The man shifted the tobacco quid in his mouth and said, with satisfaction, 'Ter th' wharf, ter get the brig t' sea.'
Kydd hefted his sea-bag, a dawning thought lifting his hopes. Yes, they were turning into the last street — and would pass the Vernou shop!
'Mr Jowett!' called Kydd. 'C'n I check on m' billet, as was, when we pass?'
Reluctantly, Jowett halted the band. Kydd knew he would be inclined to trust that a petty officer had good reason to delay the party. Now Jowett would find he had two women passengers on the brig. Kydd called out to the family, but no one emerged. Jowett hailed him peremptorily.
Kydd went in hastily. When his eyes became accustomed to the dark interior he noticed the charring on the steps to his room, tiny wisps of blue smoke still spiralling — then the blood, trickling over the edge of the floor above. The door darkened and Jowett's angry face swam into his vision. 'Well, spread some canvas an' let's be goin'!'
Kydd stumbled out and, seeing his appalled expression, Renzi grabbed his arm. 'Too late!' Kydd muttered. He was too shaken to look Renzi in the eye. They trudged on, Kydd in a haze of grief.
The brig had been warped a hundred yards offshore and the wharf was filling rapidly with crowds of frantic humanity, beseeching, imploring and fighting to get passage on the vessel. Jowett established a secure position at the water's edge, the marines making free with their bayonet points. A boat was signalled ashore from the three men aboard. When it arrived it became clear that the brig was in no fit state to sail. Under refit, it had no need for sails: they had all been sent down and kept somewhere ashore.
The strain was beginning to tell: seamen snarled at each other and snapped at the weeping, frenzied mob. Kydd found himself crudely brushing aside an old woman, feeling her withered skin and frail bones, her ancient face distorted with terror.
The sail-loft was found, and sails quickly stowed in the boat. A flat thud sounded above the chaos, then another. Gunsmoke wreathed a ridge above the capital. 'They're bombarding the town,' yelled Renzi.
Blood appeared in the mass of hysterical bodies as the marines wielded their bayonets more brutally. The guns on the ridge spoke in chorus, but where the shot went was not obvious.
The sailors boarded the boat in a rush, making it pitch alarmingly. The sails were taken out to the brig, some seamen swarming into the tops, others locating the halliards and lifts.
'We go out under staysails an' mizzen,' ordered Jowett. There was a ragged hiss and a thump: a plume of water rose in the sea, the cannon ball going on to smash a beachside hut to splinters. 'They's shyin' at us!' growled Jowett. 'Time we wasn't here.'
Kydd felt an overwhelming urge to be back at sea where it would be calm and sane. From the shore came distant screams and cursing - the marines were having difficulty defending themselves. Jowett seized Kydd's arm. 'Get ashore, send twenty of 'em out ter me. Twenty is all!' A ball slapped through the fore topmast staysail as it rose up on the stay. 'Now!'
Kydd threw a glance at Renzi, who was just descending from the main-shrouds, and boarded the boat. He took the tiller and headed for the chaos ashore, swelled now by royalist deserters who had broken into grog-shops.
The marines had fear in their eyes - the mob was near uncontrollable. The boat bumped up against the stone wharf and Kydd fought his way up to the marines. 'Watch m' back, you lobsterbacks,' he yelled, and took an oar into the crowd, rotating it wildly to clear a space. It gained a minute or two: then what? To whom should he award life, to whom deny it?
One of the men on the oars came up courageously to help him. Together they held the oar as a barrier. There, around two rows back, a mother and daughter, they should go. He pointed them out and beckoned. Under screams of rage from the others, they forced their way under the oar and to safety. Kydd's eyes darted around. The grey-haired man with the proud but fearful expression, a royalist officer, doomed if he remained. As the man came forward, Kydd noticed he was trembling so much he could hardly steady himself. Others - the boat was filling fast. A sharp crack and rending of timber — some spar in the brig taking a ball; there was no time to lose. He made sure the oarsmen were clear — the gunwales were only six inches above the water; he would wedge himself into the stern. Kydd looked around at the crowd for the last time — and, with a shock, saw Louise on the fringes.
Without
