At last in a storm of applause Cattermole ceased speaking and then Kenyon was dragged down the bank. Her intense relief at finding him still alive was soon submerged in shuddering dismay as she saw them press the burning branch against his chest. Unable to bear it any longer she closed her eyes and rocked with misery, but when she opened them again the whole crowd were on their feet and struggling away up the far slope.
She had followed enough of Cattermole's speech to gather their intention, but she had little thought to spare for Shingle Street; Gregory would deal with an attack by such a rabble with horrible efficiency. Kenyon was all that mattered and she must keep as near to him as possible. With that one central fact dominating her distraught mind she crept after the farm people and, seeking all the cover she could from the sides of the road, followed them down to the coast.
At the turn of the road where it debouched from the trees and curved across the marsh, she remembered an old concrete pill box and, finding it without difficulty, slipped inside. The long slit in the front of the musty little circular chamber commanded the village and its approach, so, from it, although the whole scene was shrouded in darkness, she was able to watch for the crisis which she felt was imminent.
The Redoubt was a quarter of a mile away but she heard Kenyon's shout that gave warning of the attack and next moment the rapid tattoo that heralded the butchery. Stray bullets ripped through the branches overhead and a couple thudded on the little concrete fort, then the firing ceased abruptly. The stricken field was mercifully covered by night, but the dark curls clung damp about her temples at the thought that Kenyon must be somewhere among those panic stricken, shouting people. Then there was a dull boom to seaward and in the flash of the following explosion she caught a glimpse of the Martello Tower.
For what seemed an interminable time she watched the shelling and then the silhouette of the village, black and sharp against the revealing searchlight, while little running figures gesticulated to one another. One by one the houses seemed to leap into a blinding sheet of flame as the projectiles struck them, and then disappear, so that the remnant of the burning hamlet began to take on the appearance of a row of black and jagged teeth which were being steadily extracted.
The gun took a new angle, and the shells fell nearer to the fields where Ann believed Kenyon to be dead or wounded. She wrung her hands helplessly together, and at every fresh detonation a shudder shook her from head to toe. For hours it seemed she had been crouching there, sending up little muttered prayers that the holocaust should cease, but there was no indication of its speedy termination. The searchlight shifted to the north but, owing to the shelving beach, she was spared the sight of that last desperate attempt of the survivors to seek safety; she only heard the renewed rattle of rifle and machine gun fire and then a sudden silence.
For another quarter of an hour she watched, fearful that at any moment the fighting might break out again, then by the dancing light of the flames she saw figures moving freely about the wreck of the village and crawled from her shelter.
If Kenyon was dead she felt that it mattered little what happened any more, but if he was still alive she might yet be able to aid him so, taking a deep breath of fresh night air, she set off towards the Redoubt.
The going was not easy in the darkness; deep ditches half filled with water and stinking mud intersected the fields of long coarse grass and, having fallen once, cutting her hand badly on a rusty nail, she did the last hundred yards on hands and knees until she was among the victims of the fighting.
Someone stumbled near her and she realised that others were seeking friends among the more seriously wounded who had been unable to crawl away. Then lights appeared a little distance to her left and she saw that a group of men were carrying those still living in rough stretchers towards the village. She stood up suddenly with fresh hope, feeling how senseless it was to stay there listening to those pathetic voices calling for the missing. In the darkness she would stand little chance of finding Kenyon, but if he was still alive he would be carried down to the beach with the others.
Trailing a group of stretcher bearers she made her way down to the foreshore, and saw that two camps had already been formed. The farmers and the fisher people were now mingled together and, a little apart, stood some fifty sailors from the ship. At the sight of the mutineers she drew back quickly with a sudden horrible memory of Crowder and Brisket, but they were busy about the bonfire that they had lit across which they were hoisting a spitted pig. Then she caught sight of Gregory hunched on the shingle, his arms tied behind his back.
Veronica was kneeling by him adjusting a rough bandage to his head, and a little way behind them sat Silas, also bound. Rudd was there too, some way away and half obscured by the fringe of shadow. His hands were free, she noticed, but the bulging pistol holster which had always decorated his hip was missing, and as the flame flickered for a second, lighting his face, she saw a miserable and hopeless expression upon it.
For a moment Ann thought of going to them, but her fears for Kenyon overcame every other impulse and she turned away towards the larger gathering. They too had heaped a fire and by it some men were busy dismembering a horse. Although she knew little of the situation Ann judged from this that the sailors were the masters in this partnership, and to placate their unsought allies had parted with this indifferent portion of their spoil rather then be compelled to drive them off.
Mud stained and bedraggled as she was there was little chance of her being recognised as Kenyon's companion of earlier in the evening, so she threaded her way in among the men to a spot some distance from the fire where the long line of wounded were being deposited. Some lay unnaturally still and silent, others were twisting and groaning in their pain, but she peered furtively at, each in turn and came to the end of the row without finding Kenyon among them.
'Happen you're looken' for a friend?' As the man behind her spoke she started guiltily, but his voice was sympathetic and kind, so recovering herself quickly she replied:
'Not not exactly but I was wondering what happened to the tall man they caught up on the heath.'
'Happen you be meanen' him that give the alarm. The officer chap; 'ooldn't that be him they're a setten' down now?'
He pointed a grimy finger towards the other end of the row and Ann recognised at once the long limbed body which was being laid beside the others. The firelight caught the auburn curls, no longer smoothly brushed but rumpled now and clotted with dried blood.
She hastened over to him, her new acquaintance following. 'Is he is he dead, d'you think?' she managed to stammer.
The man peered down at him. 'It fare to me he'll live all right. They 'ooldn't trouble to bring him in else, but anyways these fellers be shooten' all the officers come mornen'.'
'Are you certain; how do you know?' Ann's voice held a sudden sharp note, half fear, half challenging refusal to accept the statement.
'Waren't you here ten minutes agone?' the man looked at her curiously. 'The furrin' looken' sailor who fare to be the boss told all of us we they meant to sail again come sun up, and after that us 'ooldn't have no more trouble with any o' they thievin' soldiers hereabouts.'
'I see; then that settles it.' Ann hardly recognised her own voice; it came so strange and harsh although she strove to make it sound as natural as possible.'
'I be rare vexed for they,' said the man slowly, 'but I reckon they'd have done the same to the others, come to that.'