Sharpes Havoc   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

Sharpe had no difficulty in firing the three shots. He had been doing this for half his life, and the Portuguese musket was British made and familiar to Sharpe. He bit open the cartridge, tasted the salt in the powder, charged the barrel, rammed down wadding and ball, primed the pan, cocked, pulled the trigger and felt the kick of the gun into his shoulder and then he dropped the butt and bit into the next cartridge and most of his riflemen were grinning because they knew he was good.

Sergeant Macedo was the only man other than Sharpe who fired his three shots within forty-five seconds. Fifteen of the riflemen and twelve of the Portuguese managed a shot every twenty seconds, but the rest were slow and so Sharpe and Vicente set about training them. Williamson, one of the riflemen who had failed, grumbled that it was stupid to make him learn how to fire a smoothbore musket when he was a rifleman. He made the complaint just loud enough for Sharpe to hear and in the expectation that Sharpe would choose to ignore it, then looked aggrieved when Sharpe dragged him back out of the formation. „You’ve got a complaint?” Sharpe challenged him.

„No, sir.” Williamson, his big face surly, looked past Sharpe.

„Look at me,” Sharpe said. Williamson sullenly obeyed. „The reason you are learning to fire a musket like a proper soldier,” Sharpe told him, „is because I don’t want the Portuguese to think we’re picking on them.” Williamson still looked sullen. „And besides,” Sharpe went on, „we’re stranded miles behind enemy lines, so what happens if your rifle breaks? And there’s another reason besides.”

„What’s that, sir?” Williamson asked.

„If you don’t bloody do it,” Sharpe said, „I’ll have you on another charge, then another charge and another after that until you’re so damn fed up with punishment duty that you’ll have to shoot me to be rid of it.”

Williamson stared at Sharpe with an expression which suggested he would like nothing more than to shoot him, but Sharpe just stared into his eyes and Williamson looked away. „We’ll run out of ammunition,” he said churlishly, and in that he was probably right, but Kate Savage unlocked her father’s gun room and found a barrel of powder and a bullet mold so Sharpe was able to have his men make up new cartridges, using pages from the sermon books in the Quinta’s library to wrap the powder and shot. The balls were too small, but they were fine for practice, and for three days his men blasted their muskets and rifles across the driveway.