stopping to consider the consequences, he pointed and beckoned. The mob howled and tore at her, and she fell — but rose and fought her way through. Kydd tried to think what her presence must imply - whose blood had he seen at the house? Louise paused in front of him, and he pushed her to the boat. She clambered aboard over the transom into the place Kydd had intended for himself. The boat swayed, nearly dipping the gunwales under. Its passengers screamed in fright. There was no chance for him on this trip.
He watched the boat reach the brig as a cannon shot brought up a vicious plume of spray not five yards from it. The people scrambled for their lives up the side, and Kydd noticed the line of the morning sun lengthening down the brig's hull. Her cables had been cut. The fore and aft sails were shaken out and, with the empty boat drifting free astern, the brig caught the wind and put to sea.
Lieutenant Calley did not look up from his writing. The faint tap of muskets sounded - the French must be close. His shirt stuck to him in the close heat of the small room, and he muttered as he wrote.
Kydd waited patiently. They had made it back to the square and found it empty of friendly soldiery - in fact, empty of most inhabitants. They had only found their way to this 'headquarters' after a chance encounter with a hurrying party of infantrymen.
Calley looked up. Kydd was shocked by the dark rings around his eyes and the evidence in his posture of extreme tiredness. 'The town is in total disorder; the French are approaching from the east. There is no help for it - we must yield the capital.' He spoke generally, not at Kydd but into his immediate front.
'Aye, sir,' he said. So much had happened since that pre-dawn awakening. The noon heat was dire in this room and he longed to be out in the steady sea breeze.
'You, er, Kydd.' Calley seemed to have difficulty with his words. 'We — we must hold until
The sweat prickled down Kydd's back.
'What I want you to try to do — is take your party to Petit Bourg, our largest remaining stronghold. I shall withdraw into the mountains of Basse Terre and yield up the capital and eastern half of the island to the enemy.' His head lowered. 'God knows — I have done what I can.'
Kydd knew better than to voice his anxieties. 'Aye-aye, sir,' he said, the age-old response to a naval order, and made his exit.
Outside, the marines waited. No file of men presenting arms, just a group of three in dusty tunics, bowed with fatigue, but with muskets bright and gleaming. Why they should follow his orders he had no idea, but he saw them straighten when he emerged, looking to him. In that moment he understood — they needed from him that nameless quality that drove men on regardless through adversity and battle. They were joined by five seamen.
'We're meetin' our mates,' Kydd said decisively, 'at Putty Borg — over yonder,' he added. It had been pointed out to him earlier, an anonymous huddle of buildings just visible across the bay on the rugged Basse Terre proper.
'That's a fuckin' long way off, cully,' said an older seaman, in measured tones.
The group fell quiet. 'Y'r right - fifty miles if it's a yard,' Kydd snapped. 'So, let's be havin' ye.'
There would be no rations, no water until they made the safety of the fort, but in fact it could be no more than five miles away. 'On y'r feet!' Kydd barked. The men stirred, and got up in ones or twos.
'Marines, get into y'r line an' lead off.' They shuffled into file and stood to attention, staring ahead blankly as they always did. 'Right — march away!' Kydd shouted, not at all sure of the form of orders to start men marching. The marines, after a moment's confusion, stepped out, and the little band of men tramped off down the dusty road out of town. Kydd felt a swell of pride - his men, obeying his orders, going on a military mission of importance.
Some time later the gates of the small Petit Bourg citadel hove in sight for the footsore and dusty band; security, food, drink and, above all, the warmth of company of their own kind.
'Halt!' This was not a welcome: what had happened? For a moment Kydd thought that the French had reached here and were enticing them into a trap.
'The fort ahoy!' shouted Kydd. 'Party o' men fr'm Pwun-a-Peter, come t' join.' He could now hand over responsibility for 'his' men - he felt a slight pang.
A
