The French patrol followed the twenty-five vessels until they were well beyond French waters. During that long escort, tension never truly faded. Muskets remained close at hand, eyes watched the horizon with suspicion, and neither side trusted the other not to strike the moment an excuse appeared. Only once the armed merchant ships had sailed far enough to vanish into the distance did the French frigate finally turn back to resume its patrol.
For Krüger's men, the worst part of the journey was only beginning.
The Caribbean sun was merciless. Heat clung to the decks and seeped into the holds, turning the interior of the ships into suffocating ovens. The air smelled of salt, tar, damp wood, sweat, and unwashed bodies. Even the most disciplined soldiers found their uniforms soaked before midday, their wool stiff with salt.
