Loitering at a Loose End

Hagman just nodded at Cotton's last words. He sensed the lad's annoyance about his own insecurity. He didn't quite get why Cotton felt like that, being a damn good shot and all. But than everybody had his own demons to conquere, he thought.

"So, will ya go back to ya mates then or shall we find a place where we'll get some fun for a couple of pennies? I could do with some decent brandy..."

Cotton considered. He'd already had plenty enough to drink earlier, and by rights he should head back to his mates. But then, it was still early enough in the afternoon, and it was several hours since he'd had any drink.

"I'm up for findin' a decent brandy," he said, recovering his usual cheerfulness.

Hagman's face lit at Cotton's reply. He wasn't at all in the mood to spend another afternoon sittin' 'round and just havin' Cooper and Harris as company. He liked them all right but with the Sergeant gone for God knew what reason and Perkins on duty their company could get quite dull sometimes. Cotton was more like him... or maybe rather like Perkins... there seemed to be some quiet understanding between them... them being both fairly decent shots an' all.

So the prospect of some brandy and Cotton as company and maybe even some music cheered him up immensely. He immediately increased his pace.

"All right then, let's find ourselves a tavern. Damn pity I didn't bring my fiddle... but well, one can't have everything I guess."

[I'm afraid I have to call it a day as it's already 2 in the morning... I'll be round tomorrow I hope. G'night]

Well, it looked like he'd given the right answer as Hagman increased his stride, looking for a suitable tavern. He mentioned something about wishing he'd brought his fiddle, but Cotton didn't quite catch it as they entered the taproom of a nearby tavern.

"You've got a fiddle? How d'you manage to carry round with ye on the march?" he asked as they crossed to the bar to order their drinks.

He entered the tavern first and looked 'round the dimly lit room. As it was still only afternoon the place was quite empty except for some old Portugese fellas sittting in the far corner. Making his way to a table he heard Cotton ask about the fiddle. Putting his rifle on the table he turned to find Cotton approching with two mugs of brandy.

"Course I'm not so lucky as to carry a fiddle with me all the time. But being in this damn boring place for some time now I was lucky to trade it with a poor fella for some cheep brandy. It's nothing good though and one of the strings is broken but it keeps ya in a cheerful mood during long winter nights." He turned to the table again and pulled a chair away to seat himslef on.

"Pity I'll have to part with it before we leave again cause it's no good carrying extra things 'round when marching. But now for the things at hand: to friends that watch your back!" He lifted his mug and took a deep gulp. Putting down his mug again he leaned back with a contented sigh.

Well, that made a lot of sense. Though he reckoned Hagman had probably had the best of the bargain; a fiddle would last a lot longer than a bottle of brandy would.

He accepted Hagman's offer of the first drink with a smile, and joined him at a table near the wall. "Must be nice for the others, to have someone who can scrape a tune for them," he said. In his own Company, it was the Germans who were the musical ones, which wasn't to say he and his mates didn't enjoy singing at times. "Only instrument we've got in our Company is young Joe Cavender's bugle, an' you can't sing along to that."

Hagman had to laugh on the thought of someone trying to sing along to a bugle.
"Well, the lads seem to enjoy my music most o' the time. Though I think Lieutenant Sharpe's not much of a music-man. He alsways seems to have some important business to attend to when it comes to singing." He leanded forward a bit towards Cotton and added in a lower voice "Or it's 'cause even the most deaf cannoneer would run when he joins in." A big grin spread over his face and a chuckle enscaped his throat. Yes, Richard Sharpe might be a lot of things but not an aesthete when it came to music.

Cotton had to chuckle at that picture. Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, eh? Well, if he'd brought 37 men down from up near Corunna last winter, he couldn't be all bad. "Don't have to sing to be a good soldier," he remarked, when he finally got control of himself enough to speak. "What I've seen of him, he's good enough at the important things." Not that he'd seen all that much of him, but he'd seen enough and heard more. Though there was something he was curious about.

"What's it like, really, havin' an officer who used to be in the ranks?" he asked. He'd heard things, of course, that such officers were over strict, forever having men put on punishment duty for the smallest thing, or always drunk because they couldn't take the other officers looking down on them and their own men despising them.

Hagman had leaned back in his chair again and nodded at Cottons words. Sharpe was good at the important things, damn good.
He took another sip from his brandy, thinking of the first time he had met Richard Sharpe.

"We didn't think he'll be any different from the proper officers. And him being from the ranks makin' him all snotty an' all . Ya know the stories, rankers who think they're somethin' better now, bullying everybody just because they can. But not Lieutenant Sharpe, no. Though Sergeant Harper had it bad on him." He had to grin at that memory of Harper giving Sharpe a sound beating.

"He showed us he knows how to fight dirty, it not mattering who his contestants are. But he tries to treat us fair and does the same dirty work as all o' us."

He helped himself to more brandy. "For him it's probably harder. Havin' to deal with them proper officers and being looked down on all the time. But he never seems to forget where he comes from. He's doing a damn fine job, if ya ask me."

An officer who mucked in with the ranks... now, there was something you didn't see every day. Though Vickery certainly shared the same hardships as his Company when their baggage couldn't get up to them, when it could, he had a tent and camp-bed and all. But even so, he did mess with them at times, sharing the food out of the same pot and getting to know them as individuals in a way no redcoat officer would ever do.

"Sounds like the Rifles is just the right place for him," Cotton said, wondering if he'd ever see Sharpe and the Chosen Men in action. "Shame some people won't give folks like him a proper chance to how what they can do, though."