Cornwell, Bernard 01 Sharpe’s Tiger-Serigapatam-Apr-May 1799

‘Did you hear me, Sharpie?’ Sergeant Green interrupted Sharpe’s gloomy thoughts.

‘I heard you, Sergeant,’ Sharpe said.

‘So would you mind? If I asked her?’

‘Have you asked her already?’ Sharpe said accusingly.

‘No!’ Green said hastily. ‘Wouldn’t be right! Not while you’re still, well, you know.’

‘Alive,’ Sharpe said bitterly.

‘It’s only if the worst happens.’ Green tried to sound optimistic. ‘Which it won’t.’

‘You won’t need my permission when I’m dead, Sergeant.’

‘No, but if I can tell Mary you wanted her to accept me, then it’d help. Don’t you see that? I’ll be a good man to her, Sharpie. I was married before, I was, only she died on me, but she never complained about me. No more than any woman ever complains, anyhow.’

‘Hakeswill might stop you marrying her.’

Green nodded. ‘Aye, he might, but I can’t see how. Not if we tie the knot quick. I’ll ask Major Shee, and he’s always

fair with me. Ask him tonight, see? But only if the worst happens.’

‘But you need a chaplain,’ Sharpe warned the Sergeant. The 33rd’s own chaplain had committed suicide on the voyage from Calcutta to Madras and no marriage in the army was considered official unless it had the regimental commander’s permission and the blessing of a chaplain.

‘The lads in the Old Dozen tell me they’ve got a God-walloper,’ Green said, gesturing at the soldiers guarding Sharpe, ‘and he can do the splicing tomorrow. I’ll probably have to slip the bugger a shilling, but Mary’s worth a bob.’

Sharpe shrugged. ‘Ask her, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘ask her.’ What else could he say? And if Mary was properly married to Sergeant Green then she would be protected by the army’s regulations. ‘But see what happens to me first,’ Sharpe added.

‘Of course I will, Sharpie. Hope for the best, eh? Never say die.’

Sharpe drained the canteen. ‘There’s a couple of things in my pack, Sergeant. A good pistol I took off an Indian officer the other day and a few coins. You’ll give them to Mary?’

‘Of course I will,’ Green said, carefully hiding the fact that Hakeswill had already plundered Sharpe’s pack. ‘She’ll be all right, Sharpie. Promise you, lad.’

‘And some dark night, Sergeant, give bloody Hakeswill a kicking for me.’

Green nodded. ‘Be a pleasure, Sharpie. Be a pleasure.’ He knocked the ashes of his pipe against the ammunition boxes, then stood. ‘I’ll bring you some more rum, lad. The more the better.’

The preparations for Sharpe’s flogging had all been made. Not that they were many, but it took a few moments to make sure everything was to the Sergeant Major’s satisfaction. A tripod had been constructed out of three sergeant’s halberds, their spear points uppermost and lashed together so that the

whole thing stood two feet higher than a tall man. The three halberd butts were sunk into the dry soil, then a fourth halberd was firmly lashed crosswise on one face of the tripod at the height of a man’s armpits.

Sergeant Hakeswill personally selected two of the 33rd’s drummer boys. The drummer boys always administered the floggings, a small element of mercy in a bestial punishment, but Hakeswill made certain that the two biggest and strongest boys were given the task and then he collected the two whips from the Sergeant Major and made the boys practise on a tree trunk. ‘Put your body into it, lads,’ he told them, ‘and keep the arm moving fast after the whip’s landed. Like this.’ He took one of the whips and slashed it across the bark, then showed them how to keep the lash sliding across the target by following the stroke through. ‘I did it often enough when I was a drummer,’ he told them, ‘and I always did a good job. Best flogger in the battalion, I was. Second to none.’ Once he was sure their technique was sufficient for the task he warned them not to tire too quickly, and then, with a pocket knife, he nicked the edges of the leather lashes so that their abrasions would tear at the exposed flesh as they were dragged across Sharpe’s back. ‘Do it well, lads,’ he promised them, ‘and there’s one of these for each of you.’ He showed them one of the Tippoo’s gold coins which had been part of the battle’s loot. ‘I don’t want this bastard walking again,’ he told them. ‘Nor do you neither, for if Sharpie ever finds his feet he’ll give you two a rare kicking, so make sure you finish the bastard off proper. Whip him bloody then put him underground, like it says in the scriptures.’

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *