JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 95 из 223As yet, with all the Attendant Duties that this Victory brings, and in the Business of anticipating the Prizes that will lie open to His Majesty’s ships Tomorrow, I have had neither opportunity nor time to Demandof Major Sharpe his Reasons for this,” Bampfylde paused, then swooped, “Betrayal. But be Assured that such Reasons will be sought and Conveyed to their Lordships by Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant, Horace Bampfylde.”
He sanded the despatch, folded it, then sealed it. Ford would wrap it in waxed paper, then take it to the Lily to wait for the winds that would speed this message back to London to the greater glory of Horace Bampfylde and to the deserved damn, tion of Major Richard Sharpe.
The mist thickened slowly, just as the ice ori the marshes thickened. There was no wind as dawn silvered the Bassin d’Arcachon and as Cornelius Killick, with his men, finished their frozen march i.c the village of Gujan where the Tkuella. was grounded.
Liam Docherty was astonished by the night’s events. First his life had been spared by an Englishman, then, as he left the fort, a savage-faced Rifleman had thrust a cloth bundle into his arms. That bundle proved to be the Thuella’s ensign and, to Docherty, a further proof that some supernatural force had given the Tkuella’s crew protection in the cold, still night.
Cornelius Killick took their release more carelessly, as though he knew his time on this earth was not yet finished. “There never was a saying, Liam, that hanging a sailorman in still airs brought revenge. But it seemed worth an attempt, eh?” He laughed softly. “And it worked!” He stared up at his beached schooner, knowing that it needed days of work before it could float. “We’ll patch with the elm and hope for the best.”
“At least the bastards won’t find us in this mist,” Docherty said hopefully.
“ If the wind doesn’t spring.” Killick stared over the saltings beyond the creek and saw how the slow, creeping whiteness was thickening into a vaporous shroud that might yet be his schooner’s salvation. “But if we burn her,” he said slowly, “the British can’t.”
“Burn her?” Docherty sounded appalled.
“Get the topmasts down, I want the bowsprit off her. Make her look like a hulk, Liam.” Killick, despite his sleepless night, was suddenly full of demonic energy. “Then set smoke fires in the hold.” He stared up at the sleek bulge of the careened hull. “Streak it with tar. Make her look abandoned, burned, and wrecked.” For if the British saw a canted, mastless hull, seeping a smudge of smoke, they would think the Thuella beyond salvage. They would not know that men carefully tended the smoke-rich fires, or that the topmasts, guns and sails were held safe ashore.
He sanded the despatch, folded it, then sealed it. Ford would wrap it in waxed paper, then take it to the Lily to wait for the winds that would speed this message back to London to the greater glory of Horace Bampfylde and to the deserved damn, tion of Major Richard Sharpe.
The mist thickened slowly, just as the ice ori the marshes thickened. There was no wind as dawn silvered the Bassin d’Arcachon and as Cornelius Killick, with his men, finished their frozen march i.c the village of Gujan where the Tkuella. was grounded.
Liam Docherty was astonished by the night’s events. First his life had been spared by an Englishman, then, as he left the fort, a savage-faced Rifleman had thrust a cloth bundle into his arms. That bundle proved to be the Thuella’s ensign and, to Docherty, a further proof that some supernatural force had given the Tkuella’s crew protection in the cold, still night.
Cornelius Killick took their release more carelessly, as though he knew his time on this earth was not yet finished. “There never was a saying, Liam, that hanging a sailorman in still airs brought revenge. But it seemed worth an attempt, eh?” He laughed softly. “And it worked!” He stared up at his beached schooner, knowing that it needed days of work before it could float. “We’ll patch with the elm and hope for the best.”
“At least the bastards won’t find us in this mist,” Docherty said hopefully.
“ If the wind doesn’t spring.” Killick stared over the saltings beyond the creek and saw how the slow, creeping whiteness was thickening into a vaporous shroud that might yet be his schooner’s salvation. “But if we burn her,” he said slowly, “the British can’t.”
“Burn her?” Docherty sounded appalled.
“Get the topmasts down, I want the bowsprit off her. Make her look like a hulk, Liam.” Killick, despite his sleepless night, was suddenly full of demonic energy. “Then set smoke fires in the hold.” He stared up at the sleek bulge of the careened hull. “Streak it with tar. Make her look abandoned, burned, and wrecked.” For if the British saw a canted, mastless hull, seeping a smudge of smoke, they would think the Thuella beyond salvage. They would not know that men carefully tended the smoke-rich fires, or that the topmasts, guns and sails were held safe ashore.