JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 45 из 223The captain himself, resplendent in blue, white and gold, directed affairs fifty yards down the strand.
“Let me remind you, Lieutenant,” Sharpe said, “that proceedings ashore are under my command.”
The Comte de Maquerre, looking grey beneath the powder he had put on to his face, brushed at his cloak then stumped through the sand towards Bampfylde.
Ford glanced at the Comte, then back to Sharpe. “You can see, sir,” the lieutenant could not hide his embarrassment, “that our Marines have had a miraculous recovery.”
“Indeed.” There must have been hundreds of Marines on the beach and Sharpe had seen at least another fifty march inland.
“The captain feels,” Ford had carefully placed himself in a position that made it impossible for Sharpe to walk towards Bampfylde, “that we can safely look after the matter ourselves.” He smiled, as though he had brought splendid news.
Sharpe stared at the young, nervous lieutenant. “The matter?”
“The capture of the Teste de Buch,” Ford still smiled as if he could infect Sharpe with his good tidings.
Sharpe stared at Ford. “You’re standing in my path, Lieutenant.”
“Oh! My apologies, sir!” Ford stepped aside.
Bampfylde was greeting the Comte de Maquerre with evident familiarity, but, seeing Sharpe approach, he gestured for the Frenchman to wait, then stepped briskly towards the Rifleman. “Morning, Sharpe! Quite a clever one, what?”
“Clever, sir?”
“The weather! God smiles on sailormen.” A gust of wind picked up particles of sand and rattled them against Sharpe’s tall boots.
“Lieutenant Ford, sir, tells me you do not require my services.”
“Not at the Teste de Buch, certainly. One of our brigs quizzed a fisherman yesterday, Sharpe. Seems the Frogs have abandoned the fort! How about that, eh? There’s a few fencibles left there, but I can’t see you need to bother yourself with that sort of scum! I think the prudent thing, Major, is for you to march inland.”
“Inland, sir?”
“Weren’t you planning to ambush the high road? But I want you back here, with your report, by the forenoon on Thursday. Is that clear?”
Sharpe looked past the plump, confident Bampfylde to see the Marines being paraded on the sand. They were in light order, having left their packs and greatcoats on the Vengeance. They also seemed to be in fine fettle and the sight angered Sharpe. “Your men made a miraculous recovery, Captain?”
“Did they not, Major?” Bampfylde, in the heartiest of moods, smiled. “A ruse de guerre, Major.
“Let me remind you, Lieutenant,” Sharpe said, “that proceedings ashore are under my command.”
The Comte de Maquerre, looking grey beneath the powder he had put on to his face, brushed at his cloak then stumped through the sand towards Bampfylde.
Ford glanced at the Comte, then back to Sharpe. “You can see, sir,” the lieutenant could not hide his embarrassment, “that our Marines have had a miraculous recovery.”
“Indeed.” There must have been hundreds of Marines on the beach and Sharpe had seen at least another fifty march inland.
“The captain feels,” Ford had carefully placed himself in a position that made it impossible for Sharpe to walk towards Bampfylde, “that we can safely look after the matter ourselves.” He smiled, as though he had brought splendid news.
Sharpe stared at the young, nervous lieutenant. “The matter?”
“The capture of the Teste de Buch,” Ford still smiled as if he could infect Sharpe with his good tidings.
Sharpe stared at Ford. “You’re standing in my path, Lieutenant.”
“Oh! My apologies, sir!” Ford stepped aside.
Bampfylde was greeting the Comte de Maquerre with evident familiarity, but, seeing Sharpe approach, he gestured for the Frenchman to wait, then stepped briskly towards the Rifleman. “Morning, Sharpe! Quite a clever one, what?”
“Clever, sir?”
“The weather! God smiles on sailormen.” A gust of wind picked up particles of sand and rattled them against Sharpe’s tall boots.
“Lieutenant Ford, sir, tells me you do not require my services.”
“Not at the Teste de Buch, certainly. One of our brigs quizzed a fisherman yesterday, Sharpe. Seems the Frogs have abandoned the fort! How about that, eh? There’s a few fencibles left there, but I can’t see you need to bother yourself with that sort of scum! I think the prudent thing, Major, is for you to march inland.”
“Inland, sir?”
“Weren’t you planning to ambush the high road? But I want you back here, with your report, by the forenoon on Thursday. Is that clear?”
Sharpe looked past the plump, confident Bampfylde to see the Marines being paraded on the sand. They were in light order, having left their packs and greatcoats on the Vengeance. They also seemed to be in fine fettle and the sight angered Sharpe. “Your men made a miraculous recovery, Captain?”
“Did they not, Major?” Bampfylde, in the heartiest of moods, smiled. “A ruse de guerre, Major.