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Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 190 из 283He put his head down and ran, trampling fallenmen, using his strength to escape the smoke, and burst out of the doors into the street where, gripping the sack of food to keep it safe, he worked his way back down to the house where he had left Harper.
"God save Ireland." Harper was standing in the doorway, watching the chaos. Smoke was tumbling out of the great doors and more was spewing up from the broken skylight. Soldiers, scorched and coughing, were staggering out of the door. Screams sounded inside the warehouse, and then there was another explosion as the rum barrels cracked apart. There was a glow like a giant furnace in the doors now, and the sound of the fire was like the roaring of a huge river going through a ravine. "You did that?" Harper asked.
"I did that," Sharpe said. He felt tired suddenly, tired and ravenously hungry, and he went into the house where Vicente and the girls were waiting in a small room decorated with a picture of a saint holding a shepherd's crook. He looked at Vicente. "Take us somewhere safe, Jorge."
"Where's safe on a day like this?" Vicente asked.
"Somewhere a long way from this street," Sharpe said, and the five of them went out of the back door and, looking back, Sharpe saw that the warehouse next to Ferragus's had caught the fire and its roof was now burning. More dragoons were evidently coming because Sharpe could hear the hooves loud in the narrow streets, but it was too late.
They went down one alley, up another, crossed a street and went through a courtyard where a dozen French soldiers were lying dead drunk. Vicente led them. "We'll go uphill," he said, not because he thought the upper town was any safer than the lower town, but because it had been his home.
No one accosted them. They were just another band of exhausted soldiers stumbling through the city. Behind them was fire, smoke and anger. "What do we say if they challenge us?" Sarah asked Sharpe.
"Tell them we're Dutch."
"Dutch?"
"They have Dutch soldiers," Sharpe said.
The upper town was quieter. It was mostly cavalrymen quartered here and some of them told the interloping infantrymen to go away, but Vicente led them down an alley, through a courtyard, down some steps and into the garden of a big house. At the side of the garden was a cottage. "The house belongs to a professor of theology," Vicente explained, "and his servants live here." The cottage was tiny, but so far no French had found it.
"God save Ireland." Harper was standing in the doorway, watching the chaos. Smoke was tumbling out of the great doors and more was spewing up from the broken skylight. Soldiers, scorched and coughing, were staggering out of the door. Screams sounded inside the warehouse, and then there was another explosion as the rum barrels cracked apart. There was a glow like a giant furnace in the doors now, and the sound of the fire was like the roaring of a huge river going through a ravine. "You did that?" Harper asked.
"I did that," Sharpe said. He felt tired suddenly, tired and ravenously hungry, and he went into the house where Vicente and the girls were waiting in a small room decorated with a picture of a saint holding a shepherd's crook. He looked at Vicente. "Take us somewhere safe, Jorge."
"Where's safe on a day like this?" Vicente asked.
"Somewhere a long way from this street," Sharpe said, and the five of them went out of the back door and, looking back, Sharpe saw that the warehouse next to Ferragus's had caught the fire and its roof was now burning. More dragoons were evidently coming because Sharpe could hear the hooves loud in the narrow streets, but it was too late.
They went down one alley, up another, crossed a street and went through a courtyard where a dozen French soldiers were lying dead drunk. Vicente led them. "We'll go uphill," he said, not because he thought the upper town was any safer than the lower town, but because it had been his home.
No one accosted them. They were just another band of exhausted soldiers stumbling through the city. Behind them was fire, smoke and anger. "What do we say if they challenge us?" Sarah asked Sharpe.
"Tell them we're Dutch."
"Dutch?"
"They have Dutch soldiers," Sharpe said.
The upper town was quieter. It was mostly cavalrymen quartered here and some of them told the interloping infantrymen to go away, but Vicente led them down an alley, through a courtyard, down some steps and into the garden of a big house. At the side of the garden was a cottage. "The house belongs to a professor of theology," Vicente explained, "and his servants live here." The cottage was tiny, but so far no French had found it.