With that, he stepped from the roadway into the cover of a clump of leaty bushes. Beamish and Pierce joined him there. From their shelter they could see the road's pale glimmer under the paling sky, and Charles Barry's solitary figure standing motionless. And the hoofbeats came nearer.
Mr. Midshipman Quinn, it must be admitted, felt a certain nervousness himself as he waited there in the dim twilight of early morning. He knew quite well that his plan was a daring one, and that if Barry failed them the plan would fail. He, Septimus Quinn, would be responsible for its failure then. He might be killed or taken prisoner. If he escaped, he would have to report that he had forced a senior officer to adopt a futile scheme against his willand that might mean a Court Martial and disgrace. But if Barry played his part there was, he thought, a good chance of the plan succeeding. And more would be gained than a valuable prisoner. Charles Barry would have been cured of cowardice.
The horsemen were so close now that he could hear the jingle of accoutrements. He looked at Barry's shadowy figure again. It had not moved. One English midshipman had to nerve himself to face twenty French dragoons, to risk discovery and almost certain death. Barry had only to step back into the bushes, letting the oncoming troop sweep past, to escape the test. Would he stand firm? Could he carry it through?
Septimus in his anxiety was squeezing the sand-filled canvas sleeve he carried. Between the leaves of his bush he saw the massed horsemen coming, the growing light gleaming dully on their polished helmets. They were almost at the bridge-their hoofbeats drummed upon it. And then Midshipman the Honourable Charles Barry did the bravest thing of his life. He stepped out into the roadway.
" Halte-la!"
His voice rang loudly and with authority. The leader of the dragoon patrol shouted at his men and they reined in their horses. Barry took a step forward.
"I have orders for the sergeant-in-charge," he said in French, haughtily.
The leader of the troop edged his horse a little forward.
"I am he, monsieur," he answered gruffly. "May I ask what authority you have for stopping-"
Septimus waited no longer. He raised his voice in an earsplitting screech, and dashed out of cover with the two tall seamen close behind him. Simultaneously, pandemonium broke loose on the dark road.
Out from the bushes behind the dragoons broke half-a-dozen seamen, to rush in among the horses smiting left and right with the flattened blades of their cutlasses. Frightened horses squealed and reared, men roared French oaths, the twenty dragoons became a milling mob of horsemen cannoning into each other and trying to control their mounts. Not a man of them had time to notice what was happening to their sergeant.
Septimus's rush had brought him to the bridle of the leader's horse. Charles dashed to seize it from the other side. The gigantic Beamish, aided by the equally tall Pierce, flung himself at the rider and plucked him from his saddle like a ripe fruit. Before the dragoons had realised that there were armed enemies among them, the hapless sergeant was hauled down the bank and under the bridge. His one shout for help was drowned in the general uproar, and a second later Midshipman Quinn's loaded sandbag had descended on the back of his head. The sergeant lay still. Then, piercing as ever but sounding oddly far away, that eldritch screech rose again.
Under the bridge crouched the four sailors with their unconscious victim. This was the dangerous moment, as Septimus knew. If anyone had seen their silent rush to cover, if anyone had realised that the second screech had come from under the bridge, they were doomed. He heard above the tumult of plunging horses a new sound-a hoarse yelling and crashing in the thickets west of the road, going further away. And he heard the furious shouts of the dragoons. One of them was shouting to his comrades to follow-that the cursed bandits had run into the bushes. The cry was taken up. The dragoons were spurring their horses in pursuit, screaming for vengeance as they rode. Garraway and his men had done their work well.
Septimus waited until the last horseman had left the road and then peered over the parapet of the bridge. The coast was clear. Beamish slung the unconscious sergeant over his shoulders like a sack of meal and the four sped across the road and down the sandy lane to the beach. The long line of the sea was clear-cut against the glorious colours of the dawn sky, and there, creeping inshore to meet them, was their waiting boat.
It was nearly ten minutes-an anxious ten minutes-before Garraway and his men came stumbling down the shingle. They were all breathless, and black with mud to the thighs.
"The dragoons aren't following?" demanded Septimus sharply.
"N-not they, sir," panted Garraway. He and the others were grinning widely despite their tired state. "There was a bog t' other side them thickets, sir-we led ' em into that, and I doubt if they'll ever get out."
Septimus turned to Barry. "A very successful venture, Mr. Barry," he remarked.
Charles Barry drew himself erect. There was a new light in his eye and a new tone in his voice.
"It succeeded because every man here did his duty," he said clearly. "We mustn't be caught now, men. Into the launch, and back to the old Althea for breakfast."
The morning sunlight streamed through the stern window into the main cabin where Captain Sainsbury was receiving the reports of his landing-party officers.
"You'll be glad to hear, gentlemen," he said, "that the two prisoners you brought in have given me most valuable information. Mr. Gifford captured a Port Vendres fisherman, who was able to inform me that the French line-of-battle ship Vengeur, twice the Althea's strength, is lying in Port Vendres harbour ready for sea. "
Midshipman Quinn and Midshipman Barry exchanged rapid winks. They had obtained most of this information themselves.
"That is a fact well worth knowing, both for our own safety and for the information of Lord Nelson," continued the captain. "As for the sergeant of dragoons captured by the party commanded by Mr. Barry, he was more helpful still. He proves to have secret royalist sympathies and has told everything he knows, which is a good deal. We know the strength of the garrisons in both Port Vendres and Perpignan, and the sergeant has given a most illuminating account of the French Army patrol system between here and Marseilles and of the aid given by Spain to these southern garrisons. You took a most valuable prisoner, Mr. Barry."
Coming from Captain Sainsbury, this was high commendation, and Charles Barry reddened with pleasure. He could not let it pass, though.
"By your leave, sir," he said, "the whole plan for capturing the dragoon sergeant was the work of Mr. Quinn. It was he who persuaded me-"
"Not at all, sir," broke in Septimus quickly. "Mr. Barry was in command, and took the leading part in the plan. He-"
"Pray allow me to speak, gentlemen," interrupted the captain in his turn, frowning. "I was about to add that although Mr. Barry was fortunate in his prisoner, it appears that an unwarrantable risk was taken in obtaining him. In your report to Mr. Gifford, Mr. Barry, you state that a force of twenty French dragoons was halted on the main coast road by your party of eight seamen and thrown into confusion, thus allowing the sergeant to be kidnapped. You were in command, as Mr. Quinn points out, and took the leading part. If your report is correct, you endangered your small force recklessly and risked the discovery of the Althea's presence on this coast. "
"If you please, sir," put in Septimus as he paused, "I must admit to full responsibility for the plan. As Mr. Barry says, I did persuade him to adopt it, against his own judgment-"