CHAPTER 6
In the morning Sergeant Horatio Havercamp had thirty-four men, the last few brought in by the whores whom he had brought from London and who were paid to dazzle young men with unfamiliar spirits and flesh. Twenty-eight of his men were guarded in the barn outside of town, while the nine new recruits were in the Green Man's stable.
'On your feet, lads! On your feet! Sergeant Havercamp was still genial, for none of these nine recruits were in the bag yet, even though they did have the King's Shilling. 'Come on, lads! Up!
A man in a long, brown, woollen coat and with a tall, brown hat stood next to the Sergeant. His nose dripped. He coughed with a cavernous, retching cough that, each time it exploded in his chest, made him groan afterwards with a hopeless, dying moan. He went round the stable, peering at each man, sometimes asking them to lift up a leg. It was the quickest medical inspection Sharpe had ever seen, and when it was done the doctor was given a handful of coins. Sergeant Havercamp clapped his hands as the doctor left. 'Right, lads! Follow me! Breakfast!
The two corporals, magically transformed into redcoats with tall, black shakoes, helped hustle the nine men towards the inn. It was not fully light yet. A cock crowed in the yard and a maid carried a clanking pail from the pump.
'In here, lads!
It was not for breakfast. Instead, a magistrate waited in the public room, a grey-haired, savage faced, irascible man with pinched cheeks and a red nose. A clerk sat next to him with a stack of papers, a pot of ink, a quill, and a pile of bank notes.
'Right! Let's see you lively! Sergeant Havercamp whisked them forward one by one, chivvied them to the table, and stood over them as they were sworn in. Only three of the recruits, one of them the quiet young man in his broadcloth coat, could write.
The others, like Sharpe and Harper, made crosses on the paper. Sharpe noticed that the doctor had already signed the forms, presumably before he came out to the stable to glance at the recruits. He noticed, too, that no one offered the recruits the chance of a seven-year engagement; it was simply not mentioned. The form, that he pretended he could not read, was headed 'Unlimited Service'.
He put his cross in the place the clerk showed him. 'I,
The magistrate took the paper and scribbled his own name on it. 'I,
Sharpe noticed that, although the clerk filled in the personal details of each man as they stood at the table, and though the magistrate's blanks were all filled, strangely the South Essex's name did not appear in its proper place. At the end of the document there was an attestation that he had received one guinea of his bounty which was pressed into his hand by the clerk. 'Next!
He was in. Sworn in. He had taken the King's Shilling, and accepted a new-fangled, scruffy pound note to make it into a guinea, and he watched silently as the other men went forward. More money, he saw, passed hands as the magistrate left, presumably so that worthy official would ignore the absence of any regiment noted down on the attestation form, then Sergeant Havercamp was bawling at them to get outside, into the inn yard, and there each man was given a chance to drink at the pump and half a loaf of stale bread was pushed into their hands.
The two corporals, grinning in their red jackets, helped push the nine men into two crude ranks. The drummer boys, yawning and sticky-eyed, banged their drums and, before the sun was risen properly, they were marching through the detritus of the hiring fair. The young man in broadcloth, who had given his name to the clerk as Giles Marriott, walked in front of Sharpe. He did not speak a word to his neighbour, the half-wit, Tom. Sharpe noticed, as they crossed the market place in the grey dawn, how Marriott stared at a fine, brick-built house.
'Move it! Come on! Corporal Terence Clissot pushed Marriott. 'Get a bloody move on!
Yet still Marriott stared back, half-tripping as he walked, and Sharpe turned to look at the house, wondering what it was that made the young, good-looking man stare so fixedly at it. The drums still rattled and it was, perhaps, their sound that made one of the shutters open on the upper floor.
A girl stared out. Sharpe saw her, looked at Marriott, and thought there was a glistening in the man's eye. Marriott lifted a hand half-heartedly, then seemed to decide that the small gesture was futile in the face of this huge gesture he had just made to spite the girl who had jilted him. He dropped his hand and walked on. Yet the half-gesture, so feebly made and so quickly retracted, had not escaped Sergeant Havercamp. He saw the girl, looked at Marriott, and laughed.
They marched south. The hedgerows were thick with dew. The drums, now they were out of the town, fell silent. None of the nine men spoke.
A dog barked. Nothing unusual in a country dawn, except this dog was chasing after them and Sergeant Havercamp turned, snarled, raised his boot to kick at it, then checked his foot.
It was Buttons. Behind the dog, running just as hard, smock flapping and with a bundle on his shoulder, was Charlie Weller. 'Wait for me! Wait for me!
Havercamp laughed. 'Come on, lad!
Weller looked behind, as if to make sure that his mother was not following him, but the lane was clear. 'Can I join, Sergeant?
'You're welcome, lad! Into line! We'll swear you in at the next town!
Weller grinned at Sharpe, pushed in beside him, and the boy's face showed all the excitement proper at the beginning of a great adventure. They collected the other recruits and their guards from the barn, then headed south for a soldier's life.
At Grantham, where they were locked into the yard of the Magistrate's Court, Sharpe watched Sergeant Havercamp strike a deal. Twelve prisoners were released to him, manacled men who were pushed into the back of the line. More bread was given to them and Sharpe watched young Tom, the half-wit, thrust the loaf at his mouth and gnaw at it. The boy grinned constantly, always watching for a cuff, a curse or a kick. If he was spoken to he giggled and smiled.
That night three men ran, two successfully getting away, almost certainly to find another recruiting party and gull another guinea from the King. The third was caught, brought to the yard where they had slept, and beaten by Corporal Clissot and Sergeant Havercamp. When the beating was over, and the man was lying bleeding and bruised on the yard's cobbles, Sergeant Havercamp retrieved the King's guinea, then kicked the man out into the road. There was small future in taking a jumper back to the Battalion for the man would doubtless only try to desert again.
Giles Marriott had stared in awe at the beating, flinching when the Corporal's boots slammed into the man's ribs. Marriott was pale by the time the punishment was given. He looked at Sharpe. 'Are they allowed to do that?
