“I’m with you, Captain. But what’s my girl doing here? Where’s the other women?”
“On board the shipping, sir, where Miss ought to be.”
“So she ought. Get her on board, sir, pray.”
“The first chance I have, sir; trust me.”
“Sir,” I said, following the Captain out of the chamber, “I would not withstand you in my papa’s presence, for fear of disturbing him, but I won’t go.”
“By Heaven, madam, but you shall, if I have to carry you down to the Gott. There’s no women’s work before us here.”
And he hurried away, but could not immediately carry out his intention, for there happened all at once a whole quantity of disasters. Ensign Piccard’s party in the Company’s house, having been attacked by the Moguls in overwhelming numbers, were forced to retreat back to the Fort, every man of them being wounded, and their leader very seriously so. As though this were not enough, almost at the same moment the piquets that held the church and Mr Eyre’s and Mr Cruttenden’s houses, whether on receipt of an order or on their own motion I don’t know, also left their posts and came in, so that we were now reduced to the Fort itself and the Gott which it commanded, and which was defended on either side by a weak wall with a gate of pallisadoes. The enemy, scattering themselves along the bank of the river, began now to shoot fire-arrows into the shipping, and this so terrified those on board the vessels that they were seen to be weighing their anchors in preparation for dropping down the river. At this dreadful sight the terror and confusion in the Fort became extreme. Many of the boatmen detained at the wharf had made their escape in the night with their craft, and Mr Baillie was met with the utmost turmoil and difficulty in his humane task of embarking the Portuguese Christians, a good number of whom were drowned in their haste and terror, but the consternation was now spread to the Europeans. The President was going hither and thither in an odd hurried sort of style, giving orders for the defence of the wall that connected the south-west bastion with the line of guns over the wharf, but no one offered to obey him, for there was no one at hand to manage the two field-pieces that were there. Presently a person came to acquaint him that all the gunpowder left was so damp and spoiled as to be useless, a piece of news that appeared to give him great concern, as well it might, although it was afterwards proved not to be true. Mr Drake went away to consult with his officers, and for some time we heard nothing but the firing, until Captain Colquhoun came running, and seizing my wrist, cried out to me to follow him at once.
“I won’t leave my papa here, sir,” I cried.
“If he’s moved he’ll die, madam.”
“Then I’ll stay and die with him, sir.”