bcornwell.sharpescompany-第23部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ops　in　the　Peninsula。　Twice　the　British　had　failed　to　take　the　city　and　there　seemed　no　reason；　a　year　later；　to　suppose　that　a　third　attempt　would　meet　with　success。
　
　The　fortress　had　just　one　weakness。　To　the　south…east；　opposite　the　Trinidad　bastion　and　across　the　flood　waters；　rose　the　shallow　San　Miguel　hill。　From　its　low；　flat　top　a　besieger　could　fire　down　on　to　the　south…east　corner　of　the　city；　and　that　was　the　single　weakness。　The　French　knew　it；　and　had　guarded　against　it。　Two　forts　had　been　built　to　the　south　and　east。　One；　the　Picurina；　had　been　built　across　the　new　lake　on　the　lower　slopes　of　the　San　Miguel　hill。　The　second　fort；　the　huge　Pardaleras；　was　to　the　south　and　guarded　the　approach　to　any　breach　that　might　be　carved　by　the　guns　on　the　hill。　It　was　not　much　of　a　weakness；　but　all　the　British　had　to　work　on　and　so；　on　St　Patrick's　Day；　they　marched　to　the　rear　of　the　San　Miguel　hill。　They　knew；　and　the　French　knew；　that　the　effort　would　be　against　the　south…east　corner　of　the　city；　against　the　Santa　Maria　and　Trinidad　bastions；　and　the　fact　that　the　selfsame　plan　had　failed　twice　before　did　not　matter。　From　the　top　of　the　hill；　where　curious　men　gathered　to　look　at　the　city；　the　breach　made　in　the　last　siege　could　be　clearly　seen　between　the　two　bastions。　It　had　been　repaired；　in　lighter　coloured　stone；　and　the　new　masonry　seemed　to　mock　the　ing　British　efforts。
　
　Sharpe　stood　next　to　Patrick　Harper　and　stared　at　the　walls。　'Jesus；　they're　big！〃　The　Sergeant　said　nothing。　Sharpe　pulled　the　bottle　from　inside　his　greatcoat　and　held　it　out。　'Here。　A　present　for　St　Patrick's　Day。'
　
　Harper's　broad　face　beamed　with　pleasure。　'You're　a　grand　man；　sir；　for　an　Englishman。　Would　you　be　ordering　me　to　save　you　half　for　St　George's　Day？'
　
　 Sharpe　stamped　his　feet　against　the　cold。　'I　think　I'll　take　that　half　now。'
　
　'I　thought　you　might。　'　Harper　was　glad　to　see　Sharpe；　of　whom　he　had　seen　little　in　the　past　month；　but　there　was　also　an　embarrassment　in　the　meeting。　The　Irishman　knew　Sharpe　needed　reassurance　that　the　Light　pany　missed　him；　and　Harper　thought　him　a　fool　for　needing　the　words　to　be　said。　Of　course　they　missed　him。　The　Light　pany　were　no　different　to　the　rest　of　the　army。　They　were　failures；　almost　to　a　man；　whose　failings　had　led　them　to　courtrooms　and　jails。　They　were　thieves；　drunks；　debtors；　and　murderers；　the　men　Britain　wanted　out　of　sight　and　mind。　It　was　easier　to　empty　a　town　jail　to　a　recruiting　party　than　go　through　the　tedious　business　of　trial；　sentence　and　punishment。
　
　Not　all　were　criminals。　Some　had　been　gulled　by　the　Recruiting　Sergeants；　offered　an　escape　from　village　tedium　and　narrow　horizons。　Some　had　failed　in　love　and　joined　the　army　in　despair；　swearing　they　would　rather　die　in　battle　than　see　their　sweetheart　married　to　another　man。　Many　were　drunkards　who　were　terrified　of　a　lonely　shivering　death　in　a　winter　ditch　and　joined　an　army　that　offered　them　clothes；　boots；　and　a　third　of　a　pint　of　rum　each　day。　Some；　a　few；　a　very　few；　joined　for　patriotism。　Some；　like　Harper；　joined　because　there　was　nothing　but　hunger　at　home　and　the　army　offered　food　and　an　escape。　They　were；　almost　to　a　man；　the　failings　and　leavings　of　society　and　to　them　all　the　army　was　one　big　Forlorn　Hope。
　
　Yet　they　were　the　best　infantry　in　the　world。　They　had　not　always　been　and；　without　the　right　leaders；　would　not　be　so　again。　Harper　instinctively　knew　that　this　army　that　faced　Badajoz　was　a　superb　instrument；　better　than　anything　the　great　Napoleon　could　muster；　and　Harper　knew　why。　Because　there　were　just　enough　officers　like　Sharpe　who　trusted　the　failures。　It　started　at　the　top；　of　course；　with　Wellington　himself；　and　went　right　through　the　ranks　to　the　junior　officers　and　Sergeants；　and　the　trick　of　it　was　very　simple。　Take　a　man　who　has　failed　at　everything；　give　him　a　final　chance；　show　him　trust；　lead　him　to　one　success；　and　there　is　a　sudden　confidence　that　will　lead　to　the　next　success。　Soon　they　will　believe　they　are　unbeatable；　and　bee　unbeatable；　but　the　trick　was　still　to　have　officers　like　Sharpe　who　kept　on　offering　trust。　Of　course　the　Light　pany　missed　him！　He　had　expected　great　things　of　them　and　trusted　them　to　win。　Perhaps　the　new　man　would　one　day　learn　the　trick；　but　until　he　did；　if　ever；　the　men　would　miss　Sharpe。　Hell；　thought　Harper；　they　even　like　him。　And　the　fool　did　not　realize　it。　Harper　shook　his　head　to　himself　and　offered　the　bottle　to　Sharpe。　'Here's　to　Ireland；　sir；　and　death　to　Hakeswill。'
　
　'I'll　drink　to　that。　How　is　the　bastard？'
　
　'I'll　kill　him　one　day。　'
　
　Sharpe　gave　a　humorless　laugh。　'You　won't。　I　will。'
　
　'How　the　hell　is　he　still　alive？'
　
　Sharpe　shrugged。　'He　says　he　can't　be　killed。　'　It　was　cold　on　the　hill　and　Sharpe　hunched　his　shoulders　beneath　the　greatcoat。　'And　he　never　turns　his　back。　Watch　yours。'
　
　I'm　growing　eyes　in　my　bum　with　that　bastard　around。'
　
　'What　does　Captain　Rymer　think　of　him？'
　
　Harper　paused；　took　the　bottle　from　Sharpe；　drank；　and　passed　it　back。　'God　knows。　I　think　he's　scared　of　him；　but　so　are　most。'　He　shrugged。　'The　Captain's　not　a　bad　fellow；　but　he's　not　exactly　confident。'　The　Sergeant　was　feeling　awkward。　He　did　not　like　to　sound　critical　of　one　officer　in　front　of　another。　'He's　young。'
　
　'None　of　us　are　old。　How's　that　new　Ensign？〃
　
　'Matthews？　He's　fine；　sir。　Sticks　to　Lieutenant　Price　like　a　kid　brother。'
　
　'And　Mr。　Price？'
　
　Harper　laughed。　'He　keeps　us　cheerful；　sir。　Drunk　as　a　cross…eyed　stoat；　but　he'll　survive。'
　
　It　began　raining；　small；　spitting　drops　that　stung　their　faces。　Behind　them；　on　the　Seville　road；　the　bugles　called　the　battalions　to　the　evening　lines。　Sharpe　turned　up　his　collar。　'We'd　better　be　getting　back。'　He　stared　at　the　small；　blue…uniformed　figures　on　the　city　parapets；　three…quarters　of　a　mile　away。　'Those　sods　will　be　warm　tonight。'　He　suddenly　thought　of　Teresa　and　Antonia　inside　the　walls　and　looked　at　the　big；　square；　battlemented　Cathedral　tower。　It　was　odd　to　think　they　were　so　close　to　her。　The　rain　became　heavier　and　he　turned　away；　back　towards　the　sprawling；　makeshift　British　camp。
　
　'Sir？'
　
　'Yes？'
　
　The　Sergeant　seemed　embarrassed。　'Major　Hogan　stopped　by　the　other　day。'
　
　'So？'
　
　'He　was　telling　us　about　Miss　Teresa；　sir。'
　
　Sharpe　frowned。　'What　about　her？'
　
　'Only；　sir；　that　she'd　asked　you　to　look　out　for　her。　In　the　city。　In　case　the　lads　go　a　bit　wild。'
　
　'So？'
　
　'Well；　the　men　are　keen　to　help；　so　they　are。'
　
　'You　mean　they　don't　think　I　can　manage？'
　
　Harper　was　tempted　to　tell　Sharpe　not　to　be　so　foolish；　but　decided　it　might　be　one　step　too　many　over　the　subtle　boundaries　of　rank　and　friendship。　He　sighed。　'No；　sir。　Just　that　they're　keen　to　help。　They're　fond　of　her；　sir；　so　they　are。'　And　of　you；　he　might　have　added。
　
　Sharpe　shook　his　head　ungratefully。　Teresa　and　Antonia　were　his　problem；　not　the　pany's；　and　he　did　not　want　a　horde　of　grinning　men　to　witness　his　emotion　at　first　seeing　his　child。　'Tell　them　no。'
　
　Harper　shrugged。　'They　may　try　and　help　anyway。'
　
　'They'll　have　a　problem　finding　her　in　the　city。'
　
　The　Sergeant　grinned。　'It　won't　be　difficult。　We'll　be　trying　the　house　with　two　orange　trees；　just　behind　the　Cathedral。'
　
　'Go　to　hell；　Sergeant。'
　
　'Follow　you　anywhere；　sir。'
　
　A　few　hours　later　the　army　seemed　in　hell；　or　a　watery　version　of　hell。　The　skies　opened。　Thunder　cracked　like　the　rumbling　of　field　guns　over　wooden　boards　in　the　storm　clouds。　Lightning　slashed；　piercing　and　blue；　to　an　earth　soaked　by　great；　slanting　volleys　of　rain。　Human　noise　was　drowned　by　the　seething　water；　a　constant；　crashing　downpour　in　a　darkness　splintered　by　jagged；　thundering　light。　Eighteen　hundred　men　were　on　the　hilltop；　digging　the　first　parallel；　a　trench　six　hundred　yards　long　that　would　protect　the　besiegers　and　from　which　they　would　excavate　the　first　gun　batteries。　The　workers　were　soaked　to　the　skin；　shivering；　made　weary　by　the　sheer　weight　of　water；　and　sometimes　peering　through　the　deluge　at　the　dark　citadel　starkly　revealed　in　the　lightning　strikes。
　
　The　wind　billowed　the　rain　in　huge；　scything　loops；　suspended　it；　and　then　smashed　it　down　even　harder。　It　plucked　greatcoats　into　fantastic；　bat　like　shapes　and　drove　the　water　in　unstoppable　rivulets　that　filled　up　the　trench；　seeped　over　the　men's　boots；　and　sank　their　spirits　down　into　the　cold；　sodden　earth　that　yielded　each　spadeful　with　such　reluctance。
　
　All　night　they　dug；　and　all　night　it　rained；　and　in　the　cold　morning　it　still　rained　and　the　French　gunners　came　out　of　their　warm　shelters　to　see　the　scar　of　fresh　earth　curving　over　the　shallow　hill。　The　gunners　opened　fire；　smashing　solid　shot　across　the　wide　ditch；　over　the　glacis；　over　the　floodwaters；　and　into　the　wet　earth　of　the　trench　parapet。　The　work　stopped。　The　first　parallel　was　too　shallow　to　give　shelter　and　all　day　the　rain　weakened　the　trench　and　the　guns　hammered　it。　The　excavation　filled　with　sopping　mud　that　would　all　have　to　be　scooped　out　in　the　night。
　
　They　dug　all　night。　It　still　rained；　a　rain　like　the　rain　before