The three officers had stopped their horses at the head of the column and now used telescopes to inspect the distant ridge which was clouded by a ragged fringe of smoke left from the last discharge of the enemy cannon. 'That's our Colonel, boys, Hakeswill announced to the 33rd's Light Company, 'Colonel Arthur Wellesley himself, God bless him for a gentleman, which he is and you ain't. He's come to see you fight, so make sure you do. Fight like the Englishmen you are.

'I'm a Scot, a sour voice spoke from the rear rank.

'I heard that! Who said that? Hakeswill glared at the company, his face twitching uncontrollably. In a less blithe mood the Sergeant would have ferreted out the speaker and punished him, but the excitement of pending battle persuaded him to let the offence pass. 'A Scot! he said derisively instead. 'What is the finest thing a Scotsman ever saw? Answer me that! No one did. 'The high road to England, that's what. Says so in the scriptures, so it must be true. He hefted Sharpe's musket as he looked down the waiting ranks. I shall be watching you, he snarled. 'You ain't none of you been in a proper fight before, not a proper fight, but on the other side of that bleeding hill there's a horde of black-faced heathens what can't wait to lay their filthy hands on your womenfolk, so if so much as one of you turns his back I'll have the skin off the lot of you! Bare bones and blood, that's what you'll be. But you does your duty and obeys your orders and you can't go wrong. And who gives the orders?

The Sergeant waited for an answer and eventually Private Mallinson offered one. 'The officers, Sergeant.