Sharpe

Nairn:
Can you imagine what this will do to the morale of our troops, coming up to a cold Christmas? A scuttlebutt tells you there's a garden of Eden in the hills, good food, good grog, no foot drill or flogging. Wouldn't you say, "I'll be damned to it," and desert? I know I would.

Sir Augustus:
Disciplined troops desert, sir? Nonsense.

Wellington:
Don't be a damn fool, sir! Discipline is only a rabble-rouser's shout from anarchy, sir! Mark me close, Colonel. What do you think the supreme virtue, sir? To the Frenchman in his recent revolution, it is liberty. To the Whig puffing in Parliament, it is licence to do anything, provide it do not disturb his pleasure. But to the common soldier, it is anarchy, to do whatever he please and be damned to his fellow. But to me and Bonaparte, the supreme virtue is order. We are not Whigs. We know that a man may love his neighbour over Monday and massacre him over Tuesday unless society keeps him in order! These deserters, if not secured and shot, will destroy my army more surely than Bonaparte! And I'll thank you not to forget it.