Read Online Sharpe 21 - Sharpe's Devil by Bernard Cornwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bernard Cornwell
Ads: Link
western side, lay Fort Amargos and Corral Castle. The Espiritu Santos First Lieutenant proudly pointed out each succeeding stronghold as the frigate edged her way around the headland. “In Chile,” Otero explained yet again, “armies move by sea because the roads are so bad, but no army could ever take Valdivia unless they first capture this harbor, and I just wish Cochrane would try to capture it! We'd destroy him!”
Sharpe believed him, for there were yet more defenses to add their guns to the five forts of the western shore. Across the harbor mouth, where the huge Pacific swells shattered white on dark rocks, was the biggest fort of all, Fort Niebla, while in the harbor's center, head on to any attacking ships, lay the guns and ramparts of Manzanera Island. The harbor would be a trap, sucking an attacker inside to where he would be ringed with high guns hammering heated shot down onto his wooden decks.
Only two of the forts, Corral Castle and Fort Niebla, were modern stone-walled forts. The other forts were little more than glorified gun emplacements protected by ditches and timber walls, yet their cannons could make the harbor into a killing ground of overlapping gunnery zones. “If we were an enemy ship,” Otero boasted of the ring of artillery, “we would be in hell by now.”
“Where's the town?” Sharpe asked. Valdivia was supposed to be the major remaining Spanish garrison in Chile, yet to Sharpe's surprise, the great array efforts seemed to be protecting nothing but a stone quay, some tarred sheds and a row of fishermen's hovels.
“The town's upstream.” Otero pointed to what Sharpe had taken for a bay just beside Fort Niebla. “That's the river mouth and the town's fifteen miles inland. You'll be dropped at the north quay where you find a boatman to take you upstream. They're dishonest people, and they'll try to charge you five dollars. You shouldn't pay more than one.”
“The Espiritu Santo won't go upstream?”
“The river's too shallow.” Lieutenant Otero, who had charge of the frigate, paused to listen to the leadsman who was calling the depth. “Sometimes the boatmen will take you halfway and then threaten to put you ashore in the wilderness if you won't pay more money. If that happens, the best thing to do is to shoot one of the Indian crew members. No one objects to the killing of a savage, and you'll find the death has a remarkably salutary effect on the other boatmen.”
Otero turned away to tend to the ship. Fort Niebla was firing a salute which one of the long nine pounders at the frigate's bow returned. The gunfire echoed flatly from the steep hills where a few stunted trees were permanently windbent toward the north. Seamen were streaming aloft to furl the sails after their long passage. There was a crash as the starboard anchor was struck loose, then a grating rumble as fathoms of chain clattered through the hawse. The fragrant scents of the land vainly tried to defeat the noxious carapace of the Espiritu Santos, cesspit-laced-with-powder stench. The frigate, her salute fired, checked as the anchor bit into the harbor's bottom, then turned as the tide pulled the fouled hull slowly around. The smoke of the gun salute writhed and drifted across the bay. “Welcome to Chile,” Otero said.
“Can you believe it?” Harper said with amazement. “We're in the New World!”
An hour later, their seabags and money chest under the guard of two burly seamen, Sharpe and Harper stepped ashore onto the New World. They had reached their voyage's end in the quaking land of giants and pygmies, of unicorns and ghouls, in the rebellious land that lay under the volcanoes' fire and the devil's flail. They were in Chile.
George Blair, British Consul in Valdivia, blinked short-sightedly at Richard Sharpe. “Why the hell should I tell you lies? Of course he's dead!” Blair laughed mirthlessly. “He'd better bloody be dead. He's been buried long enough! The poor bugger must be in a bloody bad
Sharpe believed him, for there were yet more defenses to add their guns to the five forts of the western shore. Across the harbor mouth, where the huge Pacific swells shattered white on dark rocks, was the biggest fort of all, Fort Niebla, while in the harbor's center, head on to any attacking ships, lay the guns and ramparts of Manzanera Island. The harbor would be a trap, sucking an attacker inside to where he would be ringed with high guns hammering heated shot down onto his wooden decks.
Only two of the forts, Corral Castle and Fort Niebla, were modern stone-walled forts. The other forts were little more than glorified gun emplacements protected by ditches and timber walls, yet their cannons could make the harbor into a killing ground of overlapping gunnery zones. “If we were an enemy ship,” Otero boasted of the ring of artillery, “we would be in hell by now.”
“Where's the town?” Sharpe asked. Valdivia was supposed to be the major remaining Spanish garrison in Chile, yet to Sharpe's surprise, the great array efforts seemed to be protecting nothing but a stone quay, some tarred sheds and a row of fishermen's hovels.
“The town's upstream.” Otero pointed to what Sharpe had taken for a bay just beside Fort Niebla. “That's the river mouth and the town's fifteen miles inland. You'll be dropped at the north quay where you find a boatman to take you upstream. They're dishonest people, and they'll try to charge you five dollars. You shouldn't pay more than one.”
“The Espiritu Santo won't go upstream?”
“The river's too shallow.” Lieutenant Otero, who had charge of the frigate, paused to listen to the leadsman who was calling the depth. “Sometimes the boatmen will take you halfway and then threaten to put you ashore in the wilderness if you won't pay more money. If that happens, the best thing to do is to shoot one of the Indian crew members. No one objects to the killing of a savage, and you'll find the death has a remarkably salutary effect on the other boatmen.”
Otero turned away to tend to the ship. Fort Niebla was firing a salute which one of the long nine pounders at the frigate's bow returned. The gunfire echoed flatly from the steep hills where a few stunted trees were permanently windbent toward the north. Seamen were streaming aloft to furl the sails after their long passage. There was a crash as the starboard anchor was struck loose, then a grating rumble as fathoms of chain clattered through the hawse. The fragrant scents of the land vainly tried to defeat the noxious carapace of the Espiritu Santos, cesspit-laced-with-powder stench. The frigate, her salute fired, checked as the anchor bit into the harbor's bottom, then turned as the tide pulled the fouled hull slowly around. The smoke of the gun salute writhed and drifted across the bay. “Welcome to Chile,” Otero said.
“Can you believe it?” Harper said with amazement. “We're in the New World!”
An hour later, their seabags and money chest under the guard of two burly seamen, Sharpe and Harper stepped ashore onto the New World. They had reached their voyage's end in the quaking land of giants and pygmies, of unicorns and ghouls, in the rebellious land that lay under the volcanoes' fire and the devil's flail. They were in Chile.
George Blair, British Consul in Valdivia, blinked short-sightedly at Richard Sharpe. “Why the hell should I tell you lies? Of course he's dead!” Blair laughed mirthlessly. “He'd better bloody be dead. He's been buried long enough! The poor bugger must be in a bloody bad
Similar Books
