Meeting the Green

The kettle was singing away merrily and Cotton lifted it from its hook over the fire as the door to the Captain's room opened and the lad came out from his interview with the officer.

"Hullo, there," Cotton said cheerfully. "Want a cuppa? Kettle's just this minute boiled."

"Would be nice." He'd not realised how dry his throat was, up till now. A hot cup would do good for the cold and the dryness. " Name's.. Zachary Pye,.. rifleman!" He said the last word with pride, then somewhat shyly.

"You're Cotton, the best shot of t' Peninsula."

Cotton grinned. "An' I'm Rifleman Gabriel Cotton, batman to His Nibs Captain Vickery." He was grinning as he said it. "I'm Gabe to me mates and Cotton to the officers, 'less there's trouble, which there ain't usu'lly, this here bein' a Rifle Comp'ny."

He got three tin mugs out and fished in his cartouche for some tea-leaves, dividing them between each mug before pouring on the hot water. "One for you, one for me an' one for the Captain," he said by way of explanation.

Pye nodded, unable to rid himself of a smile. Still in red he felt out of place, but not enough since he'd carried a title already. A finest shot and the only rifleman he'd heard of being flogged. Not a thought he'd want to dwell on. The discipline here was different! He grinned part in admiration to the man. " Where do you want me to put your rifle? " He asked, realising that he'd still held onto it.

"Just prop her up in the corner, would you? She'll do all right there while we have ourselves a drink. Here, wait a minut," he said and crossed the room to where Captain Vickery's campaign set was. "You ever had sugar in your tea?"

"Sugar?" He shook his head. " Never, no." He'd have wanted to of course!

He observed Cotton attentively, his eyes having had taken in the whole of the place. Darting quickly from Cotton to the contents of the room, they had then helped him walk to the corner to place the rifle carefully against it. He adjusted the angle so that it could not slip and then walked back.

"Well, here's a treat for you, then," Cotton said, fishing out the Captain's sugar store and putting a spoon in each mug. "Only for now. You'll have to drink it like the rest of us do after this." He put the sugar away and came back over. "So, what do your friends call you, then? Zack?"

"Captain don't..?" Why of course he wouldn't mind, else Cotton wouldn't be giving him that! He grinned.

"Thank you. Thanks." He nodded grateful. "Zack, Zackie..That sort of thing and anything you can come up, as long as it's no kind of food! Was Private Pye, to the officers, or just private." He lifted his gaze. "You.. , you have been a rifleman long?"

"No, Captain Vick'ry don't mind, so long as I don't do it too often, like." He grinned. "Bin a rifleman for three years, near enough, and was a redcoat afore that. I 'listed the year afore Trafalgar, see, into the 22nd." He gave the least battered mug a stir and crossed to the door of Vickery's room, slipping inside to give the officer his tea.

He came back out again and picked up his own mug. "I'm the only one in the Comp'ny who can come an' go like that." He shrugged. "Part of being his batman, that, see. And you drink that up - don't burn yourself now - and we'll go and get you so's you look like a Rifleman. How's that sound?"

"Sounds better than an officer on his good day." Pye Grinned tasting the tea carefully so as not to burn himself. He stirred it with the spoon a little, having the essence of sugar spread through the liquid, before having another taste. Sugar did make it better. A lot better. While resembling a sated cat, the youth's eyes hadn't lost their alertness.

"Been with the 33rd." He paused and indicated his coat with a grin.

"...s' real good!" He meant the tea with the sugar, before sipping more from the mug. In few gulps, once the tea wasn't as searing hot as at the time the water was poured, he'd not wasted a single grain of sugar left at the bottom. Scraping it off with the spoon as if scraping away the last bit of food clean.

"Seems you liked that," Cotton said swallowing his own tea. "Shouldn't be long afore you'm all kitted up an' lookin' like the rest of us." He threw the dregs of tea into the fire, and put his cup away. "C'me on, then," he said and picked his rifle up to sling it over his shoulder before leading the way out of the house. "Did you say, the 33rd?" he asked once they were outside.

"Yes, the 33rd Foot, ..." He tagged along light footed:" The Havercakes." He straightened a bit, placing a hand at his coat to pull it down since it had rode up some. He fell into step beside Cotton.

"You know a Sergeant, name of Hakeswill?" Cotton asked, feeling sure the answer would be 'yes'.

"...Yes, I do." A man of the 33rd that could claim never to have heard of Hakeswill would've been lying or of a memory closer to that of fish. His smile wavered.

"You might've heard a bit of what happened soon after we left Lisbon, then," Cotton said. "Fact is, I got on his bad side somehow, an' ended up goin' to the triangle for it. Got fifty lashes out of the two hundred I was s'posed to get - an' that's only 'cause Colonel Edrington's fairer than most officers. An' the Captain kept me on, too." Which probably said more about the Captain that about Cotton himself.

They arrived at Sergeant Fischer's, where the Company stores were, and Cotton explained their errand. THe Sergeant looked Pye up and down and dug around to pull out a green jacket, waist-belt, crossbelt, sword bayonet, Regimental issue dark blue trousers, a shako and all the other bits and pieces the lad would need.

Cotton indicated the corner of the building. "You get yourself changed over there, and let me know if you need help adjustin' the belt to fit you," he said.

"..Heard and seen it. But you stayed with your captain, so that's something said." Hakeswill knew his way with words when it suited him, he was also a type of character who knew his way with things when someone he'd caught a dislike to was to be made to regret it. If there had been even a slightest doubt and consideration before, meeting Cotton had given way to reason.

If Cotton's character had been in question, no officer would've even considered halting a lashing before it was completed. Atleast that's what he thought.

"What I learnt is.. ye trust what you see, n' that's it." He'd turned quiet when his new gear was discussed and held out his hands, when one by one, his kit was being laid on them. "Right , be soon back." Careful not to loose any bit and piece on the way, he'd ran for the indicated corner, and there began changing. While one pile was diminishing in size, the other began growing. He returned with but the belt in need of adjusting, with his hands full of 33rd's clothing and bits.

"Does that need to go back to the 33rd?" Of course it did, what sort of silly fool question was that?

He took the belt and pulled at it, lining up the hole with the sliding adjuster and forcing its pin in, so it wouldn't pull out again.

"Try that for size," he said. "And y'might want to keep a hand on the hilt of your sword, stop it fr'm tanglin' your legs up and sendin' you head over heels."

"Yes, don't think they'd take it lightly if kept a pair." If they had, it could have done excellent as a pillow or something to keep a lad warm during the night.

Taking the belt he tried it on for size. He looked at the newly obtained 'sword' noting Cotton's advice and grinning at him rather gratefully. "That jus' saved me, I hope. Why do we have these?" There, he said it, he'd been itching to do so.

"'Cause a Baker rifle is shorter than your old Bess, an' so the bayonet's got to be longer to give you the same reach when you'm in square if'n there's cavalry aroun'. An' it's fair useful for chopping things with, once you get used the length and weight of it."

He had a quick word with Sergeant Fischer, who nodded and took the various bits and pices of Pye's old kit as he handed them over. "Is there any'thin you want out of you old stuff? You ain't left anythin' in the pockets or summat like that, have you?" he asked, to make sure.

He shook his head in response. All the shifting had been done just after he'd changed, and even those few of the sewn in pockets had been relieved of their burden which wasn't to leave with the coat. "All empty."

He nodded an affirmative. More shyly, yet cheerfully he had added:" And now, we're going for the Baker?"

"Aye, we are. Sergeant Müller's the one we need to see about that. And cartridges, of course. You get sixty for the cartridge box, and twenty for the pouch on your belt, plus powder for your horn. Seems a lot, but it isn't, really. Not considerin' we'm in front if the column meets anythin' on the march."

Cotton grinned and handed the rest of the stuff over to Sergeant Fischer. "Come on, then. He's only round the corner, and Sar'nt Fischer'll make sure your stuff gets back to the 33rd, no problem."

"Coming!" He'd made the calculations of how many cartridges that would be, along with the horn, which didn't exactly give him a number, but it did give him an amount of the powder that could fill it. He didn't worry about his former kit. It would certainly be delievered to the right address, which no longer concerned him.

"Why did you join the rifles?" He asked, curiosity mixed with the excitement. He'd known for himself, and more than once that day he could say, he was very glad he'd made the choice. No more Hakeswill too, for that matter.

"Have you run out of powder and ball before?" He asked.

"Me? I was in the Light Comp'ny an' we got a new Captain. Ab' he calls me in one day an' says he's bin watchin' me, and the Rifles are recruitin', what did I think about mebbe joinin' them? Well, I didn't hardly know nothin' about them, so tells me a bit, and says to think about it, an' next thing I know I'm in a green jacket and batman to me comp'ny officer."

He shrugged. "Well, that's officers for you." He shrugged at Pye's next question. "No, though it's been close before now. The powder in the horn and the loose balls are for when you want to be really accurate. Means it takes longer to load, but it's better powder so it'll be better to fire."

He nodded, taking in each and every word that Cotton had shared with him. Vickery had told him to learn and he would, at best, as soon as he could! He smiled glancing down at his coat. There was a bit of red left, on the collar and cuffs, but with all the rest, his uniform was a tad harder to spot.

He looked up: " You've learned to fire that well,..." He thought back on the competition: " ...all while being with the rifles?" He felt the day couldn't have been better. A cheerful step had him without a worry in the world and adapting rather quickly to the new ways.

Word spread quickly around the camp about anything interesting going on. The news that there was a redcoat gone to see Captain Vickery passed from man to man faster than wildfire. Joe Newbury heard the story from Ben Jacklin, who'd heard it from Zeb Palmer, who'd been standing near enough to Captain Vickery's billet to see the entire thing.

A redcoat in to see Captain Vickery. Newbury roused himself up from where he'd been sprawled on his blanket, not bothering to stifle a curse as the stitches in his side pulled painfully. Jacklin had mentioned that the redcoat's facings had been scarlet, which instantly made him suspect. A man of that damned 33rd had little business near the 60th's camp. Not after what had happened to Cotton.

He shrugged his jacket on half-heartedly and picked up his rifle, grimacing at the twinge of pain from his side as he moved just a little too sharply. Damn but it hurt worse now that the sawbones had seen and prodded it. There was Cotton and another Rifleman, heading toward Sergeant Müller's wagon.

"Hey, Cotton!" Newbury called out, crossing the ground toward the pair.