We abandoned the stealth with which we had started and urged our horses to pick up speed. Swerving right then left around the wooden houses we headed towards the south. Shouts could now be heard all around us and it was unclear which was the safest route to take. If we could only get out of town I thought, we would be clear. No one knew who it was that they were pursuing – our identities were unknown. A group ahead and the sound of a musket being discharged startled us and we swung our horses left again putting more buildings behind us. The perimeter was now getting closer and we could see the woodland beyond the last remaining houses. We pushed our horses into a gallop and rode for safety. More shots rang out as we burst into the open with the safety of the forest just a hundred metres away. It was as we were entering the canopy of the first trees that Guillot’s horse fell, hit by a musket ball. I pulled my own horse to a halt, galloped back and was about to hoist Guillot on to the back of my mount when I saw the bloodstain on his clothing. He also had been hit and lay still on the ground alongside the dying animal.