JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 48 из 223The American knew well what fate the British might give to a captured privateer’s crew, so Killick had not ordered his mento give battle, but had instead invited their help. Such was their faith in him, and such their liking for him, that only two dozen men had declined this chance. Thus Killick would be served this day by volunteers, fighters all. How, Killick asked himself, could impressed troops, led by arrogant, dandified officers, defeat such men as these?
A wind stirred the pines and drifted the fire’s smoke towards the village. No one was visible on the far ramparts of the fort, nor did any flag show.
“Maybe the bastards won’t come today.” Lieutenant Docherty poured himself some of the muddy coffee.
“Maybe not.” Killick leaned to the fire and lit a cigar. He felt a sudden pang that he should be forced to this unnatural fight or else lose his ship. He could not face losing the Thuella. ‘But if they do come, Liam, we’ll shock the bastards out of their skins.“ That was Killick’s third advantage; that he had the surprise of ambush on his side.
An hour later the first message arrived from Point Arcachon. Killick had posted four scouts, each one mounted on a lumbering carthorse, and the news came clumping northwards that Marines had landed safely and were already advancing along the tangle of sandy tracks that edged the beach.
“Did they see you?” Killick asked the gun-captain who brought the message.
“No.” The man was scornful of the Marines’ watchfulness.
Killick stood and clapped his hands. “We’re moving, lads! We’re moving!” The Thuella’s crew had waited with the guns at a point midway between the beach paths and the inland road. Now Killick knew which route the British were taking and so the guns had to be manhandled westwards to bar that route.
Other messages came as the guns were shifted. A hundred and fifty Marines had landed; they had neither artillery nor horses, and all marched north. Other men had followed the Marines ashore, but they had stayed on the beach. The scouts, all four of them, came back to the ambush site.
Henri Lassan had chosen the place, and chosen well. The guns were sited at the edge of a pine wood that topped a shallow ridge that jutted into a spreading, flat expanse of sand that edged the dunes of the beach. Two cottages had stood in the sandy space, but both had burned down in the last few years and their charred remains were all that broke up the area across which the Marines must march.
The gun emplacement also offered Killick’s men protection. The twelve-pounders were shadowed by the pines, so that the grapeshot would blast, obscene and sudden, out of the darkness into the light.
A wind stirred the pines and drifted the fire’s smoke towards the village. No one was visible on the far ramparts of the fort, nor did any flag show.
“Maybe the bastards won’t come today.” Lieutenant Docherty poured himself some of the muddy coffee.
“Maybe not.” Killick leaned to the fire and lit a cigar. He felt a sudden pang that he should be forced to this unnatural fight or else lose his ship. He could not face losing the Thuella. ‘But if they do come, Liam, we’ll shock the bastards out of their skins.“ That was Killick’s third advantage; that he had the surprise of ambush on his side.
An hour later the first message arrived from Point Arcachon. Killick had posted four scouts, each one mounted on a lumbering carthorse, and the news came clumping northwards that Marines had landed safely and were already advancing along the tangle of sandy tracks that edged the beach.
“Did they see you?” Killick asked the gun-captain who brought the message.
“No.” The man was scornful of the Marines’ watchfulness.
Killick stood and clapped his hands. “We’re moving, lads! We’re moving!” The Thuella’s crew had waited with the guns at a point midway between the beach paths and the inland road. Now Killick knew which route the British were taking and so the guns had to be manhandled westwards to bar that route.
Other messages came as the guns were shifted. A hundred and fifty Marines had landed; they had neither artillery nor horses, and all marched north. Other men had followed the Marines ashore, but they had stayed on the beach. The scouts, all four of them, came back to the ambush site.
Henri Lassan had chosen the place, and chosen well. The guns were sited at the edge of a pine wood that topped a shallow ridge that jutted into a spreading, flat expanse of sand that edged the dunes of the beach. Two cottages had stood in the sandy space, but both had burned down in the last few years and their charred remains were all that broke up the area across which the Marines must march.
The gun emplacement also offered Killick’s men protection. The twelve-pounders were shadowed by the pines, so that the grapeshot would blast, obscene and sudden, out of the darkness into the light.