King, Ship, and Sword

'Might be able t'pick one or two off and block the path,' Lewrie muttered, with one loaded pistol stuck in a pocket of his slop-trousers, and the second in his hand. He rose to a half-crouch to look up-slope. Torches and lanthorns showed him his pursuers' progress; it was damned slow, so far! Above the sounds of the surf, he could make out the noise the French were making, stumbling, tripping, and sliding, and setting off small showers of gravel. There was a surprised shout as someone up there turned his ankle!

Soldiers or gendarmes atop the cliff fired at him, and he ducked down again as lead balls spanged off the boulders. Once the volley was spent, he popped up again, taking quick note that the people coming down the path were armed with short musketoons, weapons about as in-accurate as his own pistols, at any decent range.

Yonder t'that boulder, Lewrie schemed; up t'that big'un, then I will have a good slant at that sharp bend. Can't hope t'hit anyone, but they might waste a volley, duck, and have t're-load. That'd slow ' em down. Do it, damn yer eyes!

'Hang on a bit… be right back,' Lewrie told the others, ducking down as another blindly aimed volley came their way.

'Alan, no!' Caroline wailed as he broke cover and ran for the first boulder, her hand trying to snatch at his loose fisherman's smock. 'Why must he be such a damned fool!' she cried.

Only one or two shots followed him to his first hide, and then Lewrie was up and scrambling to the second. A moment to get his wind back, to calm his twanging nerves, and he stood up, levelling one of his pistols over his left arm to steady it, cocking it, and taking aim.

Bang! and he dropped out of sight. Spang-wail! went the ball as it caromed off the rocks by the sharp bend, then the instinctive discharge of seven or eight return shots, and the rattle of balls round his sheltering boulder.

A quick pop-up for a look-see! Soldiers were hunkered down in the boulders, groping for cartridges and ramrods. More shots-from the top of the cliff this time. Once they were spent, Lewrie rose and took aim with his second pistol at a Chasseur with a torch at the head of the pursuit, squeezing himself through the first tight space. He fired and ducked. Bang! Then a meaty Thunk! and a frightened shout. He'd hit one of the bastards!

That summoned another ragged volley from the cliff top, and one from the pursuers on the path, and Lewrie dashed back to that first boulder, then back to rejoin the Plumbs and Caroline.

'Pinked one, I think!' he chortled, quickly re-loading pistols. 'They're tryin' t'be quick about it, but they're clumsy,' he told them. 'Frog chivalry! There's two of ' em carryin' Choundas, and more takin' care that Charitй don't fall and break her neck… please Jesus! One I hit was only at the first tight squeeze, and they'll have t'move him 'fore they get round it.'

Another quick peek that drew more fire, and Lewrie put his back to their boulder to look out to sea. The schooner's rowing boat, with eight oarsmen stroking away like the Devil was at the transom, was only 150 yards off, and coming on strong. Another pop-up showed him that the leading French soldier was only halfway down the path, and behind him, there was a jam-up where the Chasseurs had to put Choundas down so he could squeeze through the first tight space on his own.

'Tide's out,' Lewrie said. 'It'll be round fourty or fifty yards to the boat when it grounds. Be a real dash t'get into her as soon as she grounds, which'll be… 'bout a minute, or less. They'll not have us! When we run, go straight to the boat, no weavin' about, that's useless. Understand me? Caroline?'

Voices above were shouting; oddly, Lewrie could understand every word, for once. French must be gettin' better, he thought, sharing a joyful grin with his wife. There was another volley of about a dozen rounds from the cliff top, a ragged later shot from the soldiers on the path. He stood and fired over the boulder, not even bothering to aim this time, just to make them cower… to fear, and slow down!

He looked at the Plumbs; they were not taking this well. Lady Imogene was whey- faced, her teeth chattering. Sir Pulteney, holding her, looked glazed-eyed and ashen in the first hints of false dawn, staring off at nothing.

He claimed t'be a soldier once! Lewrie scoffed; most-like the parade-ground sort, in a fashionable regiment, and their sort doesn't get sent to battle that often. Schooled in arms, sometime long before, but… playin' chameleon's more his style, not fightin' for his life!

Lewrie waited out another volley, then rose and fired his other pistol, quickly tumbling down upon his back as a few cleverer French waited for his response and took pot-shots at him.

'Alan!' Caroline yelped, crawling to him.

'I'm fine! Get back against the boulder!' he told her, dusting himself off and taking his own advise to scramble back to cover, too, where he began to re-load with what little powder, shot, and wadding he had left; enough for four more shots, total, he reckoned.

The sea, the surf; it didn't look much higher than two-foot waves as the waters funnelled into the inlet and raled upon the sands. A bit choppy but… their salvation was now within fifty yards offshore. Lewrie risked one more peek and saw that a Chasseur officer-damme but wasn't he the one he'd met at Bonaparte's levee?-another one with a torch, Charitй, and a weaselly-looking man in a dark suit were at the bottom of the worst of the path, just about to hit the scree-slope. There was Choundas, too, in all his ugliness, past the last squeeze-point and being carried again by two soldiers. It would be a very close thing!

Time t' run! Lewrie decided for them all.

'We're breakin' cover, now!' he snapped. 'Kiss for luck, m'dear?'

He put his arm round Caroline, she took his face in both hands and kissed him as fiercely as their first night wed; it was hard for Lewrie to break away, to gather his nerve, and let go of her!

'On our feet, ready?' He asked. 'Ready, ready… wait!'

There was yet another volley from the cliff top. Lewrie stood and backed out into the open, bracing himself for any clever bugger up yonder. Presented with a good target at last, those last few clever Frenchmen fired, but, thankfully, they were gendarmes, not soldiers, and missed wide of him with their short- barrelled musketoons.

Now for the rest! Lewrie told himself, dancing further out onto the beach, capering and waving his arms. 'Va te faire foutre! Foutre Napoleon! And God bless King George!' he yelled at the Chasseurs on the path, then lifted one of his pistols and fired upwards, striking a Chasseur carrying a lanthorn in one hand and his musketoon in the other. He yelped, dropped both, and clapped a hand to his thigh, losing his footing. The Chasseur in front of him, trying to aim and fire, was swept off his feet, too, as the first landed on his back, then began to slide down the scree slope, taking the lead man with him in a whirl of arms and legs!

'Shot their bolt!' Lewrie yelled as he rushed back to the rocks, followed by sharp cracks of musket fire and plumes of sand from misses. 'Ready, ready, gol' With Caroline's hand in his left, and his last pistol in his right, they dashed for the surf line and the boat, which was now pitching in the shallows, not ten yards from grounding!

There were a couple of stray shots chasing them, but the party remained untouched. The deep sand above the tide line dragged at their feet like cold treacle, slowing them, and all the while, weapons were being reloaded and desperate soldiers were all but throwing themselves down the path and the slope. Lady Imogene hitched up her skirts with both hands to run faster, and Lewrie let go Caroline's hand for her to do the same. Sir Pulteney dodged astern of his wife, to shelter her.

'Kill them, kill them, someone!' Guillaume Choundas was howling.

'On, men, on!' Major Denis Clary was urging with his sword out, his musketoon in his left hand. Yet another Chasseur slipped on loose rock and shale and went tumbling, arses and elbows, to join the first two who'd fallen and who lay at the base of the slope barely moving, still stunned. Clary came to a halt at the top of the scree, fearing that half his borrowed troopers would break their necks or legs if they went on.

Charitй half-slid to a stop beside him, eyes wild and hair dishevelled, panting open-mouthed at the exertions. Fourchette thumped to a halt with them, too, then came another Chasseur with a torch.