bcornwell.sharpstiger-第5节

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parallel　to　the　ridge　and　so　bar　the　advance　of　the　enemy　infantry。
　'Two　files！'　a　voice　shouted。
　'Two　files！'　Captain　Morris　echoed。
　'You　heard　the　officer！'　Hakeswill　shouted。　'Two　files！　On　the　right！　Smartly　now！'
　All　the　running　half…panies　now　split　themselves　into　two　smaller　units；　each　of　two　ranks　and　each　aligning　itself　on　the　unit　to　its　right　so　that　the　whole　battalion　formed　a　fighting　line　two　ranks　deep。　As　Sharpe　ran　into　position　he　glanced　to　his　right　and　saw　the　drummer　boys　taking　their　place　behind　the　regiment's　colours　which　were　guarded　by　a　squad　of　sergeants　armed　with　long；　axe…headed　poles。
　The　Light　pany　was　the　last　into　position。　There　were　a　few　seconds　of　shuffling　as　the　men　glanced　right　to　check　their　alignment；　then　there　was　stillness　and　silence　except　for　the　corporals　fussily　closing　up　the　files。　In　less　than　a　minute；　in　a　marvellous　display　of　drill；　the　Ring's　33rd　had　deployed　from　column　of　march　into　line　of　battle　so　that　seven　hundred　men；　arrayed　in　two　long　ranks；　now　faced　the　enemy。
　'You　may　load；　Major　Shee！'　That　was　Colonel　Wellesley's　voice。　He　had　galloped　his　horse　close　to　where　Major　Shee　brooded　under　the　regiment's　twin　flags。　The　six　Indian　battalions　were　still　hurrying　forward　on　the　left；　but　the　enemy　infantry　had　appeared　at　the　northern　end　of　the　ridge　and　that　meant　the　33rd　was　the　nearest　unit　and　the　one　most　likely　to　receive　the　Tippoo's　assault。
　'Load！'　Captain　Morris　shouted　at　Hakeswill。
　Sharpe　felt　suddenly　nervous　as　he　dropped　the　musket　from　his　shoulder　to　hold　it　across　his　body。　He　fumbled　with　the　musket's　hammer　as　he　pulled　it　back　to　the　half　cock。　Sweat　stung　his　eyes。　He　could　hear　the　enemy　drummers。'Handle　cartridge！'　Sergeant　Hakeswill　shouted；　and　each　man　of　the　Light　pany　pulled　a　cartridge　from　his　belt　pouch　and　bit　through　the　tough　waxed　paper。　They　held　the　bullets　in　their　mourns；　tasting　the　sour　salty　gunpowder。
　'Prime！'　Seventy…six　men　trickled　a　small　pinch　of　powder　from　the　opened　cartridges　into　their　muskets'　pans；　then　closed　the　locks　so　that　the　priming　was　trapped。
　'Cast　about！'　Hakeswill　called　and　seventy…six　right　hands　released　their　musket　stocks　so　that　the　weapons'　butts　dropped　towards　the　ground。　'And　I'm　watching　you！'　Hakes…will　added。　If　any　of　you　lily…white　bastards　don't　use　all　his　powder；　I'll　skin　your　hides　off　you　and　rub　salt　on　your　miserable　flesh。　Do　it　proper　now！'　Some　old　soldiers　advised　only　using　half　the　powder　of　a　cartridge；　letting　the　rest　trickle　to　the　ground　so　that　the　musket's　brutal　kick　would　be　diminished；　but　faced　by　an　advancing　enemy；　no　man　thought　of　employing　that　trick　this　day。　They　poured　the　remainder　of　their　cartridges'　powder　down　their　musket　barrels；　stuffed　the　cartridge　paper　after　the　powder；　then　took　the　balls　from　their　mouths　and　pushed　them　into　the　muzzles。　The　enemy　infantry　was　two　hundred　yards　away　and　advancing　steadily　to　the　beat　of　drums　and　the　blare　of　trumpets。　The　Tippoo's　guns　were　still　firing；　but　they　had　turned　their　barrels　away　from　the　33rd　for　fear　of　hitting　their　own　infantry　and　were　instead　aiming　at　the　six　Indian　regiments　that　were　hurrying　to　close　the　gap　between　themselves　and　the　33rd。
　'Draw　ramrod！'　Hakeswill　shouted　and　Sharpe　tugged　the　ramrod　free　of　the　three　brass　pipes　that　held　it　under　the　musket's　thirty…nine…inch　barrel。　His　mouth　was　salty　with　the　taste　of　gunpowder。　He　was　still　nervous；　not　because　the　enemy　was　tramping　ever　closer；　but　because　he　had　a　sudden　idiotic　idea　that　he　might　have　forgotten　how　to　load　a　musket。　He　twisted　the　ramrod　in　the　air；　then　placed　the　ramrod's　flared　tip　into　the　barrel。'Ram　cartridge！'　Hakeswill　snapped。　Seventy…six　men　thrust　down；　forcing　the　ball；　wadding　and　powder　charge　to　the　bottom　of　the　barrels。
　'Return　ramrod！'　Sharpe　tugged　the　ramrod　up；　listening　to　it　scrape　against　the　barrel；　then　twirled　it　about　so　that　its　narrow　end　would　slide　down　into　the　brass　pipes。　He　let　it　drop　into　place。
　'Order　arms！'　Captain　Morris　called　and　the　Light　pany；　now　with　loaded　muskets；　stood　to　attention　with　their　guns　held　against　their　right　sides。　The　enemy　was　still　too　far　off　for　a　musket　to　be　either　accurate　or　lethal　and　the　long；　two…deep　line　of　seven　hundred　redcoats　would　wait　until　their　opening　volley　could　do　real　damage。
　'Talion！'　Sergeant　Major　Bywaters's　voice　called　from　the　centre　of　the　line。　'Fix　bayonets！'
　Sharpe　dragged　the　seventeen…inch　blade　from　its　sheatii　which　hung　behind　his　right　hip。　He　slotted　the　blade　over　the　musket's　muzzle；　then　locked　it　in　place　by　twisting　its　slot　onto　the　lug。　Now　no　enemy　could　pull　the　bayonet　off　the　musket。　Having　the　blade　mounted　made　reloading　the　musket　far　more　difficult；　but　Sharpe　guessed　that　Colonel　Wellesley　had　decided　to　shoot　one　volley　and　then　charge。　'Going　to　be　a　right　mucky　brawl；'　he　said　to　Tom　Garrard。
　'More　of　them　than　us；'　Garrard　muttered；　staring　at　the　enemy。　'The　buggers　look　steady　enough。'
　The　enemy　indeed　looked　steady。　The　leading　troops　had　momentarily　paused　to　allow　the　men　behind　to　catch　up；　but　now；　reformed　into　a　solid　column；　they　were　readying　to　advance　again。　Their　ranks　and　files　were　ramrod　straight。　Their　officers　wore　waist　sashes　and　carried　highly　curved　sabres。　One　of　the　flags　was　being　waved　to　and　fro　and　Sharpe　could　just　make　out　that　it　showed　a　golden　sun　blazoned　against　a　scarlet　sky。　Vultures　swooped　lower。　The　galloper　guns；　unable　to　resist　the　target　of　the　great　column　of　infantry；　poured　solid　shot　into　its　flank；　but　the　Tippoo'smen　stoically　endured　the　punishment　as　their　officers　made　certain　that　the　column　was　tight　packed　and　ready　to　deliver　its　crushing　blow　on　the　waiting　redcoat　line。
　Sharpe　licked　his　dry　lips。　So　these；　he　thought；　were　the　Tippoo's　men。　Fine…looking　bastards　they　were；　too；　and　close　enough　now　so　that　he　could　see　that　their　tunics　were　not　plain　pale　purple；　but　were　instead　cut　from　a　creamy…white　cloth　decorated　with　mauve　tiger　stripes。　Their　crossbelts　were　black　and　their　turbans　and　waist　sashes　crimson。　Heathens；　they　might　be；　but　not　to　be　despised　for　that；　for　only　seventeen　years　before　these　same　tiger…striped　men　had　torn　apart　a　British　army　and　forced　its　survivors　to　surrender。　These　were　the　famed　tiger　troops　of　Mysore；　the　warriors　of　the　Tippoo　Sultan　who　had　dominated　all　of　southern　India　until　the　British　thought　to　climb　the　ghats　from　the　coastal　plain　and　plunge　into　Mysore　itself。　The　French　were　these　men's　allies；　and　some　Frenchmen　served　in　the　Tippoo's　forces；　but　Sharpe　could　see　no　white　faces　in　the　massive　column　that　at　last　was　ready　and；　to　the　deep　beat　of　a　single　drum；　lurched　ponderously　forward。　The　tiger…striped　troops　were　marching　directly　towards　the　King's　33rd　and　Sharpe；　glancing　to　his　left；　saw　that　the　sepoys　of　the　East　India　pany　regiments　were　still　too　far　away　to　offer　help。　The　33rd　would　have　to　deal　with　the　Tippoo's　column　alone。
　'Private　Sharpe！'　Hakeswill's　sudden　scream　was　loud　enough　to　drown　the　cheer　that　the　Tippoo's　troops　gave　as　they　advanced。　'Private　Sharpe！'　Hakeswill　screamed　again。　He　was　hurrying　along　the　back　of　the　Light　pany　and　Captain　Morris；　momentarily　dismounted；　was　following　him。　〃Give　me　your　musket；　Private　Sharpe！'　Hakeswill　bellowed。
　'Nothing　wrong　with　it；'　Sharpe　protested。　He　was　in　the　front　rank　and　had　to　turn　and　push　his　way　between　Garrard　and　Mallinson　to　hand　the　gun　over。
　Hakeswill　snatched　the　musket　and　gleefully　presented　it　to　Captain　Morris。　'See；　sir！'　the　Sergeant　crowed。　Just　as　Ithought；　sir！　Bastard　sold　his　flint；　sir！　Sold　it　to　an　'eathen　darkie。'　Hakeswill's　face　twitched　as　he　gave　Sharpe　a　triumphant　glance。　The　Sergeant　had　unscrewed　the　musket's　doghead；　extracted　the　flint　in　its　folded　leather　pad　and　now　offered　the　scrap　of　stone　to　Captain　Morris。　'Piece　of　mon　rock；　sir；　no　good　to　man　or　beast。　Must　have　flogged　his　flint；　sir。　Flogged　it　in　exchange　for　a　pagan　whore；　sir；　I　dare　say。　Filthy　beast　that　he　is。'
　Morris　peered　at　the　flint。　'Sell　the　flint；　did　you；　Private？'　he　asked　in　a　voice　that　mingled　derision；　pleasure　and　bitterness。
　'No；　sir。'
　'Silence！'　Hakeswill　screamed　into　Sharpe's　face；　spattering　him　with　spittle。　'Lying　to　an　officer！　Flogging　offence；　sir；　flogging　offence。　Selling　his　flint；　sir？　Another　flogging　offence；　sir。　Says　so　in　the　scriptures；　sir。'
　'It　is　a　flogging　offence；'　Morris　said　with　a　tone　of　satisfaction。　He　was　as　tall　and　lean　as　Sharpe；　with　fair　hair　and　a　fine…boned　face　that　was　just　beginning　to　show　the　ravages　of　the　liquor　with　which　the　Captain　assuaged　his　boredom。　His　eyes　betrayed　his　cynicism　and　something　much　worse：　that　he　despised　his　men。　Hakeswill　and　Morris；　Sharpe　thought　as　he　watched　them；　a　right　bloody　pair。
　'Nothing　wrong　with　that　flint；　sir；'　Sharpe　insisted。
　Morris　held　the　flint　in　the　palm　of　his　right　hand。　'Looks　like　a　chip　of　stone　to　me。'
　'mon　grit；　sir；'　Hakeswill　said。　'mon　bloody　grit；　sir；　no　good　to　man　or　beast。'
　'Might　I？'　A　new　voice　spoke。　Lieutenant　William　Lawford　had　dismounted　to　join　Morris　and　now；　w