OPORTO, 22nd May - The Seminary

The barges were returning - there had been what seemed to those on the south bank to be an interminable delay while the barges were refloated, and the volunteer watermen began to learn how to handle the ungainly craft.

The Rifles officers were ready to usher their men aboard - all of them aware of what they must do once they were across.

Harper was becoming impatient; he wanted to get this over and done with. He knew there were procedures and men to organise and no doubt a variety of other tasks he would not be involved in, but right now he simply wanted to march up to the seminary with his men and take it.

The small rag-tag of the 95th had filled one barge, and overflowed onto a second, where the Britishers from the 5/60th were joining them. The other two barges were already filled with the rest of the the company, but Hans Breitmann could not find a place on them. He growled at Rifleman Stubenrauch, who had taken the last place on what he thought of as the German boats, and he and a dozen or more joined the Captain and the others. Mr Sharpe's boat was already in the stream, heading back to the north shore - the barge next to him was being pushed out into the current, and he could hear the slightly mocking comments, in Schwabish, and Swiss German, and in the blocked-nose tones of Hans Mommsen, from the flat northern country.

At last, their boat was sent off, and the oarsmen - all Hummer - were pulling them across. He checked his rifle and caught the eye of one of the other passengers.

A portion of the riflemen of the 95th and the 60th were shepherded into one or more of the boats as more were being filled and ready to leave their bank. The rifles were kept away from the water, while the men scanned the landscape spread out before them. Pye spared a curious glance at one of the 95th, noting his uniform as green and black with a white lining as opposed to theirs, which were green and red collared. There were other details, differences that were noticeable at first glance, but it wasn't to discover those. The land would not be void of the French for long, nor void of resistance.

Back on the south bank Padstowe watched mutely with Paget as the Rifles made their landing successfully, and the barges were floated and came across to pick up their first passengers. General Paget nodded to Padstowe, smiling as he boarded - his two personal staff officers following - along with the choice shots of the Rifles. Padstowe yearned to go across himself, yet there was not much he could do in an assault with only one working arm. A pistol's shot, even a rifled pistol, would not be of much use here.

The journey across seemed to go more or less without an unexpected event. Less chatter in the shared boat. A final check of the rifle, more a glance at it, the weapon neat, clean and ready for action, their bayonet swords at their sides, for something up closer.

Edrington stood back, waiting to greet Paget and his staff officers, as Sharpe and the riflemen from the first barge came up the steps in a rush, joined by Harper, Harris, Tongue and Tartt. They ran into the Seminary itself, empty of anything but pigeons, and closed the big iron gate opening into the Vallongo road. The second barge landed, and 30 riflemen from Captain Vickery's regiment followed them in, with Jaeger leading like an eager young hound. They spread themselves along the line of the garden wall, building a firing platform from earth and wood so they could fire over the coping stones on the top.

"Our first objective," Edrington said calmly, as the men of his battalion pushed the barges back out into the river, to return to the north side and bring more men across. He cast a concerned look downstream, but there was still no sign of the French.

The third barge landed and the Riflemen, 95th mixed with the British 60th came rushing up the steps. Rifles were slung over their shoulders, and a hand pressed their bayonet swords to their side to prevent them from swinging about wildly, or tangling with their or another's feet. Pye followed, skipping a step at a time, and sometimes two.

Efficiently and right on cue the 60th began and some continued to work at the walls. A group was heaving earth as another kept bringing more wood to add against the tall wall.

Pye stole a glance over the wall at the surrounding land, and then made himself useful by helping Braun and Schreiber as a heavier log was propped up and then supported by a mound of earth. He turned on his heel and ended up shoveling up some of the earth with Palmer.

The barges were crossing steadily now, like buckets on a chain, bringing more of Edrington's 62nd to the seminary, so that the building and garden were now seething with soldiers, mingling red and green. Edrington glanced at his watch - an hour, or more, since the first riflemen had stepped ashore, and still there had been no attack. No sign even that the French knew they were crossing, although they could surely see this building from Oporto. Soon, whether the French had seen them or not, they would have to move out from the shelter of hte Seminary.

Another barge docked and he stepped out of the way of the men, from Captain Simmonds company, with Lieutenant Waldegrave. "Go and form up," he said. "We won't have long to wait."

The work was nearly complete. The walls prepared for the men to fire from, standing securely behind it. Hands were wiped, and the last of the piles completed.

"The Frogs are late... or blind. "

"Or both."

" They'll be coming."

" And we'll be ready."

There were other versions of conversation in German as well as in English. Pye checked on his rifle, making sure no dirt had come to it. He shifted on his foot a little bit nervously. The barges were still coming and the redcoats were mixing with the green, for now.

Harper watched the activity of the British outside the walls of the seminary. There was no doubt in his mind that the French were watching just as he was, it was only a matter of time before they took action.

At least the British were prepared.

"'scuse me, .." He looked at the marks on Harper's sleeve and nodded quickly. "Sarg'nt."

Wasn't theirs. He'd been sent for another log of wood just when it looked as if the work had been completed. Hence why the rifle's been there all checked up. Went in to ask if there was anything of use.

Seeing the large man standing beside the choice wood, had the boy gulp. Big, dark, serious looking man. But he just needed to come around him and get that. Easy enough, till you had to do it.

Harper glanced down at the boy standing beside him, clearly dithering at his elbow.

"What's your problem, soldier?"

"..N..nothing, sarg'nt." He looked up, then quickly dropped his gaze, thinking he'd just overstepped some invisible boundary or done something he oughn't have. ".. May.. I need .. er we need that for the .. the fenc..er wall." He had yet to figure how he would heft it up all by himself, but that was for later.

Harper followed his gaze to the wooden logs behind him.

"Someone sent you for the wood? Why didn't you just say so?" He easily lifted one of the largest logs & dumped it into the boy's arms.

Pye had only time to gasp - the man was just as strong as he looked! - before the log was dumped and he managed to hold it up a moment before he came crashing down with the weight of it.

"Thank.. you." His cheeks were burning red in embarrassment as he tried to get the log up and himself back to his feet. Great, Pye. Just great!

Harper chuckled, relieving the boy of the weight - the Irishman hefted it under his arm and pointed the boy in the direction of the pile. "Grab yourself another one boy, then show me where we're going."

"Yes sarg'nt!" He dusted himself once and quickly picked a log befitting his size and strength. It was funny, he reckoned and smiled. " Here, this way." He hurried to lead. "Jus' need a few more. " And he shut himself up. Nobody needed a blabbering fool.

Harper shook his head; it never ceased to amaze him how the British would recruit anyone and everyone into their army, no matter how young. This boy looked like a strong breeze might blow him over and into a ditch, but for his credit, he was eager enough.

"T' Frogs will run, won't they? Jus' seein' all this." He sounded excited, but still wary that he might not leave a wrong impression. The sergeant looked big enough he might heave him over the wall, rifle and all kit included, with one arm only and he didn't think that would be a good thing.

The log in his arms began to slip a little so he pushed it up, adjusting his hold. He glanced at the sergeant again. A rifleman but almost too large - in his mind - to be one.

"They might," no point in dashing his hopes entirely. "They like to fight though, the Frogs do." Harper watched the boy struggle with the wood, and hoped he handled a weapon with more skill.

"They do. Though they ran last time. Over scrub n' thorn." Though that was the simplest way of saying it. Someone with more knowledge on the greater strategies of man might have understood that their retreat had been organised perhaps.

"Don't matter. We'll show 'em!" His excitement at that was infectious and grand even if he might have shown anything but promise of ability to.

"Course we will, lad."

Harper followed the soldier to where they were piling up the logs, dropping his to the ground beside the pile.

The 60th working on that portion of the wall, took the logs brought and began to patch and prepare the final section of the wall. The others have retreated to observe, both the newly arrived with the boat and the land that ought soon to fill up with moving targets. His red collar stood out compared with the more faded sort of the other riflemen.

He dropped his own log onto the pile and stepped aside as it was taken. He couldn't just strike a conversation with a sergeant, even if of a different troop, so the awkward silence continued for sometime longer, the youth turning to head for another log and waiting a moment to see if the sergeant would come too. A silly thought, but anyhow.

"You after many more? There's a fair stash of them back there, may as well take what you can." Harper matched the boy's pace easily, his long strides outreaching the young soldier's.