11
“Back to base, boys!” Kennedy shouted. “We’ll have to warn the general!”
The French batteries opened up, firing shot and shell at the British positions as the three infantry columns debouched from Morne Grenier. Seemingly endless, the columns marched down the slope, white-clad regulars interspersed with militia and a host of freebooters, while the drummers tapped their sinister beat.
“How the devil did they get so many men on one mountain?” Parnell asked. “The Frenchies are cunning beasts.”
“They’re good soldiers,” Dickert said, sliding into the gulley and splashing across the shallow stream.
“Stop talking!” MacKim ordered. “Save your breath!” The French drums were louder now, and he could picture the drummers marching in front of the columns, encouraging the men, throwing the drum
