JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 87 из 203”
Wellesley’s eyes shut. He looked tired. “I have no doubt but that you deserve a Captaincy.” He opened his eyes. “Whether you will keep it, Sharpe, is another matter. I have no power in these things, and it is conceivable, likely, that the Horse Guards will cancel all these dispositions. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Sharpe thought he understood. Wellesley’s enemies had succeeded in dragging him before a board of enquiry only last year, and those same enemies wished only defeat on him now. Sir Henry was numbered among them, and the Colonel would even now be planning the letter that would be sent to London. The letter would blame Sharpe and, because the General had sided with him, would be dangerous for Wellesley too. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me. I’ve probably done you no favour.” He looked up at Sharpe with a kind of wry distaste. “You have a habit, Sharpe, of deserving gratitude by methods that deserve condemnation. Am I plain?”
“Yes, sir.” Was he being told off? Sharpe kept his face expressionless.
Wellesley’s face showed a flash of anger, but he controlled it and, quite suddenly, replaced it with a rueful smile. “I am glad to see you well.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your career is always interesting to watch, Sharpe, though I constantly fear it will end precipitately. Good day, Captain.” The quill pen was picked up and began to scratch on the paper. There were real problems. The Spanish had delivered none of the food they had promised, the army’s pay had not arrived, the cavalry needed horse-shoes and nails, and there was a need for ox-carts, always more ox-carts. On top of that the Spanish hithered and dithered; one day all for charge and glory, the next preaching caution and withdrawal. Sharpe left.
Lawford followed him into the empty ante-room and put out his hand. “Congratulations.”Thank you, sir. A Battalion of Detachments, eh?“ Lawford laughed. ”That won’t please Sir Henry.“ That was true. In every campaign there were small units of men, like Sharpe and his Riflemen, who got separated from their units. They were the flotsam and jetsam of the army, and the simplest solution, when there were enough of them, was for the General to tie them together as a temporary Battalion of Detachments. It gave the General a chance, as well, to promote men, even temporarily, in the new Battalion, but none of that was the reason Simmerson would be displeased.
Wellesley’s eyes shut. He looked tired. “I have no doubt but that you deserve a Captaincy.” He opened his eyes. “Whether you will keep it, Sharpe, is another matter. I have no power in these things, and it is conceivable, likely, that the Horse Guards will cancel all these dispositions. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Sharpe thought he understood. Wellesley’s enemies had succeeded in dragging him before a board of enquiry only last year, and those same enemies wished only defeat on him now. Sir Henry was numbered among them, and the Colonel would even now be planning the letter that would be sent to London. The letter would blame Sharpe and, because the General had sided with him, would be dangerous for Wellesley too. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me. I’ve probably done you no favour.” He looked up at Sharpe with a kind of wry distaste. “You have a habit, Sharpe, of deserving gratitude by methods that deserve condemnation. Am I plain?”
“Yes, sir.” Was he being told off? Sharpe kept his face expressionless.
Wellesley’s face showed a flash of anger, but he controlled it and, quite suddenly, replaced it with a rueful smile. “I am glad to see you well.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your career is always interesting to watch, Sharpe, though I constantly fear it will end precipitately. Good day, Captain.” The quill pen was picked up and began to scratch on the paper. There were real problems. The Spanish had delivered none of the food they had promised, the army’s pay had not arrived, the cavalry needed horse-shoes and nails, and there was a need for ox-carts, always more ox-carts. On top of that the Spanish hithered and dithered; one day all for charge and glory, the next preaching caution and withdrawal. Sharpe left.
Lawford followed him into the empty ante-room and put out his hand. “Congratulations.”Thank you, sir. A Battalion of Detachments, eh?“ Lawford laughed. ”That won’t please Sir Henry.“ That was true. In every campaign there were small units of men, like Sharpe and his Riflemen, who got separated from their units. They were the flotsam and jetsam of the army, and the simplest solution, when there were enough of them, was for the General to tie them together as a temporary Battalion of Detachments. It gave the General a chance, as well, to promote men, even temporarily, in the new Battalion, but none of that was the reason Simmerson would be displeased.