Richard Sharpe and his new friend followed the sound of the drums, as it grew louder, until they came upon a group of men gathered around a man standing on a soap box giving a speech to the small crowd. Standing beside the orating man, was the drummer boy, a couple of years younger than them, clad in a white uniform, black gaiters, and a black bearskin grenadier cap.
The young officer speaking was even more impressive looking, wearing a bright red coat, with a crimson sash around his waist and a sword hanging from his side. On his head was a black bicorn hat, worn sideways.
Noting the two new arrivals, the officer turned their way. "Welcome, gentlemen. You're just in time to hear about the opportunities afforded to those who become gentlemen soldiers in His Majesty's 33rd Regiment of Foot."
Sharpe looked at his companion and rolled his eyes at hearing the words "gentlemen soldiers", considering that the men and boys gathered round were anything but gentlemen. Nevertheless, he leaned against a nearby tree to listen, because he knew he didn't have anything to lose by doing so.
He listened with half an ear as the man continued to blather on about the supposed benefits of joining the army, while idly thinking of how he was going to steal a pair of boots once they'd moved on from the recruitment party.
"…free beer and a £7 signing bonus…".
"What?" Sharpe straightened up and was listening intently now.
"He said we'd get that much just to sign up and free beer on top of that," Sam Carter explained. "Haven't you been listening?"
"I'm listening now," Sharpe replied. The bit about a signing bonus had got his attention and he now was seriously considering joining up. He could try it for awhile to see how he liked army life and if it didn't work out for him, he'd just bugger off and try something else. Right now, it was the best option he had. He could do quite a bit with that amount of money.
As the officer continued to give his presentation while the young drummer persisted with his drum, Richard Sharpe looked around at the others listening nearby. Most looked desperate, like him and Sam Carter, but others looked as if they were merely bored and were looking for a change from their humdrum lives. Two naïve boys, twelve or thirteen years old, stood there starry-eyed, imagining grand adventures in exotic places.
A few minutes later, as Lt. Chambers was winding up his presentation, he made a point of looking at each man in the crowd individually. "Those of you who wisely wish to avail yourselves of this once in a lifetime offer may now step into the pub behind me and see Sergeant Hakeswill to claim your free beer. He will also answer any questions you may have."
"When do we get the seven pounds?" a red-headed man in the crowd called out.
"You'll get that after you've officially signed up, seen the doctor, and been sworn in by a magistrate," the officer told them. "Sergeant Hakeswill can tell you more about that."
"Come on, let's get that beer," Sam Carter urged, tugging on Sharpe's sleeve. "Can't pass up a free drink, can you?"
"I'm coming!" Sharpe assured him. "We can get the beer at least, even if we don't end up joining."
Ten others joined them as they entered the dimly lit pub. There were few patrons inside, so the attention of the twelve men was immediately drawn to the sergeant sitting at the bar, whose uniform and accessories were indistinguishable from the officer outside to the untrained eyes of the would-be recruits.
Richard Sharpe was fascinated by the sergeant's appearance. Obadiah Hakeswill was a rawboned man of medium height and indeterminate age, with a shaved head and prominent cheekbones. What drew Sharpe's eyes, however, was the thick, purplish scar around this man's neck and the fact that his face twitched, apparently involuntarily, every thirty seconds or so. As he approached the sergeant, he wondered what the man's story was.
Hakeswill grinned at the sight of twelve potential recruits heading his way, already counting the fifteen shilling bonus he'd get for each one who enlisted. This was why he'd volunteered for recruitment duty in the first place. While on English soil, it was the most lucrative duty possible for a sergeant. Those languishing in garrison duty got only base pay, which the army ate up charging each man for daily incidentals.
"Gather 'round, lads!" he called out affably, his blue eyes flashing as he twitched briefly. Making a half-turn to the waiting bartender, he said, "Beers all 'round for these fine lads who wants to be gentlemen soldiers!" In a lower tone of voice, he told the bartender, "Keep 'em coming, 'til I tells you to stop."
Turning back to a large oat cake that sat on the bar next to him, he broke off pieces and handed one to each of the men. "Have you a bit of something to eat to wash that beer down with, eh?"
As each man dutifully took a piece as the bartender began handing out beers, the sergeant said, "Grab a seat and take a load off for a bit, while I tells you about why it's a good idea to serve in His Majesty's fine army."
Twitching again, Hakeswill took a long swig of his own beer, watching as the men settled themselves around him. After a moment, he began, "Lads, I'm Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill and I'm here to tell you why joining the 33rd Regiment of Foot would be the best decision you could ever make and to answer any questions you might have."
Richard Sharpe exchanged a glance with Sam Carter rolling his eyes, but said nothing, waiting to see what the sergeant would say.
"By joining the 33rd, you not only gets to serve your King and country, you gets to travel and see the world," the sergeant continued, oblivious to the exchange between the two young men. "I've been all over during my time in the army and, let me tell you, you gets to roger all sorts of foreign women when you're overseas. Them heathen women loves soldiers, even ugly bastards like me. Mark my words, you'll get more 'n you can handle."
After pausing for a moment to allow the men to consider this happy prospect, Hakeswill added, "Not only that, the army lets us plunder the bodies and equipment of the enemy dead after battles. That's more money than you can make apprenticing for some slave-driving miser or bein' a servant for some rich bugger where, in both cases, you'd never see nowhere but the town you lives in for the rest of your days."
Warming to his subject, he went on, "And those of you who wants to escape your debts or nagging wives, the army's the perfect haven for you. Even those of you on the run from the hangman or wantin' to keep from being sent to the ends of the Earth to Australia can find your home here with the 33rd."
Sharpe and Carter exchanged glances again, but without rolling their eyes this time. Sharpe had been a bit concerned that the army might have turned him over to the authorities if they found out he was on the run from the law or, at the very least, would have refused to allow him to enlist. He was relieved to find out these fears were groundless and that there would be no impediment to him joining if he decided to take that step.
"Do any of you lads have any questions 'fore I begin writin' down the names of the ones who wants to enlist?" Hakeswill said, holding up his roster.
Sharpe raised his hand tentatively, waiting for the sergeant to acknowledge him.
"You there, boy," Hakeswill growled, twitching. "What's your name?"
"Sharpe, sir," Sharpe replied nervously. "Dick Sharpe."
"Well, go ahead and ask your question then, Sharpe," the older man urged, his tone impatient.
After clearing his throat, Sharpe asked, "How long have you been in the army, Sergeant Hakeswill?"
"Almost half my life," Hakeswill replied proudly. "Enlisted when I was a lad of twelve, I did. Lost my mother that year and didn't have no family left, so's I joined the army as a drummer boy and it's been my home and family ever since."
Dick Sharpe wondered if Hakeswill had got the scar around his neck in the army and, if so, under what circumstances, but knew better than to ask. Unfortunately, however, the rawboned sergeant did not see fit to enlighten him.
A few others also asked questions, to which Sharpe and his friend listened with half an ear. This was the first time in weeks either of them had had the chance to relax and enjoy a beer without having to look over their shoulders and they were making the most of it. As the sergeant continued to answer questions, the bartender gave refills on the beer, Both young men, along with the other men, drifted into a drunken haze as the beers kept coming. Obadiah Hakeswill however, remained sober, giving only the appearance of mild intoxication.
Near the end of the question and answer session, a stocky man in his early twenties sitting near Sharpe, tipped his mug up to get the last few drops of his beer. "Look what I found!" he exclaimed in a slightly slurred voice as he pulled a single shilling out of the mug and held it up. Walking closer to the bar, he tried to hand the shilling to the bartender, but then placed it on the bar when he saw that the man's hands were full. "Hey, mate, I thinks you accidentally dropped this into me beer."
Turning to Hakeswill, he said, "Thank you kindly for the beer and the talk about the army, but I still needs to think on it some and discuss it with me family 'fore I decide whether or not to go ahead and join."
"Not so fast, lad," the sergeant said lazily, twitching, as he held up one hand. "When you handled that shilling, you accepted your first day's pay as a private soldier in His Majesty's army. You've already done enlisted."
As if to back up Hakeswill's words, another sergeant, taller and heavier, appeared in the doorway, ready to block anyone who might try to make a run for it.
"That ain't right," the man feebly protested. "You done tricked me!"
"Ain't my concern if you ain't observant enough to look out for yourself," Hakeswill said, cackling in amusement at the man's predicament. "It's all perfectly legal-like."
Most of the other men, including Sharpe and Carter were sufficiently inebriated that they didn't pay much attention to the exchange between the two men. Sharpe had already found his shilling and had quietly pocketed it without a word to anyone, as anyone who had grown up thieving would have done. His mind was centred on collecting the £7 bonus for enlisting.
Beckoning to the other sergeant who had moved in to take charge of the stocky man, Hakeswill gestured with a jerk of his thumb and said, "Get him out of here and take him to the back room. Don't want him upsetting the other recruits none. Doc is already waitin'. I'll start bringing the others back shortly."
Sergeant Hakeswill had arranged with the doctor to come to the pub to conduct the pre-enlistment examinations, rather than bringing the enlistees to the doctor's office. It was quicker and easier and it helped prevent those who had second thoughts about joining from running off. The quicker the process of finalizing the enlistments, the less time it gave a recruit to have second thoughts in the first place.
And the magistrate's office, where the medically approved recruits would be formally sworn into King George's army, was directly across the street from the pub, which was why this particular pub had been chosen in the first place as a recruitment site.
Hakeswill allowed the men to get a bit drunker before he moved the group to the back room to get their examinations, after promising them more beer once everything was concluded. Between him and the other sergeant, all the men were promptly seen, then herded across the street for the final step.
Dick Sharpe, after spending a hazy drunken afternoon, dimly remembered being poked and prodded in a short, perfunctory examination in the back of the pub. He went where he was directed without protest, with the promise of more beer and the signing bonus still in his mind.
The haze had begun to clear, however, by the time he was standing in front of the magistrate and had appropriately answered the questions put to him.
"Sign your name here," the magistrate instructed in a bored tone, indicating a roster in front of him. "Be quick about it, now."
"Can't write, sir," Sharpe admitted. "Never learned my letters."
"Make your mark, then," the man replied, handing him the pen.
After taking the pen, which had already been dipped in ink, Sharpe awkwardly made an X on the paper. For better or worse, Richard Sharpe was now officially the newest private in the 33rd Regiment of Foot.