True Soldier Gentlemen (Napoleonic War 1) by Adrian Goldsworthy Read Free Book Online Page B

principle.
    ‘How’s that lock?’ asked Dobson. Some weeks ago he had shown Williams how to wrap a rag around the lock on a musket in wet weather, stopping water from getting into the pan, where it would soak the powder and so stop the weapon from firing. They were not marching with loaded muskets today, but the old soldier was keen for the volunteer to learn to do things properly. In the company’s formation Dobson stood directly in front of Williams, and front and rear rank men depended upon each other utterly in battle. The veteran wanted his to be up to standard.
    ‘Not bad,’ he said as Williams showed him the tightly wound rag. ‘That would keep it out if anything will.’ Dobson grinned and patted the volunteer on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Pug.’
    Only Dobson used the nickname to Williams’ face, but it had generally supplanted his earlier one of Quaker – the inevitable slang for any man who neither swore nor drank. The Hastings Pug was a prizefighter, not the best, but he had won several bouts in the county during the last year. The grenadiers had not known what to make of their volunteer for a long time, for he said so little. Then in March he had been sent with a party of fifteen men to help a supply wagon which had become bogged down on its way to the battalion. It had been hard work in foul weather, digging around the wheels to free them. Dobson had stared aghast at Williams’ energetic, almost frenzied plying of his spade.
    ‘Good God, sir, don’t you even know how to dig. Look, watch me, and do it this way.’
    They had got the job done in two hours of exhausting labour, had let it drive on to the battalion, but Sergeant Probert – one of the few genuine Welshmen in the regiment – had taken them into an inn to shelter and refresh themselves before they returned. On that day even Williams enjoyed some warm punch. Reluctant to venture out into the weather, they stayed drinking for some time. Then Hope, not an especially big man, but very broad in the chest, had suddenly grabbed one of the maids as she passed.The girl struggled and squealed as the man yelled out that he must have a kiss for every mug he had drunk. Some of the soldiers laughed for the man was obviously drunk, indeed known for the readiness with which the drink took hold of him. Others told him to let her free, but Hope ignored them all, and gave the maid a long slobbering kiss. One of his hands began to grab at her skirt and lift it.
    The girl screamed loudly now, and reaching around on the table beside them, flung a bowl of stew at him. It was still hot enough to make Hope let her go, and she fell to the ground, cap falling from her head and legs waving in the air amid a flurry of skirts and petticoats. The grenadier stood up, fingers rubbing at his eyes, and howled in rage. Probert should have done something, but was more amused than worried and ignored Dobson’s warning looks.
    Then Williams got up, strode over to Hope and punched him just once squarely on the jaw. It surprised everyone, including the volunteer, but he had taken more drink than usual and the adventures he read so avidly were about strong men who protected the weak – most of all who behaved with chivalry. Williams just found himself there confronting the drunken private. Much of it was fluke, for although he leaned into the blow and was a big man, still it was chance that he struck in just the right place. Hope went back, skimmed over the tabletop scattering tankarnd plates in all directions and landed unconscious on the other side.
    For a moment two of his friends seemed inclined to continue the fight. Yet Williams was big, and still looked belligerent, although in truth he was as much amazed at himself as anything else. Then the huge figure of Dobson came to stand beside him and Probert finally acted.
    ‘Now, lads, it’s all over. A fair fight and he deserved it,’ he said, looking round the room to see that they all accepted this. ‘King and Rafferty,