bcornwell.sharpescompany-第35部分

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　The　gunners　raised　the　barrel　half　an　inch　by　turning　the　huge　screw　beneath　the　breech。　The　barrel　hissed　as　it　was　sponged　out。　The　embrasure　had　been　plugged　again　as　defence　against　the　inevitable　fire　from　the　city　walls。　The　powder　bags　were　thrust　deep　into　the　gun's　throat；　rammed　home　and　the　ball　trundled　into　the　muzzle。　A　Sergeant　leaned　over　the　touch…hole；　thrust　down　with　the　spike　that　punctured　the　powder　bags；　and　then　inserted　the　tube　filled　with　fine　powder　that　fired　the　charge。　His　hand　went　up；　an　officer　shouted　orders　and　the　gabions　were　pulled　from　the　front　of　the　battery。　The　men　crouched　with　their　hands　over　their　ears　as　the　Sergeant　touched　the　priming　tube　with　a　match　burning　at　the　end　of　a　long　pole；　and　the　gun　slammed　back　on　the　inclined　wooden　platform。　The　ball　struck　the　timber　palisade　of　the　Picurina；　splintering　the　tree…trunks；　driving　the　shards　of　unseasoned　wood　in　vicious　showers　on　the　defenders；　and　it　was　the　turn　of　the　British　to　cheer。
　
　Forrest　was　looking　at　the　fort　through　his　telescope。　He　tut…tutted。　'Poor　lads。'　He　turned　to　Sharpe。　'That　can't　be　very　nice　for　them。'
　
　Sharpe　wanted　to　laugh。　'No；　sir。'
　
　'I　know　what　you're　thinking；　Sharpe。　That　I'm　too　charitable　to　the　enemy。　You're　probably　right；　but　I　can't　help　imagining　that　my　son　is　in　there。'
　
　'I　thought　your　son　was　an　engraver；　sir。'
　
　'Yes；　he　is；　Sharpe；　yes　he　is；　but　if　he　was　a　French　soldier　he　might　be　in　there　and　that　would　be　most　upsetting。'
　
　Sharpe　gave　up　trying　to　follow　Forrest's　charitable　imaginings　and　turned　back　to　the　Picurina。　The　other　British　guns　had　got　the　range　and　the　heavy　balls　were　systematically　destroying　the　flimsy　defences。　The　French　inside　were　trapped。　They　could　not　retreat；　for　the　lake　was　to　their　rear；　and　they　must　have　known　that　the　cannonade　would　end　in　an　infantry　attack　as　soon　as　dusk　gave　way　to　night。　Forrest　frowned　at　the　sight。　'Why　don't　they　surrender？'
　
　'Would　you；　sir？'
　
　Forrest　was　offended。　'Of　course　not；　Sharpe。　I'm　English！'
　
　'They're　French；　sir。　They　don't　like　surrendering　either。'
　
　'I　suppose　you're　right。　'　Forrest　did　not　really　understand　why　the　French；　a　nation　he　thought　to　be　basically　civilized；　should　fight　so　hard　in　such　an　evil　cause。　He　could　understand　the　Americans　fighting　for　Republicanism；　a　young　nation　could　hardly　be　expected　to　have　enough　sense　to　recognize　the　dangers　of　such　a　foul　political　code；　but　the　French？　Forrest　could　not　understand　that。　It　was　made　worse　that　the　French　were　the　most　powerful　military　nation　on　earth；　and　thus　had　harnessed　their　muskets　and　horsemen　to　the　spreading　Republican　evil；　and　it　was　Britain's　obvious　duty　to　contain　the　disease。　Forrest　saw　the　war　as　a　moral　crusade；　a　fight　for　decency　and　order；　and　victory　to　the　British　would　mean　that　the　Almighty；　who　could　not　possibly　be　suspected　of　Republican　sentiments；　had　blessed　the　British　effort。
　
　He　had　explained　his　beliefs　once　to　Major　Hogan　and　had　been　deeply　shocked　when　the　Engineer　had　dismissed　his　ideas。　'My　dear　Forrest。　You　are　fighting　purely　for　trade！　If　Boney　hadn't　closed　Portugal's　harbors　you'd　be　snug　in　your　Chelmsford　bed。'
　
　Forrest　remembered　the　conversation　and　looked　at　Sharpe。　'Sharpe？　Why　are　we　fighting？'
　
　'Sir？'　For　a　moment　Sharpe　wondered　if　Forrest　was　proposing　a　surrender　to　the　Picurina　Fort。　'Why　are　we　fighting？'
　
　'Yes；　Sharpe。　Why　do　you　fight？　Are　you　against　Republicanism？'
　
　'Me；　sir？　I　couldn't　even　spell　it。'　He　grinned　at　Forrest；　saw　that　the　Major　was　serious。　'Good　Lord；　sir。　We　always　fight　the　French。　Every　twenty　years　or　so。　If　we　didn't　they'd　invade　us。　Then　we'd　all　be　forced　to　eat　snails　and　speak　French。'　He　laughed　at　Forrest。　'I　don't　know；　sir。　We　fight　them　because　they're　meddlesome　bastards　and　someone　has　to　stamp　all　over　them。'
　
　Forrest　sighed。　He　was　saved　trying　to　explain　the　political　forces　of　the　world　to　Sharpe　because　Colonel　Windham　and　a　group　of　the　Battalion's　officers　spotted　them　and　joined　them　at　the　parapet。　Windham　was　in　a　good　mood。　He　looked　at　the　British　shot　flailing　at　the　remains　of　the　French　parapet　and　slapped　a　palm　with　a　clenched　fist。　'Well　done；　lads！　Give　the　bastards　hell！'　He　nodded　civilly　to　Sharpe　and　grinned　at　Forrest。　'Excellent　day；　Forrest；　excellent。　Two　foxes！'
　
　Hogan　had　once　mentioned　to　Sharpe　that　nothing　cheered　up　a　British　officer　as　much　as　a　dead　fox。　In　addition　to　this　double　cause　for　satisfaction　Windham　had　more　good　news。　He　pulled　a　letter　from　his　pocket　and　brandished　it　towards　Forrest。　'Letter　from　Mrs。　Windham；　Forrest。　Splendid　news！'
　
　'Good；　sir。'　Forrest；　like　Sharpe；　was　wondering　whether　the　chinless　Jessica　had　given　birth　to　another　young　Windham；　but　it　was　not　to　be。　The　Colonel　opened　the　letter；　hummed　and　hawed　as　he　glanced　down　the　first　few　lines；　and　Sharpe　could　tell　from　the　expressions　of　Leroy　and　the　other　newers　that　Windham　had　already　been　spreading　whatever　the　good　news　turned　out　to　be。
　
　'Here　it　is！　We've　had　poacher　trouble；　Forrest；　damned　bad　trouble。　Some　rascal's　been　in　among　the　pheasants。　My　good　lady　caught　him！'
　
　'Splendid；　sir。'　Forrest　tried　to　sound　enthusiastic。
　
　'More　than　caught　him！　She　bought　a　new　kind　of　mantrap。　Damned　thing　did　so　much　damage　that　he　died　of　the　gangrene。　Here　we　are。　Mrs。　Windham　writes：　〃It　so　inspired　the　Rector　that　he　incorporated　Same　into　last　Sunday's　sermon　to　the　undoubted　Edification　of　those　in　the　Parish　Unmindful　of　their　Station！〃　Windham　beamed　at　the　assembled　officers。　Sharpe　doubted　if　anyone　in　the　Colonel's　parish　was　unmindful　of　their　station　while　Mrs。　Windham　was　so　mindful　of　her　own；　but　he　judged　it　not　the　right　moment　to　say　so。　Windham　looked　again　at　the　letter。　'Splendid　man；　our　Rector。　Rides　like　a　trooper。　Know　what　his　text　was？'
　
　Sharpe　waited　for　a　gun　to　fire。　'Numbers。　Chapter　thirty…two；　verse　twenty…three；　sir？'　He　spoke　mildly。
　
　The　Colonel　looked　at　him。　'How　the　devil　did　you　know？'　He　seemed　to　suspect　that　the　Rifleman　might　have　been　reading　his　post。　Leroy　was　grinning。
　
　 Sharpe　decided　not　to　say　that　he　had　slept　in　a　dormitory　in　a　foundling　home　that　had　the　text　painted　in　letters　three　feet　high　down　the　wall。　'It　seemed　appropriate；　sir。　'
　
　'Quite　right；　Sharpe；　damned　appropriate。　〃Be　sure　your　sin　will　find　you　out。'　It　found　him　out；　eh？　Died　of　the　gangrene！'　Windham　laughed　and　turned　to　greet　Major　Collett　who　was　bringing　the　Colonel's　servant　laden　with　bottles　of　wine。　The　Colonel　smiled　at　his　officers。　'Thought　we'd　celebrate。　We'll　drink　to　tonight's　attack。　'
　
　The　guns　fired　through　dusk；　and　on　till；　in　the　darkness；　the　bugles　brought　an　overwhelming　force　of　British　infantry　forward　against　the　small　redoubt。　The　gunners　on　the　city　wall；　hearing　the　British　cannonade　stop；　lowered　their　own　muzzle　and　fired　over　the　Picurina　at　the　hill…slope。　The　round　shot　smashed　into　file　after　file　of　the　attackers；　but　they　closed　up　and　walked　on；　and　then　there　were　deeper　explosions　from　the　city　and　the　watchers　on　the　hill　saw　the　dark　red　streaks　of　the　shell…fuses　arc　over　the　lake　as　the　howitzers　started　firing。　The　shells　exploded　in　scarlet　blossoms。　Riflemen　of　the　95th　formed　a　skirmish　line；　curving　round　the　fort；　and　Sharpe　could　see　the　needle　flames　flickering　round　the　line；　seeking　the　loopholes。　The　French　in　the　fort　held　their　fire；　hearing　the　mands　in　the　darkness；　listening　to　the　rifle　bullets　overhead；　waiting　for　the　actual　assault。
　
　On　the　hill　the　watching　officers　could　see　little　except　the　flames　of　guns　and　explosions。　Sharpe　was　fascinated　by　the　guns　on　the　city's　parapets。　Each　shot　spewed　flame　that；　for　a　few　seconds；　was　bright　and　stabbing　as　the　shot　sped　away；　but　then；　for　a　brief　moment；　the　flame　contracted　into　a　strange；　writhing　shape　that　existed　independently　of　the　cannon；　a　fading；　twisting　beauty；　like　a　fire　ghost；　like　intricate　folds　of　flame…made　drapery　that　swirled　and　disappeared。　The　sight　had　a　mesmerizing　beauty；　nothing　to　do　with　war；　and　h