JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 36 из 223”The long Biscay shore, that could thunder with tumbling surf, was this week in gentler mood. The breaking waves beyond the channel were four or five feet high, frightening enough to landlubbers, but not high enough to stop ships’ boats from landing.
Lassan, still hoping that his deception would persuade the British that they had no need to land men on the coast to the south, nevertheless acknowledged the possibility. “Indeed.”
“And if they do come by land,” Killick said brutally, “they’ll beat you.”
Lassan glanced at the ebony crucifix that hung between his bookshelves. “Perhaps not.”
The American seemed oblivious of Lassan’s appeal to the Almighty. “And if they take the fort,” he went on, “they’ll command the whole Basin.”
“They will, indeed.”
“And they’ll take the Thuella.” Killick said it softly, but in his imagination he was seeing his beautiful ship captured by mocking British sailors. The Thuella would be sailed to England as a prize, and a sleek New England schooner, made to ride the long winds of empty oceans, would become an unloved coasting ship carrying British trade. “By God, they will not take her!”
“We’ll do our best,” Lassan said helplessly, though how four gun crews could resist a British attack was indeed a problem that called for a miracle. Lassan did not doubt that his guns could wreak damage, but once the British discovered the guns were manned they would soon land their Marines and surround the fort. And Lassan, because the Emperor had been greedy for men, could not defend the seaward and the landward walls at once.
The grim news made the American silent. He stared at the small fire, his hawk’s face frowning, and when he finally spoke his voice was oddly tentative. “What if we fought?”
“You?” Lassan could not hide his surprise.
“We can fight, Henri.” Killick grinned. “And we’ve got those damned twelve-pounder guns in our hold.” He was suddenly filled with enthusiasm, seizing a map from Lassan’s table and weighting its corners with books. “They’ll land south of Point Arcachon?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“And there are only two routes they can take north. The paths by the beach, or the road!” Killick’s face was alight with the thought of action, and Lassan saw that the American was a man who revelled in the simple problems of warfare. Lassan had met other such men; brave men who had made their names famous throughout France and written pages of history through their love of violent action.
Lassan, still hoping that his deception would persuade the British that they had no need to land men on the coast to the south, nevertheless acknowledged the possibility. “Indeed.”
“And if they do come by land,” Killick said brutally, “they’ll beat you.”
Lassan glanced at the ebony crucifix that hung between his bookshelves. “Perhaps not.”
The American seemed oblivious of Lassan’s appeal to the Almighty. “And if they take the fort,” he went on, “they’ll command the whole Basin.”
“They will, indeed.”
“And they’ll take the Thuella.” Killick said it softly, but in his imagination he was seeing his beautiful ship captured by mocking British sailors. The Thuella would be sailed to England as a prize, and a sleek New England schooner, made to ride the long winds of empty oceans, would become an unloved coasting ship carrying British trade. “By God, they will not take her!”
“We’ll do our best,” Lassan said helplessly, though how four gun crews could resist a British attack was indeed a problem that called for a miracle. Lassan did not doubt that his guns could wreak damage, but once the British discovered the guns were manned they would soon land their Marines and surround the fort. And Lassan, because the Emperor had been greedy for men, could not defend the seaward and the landward walls at once.
The grim news made the American silent. He stared at the small fire, his hawk’s face frowning, and when he finally spoke his voice was oddly tentative. “What if we fought?”
“You?” Lassan could not hide his surprise.
“We can fight, Henri.” Killick grinned. “And we’ve got those damned twelve-pounder guns in our hold.” He was suddenly filled with enthusiasm, seizing a map from Lassan’s table and weighting its corners with books. “They’ll land south of Point Arcachon?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“And there are only two routes they can take north. The paths by the beach, or the road!” Killick’s face was alight with the thought of action, and Lassan saw that the American was a man who revelled in the simple problems of warfare. Lassan had met other such men; brave men who had made their names famous throughout France and written pages of history through their love of violent action.