned. "Next bunch o' questions, then."

He'd been listening so attentively that it would've probably been no surprise if he'd not noticed if Napoleon himself might've paraded past them. He nodded a couple of times, imagined how fast they might go, and wondered if he could keep up. These men were possibly much fitter but he'd give his all even if it meant dropping right where he was standing when all was set and done.

He grinned, taking a few sips first, to keep his mouth from drying when the next questions would come: "Wot' if is a deserted town like? Then is all wild, or no? N'..wot' d' ye do.. if sumone's too tired n' falls out.. like ye know, when we march un there's one 'ere or there who can't do it no more? N'.what 'appens... if ye'um thirsty or sumthin' durin' t' march, n' yer not havin' any water on ye?"

It were silly questions like that, but he was pretty much coming up with them as he went, almost as if afraid that such a day couldn't come again. "How much practice d' ye need ter get t' shoot a target square center at 100, n' 300?.. n' so?" He looked attentively at Cotton.

"Where do we normally sleep, 's same as with t' Foot?" He flushed a soft red.

Cotton blinked. "Ain't come across a deserted town like that'n, to know, though I think it'd be the same as any other place. And if a man needs to fall out, he has to get a ticket from the Captain, and then he's to make his own way into camp. And try and keep your canteen full. Fill it up the night before you march, fill it up when you can from a stream or whatever on a break and don't drink it all at once. And campin' we do 'zackly the same as any other regiment does."

He shrugged. "You practice. And practice. An' practice more. An' 'member the rules I told you earlier. 'Member them and you'll get so good you could knock the head off a mouse at a hunnerd yards."

He got up to put the kettle back on, before sitting down again.

"A ticket?" He blinked. "What c'n ye say t' get t' ticket.. I mean, fer wot' things can ye ask fer it?" He tried to make notes on what he'd already asked and of course, what he had learned so far. His mind was scattered and had been going back and forth with the questions and topics which had made him wonder.

"knock t' head of a mouse at a hundred yards? That would be a fine one!" He grinned. "Um..."What else did he want to know about? "Um.." This one could as well turn out to sound silly. "...Why'um do we have so many buttons on our coats?.. s' plenty more than any redcoat. That."