JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 191 из 223A ship, moored off the fort’s south-western angle, could fire till the very final second of an assault, long after the twelve-poundersin the mill would have been forced into silence for fear of hitting their own attacking column. The Thuella’s gunfire, coming at right-angles to the line of attack and aimed at the breach, would force the defenders away from that vulnerable point. Such a floating battery, Killick saw, would be a guarantee of victory to demoralized men. The American nodded. “It could be done.”
“At dawn?” Calvet asked.
Killick drew on his cigar. “It could be done, but not by me. I have taken an oath not to fight against the British.” There was silence, except for the sudden percussion of an howitzer that shook more dust free from the roof. Killick shrugged. “I’m sorry, gentlemen.”
“An oath?” Ducos’ voice was sharp with scorn.
“An oath,” Killick repeated. “Major Sharpe spared my life in return for that oath,” the American grinned, “and as the promise wasn’t made to a lady, it has to be honoured.”
Killick’s levity stung Ducos. “One does not keep oaths to savages. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Is that why you didn’t send me the copper sheeting?” Killick stared with dislike at Ducos. “Don’t lecture me, Major, about keeping promises.”
The copper sheeting had never come, but the schooner had been patched with coffin-elm and smeared with pitch. The job had been done faster than Cornelius Killick had dared hope.
The topmasts had been swayed up on tackles and lashed into place. Tangled shrouds had been sorted, cleated, and winched home. The Thuella, that had given the appearance of a dead and burning ship, lived again.
That very morning, as Frenchmen died in a fort’s gateway, anchors had been laid in the Gujan channel and, at high tide, the windlasses had hauled the empty hull off the mud. The Thuella had slipped into the water. In just a few seconds, an ungainly and grounded hulk had become a slender craft shivering to the touch of wind and waves. Her figurehead had been bolted into place. Meat and water and flour and bread and wine and biscuit and onions and more wine were taken aboard. The carpenter had sounded the bilges and, though some water was leaking through the repaired hull, he had declared the pumps could take care of the seepage.
“So, yes,” Killick now said, “the Thuella can be moored in the channel tomorrow morning, General, but it can’t fire a shot. I’ve taken an oath.”
Calvet, eager to harness the Thuella’s firepower, smiled. “Major Sharpe forfeited all honour, Captain Killick, when he chose to use quicklime against my troops.
“At dawn?” Calvet asked.
Killick drew on his cigar. “It could be done, but not by me. I have taken an oath not to fight against the British.” There was silence, except for the sudden percussion of an howitzer that shook more dust free from the roof. Killick shrugged. “I’m sorry, gentlemen.”
“An oath?” Ducos’ voice was sharp with scorn.
“An oath,” Killick repeated. “Major Sharpe spared my life in return for that oath,” the American grinned, “and as the promise wasn’t made to a lady, it has to be honoured.”
Killick’s levity stung Ducos. “One does not keep oaths to savages. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Is that why you didn’t send me the copper sheeting?” Killick stared with dislike at Ducos. “Don’t lecture me, Major, about keeping promises.”
The copper sheeting had never come, but the schooner had been patched with coffin-elm and smeared with pitch. The job had been done faster than Cornelius Killick had dared hope.
The topmasts had been swayed up on tackles and lashed into place. Tangled shrouds had been sorted, cleated, and winched home. The Thuella, that had given the appearance of a dead and burning ship, lived again.
That very morning, as Frenchmen died in a fort’s gateway, anchors had been laid in the Gujan channel and, at high tide, the windlasses had hauled the empty hull off the mud. The Thuella had slipped into the water. In just a few seconds, an ungainly and grounded hulk had become a slender craft shivering to the touch of wind and waves. Her figurehead had been bolted into place. Meat and water and flour and bread and wine and biscuit and onions and more wine were taken aboard. The carpenter had sounded the bilges and, though some water was leaking through the repaired hull, he had declared the pumps could take care of the seepage.
“So, yes,” Killick now said, “the Thuella can be moored in the channel tomorrow morning, General, but it can’t fire a shot. I’ve taken an oath.”
Calvet, eager to harness the Thuella’s firepower, smiled. “Major Sharpe forfeited all honour, Captain Killick, when he chose to use quicklime against my troops.