Quickmatch burned at nearly the same pace as an open powder-train – as fast as a man could run. When it started, they had seconds to flee for their lives.
He jabbed the glowing stub at the quickmatch. It caught in a bright fizzle and disappeared as a red glow into the tube, racing unerringly towards its destiny. ‘Go!’ Stirk blurted, and careless of noise, they hurled themselves out into the bush.
When it came the detonation was cataclysmic, the livid flash picking out every detail of the scene, the fiery column of destruction reaching high into the night sky before it was hidden in roiling smoke, the gigantic blast lifting both men off their feet and sending them sprawling. Then round and about there came the patter and thud of falling fragments.
Disoriented by the numbing roar, Stirk staggered to his feet and, urgently gesturing to Wong, lumbered off towards the river and the vital jetty. Still half blinded, he nearly knocked over a silent figure, a white man, standing over another. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said automatically – then started, as though he’d seen a ghost. ‘Er, Mr Renzi? Ye’d better have it away on y’r toes wi’ us, sir. We’ve t’ be at the jetty before—’
‘Thank you, but first I’d be obliged if you’d relieve me of this gentleman and present him to Mr Kydd with my compliments. Tell him this is their ringleader. I’ve, er, other business to attend to – I’ll be at the jetty presently.’
Gaping, they watched him hurry off.
Kydd was warned by the fog-horn and, knowing attention was away from the river, positioned his boats in the outer darkness. The thunderous explosion shattered the stillness like the end of the world.
‘Give way, y’ swabs!’ he roared. The launch shot forward, towards the shore – and the general pandemonium. Warriors running aimlessly, shrieking their fear, small fires breaking out on all sides where burning fragments had landed. The jetty could just be made out but no anxious figures waiting.
‘Hold water!’ he ordered. They lay to fifty yards offshore, fearful that once they were seen, the panic could easily turn into a killing vengeance. In a frenzy they searched the riverbanks for their shipmates. Nothing.
Gilbey’s orders were to stay out and cover their approach with his carronade. Ashore, the disorder seemed to be subsiding – at any moment the horde could turn on them. Kydd left the sternsheets and scrambled forward to stand in the bows at the gun, peering to see.
‘Sir!’ one of the oarsmen said urgently. ‘Over t’ larb’d!’
It was clearly Stirk, and the others with him, struggling along towards the jetty and dragging another – but from the opposite side came a roar of anger. They’d been seen – and it was clear they were not going to make it to the jetty before they were overwhelmed. After all their immense bravery, to be slaughtered in sight of their salvation.
‘Ready the carronade,’ Kydd said steadily. In the dark, without the possibility of a reload, there were two shots and two only available between both boats.
‘
The crash of the eighteen-pounder from out in the night with its heightened gun-flash was shocking as a heavy round-shot was sent skipping and slamming over the water to end smashing and rampaging through the undergrowth – a very visible blast of terror that renewed the panic.
‘Go for your lives!’ The oarsmen needed no urging and the big launch flew in towards the jetty.
‘Move!’ bellowed Kydd, frantically beckoning to the waiting figures.
Stirk roughly pushed in the stranger, who fell protesting into Kydd’s outstretched hands. ‘Who the devil—?’
‘Y’r ringleader, if y’ please, sir,’ Stirk said laconically, urging in his men before clambering in himself.
‘Be damned!’ Kydd spluttered, and hastily turning to the bowman roared, ‘Bear off, there – let’s away!’
Stirk grasped his arm. ‘I’d be waitin’ a mort longer, sir, as beggin’ y’r pardon,’ he said firmly.
Something about his old mess-mate’s manner made him pause but the warriors could now see what was happening and started to storm forward once more – then out of the blackness came another thunderclap: Gilbey had seen what was happening and fired his own carronade.
They were now defenceless – but Stirk had seen something and muttered, ‘They’s coming now, sir.’
To Kydd’s utter stupefaction, the unmistakable figure of Renzi loomed. Then, to his even greater astonishment, his friend theatrically produced Therese, sullen and tattered.
‘Might I present to you the Baron de Caradeuc, whose daughter I believe you’re already acquainted with?’
Kydd could only stare.
‘Er, we gets under way, y’ said, sir?’ the anxious bowman pleaded.
‘Aye – let’s be back aboard, by all means.’
Tired but elated, Kydd and his victorious men stepped aboard
When he’d finally disengaged Renzi from the throng they went to the sanctuary of Kydd’s cabin. ‘Tysoe! Mr Renzi is near gut-foundered and craves a restorative.’
‘I understand, sir.’
The officers’ cook came personally and busied himself with supervising several tempting dishes, and Tysoe murmured, ‘We have still one of the ’ninety-two Margaux, which I recollect Mr Renzi particularly favours.’
‘Make it so, you rogue, and be damned to the hour!’ Kydd said happily, and fussed about a protesting Renzi in his old chair.
Soon glasses were raised and limbs eased. ‘Now, Nicholas, you’ll tell me what the Hades you were doing in such a place – or should I not ask?’
