“Follow me close! Ride steady, watch your footing, and for G-d’s sake don’t slip! They can’t catch us if we keep up a round canter, but if we tumble we’re done!”
She was pale as a sheet, but she nodded and for once didn’t ask me who these strange gentlemen were, or what they wanted, or if her hair was disarranged. I wheeled and set off down the slope, with her close behind, and the yell as they saw us turn was clear enough now; a savage hunting cry that had me digging in my heels despite myself. We drummed down the hill, and I forced myself not to look back until we’d crossed the little valley and come to the next crest – we’d gained on them, but they were still coming, and I gulped and gestured furiously to Elspeth to keep up.
I’d have to count up all the battles I’ve been in to tell you how often I’ve fled in panic, and I’ve made a few other strategic withdrawals, too, but this was as horrid as any. There was the time Scud East and I went tearing along the Arrow of Arabat in a sled with the Cossacks behind us, and the jolly little jaunt I had with Colonel Sebastian Moran in the ammunition cart after Isandhlwana, with the Udloko Zulus on our tail – and couldn’t they cover the ground, just? But in the present case the snag was that very shortly we were going to reach the sea, and unless our embarkation went smoothly – G-d, the frigate must be there! … I stole another look over my shoulder – we were a clear mile ahead now, surely, but there they were still, just appearing on a crest and streaming over it in fine style.
I took a look at our horses; they weren’t labouring, but they weren’t fit to enter the St Leger either. Would they last? Suppose one went lame – why the blazes hadn’t I thought to drive the spare beasts ahead? But it was too late now.
“Come on,” says I, and Elspeth gave me a trembling look and kicked in her heels, clinging to the mane. The last slope was half a mile ahead; as we dropped our pace for the ascent I looked back again, but there was nothing in sight for a good mile.
“We’ll do it yet!” I shouted, and we covered the last few yards to the top through slippery sand, the sun blazed in our eyes as we reached the crest, the breeze was suddenly stiff in our faces – and there below us, down a long sandy slope, was the spreading panorama of beach and blue water, with the surf foaming not a mile away. Far off to the right was Tamitave town, the smoke rising in thin trails above the thatched roofs; closer, but still to the right, was the fort, a massive circular stone tower, with its flag a-flutter, and its outer wooden palisade; there were white-coated troops, about a platoon strong, marching towards it from the town, and looking down from our point of vantage I could see great activity in the central square of the fort itself, and round the gun emplacements on its wall.
The sun was shining straight towards us out of a blue, cloudless sky, the rays coming over a thick bank of mist which mantled the surface of the sea a mile off-shore. A beautiful sight, the coral strand with its palms, the gulls wheeling, the gentle roll of bright blue sea – there was only one thing missing. From golden beach to pearly bank of mist, from pale clear distance in the north to the vague smokiness of the town waterfront to the south, the sea was as bare as a miser’s table. There was no British frigate in Tamitave roads. There wasn’t even a bl----d bumboat. And behind us, as I turned my frantic gaze in their direction, the Hovas were just coming in sight on the hillside a scant mile away.
I can’t recall whether I screamed aloud or not; I may well have done, but if I did it was a poor expression of the sick despair that engulfed me in that moment. I know the thought that was in my mind, as I pounded my knee with my fist in an anguish of rage, fear, and disappointment, was: “But it must be there! It has to wait for her message!” and then Elspeth was turning solemn blue eyes on me and asking:
“But Harry, where is the ship? You said it would be here—” And then, putting two and two together, I suppose, she added: “Whatever shall we do now?”
It was a question which had occurred to me, as I stared palsied from the empty sea in front to our pursuers behind – they had halted on the far crest, which was an irony, if you like. They could crawl on their bellies towards us now, for all it mattered – we were trapped, helpless, with nothing to do but wait until they came up with us at their leisure, to seize and drag us back to the abominable fate that would be waiting for us in Antan’. I could picture those snake-like eyes, the steaming pits at Ambohipotsy, the bodies turning in the air from the top of the cliff, the blood-curdling shriek of the mob – I realized I was babbling out a flood of oaths, as I stared vainly round for an escape which I knew wasn’t there.
Elspeth was clutching my hand, white-faced – and then, because it was the only way to go, I was urging her down the slope to our left, towards a long grove of palms which began about two furlongs from the fort and ran away into the distance along the coastline northwards. That’s one thing about a sound cowardly instinct – it turns you directly to cover, however poor and useless it may be. They’d find us there in no time, but if we could reach the trees undetected from the fort, we might at least be able to flee north – to what? There was nothing for us yonder except blind flight until we dropped from exhaustion, or our horses foundered, or those black hounds came up with us, and I knew it, but it was better than stopping where we were to be run down like sheep.
“Oh, Harry!” Elspeth was wailing in my rear as we thundered down the slope, but I didn’t check; another minute would have us in the shelter of the grove, if no one in the fort saw us first. Crouched over my beast’s neck, I stole a look down towards the stone battlements at the foot of the hill – Elspeth’s voice behind me rose in a sudden scream, I whirled in my seat, and to my amazement saw that she was hauling in her mount by the mane. I yelled to her to ride, cursing her for an idiot, but she was pointing seaward, crying out, and I wrestled my brute to a slithering halt, staring where she pointed – and, d’you know, I couldn’t blame her.
Out in the roads something was moving in that rolling bank of mist. At first it was just a shadow, towering in the downy radiance of the fog; then a long black spar was jutting out, and behind it masts and rigging were taking shape. In disbelief I heard the faint, unmistakable squeal of sheaves as she came into view, a tall, slim ship under topsails, drifting slowly out of the mist, turning before my eyes, showing her broad, white-striped side – her ports were up, there were guns out, men moving on the decks, and from her mizzen trailed a flag – blue, white, red – dear G-d, she was a Frog warship – and there, to her right, another shadow was breaking clear, another ship, turning as the first had done, another Frenchie, guns, colours and all!
Elspeth was beside me, I was hugging her almost out of her seat as we watched them spellbound, our flight, the fort, pursuit all forgotten – she yelped in my ear as a third shadow loomed up in the wake of the ships, and this time it was the real thing, no error, and I found myself choking tears of joy, for that was the dear old Union Jack at the truck of the frigate which came gliding out on to the blue water.
I was shouting, G-d knows what, and Elsepth was clapping her hands, and then a gun boomed suddenly from the fort, only a few hundred yards away, and a white plume of smoke billowed up from the battlements. The three ships were standing in towards the fort; the leading Frog tacked with a cracking of canvas, and suddenly its whole side exploded in a thunder of flame and smoke, there was a series of tremendous crashes from the fort as the broadsides struck home – and here came her two consorts, each in turn letting fly while sea and sky echoed to the roar of their cannonade, a mighty pall of grey smoke eddying around them as they put about and came running in again.44
It was a badly-aimed shot screaming overhead that reminded me we were in the direct line of fire. I yelled to Elspeth, and we careered down to the trees, crashing into the thickets and sliding from our mounts to stare at the extraordinary scene being played out in the bay.
“Harry – why are they shooting? Do you suppose they are come to rescue us?” She was clutching my hand, all agog. “Will they know we are here? Should we not wave, or light a
fire, or some such thing? Will you not call to them, my love?”
This, with forty guns blazing away not a quarter of a mile off, for the fort was firing back as well; the leading Frog was almost at point-blank range. Clouds of dust and smoke surged up from the fort wall; the Frog seemed to stagger in the water, and Elspeth shrieked as his foretop sagged and then fell slowly into the smoke, with a wreckage of sail and cordage. In came the second ship, letting off her broadside any old how in lubberly, garlic-eating fashion, and the fort thumped her handsomely in reply, serve her right. My G-d, thinks I, are the Crapauds going to be beat? For the second Frog lost her mizzen top and sheered away blind with the spars littering her poop – and then in came the British frigate, and while I ain’t got much use for our navy people, as a rule, I’ll allow that she showed up well in front of the foreigners, for she ran in steady and silent, biding her time, while the fort hammered at her and the splinters flew from her bulwarks.
Through the clear air we could see every detail – the leadsman in the chains swinging away, the white-shirted tars on her decks, the blue-coated officers on the quarterdeck, even a little midshipman in the rigging with his telescope trained on the fort. Silently she bore in until I was sure she must run aground, and then a voice called from the poop, there was a rush of men and a flapping of canvas, she wore round, and every gun crashed out as one in a deafening inferno of sound. The wave of the broadside hit us in a blast of air, the fort battlements seemed to vanish in smoke and dust and flying fragments – but when all cleared, there the fort still stood, and her guns banging irregularly in reply.
The frigate was tacking away neatly, but neither she nor the injured Frogs looked like coming in again – the appalling thought struck me that they might be sheering off, and I couldn’t restrain myself at such cowardly behaviour.
“Come back, you sons of b-----s!” I roared, fairly dancing up and down. “D--nation, they’re only a parcel of niggers! Lay into them, rot you! It’s what you’re paid for!” “But, see, Harry!” squeaks Elspeth, pointing. “Look, my love, they are coming! See – the boats!”
Sure enough, there were longboats creeping out from behind the Frogs, and another from the British ship. As the three vessels stood to again, firing at the fort, the smaller boats came heading in for the shore, packed with men – they were going to storm the fort, under the covering guns of the squadron. I found I was dancing and blaspheming with excitement – for this must be our chance! We must run to them when they got ashore – I ploughed back through the fronds, staring at the hill behind, to see how our Hova friends were doing – and there they were, dropping down from the crest beind us, making for the landward side of the fort. They were running any old how, but an under-officer was shouting in the rear, and it seemed to me he was pointing towards our grove. Yes, some of the Hovas were checking – he was sending them in our direction – d--n the black villain, didn’t he know where his duty lay, with foreign vessels attacking his b----y island?
“What shall we do, Harry?” Elspeth was at my elbow. “Should we not hasten to the beach? It may be dangerous to linger.”
She ain’t quite the fool she looks, you know – but fortunately neither am I. The boats were into the surf, only a moment from the shore; the temptation to run towards them was almost more than a respectable poltroon could bear – but if we broke cover too soon, with three hundred yards of naked sand between us and the spot where the nearest Frog boat would touch, we’d be within easy musket-shot from the fort to our right. We must lie up in the grove until the landing-party had got up the beach and rushed the fort – that would keep the black musketeers busy, and it would be safe to race for the boats, waving a white flag – I was tearing away at Elspeth’s petticoat, hushing her squeals of protest, peering back through the undergrowth at the approaching Hovas. There were three of ’em, trotting towards the grove, with their officer far behind waving them on; the leading one was almost into the trees, looking stupid, turning to seek instructions from his fellows; then the flat, brutal face turned in our direction, and he began to pick his way into the grove, his spear balanced, his face turning this way and that.
I hissed to Elspeth and drew her towards the seaward side of the grove, under a thicket, listening for everything at once – the steady boom and crash of gunfire, the faint shouts from the fort walls, the slow crunch of the Hova’s feet on the floor of the grove. He seemed to be moving away north behind us – and then Elspeth put her lips to my ear and whispered:
“Oh, Harry, do not move, I pray! There is another of those natives quite close!”
I turned my head, and almost gave birth. On the other side of our thicket, visible through the fronds, was a black shape, not ten yards away – and at that moment the first Hova gave a startled yell, there was a frantic neighing – J---s, I’d forgotten our horses, and the brute must have walked into them! The black shape through the thicket began to run – away from us, mercifully, a crackle of musketry sounded from the beach, and I remembered my dear little woman’s timely suggestion, and decided we should linger no longer.
“Run!” I hissed, and we broke out of the trees, and went haring for the shore. There was a shout from behind, a whisp! in the air overhead, and a spear went skidding along the soft sand before us. Elspeth shrieked, we raced on; the boats were being beached, and already armed men were charging towards the fort – Frog sailors in striped jerseys, with a little chap ahead waving a sabre and making pronouncements about la gloire, no doubt, as the grape from the walls kicked up the sand among him and his party.
“Help!” I roared, stumbling and waving Elspeth’s shift. “We’re friends! Halloo, mes amis! Nous sommes Anglais, pour l’amour de Dieu! Don’t shoot! Vive la France!”
They didn’t pay us the slightest heed, being engaged by that time in hacking a way through the fort’s outer wooden palisade. We stumbled out of the soft sand to firmer going, making for the boats, all of which were beached just above the surf. I looked back, but the Hovas were nowhere to be seen, clever lads; I pushed Elspeth, and we veered away to be out of shot from the fort; the beach ahead was alive with running figures by now, French and British, storming ahead and cheering. There was the dooce of a dogfight going on at the outer palisade, white and striped jerseys on one side, black skins on t’other, cutlasses and spears flashing, musketry crackling from the inner fort and being answered from our people farther down the beach. Then there were sounds of British cheering and cries of excited Frogs, and through the smoke I could see they were up to the inner wall, clambering up on each other’s shoulders, popping away with pistols, obviously racing to see which should be up first, French or British.
Good luck to you, my lads, thinks I, for I’m tired. At the same moment, Elspeth cries:
“Oh, Harry, Harry, darling Harry!” and clung to me. “Do you think,” she whispered faintly, “that we might sit down now?” With that she went into a dead swoon, and we sank to the wet sand in each other’s arms, between the boats and the landing party. I was too tuckered and dizzy to do anything except sit there, holding her, while the battle raged at the top of the beach, and I thought, by Jove, we’re clear at last, and soon I’ll be able to sleep …
“You, sir!” cries a voice. “Yes, you – what are you about, sir? Great Scott! – is that a woman you have there?”
A party of British sailors, carrying empty stretchers, were racing across our front to the fort, and with them this red-faced chap with a gold strip on his coat, who’d checked to pop his eyes at us. He was waving a sword and pistol. I yelled to him above the din of firing that we were escaped prisoners of the Malagassies, but he only went redder than ever.
“What’s that you say? You’re not with the landing party? Then get off the beach, sir – get off this minute! You’ve no business here! This is a naval operation! What’s that, bos’un? – I’m coming, bl--t you! On, you men!”
He scampered off, brandishing his weapons, but I didn’t care. I knew I was too done to carry Elspeth down to the boats a h
undred yards off, but we were out of effective musket shot of the fort, so I was content to sit and wait until someone should have time to attend to us. They were all busy enough at the moment, in all conscience; the ground before the palisade was littered with dead and crawling wounded, and through the breaches they’d broken I could see them spiking the guns while the scaling parties were still trying to get up the thirty-foot wall behind. They had ladders, crowded with tars and matelots, their steel flashing in the smoke at the top of the wall, where the defenders were slashing and firing away.
Above the crashing musketry there was a sudden cheer; the big black-and-white Malagassy flag on the fort wall was toppling down on its broken staff, but a Malagassy on the battlements caught it as it fell; the fighting boiled around him, but at that moment a returning stretcher party charged across my line of vision, bearing stricken men back to the boats, so I didn’t see what happened to him.
Still no one paid any mind to Elspeth and me; we were slightly out of the main traffic up and down the beach, and although one party of Frog sailors stopped to stare curiously at us, they were soon chivvied away by a bawling officer. I tried to raise her, but she was still slumped unconscious against my breast, and I was labouring away when I saw that the landing party were beginning to fall back from the fort. The walking wounded came hobbling first, supported by their mates, and then the main parties all jumbled up together, British and French, with the petty officers swearing and bawling orders as the men tried to find their right divisions. They were squabbling and jostling in great disorder, the British tars cursing the Frogs, and the Frogs grimacing and gesticulating back.
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