JК
Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 113 из 283He was a patriot, but what use was a penniless patriot?
He stopped at the hilltop. Stopped there for a long time until he was certain that any French cavalry vedettes would have seen him, and then he rode slowly down the hill's eastern face. He stopped halfway down. Now, anyone approaching him could see that he was not luring them to an ambush. There was no dead ground behind him, nowhere for a cavalry unit to hide. There was just Major Ferreira on a long, bare hillside.
And ten minutes after he stopped, a score of green-coated dragoons appeared a half-mile away. The horsemen spread into a line. Some had their carbines out of their holsters, but most had drawn swords and Ferreira dismounted to show them that he was not trying to escape. The officer in charge of the dragoons stared upwards, searching for danger, and finally he must have concluded that all was well for he rode forward with a half-dozen of his men. The horses' hooves left puffs of dust on the dry hillside. Ferreira, as the dragoons came nearer, spread his arms to show he carried no weapons, then stood quite still as the horsemen surrounded him. A blade dipped near his throat, held by the officer, whose uniform had been faded by the sun. "I have a letter of introduction," Ferreira said in French.
"To whom?" It was the officer who answered.
"To you," Ferreira answered, "from Colonel Barreto."
"And who in the name of holy Christ is Colonel Barreto?"
"An aide to Marshal Massena."
"Show me the letter."
Ferreira brought the piece of paper from a pocket, unfolded it and handed it up to the French officer, who leaned from his saddle to take it.
The letter, creased and dirty, explained to any French officer that the bearer could be trusted and should be given every help possible. Barreto had given Ferreira the letter when the Major had been negotiating the gift of the flour, but it came in more useful now. The dragoon officer read it swiftly, glanced once at Ferreira, then tossed the letter back. "So what do you want?"
"To see Colonel Barreto, of course," Ferreira said.
It took an hour and a half to reach the village of Moura where Ney's men, who had attacked towards the windmill above Sula, were resting. The surgeons were busy in the village and Ferreira had to steer his horse past a pile of severed arms and legs that lay just outside an open window. Next to the stream, where the flat stones provided a place for the village women to do their laundry, there was now a heap of corpses. Most had been stripped of their uniforms and their white skin was laced with blood.
He stopped at the hilltop. Stopped there for a long time until he was certain that any French cavalry vedettes would have seen him, and then he rode slowly down the hill's eastern face. He stopped halfway down. Now, anyone approaching him could see that he was not luring them to an ambush. There was no dead ground behind him, nowhere for a cavalry unit to hide. There was just Major Ferreira on a long, bare hillside.
And ten minutes after he stopped, a score of green-coated dragoons appeared a half-mile away. The horsemen spread into a line. Some had their carbines out of their holsters, but most had drawn swords and Ferreira dismounted to show them that he was not trying to escape. The officer in charge of the dragoons stared upwards, searching for danger, and finally he must have concluded that all was well for he rode forward with a half-dozen of his men. The horses' hooves left puffs of dust on the dry hillside. Ferreira, as the dragoons came nearer, spread his arms to show he carried no weapons, then stood quite still as the horsemen surrounded him. A blade dipped near his throat, held by the officer, whose uniform had been faded by the sun. "I have a letter of introduction," Ferreira said in French.
"To whom?" It was the officer who answered.
"To you," Ferreira answered, "from Colonel Barreto."
"And who in the name of holy Christ is Colonel Barreto?"
"An aide to Marshal Massena."
"Show me the letter."
Ferreira brought the piece of paper from a pocket, unfolded it and handed it up to the French officer, who leaned from his saddle to take it.
The letter, creased and dirty, explained to any French officer that the bearer could be trusted and should be given every help possible. Barreto had given Ferreira the letter when the Major had been negotiating the gift of the flour, but it came in more useful now. The dragoon officer read it swiftly, glanced once at Ferreira, then tossed the letter back. "So what do you want?"
"To see Colonel Barreto, of course," Ferreira said.
It took an hour and a half to reach the village of Moura where Ney's men, who had attacked towards the windmill above Sula, were resting. The surgeons were busy in the village and Ferreira had to steer his horse past a pile of severed arms and legs that lay just outside an open window. Next to the stream, where the flat stones provided a place for the village women to do their laundry, there was now a heap of corpses. Most had been stripped of their uniforms and their white skin was laced with blood.