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Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 43 из 244" Hogan and Sharpe, followed by the riflemen, had turned a corner to see the Real Companпa Irlandesa slouching in parade order on a patch of waste land opposite a half-finished church. "Our new allies," Hogan said sourly, "believe it or not, in fatigue dress."
Fatigue dress was meant to be a soldier's duty uniform for everyday wear, but the fatigue uniform of the Real Companпa Irlandesa was much gaudier and smarter than the full dress finery of most British line battalions. The guardsmen wore short red jackets with black-edged, gilt-fringed swallowtails behind. The same gold-trimmed black cord edged their buttonholes and collars, while the facings, cuffs and turnbacks of their coats were of emerald green. Their breeches and waistcoats had once been white, their calf-length boots, belts and crossbelts were of black leather, while their sashes were green, the same green as the high plume that each man wore on the side of his black bicorne hat. The gilded hat badges showed a tower and a rearing lion, the same symbols that were displayed on the gorgeous green and gold shoulder sashes worn by the sergeants and drummer boys. As Sharpe walked closer he saw that the splendid uniforms were frayed, patched and discoloured, yet they still made a brave display in the bright spring sunshine. The men themselves looked anything but brave, instead appearing dispirited, weary and aggravated.
"Where are their officers?" Sharpe asked Hogan.
"Gone to a tavern for luncheon."
"They don't eat with their men?"
"Evidently not." Hogan's disapproval was acid, but not as bitter as Sharpe's. "Now don't be getting sympathetic, Richard," Hogan warned. "You're not supposed to like these boys, remember?"
"Do they speak English?" Sharpe asked.
"As well as you or I. About half of them are Irish born, the other half are descended from Irish emigrants, and a good few, I have to say, once wore red coats," Hogan said, meaning that they were deserters from the British army.
Sharpe turned and beckoned Harper towards him. "Let's have a look at this palace guard, Sergeant," he said. "Put 'em in open order."
"What do I call them?" Harper asked.
"Battalion?" Sharpe guessed.
Harper took a deep breath. "Talion! 'Shun!" His voice was loud enough to make the closest men wince and the further ones jump in surprise, but only a few men snapped to attention. "For inspection! Open order march!" Harper bellowed, and again very few guardsmen moved. Some just gaped at Harper while the majority looked towards their own sergeants for guidance.
Fatigue dress was meant to be a soldier's duty uniform for everyday wear, but the fatigue uniform of the Real Companпa Irlandesa was much gaudier and smarter than the full dress finery of most British line battalions. The guardsmen wore short red jackets with black-edged, gilt-fringed swallowtails behind. The same gold-trimmed black cord edged their buttonholes and collars, while the facings, cuffs and turnbacks of their coats were of emerald green. Their breeches and waistcoats had once been white, their calf-length boots, belts and crossbelts were of black leather, while their sashes were green, the same green as the high plume that each man wore on the side of his black bicorne hat. The gilded hat badges showed a tower and a rearing lion, the same symbols that were displayed on the gorgeous green and gold shoulder sashes worn by the sergeants and drummer boys. As Sharpe walked closer he saw that the splendid uniforms were frayed, patched and discoloured, yet they still made a brave display in the bright spring sunshine. The men themselves looked anything but brave, instead appearing dispirited, weary and aggravated.
"Where are their officers?" Sharpe asked Hogan.
"Gone to a tavern for luncheon."
"They don't eat with their men?"
"Evidently not." Hogan's disapproval was acid, but not as bitter as Sharpe's. "Now don't be getting sympathetic, Richard," Hogan warned. "You're not supposed to like these boys, remember?"
"Do they speak English?" Sharpe asked.
"As well as you or I. About half of them are Irish born, the other half are descended from Irish emigrants, and a good few, I have to say, once wore red coats," Hogan said, meaning that they were deserters from the British army.
Sharpe turned and beckoned Harper towards him. "Let's have a look at this palace guard, Sergeant," he said. "Put 'em in open order."
"What do I call them?" Harper asked.
"Battalion?" Sharpe guessed.
Harper took a deep breath. "Talion! 'Shun!" His voice was loud enough to make the closest men wince and the further ones jump in surprise, but only a few men snapped to attention. "For inspection! Open order march!" Harper bellowed, and again very few guardsmen moved. Some just gaped at Harper while the majority looked towards their own sergeants for guidance.