JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 81 из 223”
“True, but it is important that they hang in the proper manner! We can’t have a pirate flogged, can we? That would be most uncivil!” Barnpfylde laughed at his small jest. Those crewmen of the Thuella who were suspected of being British seamen and deserters would face the worst fate. They would be placed in a ship’s boat and rowed past all the ships of Bampfylde’s command. In front of each ship, under the gaze of the crews, they would be lashed with the cat o‘ nine tails as a visible, bloody warning of the price a deserter must pay. The knotted thongs would flay their skin and flesh to the bone, but they would be restored to consciousness before they were hanged from the Vengeance’s yardarm. The others, the Americans, would be hanged ashore, without a flogging, as common pirates.
Lieutenant Ford hesitated. “Captain Frederickson, sir…” he began nervously.
“Frederickson,” Barnpfylde frowned. “That’s the fellow with the beggar’s face, yes?”
“Indeed, sir. He did say they were his prisoners. That he’d guaranteed them honourable treatment.”
Barnpfylde laughed. “Perhaps he thinks they should be hanged with a silken rope? They are privateers, Ford, pirates! That makes them the Navy’s business, and you will oblige Captain Frederickson to keep his opinions to himself Barnpfylde smiled reassurance at his lieutenant. ”I shall talk to the American officers myself. Send me my bargemen, will you?“
The capture of Cornelius Killick had given Captain Barnpfylde a particular and keen pleasure. American sea-men had twisted the Royal Navy’s tail, winning single-ship battles with contemptible ease, and men like Killick had become popular heroes to their countrymen. The news of his capture and ignominious death would teach the Republic that Britain could lash back when it so wished. Their Lordships of the Admiralty, Bampfylde knew, would be well pleased with this news. Not many enemies still defied Britain on the waves, and the downfall of even one, even though he be a common pirate, would be a rare victory these days.
“I am not,” Cornelius Killick said when he was brought into Bampfylde’s presence, “a pirate.”
Bampfylde’s fleshy face showed ironic amusement. “You’re a common and vulgar pirate, Killick, a criminal, and you’ll hang as such.”
“I carry Letters of Marque from my government, and well you know it!” Killick, like Lieutenant Docherty, had been stripped of his sword and his hands were bound behind his back. The American was chilled to the bone, furious and helpless.
“True, but it is important that they hang in the proper manner! We can’t have a pirate flogged, can we? That would be most uncivil!” Barnpfylde laughed at his small jest. Those crewmen of the Thuella who were suspected of being British seamen and deserters would face the worst fate. They would be placed in a ship’s boat and rowed past all the ships of Bampfylde’s command. In front of each ship, under the gaze of the crews, they would be lashed with the cat o‘ nine tails as a visible, bloody warning of the price a deserter must pay. The knotted thongs would flay their skin and flesh to the bone, but they would be restored to consciousness before they were hanged from the Vengeance’s yardarm. The others, the Americans, would be hanged ashore, without a flogging, as common pirates.
Lieutenant Ford hesitated. “Captain Frederickson, sir…” he began nervously.
“Frederickson,” Barnpfylde frowned. “That’s the fellow with the beggar’s face, yes?”
“Indeed, sir. He did say they were his prisoners. That he’d guaranteed them honourable treatment.”
Barnpfylde laughed. “Perhaps he thinks they should be hanged with a silken rope? They are privateers, Ford, pirates! That makes them the Navy’s business, and you will oblige Captain Frederickson to keep his opinions to himself Barnpfylde smiled reassurance at his lieutenant. ”I shall talk to the American officers myself. Send me my bargemen, will you?“
The capture of Cornelius Killick had given Captain Barnpfylde a particular and keen pleasure. American sea-men had twisted the Royal Navy’s tail, winning single-ship battles with contemptible ease, and men like Killick had become popular heroes to their countrymen. The news of his capture and ignominious death would teach the Republic that Britain could lash back when it so wished. Their Lordships of the Admiralty, Bampfylde knew, would be well pleased with this news. Not many enemies still defied Britain on the waves, and the downfall of even one, even though he be a common pirate, would be a rare victory these days.
“I am not,” Cornelius Killick said when he was brought into Bampfylde’s presence, “a pirate.”
Bampfylde’s fleshy face showed ironic amusement. “You’re a common and vulgar pirate, Killick, a criminal, and you’ll hang as such.”
“I carry Letters of Marque from my government, and well you know it!” Killick, like Lieutenant Docherty, had been stripped of his sword and his hands were bound behind his back. The American was chilled to the bone, furious and helpless.