bcornwell.sharpstiger-第4节

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ridge。　The　Tippoo　ruled　Mysore　and　he　was　the　enemy；　but　what　he　was；　or　why　he　was　an　enemy；　or　whether　he　was　a　tyrant；　beast　or　demigod；　Sharpe　had　no　idea。　Sharpe　was　here　because　he　was　a　soldier　and　it　was　sufficient　that　he　had　been　told　that　the　Tippoo　Sultan　was　his　enemy　and　so　he　waited　patiently　under　the　Indian　sun　that　was　soaking　his　lean　tall　body　in　sweat。
　Captain　Morris　leaned　on　his　saddle's　pommel。　He　took　off　his　cocked　hat　and　wiped　sweat　from　his　forehead　with　a　handkerchief　that　had　been　soaked　in　cologne　water。　He　had　been　drunk　the　previous　night　and　his　stomach　was　still　churning　with　pain　and　wind。　If　the　battalion　had　not　been　going　into　battle　he　would　have　galloped　away；　found　a　private　spot　and　voided　his　bowels；　but　he　could　hardly　do　that　now　in　case　his　men　thought　it　a　sign　of　weakness　and　so　he　raised　his　canteen　instead　and　swallowed'　some　arrack　in　the　hope　that　the　harsh　spirit　would　calm　the　turmoil　in　his　belly。　'Now；　Sergeant！'　he　called　when　the　pany　in　front　had　moved　sufficiently　far　ahead。
　'Forward　half…pany！'　Hakeswill　shouted。　'Forward　march！　Smartly　now！'
　Lieutenant　Lawford；　given　supervision　of　the　last　half…pany　of　the　battalion；　waited　until　Hakeswill's　men　had　marched　twenty　paces；　then　nodded　at　Sergeant　Green。　'Forward；　Sergeant。'
　The　redcoats　inarched　with　unloaded　muskets　for　the　enemy　was　still　a　long　way　off　and　there　was　no　sign　of　the　Tippoo　Sultan's　infantry；　nor　of　his　feared　cavalry。　There　were　only　the　enemy's　guns　and；　high　in　the　fierce　sky；　the　circling　vultures。　Sharpe　was　in　the　leading　rank　of　the　final　half…pany　and　Lieutenant　Lawford；　glancing　at　him；　thought　once　again　what　a　fine…looking　man　Sharpe　was。　There　was　a　confidence　in　Sharpe's　thin；　sun…darkened　face　and　hard　blue　eyes　that　spoke　of　an　easy　petence；　and　that　appearance　was　a　fort　to　a　young　nervous　lieutenant　advancing　towards　his　first　battle。　With　men　like　Sharpe；　Lawford　thought；　how　could　they　lose？
　Sharpe　was　ignorant　of　the　Lieutenant's　glance　and　would　have　laughed　had　he　been　told　that　his　very　appearance　inspired　confidence。　Sharpe　had　no　conception　of　how　he　looked；　for　he　rarely　saw　a　mirror　and　when　he　did　the　reflected　image　meant　nothing；　though　he　did　know　that　the　ladies　liked　him　and　that　he　liked　them。　He　knew；　too；　that　he　was　the　tallest　man　in　the　Light　pany；　so　tall；　indeed；　that　he　should　have　been　in　the　Grenadier　pany　that　led　the　battalion's　advance；　but　when　he　had　first　joined　the　regiment；　six　years　before；　the　manding　officer　of　the　Light　pany　had　insisted　on　having　Sharpe　in　his　ranks。　Captain　Hughes　was　dead　now；　killed　by　a　bowel…loosening　flux　in　Calcutta；　but　in　his　time　Hughes　had　prided　himself　on　having　the　quickest；　smartest　men　in　his　pany；　men　he　could　trust　to　fight　alone　in　the　skirmish　line；　and　it　had　been　Hughes's　tragedy　that　he　had　only　ever　seen　his　picked　men　face　an　enemy　once；　and　that　once　had　been　the　misbegotten；　fever…ridden　expedition　to　the　foggy　island　off　the　coast　of　Flanders　where　no　amount　of　quick…wittedness　by　the　men　could　salvage　success　from　the　manding　general's　stupidity。　Now；　five　years　later；　on　an　Indian　field；　the　33rd　again　marched　towards　an　enemy；　though　instead　of　the　enthusiastic　and　generous　Captain　Hughes；　the　Light　pany　was　now　manded　by　Captain　Morris　who　did　not　care　how　clever　or　quick　his　men　were；　only　that　they　gave　him　no　trouble。　Which　was　why　he　had　brought　Sergeant　Hakeswill　into　the　pany。　And　that　was　why　the　tall；　good…looking；　hard…eyed　private　called　Richard　Sharpe　was　thinking　of　running。
　Except　he　would　not　run　today。　Today　there　would　be　a　fight　and　Sharpe　was　happy　at　that　prospect。　A　fight　meant　plunder；　what　the　Indian　soldiers　called　loot；　and　any　man　who　was　thinking　of　running　and　striking　up　life　on　his　own　could　do　with　a　bit　of　loot　to　prime　the　pump。
　The　seven　battalions　marched　towards　the　ridge。　They　were　all　in　columns　of　half…panies　so　that；　from　a　vulture's　view；　they　would　have　appeared　as　one　hundred　and　forty　small　scarlet　rectangles　spread　across　a　square　mile　of　green　country　as　they　advanced　steadily　towards　the　waiting　line　of　guns　on　the　enemy…held　ridge。　The　sergeants　paced　beside　the　half…panies　while　the　officers　either　rode　or　walked　ahead。　From　a　distance　the　red　squares　looked　smart；　for　the　men's　red　coats　were　bright　scarlet　and　slashed　with　white　crossbelts；　but　in　truth　the　troops　were　filthy　and　sweating。　Their　coats　were　wool；　designed　for　battlefields　in　Flanders；　not　India；　and　the　scarlet　dye　had　run　in　the　heavy　rains　so　that　the　coats　were　now　a　pale　pink　or　a　dull　purple；　and　all　were　stained　white　with　dried　sweat。　Every　man　in　the　33rd　wore　a　leather　stock；　a　cruel　high　collar　that　dug　into　the　flesh　of　his　neck；　and　each　man's　long　hair　had　been　pulled　harshly　back；　greased　with　candle　wax；　then　twisted　about　a　small　sand…filled　leather　bag　that　was　secured　with　a　strip　of　black　leather　so　that　the　hair　hung　like　a　club　at　the　nape　of　the　neck。　The　hair　was　then　powdered　white　with　flour；　and　though　the　clubbed　and　whitened　hair　looked　smart　and　neat；　it　was　a　haven　for　lice　and　fleas。　The　native　sepoys　of　the　East　India　pany　were　luckier。　They　did　not　cake　their　hair　with　powder；　nor　did　they　wear　the　heavy　trousers　ofthe　British　troops　but　instead　marched　bare…legged。　They　did　not　wear　the　leather　stocks　either　and；　even　more　amazing；　there　was　no　flogging　in　the　Indian　battalions。
　An　enemy　cannonball　at　last　found　a　target　and　Sharpe　saw　a　half…pany　of　the　33rd　broken　apart　as　the　round　shot　whipped　through　the　ranks。　He　thought　he　glimpsed　an　instant　red　mist　appear　in　the　air　above　the　formation　as　the　ball　slashed　through；　but　maybe　that　was　an　illusion。　Two　men　stayed　on　the　ground　as　a　sergeant　closed　the　ranks　up。　Two　more　men　were　limping　and　one　of　them　staggered；　reeled　and　finally　collapsed。　The　drummer　boys；　advancing　just　behind　the　unfurled　colours；　marked　the　rhythm　of　the　march　with　steady　beats　interspersed　with　quicker　flourishes；　but　when　the　boys　marched　past　the　twin　heaps　of　offal　that　had　been　soldiers　of　the　Grenadier　pany　a　few　seconds　before　they　began　to　hurry　their　sticks　and　thus　quickened　the　regiment's　pace　until　Major　Shee　turned　in　his　saddle　and　damned　their　eagerness。
　'When　are　we　going　to　load？'　Private　Mallinson　asked　Sergeant　Green。
　'When　you're　told　to；　lad；　when　you're　told　to。　Not　before。　Oh；　sweet　Jesus！'　This　last　imprecation　from　Sergeant　Green　had　been　caused　by　a　deafening　ripple　of　gunfire　from　the　ridge。　A　dozen　more　of　the　Tippoo's　smaller　guns　had　opened　fire　and　the　crest　of　the　ridge　was　now　fogged　by　a　grey…white　cloud　of　smoke。　The　two　British　galloper　guns　off　to　the　right　had　unlimbered　and　started　to　return　the　fire；　but　the　enemy　cannon　were　hidden　by　their　own　smoke　and　that　thick　screen　obscured　any　damage　the　small　galloper　guns　might　be　inflicting。　More　cavalry　trotted　forward　to　the　33rd's　right。　These　newers　were　Indian　troops　dressed　in　scarlet　turbans　and　holding　long；　wicked…pointed　lances。
　'So　what　are　we　bleeding　supposed　to　do？'　Mallinson　plained。　'Just　march　straight　up　the　bloody　ridge　with　empty　muskets？''If　you're　told　to；'　Sergeant　Green　said；　'that's　what　you'll　do。　Now　hold　your　bloody　tongue。'
　'Quiet　back　there！'　Hakeswill　called　from　the　half…pany　in　front。　'This　ain't　a　bleeding　parish　outing！　This　is　a　fight；　you　bastards！'
　Sharpe　wanted　to　be　ready　and　so　he　untied　the　rag　from　his　musket's　lock　and　stuffed　it　into　the　pocket　where　he　kept　the　ring　Mary　had　given　him。　The　ring；　a　plain　band　of　worn　silver；　had　belonged　to　Sergeant　Bickerstaff；　Mary's　husband；　but　the　Sergeant　was　dead　now　and　Green　had　taken　Bickerstaff's　sergeant's　stripes　and　Sharpe　his　bed。　Mary　came　from　Calcutta。　That　was　no　place　to　run；　Sharpe　thought。　Place　was　full　of　redcoats。
　Then　he　forgot　any　prospect　of　deserting；　for　suddenly　the　landscape　ahead　was　filling　with　enemy　soldiers。　A　mass　of　infantry　was　crossing　the　northern　end　of　the　low　ridge　and　marching　down　onto　the　plain。　Their　uniforms　were　pale　purple；　they　had　wide　red　hats　and；　like　the　British　Indian　troops；　were　bare…legged。　The　flags　above　the　marching　men　were　red　and　yellow；　but　the　wind　was　so　feeble　that　the　flags　hung　straight　down　to　obscure　whatever　device　they　might　have　shown。　More　and　more　men　appeared　until　Sharpe　could　not　even　begin　to　estimate　their　numbers。
　'Thirty…third！'　a　voice　shouted　from　somewhere　ahead。　'Line　to　the　left！'
　'Line　to　the　left！'　Captain　Morris　echoed　the　shout。
　'You　heard　the　officer！'　Sergeant　Hakeswill　bawled。　'Line　to　the　left！　Smartly　now！'
　'On　the　double！'　Sergeant　Green　called。
　The　leading　half…pany　of　the　33rd　had　halted　and　every　other　half…pany　angled　to　their　left　and　sped　their　pace；　with　the　final　half…pany；　in　which　Sharpe　marched；　having　the　farthest　and　fastest　to　go。　The　men　began　to　jog；　their　packs　and　pouches　and　bayonet　scabbards　bumping　up　and　down　as　they　stumbled　over　the　small　fields　of　crops。　Like　aswinging　door；　the　column；　that　had　been　marching　directly　towards　the　ridge；　was　now　turning　itself　into　a　line　that　would　lie　parallel　to　the　ridge　and　so　bar　the　advance　of　the　enemy　infantry。
　'Two　files！'　a　voice　shouted。