JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 24 из 223” Elphinstone plucked his cloak even tighter as the barge struggled against the current-sweeping about the sandbar. “Michael Hogan didn’t help. He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
Elphinstone sniffed. “Damned shame he’s ill. I can’t understand why he encouraged Wigram, but he did. But you’re to take no notice, Sharpe. The Peer expects you to take the fortress, let bloody Bampfylde extract the boats, then come back here.”
Sharpe stared at Elphinstone and received a nod of confirmation. So Wellington was not unaware of Wigram’s plans, but Wellington was putting his own man, Sharpe, into the operation. Was that, Sharpe wondered, the reason why he had lost his Battalion?
“It wouldn’t matter,” Elphinstone went on, “except that we need the bloody Navy to carry us there, and we can’t control them. Bampfylde thinks he’ll get an earldom out of Bordeaux, so stop the silly bugger dead. No rising, no rebellion, no hopes, no glory, and no bloody earldom.“
Sharpe smiled. “There’ll be no fortress unless I have decent troops, sir.”
“You’ll get the best I can find,” Elphinstone promised, “but not in such numbers that might tempt you to invade Bordeaux.”
“Indeed, sir.”
The oarsmen were grunting with the effort of fighting the tide’s last ebb as the barge rounded the harbour’s northern mole. Sharpe understood well enough what was happening. A simple cutting out expedition, necessitating the capture of a coastal fort, was needed to release the chasse-marees, but ambitious officers, eager to make a name for themselves in the waning months of the war, wished to turn that mundane operation into a flight of fancy. Sharpe, who would make the reconnaissance inland, was ordered to blunt their hopes.
The steersman pointed the boat’s prow towards a flight of green-slimed steps. The white-painted barge, in smoother water now, cut swiftly towards the quay. The rain became tempestuous, slicking the quay’s stones darker and drumming on the top of Sharpe’s shako.
“In oars!” the steersman shouted.
The white bladed oars rose like wings and the craft coasted in a smooth curve to the foot of the steps. Sharpe looked up. The harbour wall, sheer and black and wet, reared above him like a cliff. “How high is that?” he asked Elphinstone.
The Colonel squinted upwards. “Eighteen feet?” Then Elphinstone saw the point of Sharpe’s question and shrugged. “Let’s hope Wigram’s right and they’ve stripped the Teste de Buch of defenders.
“Yes, sir.”
Elphinstone sniffed. “Damned shame he’s ill. I can’t understand why he encouraged Wigram, but he did. But you’re to take no notice, Sharpe. The Peer expects you to take the fortress, let bloody Bampfylde extract the boats, then come back here.”
Sharpe stared at Elphinstone and received a nod of confirmation. So Wellington was not unaware of Wigram’s plans, but Wellington was putting his own man, Sharpe, into the operation. Was that, Sharpe wondered, the reason why he had lost his Battalion?
“It wouldn’t matter,” Elphinstone went on, “except that we need the bloody Navy to carry us there, and we can’t control them. Bampfylde thinks he’ll get an earldom out of Bordeaux, so stop the silly bugger dead. No rising, no rebellion, no hopes, no glory, and no bloody earldom.“
Sharpe smiled. “There’ll be no fortress unless I have decent troops, sir.”
“You’ll get the best I can find,” Elphinstone promised, “but not in such numbers that might tempt you to invade Bordeaux.”
“Indeed, sir.”
The oarsmen were grunting with the effort of fighting the tide’s last ebb as the barge rounded the harbour’s northern mole. Sharpe understood well enough what was happening. A simple cutting out expedition, necessitating the capture of a coastal fort, was needed to release the chasse-marees, but ambitious officers, eager to make a name for themselves in the waning months of the war, wished to turn that mundane operation into a flight of fancy. Sharpe, who would make the reconnaissance inland, was ordered to blunt their hopes.
The steersman pointed the boat’s prow towards a flight of green-slimed steps. The white-painted barge, in smoother water now, cut swiftly towards the quay. The rain became tempestuous, slicking the quay’s stones darker and drumming on the top of Sharpe’s shako.
“In oars!” the steersman shouted.
The white bladed oars rose like wings and the craft coasted in a smooth curve to the foot of the steps. Sharpe looked up. The harbour wall, sheer and black and wet, reared above him like a cliff. “How high is that?” he asked Elphinstone.
The Colonel squinted upwards. “Eighteen feet?” Then Elphinstone saw the point of Sharpe’s question and shrugged. “Let’s hope Wigram’s right and they’ve stripped the Teste de Buch of defenders.