...Major Richard Sharpe grumbled to himself as he did up his buttons -- polished, for once, after a week of mucking about in the jungle. No, he thought, he did not get seasick; he still misunderstood the Lieutenant's message. He was never very good at giving or receiving written communication. A possibly hazard of having only learned how to read in his twenties.

He left his rifle in the apartment but certainly did strap on the heavy cavalry sword. The tip of his scabbard nearly nudged the ground but the officer was tall enough to save it that ignominy. Sharpe marched himself stiffly out to the Britannia and...

And standing there in his rifleman's jacket and his officer's sash and his stolen French cavalry overalls, he wondered about the applicable decorum. Should he simply climb in? Should he call out?

He'll be out here mulling this over for a little while longer.