Sharpe's Escape: The Bussaco Campaign, 1810 by Cornwell Bernard

Author:Cornwell, Bernard [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, War, Adventure
ISBN: 9780061751714
Goodreads: 10178999
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
Published: 2004-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

FERRAGUS, his brother and three of the men from the warehouse retired to a tavern. Two men could not come. One had been hit in the skull by one of the seven-barrel gun’s bullets and, though he lived, he was unable to speak, control his movements or make sense and so Ferragus ordered him taken to Saint Clara’s in hope that some of the nuns were still there. A second man, struck in the arm by the same volley, had gone to his home to let his woman splint his broken arm and bandage his wound. The wounding of the two men had angered Ferragus who stared morosely into his wine.

“I warned you,” Ferreira said, “they’re soldiers.”

“Dead soldiers,” Ferragus said. That was his only consolation. The four were trapped, and they would have to stay in the cellar until Ferragus fetched them out and he toyed with the idea of leaving them there. How long would it take them to die? Would they go mad in the stifling dark? Shoot each other? Become cannibals? Perhaps, weeks from now, he would open the trapdoor and one survivor would crawl blinking into the light and he would kick the bastard to death. No, he would rather kick all three men to death and teach Sarah Fry a different lesson. “We’ll get them out tonight,” he said.

“The British will be in the city tonight,” Ferreira pointed out, “and there are troops billeted in the street behind the warehouse. They hear shots? They may not go as easily as those this afternoon.” A Portuguese patrol had heard the shots in the warehouse and come to investigate, but Ferreira, who had not joined the fight, but had been standing by the door, had heard the boots on the cobbles and slipped outside to fend off the patrol, explaining that he had men inside killing goats.

“No one will hear shots from that cellar,” Ferragus said scornfully.

“You want to risk that?” Ferreira asked. “With that big gun? It sounds like a cannon!”

“Tomorrow morning, then,” Ferragus snarled.

“Tomorrow morning the British will still be here,” the Major pointed out patiently, “and in the afternoon you and I must ride north to meet the French.”

“You ride north to meet the French,” Ferragus said, “and Miguel can go with you.” He looked at the smaller man who shrugged acceptance.

“They are expecting to meet you,” Ferreira pointed out.

“So Miguel will say he’s me!” Ferragus snapped. “Will the damned French know the difference? And I stay here,” he insisted, “and play my games the moment the British are gone. When will the French arrive?”

“If they come tomorrow,” Ferreira guessed, “in the morning, perhaps? Say an hour or two after dawn?”

“That gives me time,” Ferragus said. He only wanted enough time to hear the three men begging for mercy that would not come to them. “I’ll meet you at the warehouse,” he told Ferreira. “Bring the Frenchmen to guard it, and I’ll be inside, waiting.” Ferragus knew he was allowing himself to be distracted.

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