"Mr. Cocker," returned the junior midshipman, looking him in the eye, "I shall remember that insult."
"Oh, go to blazes!" snapped the other, turning away to stare up at the sails. "Or better still, report to Captain Sainsbury that the broadside did no damage. Look sharp, now!"
Septimus obeyed immediately. But as he hurried aft he made a resolution that Cocker's scornful animosity should be brought to an end one way or another. And there was only one way to put an end to repeated insult.
Lieutenant Gifford came running from the quarterdeck as Septimus approached it. He passed the midshipman without looking at him, and a second later his voice rang out.
"Starboard gun-crews, stand by!"
Captain Sainsbury roared an order, the frigate spun round with a cracking of canvas, and Gifford's yell of "Fire /" followed almost at once. Septimus was nearly flung over as the Althea heeled with the shock of her broadside. He recovered himself and made for where the captain was standing. But Captain Sainsbury was too busy for the moment to receive a report. He was peering into the great drifting cloud of smoke, waiting eagerly for it to blow aside and give a view of the sloop against which eighteen guns had roared destruction. A gap appeared, and in it the sloop could be seen.. At first it looked as though she had suffered no damage. And then Septimus, staring hard through the remnants of smoke, saw that nearly the whole length of her larboard rail had been blown away. There was no sign of damage to masts or sails, however, and she did not stop to await a second broadside. With a freshening breeze filling her canvas, she fled away from her charge, the merchantman.
"The white-livered Frogs!" jeered Lieutenant Pyke. "Deserting their duty, begad!"
"Small blame to them, sir," rejoined the captain tartly. "They did well to stand our fire, being no match for our weight. Have a boarding-party ready for the other, Mr. Pyke, if you please. Take Mr. Haswell and Mr. Cocker."
"Aye aye, sir!"
Pyke strode for' ard, shouting orders. The frigate was holding her course for the merchant ship now. Her destined victim was heavily laden and sailing slowly. But it seemed that there were Frenchmen of spirit on board her, for the big twenty-four pounder spoke for the third time at short range. There was a crash aloft, and a chorus of shouts. The frigate's fore-topmast had been hit and shattered. Down came topsail and rigging in a great tangle, and huge splinters and shafts of wood from the wrecked mast smashed to the deck, killing one seaman and wounding two more.
A party headed by the ship's carpenter sprang to clear the wreckage, but even the loss of the topsail did not appear to slow the Althea's speed perceptibly. She was coming up fast on the merchantman's quarter, and the latter's big gun would no longer bear. Septimus, his report forgotten and now hardly necessary, watched with a thrill of excitement as the pursuing warship closed upon her quarry. Closer and closer came the big vessel, until he could see the red caps of the men on board-then their brown faces. Suddenly there were only a few yards of water between the two gliding hulls. A grinding shock made the frigate shudder from stem to stern. Grappling-hooks hurtled through the air from the British ship, drawing the vessels close together. With a cheer Lieutenant Pyke and his boarding-party surged over the locked bulwarks on to the Frenchman's deck.
There was only a short resistance, as might have been expected. Within five minutes the Marie-Lepenseur of Cette had struck her colours and her crew were prisoners. The sloop was already a white speck on the northern horizon.
The Marie-Lepenseur turned out to be a disappointing prize. She carried a cargo of hides-hides and nothing else-and though hides were doubtless valuable to the French they were of little use to a British frigate. Captain Sainsbury had to decide whether to destroy her or to put a prize crew on board, and his decision was for destruction. He had a mission to fulfil and could spare no men at this early stage of it. The French crew and their captain were put into their ship's boats with food and water and ordered to pull for the coast. Then the Marie-Lepenseur was set on fire and the Althea sailed away from her as fast as she could. For one thing, that column of black smoke could be seen for miles, and might bring French warships out to investigate. And for another, the burning hides stank horribly.
There was a good deal of work to be done by everyone on board the frigate, and the midshipmen had their share of it. The tangle of gear on the foremast had to be cleared, a jury topmast hoisted and rigged, and every detail of decks and rigging made shipshape and in perfect readiness for battle before there was rest for the Althea's officers and crew. It was well after sunset when Captain Sainsbury, sitting in his cabin to write the necessary report on the action with sloop and merchantman, received a tale of woe from Roberts, the ship's carpenter.
"Didn't find out about it, sir, until we got the biggest part of the topmast out of the forehatch," he explained apologetically. "Sheer bad luck it was, the mast finding that one place. If it'd only come down some other place-"
"Come to the point, man!" broke in the captain impatiently.
"What happened? Was anyone hurt?"
"No, sir, no. It was the water supply. Three of the big casks was smashed by the falling mast and another sprung a leak."
"I see." Sainsbury stroked his chin. "That means we've water for three days only. Very good, Roberts. My compliments to Mr. Pyke and I wish to speak with him at once."
The loss of the water was a serious thing indeed. Cruising as she was off a long hostile coast, with no friendly port into which she could put for supplies and no friendly vessel nearer than Toulon, 120 miles away, the frigate had to be self-supporting. She had carried an extra supply of water, already only drinkable by mixing it with wine or lime-juice, but that was now gone. It was essential to take in fresh supplies if she was to continue on her solitary mission.
The result of Captain Sainsbury's discussion with his First Lieutenant was that the frigate altered course and headed north-northeast. This was naturally commented on by all her crew and the news of the captain's intention quickly spread. Mr. Preece, the old Welsh gunner's mate who had taught Septimus seamanship, passed it on to the junior midshipman. Mr. Quinn went below to the midshipmen's berth.
Fitzroy Cocker and Charles Barry were sitting at the table, looking weary after their labours. Barry was writing in his private log, and Cocker, who had not managed to board the French ship until the brief fighting was over, was sitting with a glass of wine in his hand staring sullenly into space.
"Well, gentlemen," said Septimus in his usual grave manner, "we are heading for the French coast again."
"Very interesting, demme!" sneered Cocker. "Maybe you'll get another chance of skulking in the bushes and letting others do the dirty work, young lickspittle, eh?"
Septimus ignored him. "The gunner's mate, Mr. Preece, has been ordered to take charge of a water party," he continued. "Boats are to land on a deserted part of the coast to take in water. Mr. Barry will be with that landing-party, and I have asked Mr. Gifford to allow Mr. Cocker and me to go also."
"Oh, have you!" snarled Cocker, sitting up angrily. "I'll take no favours from you, young-"
"I think you will take this one," said Septimus gently, and senior midshipman hard on the bending forward he struck the cheek.
Barry exclaimed and started to his feet. Cocker, with a hand to his smitten cheek, stared with bulging eyes, unable to speak for wrath.
"You insulted me this afternoon, Mr. Cocker," continued Midshipman Quinn steadily, "and you have just repeated the insult. I don't expect an apology from a bully of your kind. You have taken a blow from me, and I now wait to see whether you are the gentleman you boast yourself to be."