Бернард Корнуэлл - Sharpe's Escape

"Patrol," Slingsby said quickly, "vigorously."

"Is to establish a picquet in that barn," Lawford said, irritated at the interruption. "Day and night, Cornelius. The light company will live there, you understand?"

Slingsby stared down at the old barn beside the stream. The roof had partially fallen in and the place looked nothing like as comfortable as the billets that the light company had been given in the village behind Work Number 119, and for a moment Slingsby did not seem to entirely understand his orders. "We're taking up residence there, sir?" he asked plaintively.

"In the barn, Cornelius," Lawford replied patiently. "Fortify the place and stay there unless the whole damned French army attacks you, upon which eventuality you have my reluctant permission to withdraw." The other officers chuckled, recognizing a joke, but Slingsby nodded seriously.

"I want the light company in position by nightfall," Lawford went on, "and you'll be relieved on Sunday. In the meantime our patrols will keep you supplied with provisions." Lawford paused because a nearby telegraph station had begun to transmit a message and the officers had all turned to watch the inflated pigs' bladders being hoisted up the mast. "And now, gentlemen," Lawford retrieved their attention, "I want you to walk this section of the line," he gestured to the east, "familiarize yourselves with every fort, every path, every inch. We might be here a long time. Cornelius? A word."

The other officers walked away, going to explore the line between Work Number 119 and Work Number 114. Lawford, when he was alone with Slingsby, frowned at the smaller man. "It pains me to ask this," he said, "but are you drunk?"

Slingsby did not answer at once, instead he looked indignant and it seemed as though he would return a sharp answer, but then words failed him and he just turned away and gazed across the valley. The rain on his face made it appear as though he were crying. "Drank too much last night," he finally confessed in an abject voice, "and I apologize."

"We all do from time to time," Lawford said, "but not every night."

"Good for you," Slingsby said.

"Good for me?" Lawford was lost.

"Rum deters the fever," Slingsby said. "It's a known thing. It's a feb-" He paused, then tried again. "A febri-"

"A febrifuge," Lawford said for him.

"Exactly," Slingsby said vigorously. "Doctor Wetherspoon told me that. He was our fellow in the West Indies and a good man, a very good man. Rum, he said, it's the only feb-The only thing that works. Died in their hundreds, they did! But not me. Rum. It's medicine!"

Lawford sighed. "I have offered you an opportunity," he said quietly, "and it is an opportunity most men would seize gladly. You have command of a company, Cornelius, and it's a very fine one, and it seems ever more likely that it will need a new captain. Sharpe?" Lawford shrugged, wondering where on earth Sharpe was. "If Sharpe doesn't return," he continued, "then I shall have to appoint another man."

Slingsby just nodded.

"You are the obvious candidate," Lawford said, "but not if you are inebriated."

"You're right, sir," Slingsby said, "and I apologize. Fear of fever, sir, that's all it is."

"My fear," Lawford said, "is that the French will attack in the dawn. Half light, Cornelius, a touch of morning mist? We won't be able to see much from up here, but if you're in the barn then you'll see them quickly enough. That's why I'm putting you there, Cornelius. A picquet! I hear your muskets and rifles firing and I know the enemy is out and that you're retreating here. So keep a good watch and don't let me down!"

"I won't, sir. I won't." If Slingsby had been more than a little drunk when he arrived at the bastion he was now stone-cold sober. He had not meant to be drunk. He had woken feeling cold and damp and he had thought a little rum might revive him. He never meant to drink too much, but the rum gave him confidence and he needed it for he was finding the light company very hard to manage. They did not like him, he knew that, and the rum gave him the drive to cope with their obdurate behavior. "We won't let you down, sir," he said, meaning every word.

"That's good," Lawford said warmly, "very good." In truth he did not need the picquet in the old barn, but if he was to keep the promise he had given to his wife then he had to make a decent officer out of Slingsby, so now he would give him a simple job, one that would keep him alert instead of idling behind the lines. This was Slingsby's chance to show he could manage men, and Lawford was generous in giving it to him. "And I insist on one last thing," Lawford said.

"Anything, sir," Slingsby said eagerly.

"No rum, Cornelius. Don't take your medicine to the picquet, understand? And if you feel you're getting the fever, come back and we'll let the doctor have at you. Wear flannel, eh? That's supposed to ward it off."

"Flannel," Slingsby said, nodding.

"And what you do now," the Colonel went on patiently, "is take a dozen men and reconnoiter the farm. There's a path down the hill behind Work Number 118," he pointed, "and meanwhile the rest of your company can get ready. Clean muskets, sharp bayonets, fresh flints and full cartridge boxes. Tell Mister Knowles you're drawing rations for three days and be ready to deploy this afternoon,"

"Very good, sir," Slingsby said, "and thank you, sir." Lawford watched Slingsby go down the steps, then he sighed and took out his telescope which he mounted on a tripod already placed on the bastion. He stooped to the eyepiece and gazed at the northern landscape. The hills across the valley were crowned with three broken windmills, nothing left of them but their white stone stumps. Those, he supposed, would become French watchtowers. He swung the glass to the right, coming at last to a glimpse of the Tagus which swept wide towards the sea. A Royal Navy gunboat was anchored in the river, its ensign hanging limp in the rain. "If they come," a voice spoke behind Lawford, "then they can't use the road because it's flooded, so they'll be forced to make a detour and come straight up here."

Lawford straightened from the glass and saw it was Major Hogan who was swathed in an oilskin cape and had a black oilskin cover over his cocked hat. "You're well?" Lawford greeted the Irishman.

"I can feel a cold coming on," Hogan said, "a damned cold. First of the winter, eh?"

"Not winter yet, Hogan."

"Feels like it. May I?" Hogan gestured at the telescope. "Be my guest," Lawford said, and courteously wiped the rain from the outer lens. "How's the Peer?"

"His lordship thrives," Hogan said, stooping to the glass, "and sends his regards. He's angry, of course."

"Angry?"

"All those damned croakers, Lawford, who say the war's lost. Men who write home and get their block-headed opinions in the newspapers. He'd like to shoot the whole damned lot of them." Hogan was silent for a few seconds as he gazed at the British gunboat in the river, then he turned a mischievous look on Lawford. "You're not writing home with a bad opinion of his lordship's strategy, are you, Lawford?"

"Good Lord, no!" Lawford said, honestly.

Hogan bent to the glass again. "The flooding isn't all we hoped for," he said, "or what Colonel Fletcher hoped for. But it should suffice. They can't use the road, anyway, so what the bastards will do, Lawford, is march inland. Follow the base of those hills," Hogan was tracking the possible French route with the telescope, "and somewhere near that abandoned barn they'll cross over and come straight at you."

"Exactly what I'd surmised," Lawford said, "and then they'll advance into that valley." He nodded to the low ground that curled about the hill.

"Where they'll die," Hogan said with an indecent satisfaction. He stood up straight and winced at a twinge in his back. "In truth, Lawford, I don't expect them to try. But they might get desperate. Any news of Sharpe?"