JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 19 из 223“Weightthe end of that, Sharpe! Now! There seems to me just one sensible way to proceed.”
He outlined his plan which was, indeed, the only sensible way to proceed. The naval flotilla, under Bampfylde’s command, would sail northwards and land troops on the coast south of the Point d’Arcachon. That land force, commanded by Sharpe, would proceed towards the fortress, a journey of some six hours, and make an escalade while the defenders were distracted by the’incursion of a frigate into the mouth of the Arcachon channel. “The frigate’s bound to take some punishment,” Bampfylde said equably, “but I’m sure Major Sharpe will overcome the gunners swiftly.”
The chart showed the great Basin of Arcachon with its narrow entrance channel, and marked the fortress of Teste de Buch on the eastern bank of that channel. A profile of the fort, as a landmark for mariners, was sketched on the chart, but the profile told Sharpe little about the stronghold’s defences. He looked at Elphinstone. “What do we know about the fort, sir?”
Elphinstone had been piqued by Bampfylde’s discourteous treatment and thus chose to use the technical language of his trade, doubtless hoping thereby to annoy the bumptious naval captain. “It’s an old fortification, Sharpe, a square-trace. You’ll face a glacis rising to ten feet, with an eight counterscarp into the outer ditch. A width of twenty and a scarp often. That’s revetted with granite, by the way, like the rest of the damned place. Climb the scarp and you’re on a counterguard. They’ll be peppering you by now and you’ve got a forty foot dash to the next counterscarp.” The colonel was speaking with a grim relish, as if seeing the figures running and dropping through the enemy’s plunging fire. “That’s twelve feet, it’s flooded, and the enceinte height is twenty.”
“The width of that last ditch?” Sharpe was making notes.
“Sixteen, near enough.” Elphinstone shrugged. “We don’t think it’s flooded more than a foot or two.” Even if the naval
Though other officers did not understand Elphinstone’s language, they could understand the importance of what he was saying. The Teste de Buch might be an old fort, but it was a bastard; a killer.
“Weapons, sir?” Sharpe asked.
Elphinstone had no need to consult his notes. “They’ve got six thirty-six pounders in a semi-circular bastion that butts into the channel. The other guns are twenty-fours, wall mounted.”
Captain Horace Bampfylde had listened to the technical language and understood that a small point was being scored against him.
He outlined his plan which was, indeed, the only sensible way to proceed. The naval flotilla, under Bampfylde’s command, would sail northwards and land troops on the coast south of the Point d’Arcachon. That land force, commanded by Sharpe, would proceed towards the fortress, a journey of some six hours, and make an escalade while the defenders were distracted by the’incursion of a frigate into the mouth of the Arcachon channel. “The frigate’s bound to take some punishment,” Bampfylde said equably, “but I’m sure Major Sharpe will overcome the gunners swiftly.”
The chart showed the great Basin of Arcachon with its narrow entrance channel, and marked the fortress of Teste de Buch on the eastern bank of that channel. A profile of the fort, as a landmark for mariners, was sketched on the chart, but the profile told Sharpe little about the stronghold’s defences. He looked at Elphinstone. “What do we know about the fort, sir?”
Elphinstone had been piqued by Bampfylde’s discourteous treatment and thus chose to use the technical language of his trade, doubtless hoping thereby to annoy the bumptious naval captain. “It’s an old fortification, Sharpe, a square-trace. You’ll face a glacis rising to ten feet, with an eight counterscarp into the outer ditch. A width of twenty and a scarp often. That’s revetted with granite, by the way, like the rest of the damned place. Climb the scarp and you’re on a counterguard. They’ll be peppering you by now and you’ve got a forty foot dash to the next counterscarp.” The colonel was speaking with a grim relish, as if seeing the figures running and dropping through the enemy’s plunging fire. “That’s twelve feet, it’s flooded, and the enceinte height is twenty.”
“The width of that last ditch?” Sharpe was making notes.
“Sixteen, near enough.” Elphinstone shrugged. “We don’t think it’s flooded more than a foot or two.” Even if the naval
Though other officers did not understand Elphinstone’s language, they could understand the importance of what he was saying. The Teste de Buch might be an old fort, but it was a bastard; a killer.
“Weapons, sir?” Sharpe asked.
Elphinstone had no need to consult his notes. “They’ve got six thirty-six pounders in a semi-circular bastion that butts into the channel. The other guns are twenty-fours, wall mounted.”
Captain Horace Bampfylde had listened to the technical language and understood that a small point was being scored against him.