JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 83 из 223I could claim that you’re all deserters, even you!” He lit his cigar, then dropped the flaming spill. “You fancy a thrashing, Killick? Or would you prefer to tell me the truth?”
Killick, whose cigars had been stolen from him by a Marine, watched enviously as the British captain drew on the glowing tobacco. “Piss on you, mister.”
Bampfylde shrugged, then nodded to the bo’sun.
There were seven bargemen, all favourites of their captain, and all strengthened by their time at the oars. They were also veterans of countless brawls in dockside taverns and of the fights they had won when part of a press gang, and two bound men, however strong, were no match for them.
Bampfylde watched impassively. To him these two Americans were pirates, pure and simple, who wore no recognized uniform and their fate did not disturb him any more than he might worry about the rats in the Vengeance’s bilge. He let his men hit them, he watched the blood smear from split lips and noses, and not until both men were on the floor with bloodied faces and bruised ribs did he raise a hand to stop the violence. “How many of your men, Killick, are deserters?”
Before Killick could make any reply the door opened. Standing there, and with taut fury on his face, was Captain William Frederickson. “Sir!”
Bampfylde twisted in his chair and frowned at the interruption. He was not concerned that the Rifleman should witness this beating, but it offended Bampfylde that the man had not had the simple courtesy to knock first. “It’s Frederickson, isn’t it? Can’t it wait, man?”
It was evident that Frederickson was struggling to control his temper. He swallowed, drew himself to attention, and forced civility into his face. “I gave Captain Killick my word, as a gentleman, that he would be treated with respect and honour. I demand that my word is kept.”
Bampfylde was truly astonished at the protest. “They’re pirates, Captain!”
“I gave my word.” Frederickson stood his ground stubbornly.
“Then I, as your superior, have rescinded it.” Bampfylde’s voice was suddenly infused with anger at this soldier’s impertinence. “They are pirates and in the morning they will hang from a gallows. That is my decision, Captain Frederickson, mine, and if you say one more word on it, just one, then by God I will have you put under arrest like them! Now get out!”
Frederickson stared at Bampfylde. For a second he was tempted to dare Bampfylde to make good his threat, then, without a word, he turned and stalked from the room.
Bampfylde smiled. “Shut the door, Bo’sun.
Killick, whose cigars had been stolen from him by a Marine, watched enviously as the British captain drew on the glowing tobacco. “Piss on you, mister.”
Bampfylde shrugged, then nodded to the bo’sun.
There were seven bargemen, all favourites of their captain, and all strengthened by their time at the oars. They were also veterans of countless brawls in dockside taverns and of the fights they had won when part of a press gang, and two bound men, however strong, were no match for them.
Bampfylde watched impassively. To him these two Americans were pirates, pure and simple, who wore no recognized uniform and their fate did not disturb him any more than he might worry about the rats in the Vengeance’s bilge. He let his men hit them, he watched the blood smear from split lips and noses, and not until both men were on the floor with bloodied faces and bruised ribs did he raise a hand to stop the violence. “How many of your men, Killick, are deserters?”
Before Killick could make any reply the door opened. Standing there, and with taut fury on his face, was Captain William Frederickson. “Sir!”
Bampfylde twisted in his chair and frowned at the interruption. He was not concerned that the Rifleman should witness this beating, but it offended Bampfylde that the man had not had the simple courtesy to knock first. “It’s Frederickson, isn’t it? Can’t it wait, man?”
It was evident that Frederickson was struggling to control his temper. He swallowed, drew himself to attention, and forced civility into his face. “I gave Captain Killick my word, as a gentleman, that he would be treated with respect and honour. I demand that my word is kept.”
Bampfylde was truly astonished at the protest. “They’re pirates, Captain!”
“I gave my word.” Frederickson stood his ground stubbornly.
“Then I, as your superior, have rescinded it.” Bampfylde’s voice was suddenly infused with anger at this soldier’s impertinence. “They are pirates and in the morning they will hang from a gallows. That is my decision, Captain Frederickson, mine, and if you say one more word on it, just one, then by God I will have you put under arrest like them! Now get out!”
Frederickson stared at Bampfylde. For a second he was tempted to dare Bampfylde to make good his threat, then, without a word, he turned and stalked from the room.
Bampfylde smiled. “Shut the door, Bo’sun.