‘You’ll be requiring Mr Gilbey to head the shore party?’
‘Not on this occasion. Tyrell leads his party so it’s to be expected I shall do likewise.’
‘Interesting. That Tyrell is taking a party himself, that is. Will it be his own men he leads? I wonder if they’ll follow …’
Kydd raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ve both seen him in a tight corner before, against the revolutionaries in Brittany. There’s many a man owes his life to his bloody-minded leadership.’
‘Umm. We shall see, I think.’
On the hour a gun banged in Hannibal and her colours rose. They were on their way.
The assault was planned for dawn, allowing the expedition to pass in clear waters by Guadeloupe in the hours of darkness, to appear out of the mists of daybreak directly before the island of Marie-Galante.
As sunrise tinged the sea with pink and gold, the inhabitants of Marie-Galante and their defenders watched with disbelief then fear as a battleship and four frigates closed in to less than a mile offshore and boats, too many to count, started towards them, in each scarlet and gold, blue and white – and the glitter of steel.
From his own boat on its way to the end of the reef to the south, Kydd could see the Hannibals heading in a mile north towards Grand Anse. It was all going according to plan: they were both out of range of the fort above the town and could land unopposed.
The shoreline grew clearer. At Pointe des Basses the reef ended and he took in pale beaches and thick dark vegetation nearly down to the water’s edge. Ideal for the landing.
‘There, where the fallen tree touches the water,’ Kydd instructed Poulden, who obediently put over the tiller. The other craft were strung astern – it was going to be easy, just— But then he saw figures moving urgently among the thick growth and the first shots rang out in the still morning air, gunsmoke rising lazily. The four marines tasked in each boat got to work in the bows, firing at the origins of the smoke, methodically reloading in relays.
It was imperative to get men ashore, whatever the cost. Having the equivalent of five regiments’ artillery afloat was a dead card, however – the ships would be firing on their own men.
As they drew nearer the shore the whip of bullets was more insistent.
‘Pull, y’ bastards! Lay out and pull for your lives!’ Kydd bawled. The men heaved like demons and the boats flew; the firing fell off as they came in and the opposition melted away.
The boat hissed to a stop in the sand and the men scrambled out, following Kydd, army niceties like forming up lost in the urgency to gain a foothold. Fronds and branches whipped across his face as he led them on, nerves stretched to the extreme. He slashed at the vegetation with his sword until he came upon a semblance of a track that wound inland.
‘Move yourselves!’ he bellowed, and went along the path at a trot. He could hear the clink and jingle of the men panting behind him as they followed. Almost certainly the firing had been from a platoon hastily sent to delay them, but their expectation would be that the invaders would turn down the coast road to advance on Grand-Bourg, while of course they were heading inland.
After a couple of hundred yards Kydd slowed at a clearing and waited for his force to come up with him. ‘Well done, you men!’ he acknowledged breathlessly. ‘We head into the country, then hook around until we’re above the town. A mile or two at most. Where’s Mr Renzi?’
His friend, solemnly flanked by both Curzon and Clinton, the Royal Marines lieutenant, was in plain but serviceable civilian dress with a wide hat set at a rakish angle.
Kydd gave him a tight smile. ‘Nicholas, you know where you want to go. Stay with us until you’re ready to move on the base. March on!’
Almost without warning a rearing cliff, hundreds of feet high, loomed above the trees and palms. But they saw the path took a sideways loop following the contours and they made good speed, their altitude rising slightly and Grand-Bourg firmly in sight below.
Tyrell had been right: this route had taken the defenders completely by surprise and now they had only to meet in the heights above the capital, then together descend to victory.
The going got thicker as they neared the town. Sheltered depressions were covered with luxuriant growth, and at one of these Renzi decided to make his move. ‘The villa – it’s down further, about a quarter-mile. I’ll, er, leave you now, if I may.’
Kydd watched Renzi and his party vanish downwards into the lush green, then ordered his men onwards.
The joining up would be very soon now.
Bowden was in the second boat behind Tyrell and could hear the man’s roars as he urged on his rowers. It had been a fraught time in the lead-up to the landings; Tyrell seemed to have no idea of the knife-edge of feeling among the men. While the squadron was formed up there was no danger of a bloody mutiny, but there would be other times and places …