JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 163 из 242Was there a patrol there? He could see no sign of one, nor any activity among the boatyard’s tumbledown sheds.
Then the Frenchman either heard the scuff of a boot or else sensed he was being watched for he stood and turned, then realized his musket was still on the ground and he stooped for it, then froze when Sharpe’s rifle pointed at his face. Sharpe shook his head, then jerked the rifle to indicate that the Frenchman should stand up straight. The man obeyed. He was a youngster, scarce older than Pendleton or Perkins, with a round, guileless face. He looked scared and took an involuntary step back as Sharpe came fast toward him, then he whimpered as Sharpe tugged him by the jacket back around the corner. Sharpe pushed him to the ground, took his bayonet from its scabbard and threw it into the river. „Tie him up,” he ordered Tongue.
„Slit his throat,” Tongue suggested, „it’s easier.”
„Tie him up,” Sharpe insisted, „gag him, and make a good job of it.” He beckoned Vicente forward. „He’s the only one I’ve seen.”
„There must be more,” Vicente declared.
„God knows where they are.”
Sharpe went back to the corner, peered around and saw nothing except the puppy which was now trying to drag the Frenchman’s musket across the cobbles by its sling. He gestured for Harper to join him. „I can’t see anyone,” Sharpe whispered.
„He can’t have been alone,” Harper said.
Yet still no one moved. „I want to get into those trees, Pat,” Sharpe hissed, nodding across the slipway.
„Run like shit, sir,” Harper said, and the two of them sprinted across the open space and threw themselves into the trees. No musket flared, no one shouted, but the puppy, thinking it was a game, followed them. „Go back to your mother!” Harper hissed at the dog which just barked at him.
„Jesus!” Sharpe said, not because of the noise the dog was making, but because he could see boats. The French were supposed to have destroyed or taken every vessel along the Douro, but in front of him, stranded by the falling tide on the muddy outer bank of a great bend in the river, were three huge wine barges. Three! He wondered if they had been holed and, while Harper kept the puppy quiet, he waded through the sticky mud and hauled himself aboard the nearest barge. He was hidden from anyone on the north bank by thick trees, which was perhaps why the French had somehow missed the three vessels and, better still, the barge Sharpe had boarded seemed quite undamaged.
Then the Frenchman either heard the scuff of a boot or else sensed he was being watched for he stood and turned, then realized his musket was still on the ground and he stooped for it, then froze when Sharpe’s rifle pointed at his face. Sharpe shook his head, then jerked the rifle to indicate that the Frenchman should stand up straight. The man obeyed. He was a youngster, scarce older than Pendleton or Perkins, with a round, guileless face. He looked scared and took an involuntary step back as Sharpe came fast toward him, then he whimpered as Sharpe tugged him by the jacket back around the corner. Sharpe pushed him to the ground, took his bayonet from its scabbard and threw it into the river. „Tie him up,” he ordered Tongue.
„Slit his throat,” Tongue suggested, „it’s easier.”
„Tie him up,” Sharpe insisted, „gag him, and make a good job of it.” He beckoned Vicente forward. „He’s the only one I’ve seen.”
„There must be more,” Vicente declared.
„God knows where they are.”
Sharpe went back to the corner, peered around and saw nothing except the puppy which was now trying to drag the Frenchman’s musket across the cobbles by its sling. He gestured for Harper to join him. „I can’t see anyone,” Sharpe whispered.
„He can’t have been alone,” Harper said.
Yet still no one moved. „I want to get into those trees, Pat,” Sharpe hissed, nodding across the slipway.
„Run like shit, sir,” Harper said, and the two of them sprinted across the open space and threw themselves into the trees. No musket flared, no one shouted, but the puppy, thinking it was a game, followed them. „Go back to your mother!” Harper hissed at the dog which just barked at him.
„Jesus!” Sharpe said, not because of the noise the dog was making, but because he could see boats. The French were supposed to have destroyed or taken every vessel along the Douro, but in front of him, stranded by the falling tide on the muddy outer bank of a great bend in the river, were three huge wine barges. Three! He wondered if they had been holed and, while Harper kept the puppy quiet, he waded through the sticky mud and hauled himself aboard the nearest barge. He was hidden from anyone on the north bank by thick trees, which was perhaps why the French had somehow missed the three vessels and, better still, the barge Sharpe had boarded seemed quite undamaged.