‘Then this is where we go,’ Renzi said, and they started off once more. Gullies and outcrops slowed them but this had deterred cultivation and settlement. Their passage remained unseen.
Renzi did not mention it to Louise but he knew that their trail through the vegetation was almost certainly being picked up – and if the French were smart they would land another line of soldiers on the coast ahead, and then they would be trapped between the two. Keeping his fears to himself, he forced a gruelling pace.
The forest ended and neat rows of sugar-cane reared up. Renzi and Louise hurried down between them; at least they were making good speed. Renzi could see they were crossing to where the field ended in a cliff of sorts, the sparkling blue sea stretching placidly in every direction.
The cliff turned out to be located where a substantial ridge crossed the island. ‘This is La Grande Barre,’ Louise told him. Looking down from the vantage point, Renzi could see the flat northern end seemed to be all marshes and mangroves.
He glanced at the sun. Still too long until darkness. In the open, among the reeds and flat marshland, they would be rapidly spotted. It had to be accepted that the end was not far off.
Then, in the distance, drawn up on the grass away from the water’s edge, Renzi spotted a fisherman’s boat. ‘This way!’ he urged, and found a track down the ridge to the swampland below.
He splashed in, holding the precious bag aloft, scattering marsh birds, which cawed raucously. Heedless of the sucking mud he headed in the direction of the boat.
Louise followed gamely, her dress now in tatters.
Muscles burning, they carried on doggedly until they reached firm ground – and the boat.
Renzi’s heart sank. The craft was old; there was rainwater in the bilge and it had lain there for some time. No oars, no sail. It was of the native type, which meant that at least it was light and simple, with a single outrigger and a small mast.
‘Look!’ Louise’s sudden cry made him jerk around. ‘There!’
Along the ridge soldiers were beginning to appear. A musket popped – they had been seen.
‘Help me get this in the water!’ Renzi gasped, trying to swing the boat around.
She took one end and heaved with all her might. It hardly moved. Voices carried faintly from the ridge – they were looking for a way down.
It galvanised them and, with a superhuman effort, they had it off the grass and on the sand. ‘Hurry, two branches!’ Renzi gasped, gesturing at the palms.
He shoved the boat out into the waves where it bobbed gloriously.
‘Get in!’
Clutching the wide-leaved branches, Louise sat demurely while Renzi flung in the bag and launched the craft seawards. The branches were woefully poor oars but at least they made way against the waves.
Startled by a sudden slap and gout of water, Renzi knew they were under fire but refused to look back. They laboured on desperately – and then what Renzi had forlornly hoped for came true. The simple shape of the island meant that when the current offshore met the rounded coastline it diverged to clear the northern end. The boat was now being carried gently seawards on its way around the last point.
The shoreline retreated, the land became an island – and they were free.
Exhausted, Renzi slumped back. They had got away – but did this mean they were safe? No doubt the soldiers would find a boat and come after them.
But the elements were kind. The current increased, whirling them ever away from the island – and a soft sunset promised concealing dark before long.
Reaction left Renzi weak and he lowered himself down into the narrow bottom of the boat, staring at the night sky. Louise lay down next to him, the constricted space pressing them into one another. It felt natural to remain together as they gazed up at the stars.
‘How lovely they are!’ she murmured. ‘I’ve never really stopped to admire them.’
Her hand crept trustfully into his and together they drifted into an exhausted sleep.
‘Easy now!’ Kydd called to the seamen at the hoist. He looked down in great concern as first Louise and then Renzi were brought aboard. They were in a frightful state – muddy, clothing torn, almost incoherent.
Louise disappeared quickly to make herself presentable but Renzi could not be parted from a filthy bag he kept clutched to his chest, insisting they talk that very instant.
In Kydd’s great cabin he emptied its contents onto the table.
‘There!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘It wasn’t on Guadeloupe, but it was on Marie-Galante.’
‘Nicholas, old fellow, you’re not making sense,’ Kydd said gently. ‘And if we hadn’t been on our way back, the pair of you would b’ now be heading out well into the Atlantic – I’d have given you three days at the most before-’
‘Look at these,’ Renzi gasped, with feeling. ‘Tell me what you think!’
Kydd picked up the soiled journals and his eyes opened wide. ‘Good God! This is a dispatch book, lists down orders to intercept, times, places – and this other- Why, damn it, you were right! This is an orderly book for a fleet – I have to eat my words, m’ friend. You were right!’
‘So?’
‘These go to the admiral as fast as L’Aurore can fly. I’ll hear the story later.’
Hannibal’s bower anchor plunged into the green translucency of St John’s Road in Antigua. Tension aboard had grown unbearable for there wasn’t a man who didn’t feel the ship teetering on the edge. In the next days there would be a climax – the only question being in what form.
Tyrell, clearly oblivious to all this, called away his gig and was off ashore at the earliest opportunity.
The time had come.
‘Gentlemen, I’ll remind you of your pledge,’ Griffith said heavily. ‘I’m away now to Admiral Cochrane to lay out our position. You’ll not let me down now, will you?’
Bowden knew what he was saying. Without their support he was a first lieutenant going behind the back of his captain to foment his own cause, and his heart went out to the man doing what he felt was right and at such risk.
‘We’re with you, sir,’ he said stoutly.
They left the ship in the charge of Mason who, pale-faced, stood lonely on the quarterdeck, watching as the boat took Hannibal’s officers away.
‘Lieutenant Griffith,’ the flag-lieutenant announced, ushering him into the admiral’s office.
‘Well? What’s so urgent, pray, that it cannot wait?’ Cochrane said irritably, looking up from his work.
Griffith took a deep breath. ‘Sir. I have a document with me. It lays out in detail certain … deviations from character in our captain that in our opinion-’
‘You’re not making yourself plain,’ barked the admiral. ‘For if you’re delating upon your superior, you, sir, stand in contempt for it.’
‘Sir, it bears upon the fitness of Hannibal to lie in the line-of-battle,’ the lieutenant said doggedly. ‘The readiness of the men to follow and-’
‘You’re bringing an action against your captain? Have a care, sir, have a care!’ Cochrane interrupted, a dangerous edge to his voice.
Griffith blanched, but went on, ‘This document, sir, is signed by every officer in Hannibal without exception. It details-’
‘Every officer?’ The admiral went rigid. ‘Then this is another matter entirely! Tell me why I should not take it that you have provoked them into a mutinous conspiracy against their lawful captain and commander?’
‘S-sir. These same officers are present and wait without. They beg to be heard on the matter.’
Cochrane slowly rose from his desk, his face tight. ‘This stinks of contumacy and I won’t have it! You have overstepped yourself, sir, and you shall hear of it from higher powers than myself.’
‘May they come in, sir?’
‘You try my patience too far, Mr Griffith,’ he rapped.
The lieutenant remained standing, stiff-faced, but made no attempt to take back his words.