were roundly cheered.
Eight gunboats were boarded and carried, with most crews joining the mutineers. Without delay, they set out to join the fleet.
'Should be comin' in sight any minute,' said Kydd to Parker, clamping his telescope against a shroud.
'And I'd never have considered Blake the man to do it,' Parker said.
Kydd looked out over the low-lying fortifications. 'He's a short-fused beggar, I know, but he's the kind o' man y'd like next to you in a boardin'.' He saw the masts. 'Here they come, thanks be.'
The gunboats drew abreast of Garrison Point. Then came a jet of smoke and the thud of a gun. The next vessel passed; it also fired. And the next took its turn. There was no mistaking this time: an untidy scatter of black fragments leaped skywards. 'Jesus!' shouted Kydd. 'They're bombardin' the fort!'
‘Kind in you, Dundas — my own shed a wheel this morning, most aggravatin'.'
The Secretary of State for War did not appear particularly communicative, staring out of his carriage window at the sunset traffic on the Thames as they passed over Westminster Bridge.
'Billy Pitt must be hell-bent on some adventure, callin' a cabinet meeting at such a notice,' Windham, leader of the Commons, offered.
'He has much to consairn him.' The burr of a lowland Scot had not entirely left the secretary, but Windham knew that, of all men, Dundas was closest to the beleaguered prime minister. 'Know it for a fact that Lord Moira is tappin' his friends with a view to bringing him and his gov'ment down — wants Northumberland as premier an' Fox to be a minister.'
'Fox! The wily beggar — you know he waited on the King?'
'Aye, he did, and His Knobbs saw him, would you credit it? Didn't say a word to him, I'm told.'
The carriage clattered off the bridge at New Palace Yard, passing the twin flambeaux at its entrance crackling in the gathering dusk. It swung right into Parliament Street with a loud creaking of leather springs, then slowed and came to a stop.
Dundas thumped on the roof with his stick. 'Dammit, man, we have to be in—'
A caped coachman leaned down. 'The mobility, sir,' he said heavily. Dundas leaned out of the window. A straggling, noisy crowd was astride the road: some of them bore crude banners, others were supporting an effigy.
'Drive on!' Dundas snapped, and withdrew inside.
He hefted his stick — it was capped with a heavy silver embossing. Windham loosened his sword, a paltry spadroon. Neither man spoke as the coachman urged the carriage forward with cracking whip.
'No war! Down with Pitt!' came angry shouts.
Dundas leaned out of the window again. 'Don't stop!' he roared. The driver plied his whip, but the horses were now shying at the ugly crowd ahead, flicking their heads to the side, eyes bulging white.
The mob fell back sullenly before the charging carriage, with its scarlet and green coat-of-arms, but as it plunged among them, some beat at the sides, screaming. A stone shattered a window to the front, then another. More blows drummed on the side of the carriage as it thundered through the mob.
The horses whinnied in terror, but the impetus now was to get away, and in a terrified clatter of hoofs the wildly swaying carriage was through to the safety of the White Hall precinct with its redcoat guard.
'Thank you, gentlemen, for your prompt attendance — you will find your celerity is amply justified by events.' Pitt rubbed his eyes in weariness, staring at the new Corinthian columns as though they were on the point of dissolving.
They filed in: Grenville, the stern and principled Foreign Minister; the Duke of Portland, Home Secretary; the Secretary of State for War and the War Minister, still