JК
Sharpes Devil :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 38 из 209Valdivia was supposed to be the major remaining Spanish garrison in Chile, yet to Sharpe's surprise, the great array efforts seemed to be protecting nothing but a stone quay, some tarred sheds and a row of fishermen's hovels.
"The town's upstream." Otero pointed to what Sharpe had taken for a bay just beside Fort Niebla. "That's the river mouth and the town's fifteen miles inland. You'll be dropped at the north quay where you find a boatman to take you upstream. They're dishonest people, and they'll try to charge you five dollars. You shouldn't pay more than one."
"The Espiritu Santo won't go upstream?"
"The river's too shallow." Lieutenant Otero, who had charge of the frigate, paused to listen to the leadsman who was calling the depth. "Sometimes the boatmen will take you halfway and then threaten to put you ashore in the wilderness if you won't pay more money. If that happens, the best thing to do is to shoot one of the Indian crew members. No one objects to the killing of a savage, and you'll find the death has a remarkably salutary effect on the other boatmen."
Otero turned away to tend to the ship. Fort Niebla was firing a salute which one of the long nine pounders at the frigate's bow returned. The gunfire echoed flatly from the steep hills where a few stunted trees were permanently windbent toward the north. Seamen were streaming aloft to furl the sails after their long passage. There was a crash as the starboard anchor was struck loose, then a grating rumble as fathoms of chain clattered through the hawse. The fragrant scents of the land vainly tried to defeat the noxious carapace of the Espiritu Santos, cesspit-laced-with-powder stench. The frigate, her salute fired, checked as the anchor bit into the harbor's bottom, then turned as the tide pulled the fouled hull slowly around. The smoke of the gun salute writhed and drifted across the bay. "Welcome to Chile," Otero said.
"Can you believe it?" Harper said with amazement. "We're in the New World!"
An hour later, their seabags and money chest under the guard of two burly seamen, Sharpe and Harper stepped ashore onto the New World. They had reached their voyage's end in the quaking land of giants and pygmies, of unicorns and ghouls, in the rebellious land that lay under the volcanoes' fire and the devil's flail. They were in Chile.
George Blair, British Consul in Valdivia, blinked short-sightedly at Richard Sharpe. "Why the hell should I tell you lies? Of course he's dead!" Blair laughed mirthlessly. "He'd better bloody be dead. He's been buried long enough! The poor bugger must be in a bloody bad state if he's still alive; he's been underground these last three months. Are you sure you don't have any gin in your baggage?"
"I'm sure."
"People usually bring me gin from London.
"The town's upstream." Otero pointed to what Sharpe had taken for a bay just beside Fort Niebla. "That's the river mouth and the town's fifteen miles inland. You'll be dropped at the north quay where you find a boatman to take you upstream. They're dishonest people, and they'll try to charge you five dollars. You shouldn't pay more than one."
"The Espiritu Santo won't go upstream?"
"The river's too shallow." Lieutenant Otero, who had charge of the frigate, paused to listen to the leadsman who was calling the depth. "Sometimes the boatmen will take you halfway and then threaten to put you ashore in the wilderness if you won't pay more money. If that happens, the best thing to do is to shoot one of the Indian crew members. No one objects to the killing of a savage, and you'll find the death has a remarkably salutary effect on the other boatmen."
Otero turned away to tend to the ship. Fort Niebla was firing a salute which one of the long nine pounders at the frigate's bow returned. The gunfire echoed flatly from the steep hills where a few stunted trees were permanently windbent toward the north. Seamen were streaming aloft to furl the sails after their long passage. There was a crash as the starboard anchor was struck loose, then a grating rumble as fathoms of chain clattered through the hawse. The fragrant scents of the land vainly tried to defeat the noxious carapace of the Espiritu Santos, cesspit-laced-with-powder stench. The frigate, her salute fired, checked as the anchor bit into the harbor's bottom, then turned as the tide pulled the fouled hull slowly around. The smoke of the gun salute writhed and drifted across the bay. "Welcome to Chile," Otero said.
"Can you believe it?" Harper said with amazement. "We're in the New World!"
An hour later, their seabags and money chest under the guard of two burly seamen, Sharpe and Harper stepped ashore onto the New World. They had reached their voyage's end in the quaking land of giants and pygmies, of unicorns and ghouls, in the rebellious land that lay under the volcanoes' fire and the devil's flail. They were in Chile.
George Blair, British Consul in Valdivia, blinked short-sightedly at Richard Sharpe. "Why the hell should I tell you lies? Of course he's dead!" Blair laughed mirthlessly. "He'd better bloody be dead. He's been buried long enough! The poor bugger must be in a bloody bad state if he's still alive; he's been underground these last three months. Are you sure you don't have any gin in your baggage?"
"I'm sure."
"People usually bring me gin from London.