JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 10 из 203Their weapons shone, their equipment was pristine and regular, while their faces bulged red from the constricting stocks and the unaccustomed sun. At the head of each company rode the officers, all, Sharpe noted, mounted superbly. The colours were cased in polished leather and guarded by Sergeants whose halberd blades had been burnished to a brilliant, glittering sheen. The men marched in perfect step, looking neither right nor left, for all the world, as Harper had said, as if they were marching for the Royal duty at Windsor.
“Who are they?” Sharpe was trying to think of the Regiments who had yellow facings on their uniforms but this looked like none of the Regiments he knew.
“The South Essex,” Hogan said.
„The who?“
“The South Essex. They’re new, very new. Just raised by Lieutenant Colonel Sir Henry Simmerson, a cousin of General Sir Banestre Tarleton.”
Sharpe whistled softly. Tarleton had fought in the American war and now sat in Parliament as Wellesley’s bitterest military opponent. Sharpe had heard said that Tarleton wanted the command of the army in Portugal for himself and bitterly resented the younger man’s preferment. Tarleton was a man of influence, a dangerous enemy for Wellesley, and Sharpe knew enough about the politics of high command to realise that the presence of Tarleton’s cousin in the army would not be welcomed by Wellesley.
“Is that him?” He pointed to a portly man riding a grey horse in the centre of the Battalion.
Hogan nodded. “That is Sir Henry Simmerson, whom God preserve or preferably not.”
Lieutenant Colonel Sir Henry Simmerson had a red face lined with purple veins and pendulous with jowls. His eyes, at the distance Sharpe was seeing them, seemed small and red, and on either side of the suspicious, questing face there sprung prominent ears that looked like the protruding trunnions either side of a cannon barrel. He looked, Sharpe thought, like a pig on horseback. “I’ve not heard of the man.”
“That’s not surprising. He’s done nothing.” Hogan was scornful. “Landed money, in Parliament for Paglesham, justice of the peace and, God help us, a Militia Colonel.” Hogan seemed surprised by his own lack of charity. “He means well. He won’t be content till those lads are the best damned Battalion in the army but I think the man has a terrible shock coming when he finds the difference between us and the Militia.”
Like other Regular officers Hogan had little time for the Militia, Britain’s second army.
“Who are they?” Sharpe was trying to think of the Regiments who had yellow facings on their uniforms but this looked like none of the Regiments he knew.
“The South Essex,” Hogan said.
„The who?“
“The South Essex. They’re new, very new. Just raised by Lieutenant Colonel Sir Henry Simmerson, a cousin of General Sir Banestre Tarleton.”
Sharpe whistled softly. Tarleton had fought in the American war and now sat in Parliament as Wellesley’s bitterest military opponent. Sharpe had heard said that Tarleton wanted the command of the army in Portugal for himself and bitterly resented the younger man’s preferment. Tarleton was a man of influence, a dangerous enemy for Wellesley, and Sharpe knew enough about the politics of high command to realise that the presence of Tarleton’s cousin in the army would not be welcomed by Wellesley.
“Is that him?” He pointed to a portly man riding a grey horse in the centre of the Battalion.
Hogan nodded. “That is Sir Henry Simmerson, whom God preserve or preferably not.”
Lieutenant Colonel Sir Henry Simmerson had a red face lined with purple veins and pendulous with jowls. His eyes, at the distance Sharpe was seeing them, seemed small and red, and on either side of the suspicious, questing face there sprung prominent ears that looked like the protruding trunnions either side of a cannon barrel. He looked, Sharpe thought, like a pig on horseback. “I’ve not heard of the man.”
“That’s not surprising. He’s done nothing.” Hogan was scornful. “Landed money, in Parliament for Paglesham, justice of the peace and, God help us, a Militia Colonel.” Hogan seemed surprised by his own lack of charity. “He means well. He won’t be content till those lads are the best damned Battalion in the army but I think the man has a terrible shock coming when he finds the difference between us and the Militia.”
Like other Regular officers Hogan had little time for the Militia, Britain’s second army.