bcornwell.sharpescompany-第35部分

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flared　and　in　the　sudden　light　Sharpe　could　see　the　Engineer　Lieutenant；　Fitchett；　crouching　motionless　by　a　stack　of　barrels。　The　French　must　see　him！
　
　But　the　French　were　not　sure　what　they　were　looking　for。　Orders　had　e　to　look　in　the　ravine；　and　so　they　peered　over　the　edge　and　saw　strange　dark　shadows；　which　was　what　a　man　expected　to　see　at　night；　and　they　saw　no　movement　so　they　relaxed。　Sharpe　could　see　the　two　men　clearly。　They　seemed　glad　to　be　away　from　the　front　of　the　fort；　were　talking　and　laughing；　and　then　they　jerked　upright；　disappearing　from　sight；　and　there　came　the　bark　of　an　order　and　he　supposed　an　officer　had　e　to　the　rampart。
　
　Fitchett　moved。　He　began　scrambling　towards　Rymer　and　Sharpe；　trying　to　move　silently；　but　he　was　panicked　by　the　burning　carcass　and　he　slipped；　falling　into　the　stream。　A　shout　from　the　rampart；　an　officer's　head　leaning　over　the　stone；　and　Fitchett　had　the　sense　to　freeze　and　Sharpe　saw　the　officer　turn　and　shout　a　mand。　Flames　came　again　on　the　rampart；　a　third　carcass；　and　Sharpe　knew　they　would　have　to　fight。　Rymer　stared　up　at　the　fort；　his　mouth　open。
　
　Sharpe　nudged　him。　'Shoot　the　officer。'
　
　'What？'
　
　'Shoot　the　bastard！　You've　got　Riflemen；　haven't　you？'
　
　Rymer　still　did　not　move　so　Sharpe　took　his　own　Baker　rifle；　lifted　the　frizzen　to　check　with　a　finger　that　the　powder　was　still　in　the　pan；　and　then　aimed　it　up；　through　the　stark　thorn　branches；　towards　the　rampart。　Rymer　seemed　to　wake　up。　'Don't　fire！'
　
　The　third　carcass　was　hurled　over　the　rampart；　far　across　so　that　it　bounced　on　the　far　side　of　the　ravine　and　wedged　itself　on　a　rock。　Fitchett　saw　it；　apparently　falling　towards　him；　and　yelped　and　sprang　towards　the　hidden　pany。　The　French　officer　shouted。
　
　'Don't　fire！'　Rymer　hit　Sharpe's　shoulder；　ruining　his　aim　so　he　kept　his　finger　off　the　trigger。　Fitchett　fell　into　the　thorn　trees；　rubbing　his　ribs　where　he　had　fallen。　He　had　remembered　the　fuse　and　was　trailing　it；　but　Sharpe　wondered　if　any　had　fallen　with　the　Lieutenant　into　the　water。　Fitchett　looked　wildly　round。　'The　lantern！'
　
　There　was　a　dark　lantern　hidden　in　the　trees。　Rymer　and　Fitchett　both　started　looking；　bumping　into　each　other；　and　the　first　French　musket　hammered　from　the　ramparts　and　the　ball　struck　the　trunk　of　one　of　the　trees　and　Fitchett　swore　again。　'Jesus！　Hurry！'
　
　The　French　officer　leaned　over　the　ravine；　searching　the　shadows；　and　Sharpe　saw　the　shot；　pulled　the　trigger；　and　the　man　went　up　and　backwards；　his　face　smashed　red　by　the　bullet　and　Rymer　stared　at　Sharpe。　'Why　did　you　do　that？'
　
　Sharpe　did　not　bother　to　answer。　Fitchett　had　found　the　lantern；　undipped　the　door；　and　a　beam　of　light　slanted　in　the　thorns。　'Quick！　Quick！'　Fitchett　was　talking　to　himself。　He　found　the　fuse；　thrust　the　end　into　the　flame；　and　waited　till　it　was　spluttering。　'Back！　Back！'
　
　Rymer　did　not　wait　to　see　the　fuse　burning。　'Back！'　He　was　shouting。　'Back！'
　
　Sharpe　grabbed　Fitchett。　'How　long？'
　
　'Thirty　seconds！　Let's　go！'　A　second　musket　exploded　on　the　ramparts；　the　ball　thudding　into　the　earth；　and　the　group　of　men　stampeded　down　the　streambed；　led　by　Rymer；　all　imagining　the　sudden　leap　of　powder　flame；　the　shock　wave；　and　the　crashing；　killing　water。
　
　The　French；　suddenly　bereft　of　their　officer；　shouted　for　help。　They　could　see　nothing　in　the　light　of　the　carcasses；　hear　nothing　in　the　lingering　echo　of　their　musket　shots。　Sharpe　waited；　watching　the　flickering　light　of　the　fuse；　listening　to　the　sudden　rush　of　feet　on　the　ramparts。　The　fuse　was　burning　well；　creeping　towards　the　dam；　and　he　turned　and　climbed　the　ravine　wall；　hard　by　the　stonework　of　the　fort；　and　a　voice　stopped　him。　'It　was　a　nice　shot。　'
　
　'Patrick？'
　
　'Aye。'　The　Donegal　voice　was　very　low。　'I　thought　I'd　see　if　you　needed　any　help。'　A　huge　hand　clasped　Sharpe's　wrist　and　he　was　hauled　unceremoniously　to　the　brink　of　the　ravine。　'That　lot　ran　fast　enough。'
　
　'Be　drowned　otherwise。'　Sharpe　wedged　himself　against　the　base　of　a　thorn　bush。　He　tried　to　guess　the　number　of　seconds　since　Fitchett　had　lit　the　fuse；　twenty？　twenty…five？　At　least　he　and　Harper　should　be　safe。　They　were　high　on　the　bank；　just　across　from　the　shallow　ditch　that　left　the　ravine　at　a　right　angle　to　protect　the　small　fort。　The　French　were　shouting　excitedly；　Sharpe　heard　the　rattle　of　ramrods　in　musket　barrels　and　then　a　crisp　voice　cutting　through　the　chaos。　He　looked　at　Harper's　vast　bulk　crouched　in　deep　shadow。　'How's　your　back？〃
　
　'Bloody　hurts；　sir。'
　
　Sharpe　waited　for　the　explosion；　pushing　himself　down　to　the　earth；　imagining　the　kegs　splintering　and　the　wooden　shards　driven　outwards。　It　must　be　soon！　Perhaps　Fitchett　had　used　more　fuse　than　he　thought？
　
　The　volley　from　the　ramparts　startled　him。　The　French　fired　down　the　ravine　and　Sharpe　heard　the　balls　crash　through　the　thorn　spikes　like　the　ripping　of　calico。　A　bird　screeched　indignantly；　flapped　up　into　the　darkness；　and　he　could　hear　the　trampling　of　panicked　feet　downstream。　Harper　sneered。　'Like　wet　bloody　hens。'
　
　'What　was　it　like？'
　
　Any　reluctance　Harper　had　felt　about　criticizing　Rymer　to　Sharpe　had　disappeared　with　the　flogging。　He　spat　down　the　ravine。　'Can't　make　his　mind　up；　sir。'　It　was　one　of　the　worst　crimes　in　a　soldier's　book；　indecision　kills。
　
　There　was　no　explosion。　Sharpe　knew　that　the　fuse　had　been　soaked；　or　had　broken；　but　whatever　the　cause；　the　powder　was　intact。　A　minute　must　have　passed。　Sharpe　heard　a　French　officer　shouting　for　silence。　The　man　must　be　listening　for　noises　downstream；　but　there　was　silence；　and　Sharpe　heard　more　orders　given。　Light　flared　on　the　rampart　and　he　knew　more　carcasses　had　been　lit。　He　raised　his　head　and　saw　three　fiery　bundles　arc　into　the　ravine　and　he　wondered　if　the　carcasses　might　inadvertently　light　the　fuse；　but　seconds　passed　and　there　was　no　explosion；　and　then　there　were　shouts　from　the　fort。　The　powder　had　at　last　been　seen。
　
　Sharpe　began　sliding　back　down　the　slope。　'e　on。'
　
　The　French　were　shouting；　making　enough　noise　to　cover　their　movements。　There　was　little　time。　Sharpe　thought　what　he　would　do　if　he　was　the　French　officer　and　imagined　fetching　water　that　could　be　thrown　down　on　to　the　kegs　and　whatever　fuse　remained。　He　needed　to　see　what　was　left。　He　slammed　to　a　stop　and　looked　upstream。　The　new　carcasses　brilliantly　lit　the　foot　of　the　dam；　the　kegs　were　clearly　visible　and　so　was　the　fuse。　One　end　had　fallen　from　a　bung…hole　in　the　lowest　row　of　powder　barrels；　the　other　had　dropped　into　the　stream　which　had　extinguished　the　fire。　Even　without　the　water；　the　fuse　would　have　been　useless。　Harper　crouched　beside　him。　'What　do　we　do？'
　
　'I　need　ten　men。'
　
　'Leave　it　to　me；　what　then？'
　
　Sharpe　jerked　his　head　towards　the　rampart。　'Six　to　take　care　of　them　and　three　to　push　those　carcasses　into　the　water。'
　
　'And　you？'
　
　'Leave　me　one　carcass。'　He　began　to　load　the　rifle；　hurrying　in　the　darkness；　not　bothering　with　the　leather　patch　that　surrounded　the　bullet　and　gripped　the　seven　grooves　of　the　Baker's　barrel。　He　spat　on　the　bullet　and　rammed　it　down。　'Are　we　ready？'
　
　'Yes；　sir。'　Harper　was　grinning。　'I　think　this　is　a　job　for　the　Rifles。'
　
　'Why　not；　Sergeant？'　Sharpe　grinned　back。　Damn　Rymer；　damn　Hakeswill；　Windham；　Collett；　all　the　new　people　who　had　disturbed　the　Battalion。　Sharpe　and　his　Riflemen　had　fought　from　the　northern　coast　of　Spain　down　through　Portugal；　then　out　again；　to　the　Douro；　to　Talavera；　to　Almeida　and　Fuentes　de　Onoro。　They　understood　each　other；　trusted　each　other；　and　Sharpe　nodded　to　Harper。
　
　The　Sergeant；　as　Sharpe　thought　of　him；　cupped　his　hands。　'Rifles！　To　me！　Rifles！'
　
　There　were　shouts　from　the　ramparts；　faces　leaned　over。
　
　Sharpe　cupped　his　own　hands。　'pany！　Skirmish　order！'　That　should　spread　them　out；　but　would　they　obey　the　old　voices？　Muskets　fired　from　the　fort；　the　bullets　tearing　the　thorns；　and　Harper　shouted　again。
　
　'Rifles！'
　
　Feet　trampled　up　the　ravine。　An　officer　shouted　from　the　rampart　and　Sharpe　heard　the　sound　of　steel　ramrods　in　French　barrels。
　
　'They're　ing；　sir。'
　
　Of　course　they　were　ing！　They　were　his　men。　The　first　shapes　came　into　sight；　dark　uniformed　without　the　cross　belt　of　the　red　coats。　'Tell　them　what　to　do；　Sergeant。'　He　thrust　his　loaded　rifle　at　Harper；　grinned　at　him。　It　was　like　the　old　times；　the　good　times。　I'm　going。'
　
　He　could　trust　Harper　to　do　the　rest。　He　broke　from　the　cover　of　the　trees　and　ran　upstream；　into　the　light。　The　French　saw　him　and　he　heard　the　shouted　orders。　The　ground　was　wet　and　slippery；　dotted　with　smooth　rocks；　and　once　he　skidded　wildly；　flailed　his　arms　for　balance；　and　sensed　the　musket　balls　banging　down　at　him。　It　was　a　difficult　shot　for　the　French；　almost　straight　downwards；　and　they　were　hurrying　too　much。　He　heard　Harper　behind　him；　shouting　the　orders；　and　then　the　distinctive　sound　of　Baker　rifles。　He　followed　the　white　fuse；　and　the　great；　sloping　earth　dam　was　above　him；　holding　the　tons　of　water；　and　bullets　flecked　the　slope　as　Sharpe　threw　himself　at　the　base　of　the　barrels。　The　fuse　ha