JК
Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 11 из 213”
Sharpe made a sympathetic noise and Windham barked at Sharpe to be quiet. The Colonel watched the Frenchman fussing his dogs with approval. “I don’t mind, Leroy. Damned if I know who’s going to escort him to Headquarters. Do you fancy a hack?”
The Major shook his head. “No, sir.”
Windham screwed himself around again and peered at the Battalion. “I suppose we can ask Butler. He’s usually willing.” He caught sight of Ensign McDonald, much closer. “Does your young man ride, Sharpe?”
“Yes, sir. No horse, though.”
“You have bloody strange ideas, Sharpe.” Windham half disapproved of Sharpe’s belief that an infantry officer should walk like his men. It made sense for some officers to be mounted. They could see further in battle, and be seen by their men, but a Light Company fought on foot in the skirmish line and a man on horseback was a plain target. Sharpe’s officers wore their boots out. McDonald had heard the exchange between Sharpe and Windham and he came close and looked eager. Major Leroy swung himself off his own horse.
“You can take mine. Ride her easy!” Leroy opened his pouch and took out a folded piece of paper. “Here’s Captain Delmas’s parole. You give that to the Officer of the Day at Headquarters, understand?”
“Yes, sir.” McDonald was excited.
Leroy gave the Ensign a leg up onto the horse. “You know where Headquarters is?”
“No, sir.”
“Nor does anyone.” Windham grumbled. He pointed south. “Go that way till you find the army, then go east till you find Headquarters. I want you back here by dusk and if Wellington asks you to dinner, say you’re spoken for.”
“Yes, sir.” McDonald grinned delightedly. “Do you think he might, sir?”
“Get away with you!” Windham acknowledged Delmas’s salute. The Frenchman turned once more to look at Salamanca, staring intently as though looking to see if any British troops had yet made their journey back from the fords and were entering the city streets. Then the pale eyes turned to Sharpe. Delmas smiled. “Au revoir, M’sieur.”
Sharpe smiled back. “I hope your mother’s pox gets better.”
Windham bristled. “Damned unnecessary, Sharpe! Fellow was perfectly pleasant! French, of course, but pleasant.”
Delmas trotted obediently behind the sixteen year old Ensign and Sharpe watched them go before turning back to the gorgeous city across the river. Salamanca.
Sharpe made a sympathetic noise and Windham barked at Sharpe to be quiet. The Colonel watched the Frenchman fussing his dogs with approval. “I don’t mind, Leroy. Damned if I know who’s going to escort him to Headquarters. Do you fancy a hack?”
The Major shook his head. “No, sir.”
Windham screwed himself around again and peered at the Battalion. “I suppose we can ask Butler. He’s usually willing.” He caught sight of Ensign McDonald, much closer. “Does your young man ride, Sharpe?”
“Yes, sir. No horse, though.”
“You have bloody strange ideas, Sharpe.” Windham half disapproved of Sharpe’s belief that an infantry officer should walk like his men. It made sense for some officers to be mounted. They could see further in battle, and be seen by their men, but a Light Company fought on foot in the skirmish line and a man on horseback was a plain target. Sharpe’s officers wore their boots out. McDonald had heard the exchange between Sharpe and Windham and he came close and looked eager. Major Leroy swung himself off his own horse.
“You can take mine. Ride her easy!” Leroy opened his pouch and took out a folded piece of paper. “Here’s Captain Delmas’s parole. You give that to the Officer of the Day at Headquarters, understand?”
“Yes, sir.” McDonald was excited.
Leroy gave the Ensign a leg up onto the horse. “You know where Headquarters is?”
“No, sir.”
“Nor does anyone.” Windham grumbled. He pointed south. “Go that way till you find the army, then go east till you find Headquarters. I want you back here by dusk and if Wellington asks you to dinner, say you’re spoken for.”
“Yes, sir.” McDonald grinned delightedly. “Do you think he might, sir?”
“Get away with you!” Windham acknowledged Delmas’s salute. The Frenchman turned once more to look at Salamanca, staring intently as though looking to see if any British troops had yet made their journey back from the fords and were entering the city streets. Then the pale eyes turned to Sharpe. Delmas smiled. “Au revoir, M’sieur.”
Sharpe smiled back. “I hope your mother’s pox gets better.”
Windham bristled. “Damned unnecessary, Sharpe! Fellow was perfectly pleasant! French, of course, but pleasant.”
Delmas trotted obediently behind the sixteen year old Ensign and Sharpe watched them go before turning back to the gorgeous city across the river. Salamanca.