JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 202 из 223He clambered down the outer stones, then leaped the gap on to the roadway. Frederickson and Killick followed more slowly.
Sharpe waited in the narrow cutting that led through the glacis. The road was thick with musket balls that had already half settled into the wet, sandy surface. He held up a hand as the horsemen came close.
Favier was the leading horseman. Behind Favier was a general, cloak open to show the braid on his jacket, and behind the general was Ducos. Sharpe, warned by Killick that he might see his old enemy, stared with loathing, but he had nothing to say to Ducos. He spoke instead to Colonel Favier. “Good morning, Colonel.”
“What’s the meaning of that?” Favier pointed to the American flag.
“It means,” Sharpe spoke loud enough for Ducos to hear, “that we have surrendered ourselves to the armed forces of the United States and put ourselves under the protection of her President and Congress.” Killick had given him the words last night, and Sharpe saw the flicker of anger that they provoked in Pierre Ducos.
There was silence. Frederickson and Killick joined Sharpe, then the general demanded a translation that Favier provided. Rain dripped from bridles and sword scabbards.
Favier looked back at Sharpe. “As allies of America we will take responsibility for Captain Killick’s prisoners.” He doffed his hat to Killick. “We congratulate you, Captain.”
“My pleasure,” Killick said. “And my prisoners. I’m taking them aboard.”
Again there was a pause for the exchange to be translated and, when Favier looked back, his face was angry. “This is the soil of France. If British troops surrender on this soil then those troops become prisoners of the French government.”
Sharpe dug his heel into the wet, sandy road. “This is British soil, Favier, captured by my men, held by my men against your best efforts, and now surrendered to the United States. Doubtless you can negotiate with those States for its return.”
“I think the United States would agree to return it.” Killick, amused by the pomposities of the moment, smiled.
There was a fall of dislodged stone from the breach and all six men, their attention drawn by the noise, saw the huge figure of Patrick Harper, head bare, standing on the breach’s summit. Over his right shoulder, like a dreadful threat, lay the French engineer’s axe that Sharpe had used the day before. Favier looked back to Killick. “It seems you do not disarm your prisoners, Mr Killick?”
“Captain Killick,” Killick corrected Favier.
Sharpe waited in the narrow cutting that led through the glacis. The road was thick with musket balls that had already half settled into the wet, sandy surface. He held up a hand as the horsemen came close.
Favier was the leading horseman. Behind Favier was a general, cloak open to show the braid on his jacket, and behind the general was Ducos. Sharpe, warned by Killick that he might see his old enemy, stared with loathing, but he had nothing to say to Ducos. He spoke instead to Colonel Favier. “Good morning, Colonel.”
“What’s the meaning of that?” Favier pointed to the American flag.
“It means,” Sharpe spoke loud enough for Ducos to hear, “that we have surrendered ourselves to the armed forces of the United States and put ourselves under the protection of her President and Congress.” Killick had given him the words last night, and Sharpe saw the flicker of anger that they provoked in Pierre Ducos.
There was silence. Frederickson and Killick joined Sharpe, then the general demanded a translation that Favier provided. Rain dripped from bridles and sword scabbards.
Favier looked back at Sharpe. “As allies of America we will take responsibility for Captain Killick’s prisoners.” He doffed his hat to Killick. “We congratulate you, Captain.”
“My pleasure,” Killick said. “And my prisoners. I’m taking them aboard.”
Again there was a pause for the exchange to be translated and, when Favier looked back, his face was angry. “This is the soil of France. If British troops surrender on this soil then those troops become prisoners of the French government.”
Sharpe dug his heel into the wet, sandy road. “This is British soil, Favier, captured by my men, held by my men against your best efforts, and now surrendered to the United States. Doubtless you can negotiate with those States for its return.”
“I think the United States would agree to return it.” Killick, amused by the pomposities of the moment, smiled.
There was a fall of dislodged stone from the breach and all six men, their attention drawn by the noise, saw the huge figure of Patrick Harper, head bare, standing on the breach’s summit. Over his right shoulder, like a dreadful threat, lay the French engineer’s axe that Sharpe had used the day before. Favier looked back to Killick. “It seems you do not disarm your prisoners, Mr Killick?”
“Captain Killick,” Killick corrected Favier.