Fitzroy Cocker's red face had gone white. He stood up very stiffly, all the bluster gone out of him.
"You'll fight, of course," he said between his teeth.
"Of course," nodded Septimus coolly.
Barry stepped forward hastily. "Now see here, Quinn and Cocker, this thing mustn't be allowed to-"
"Pistols, Mr. Quinn," said Cocker as if Barry had not spoken.
"I name Mr. Barry as my second, if he will act for me."
With that, he turned on his heel and went out of the cabin.
In the greying light of dawn the Althea crept like a ghost ship towards the enemy shore. She was already close in, for Captain Sainsbury had come as near as he dared in darkness to reduce the chances of anyone ashore seeing her. Not that there was much chance of that, because this part of the coast was practically a desert. It was the low sandy coastline west of the Mouths of the Rhone, a place of endless tall sandhills with marshy lagoons behind them inland, the nearest towns or villages being eight or ten miles from the coast.
In the chains the leadsmen were chanting as they swung the lead-lines to measure the depth of water.
"By the mark seven . . . and a half eight. . . quarter less eight . . by the mark seven . . ."
"Let go!"
The anchor cable's roar as it raced out through the hawse hole followed the captain's order. The topsails under which the frigate had been sailing were furled, she checked to the pull of her anchor and lay motionless under the paling sky a quarter of a mile offshore.
The choice of anchorage had been well made. A semicircular bay, bounded by low sandhills, had as its centre a narrow glen where a stream of fresh water issued from the inland lagoons. To eastward of the bay a long arm of land stretched out protectingly to end in a reef of yellow rock. This basis of rock supported a ridge of sandhills high enough to conceal the Althea's masts from anyone approaching from the east. Westward the flat shores curved away to the horizon with no sign of life or human dwellings.
No time was lost in getting the boats away. It was still an hour before sunrise when the men of the water-party pulled ashore with the repaired water-casks and landed on the sand of the bay. Septimus, as he splashed through the shallows and reached the shadowy beach, was feeling a little nervous. This was the second time he had set foot on enemy territory, and it was quite possible that he would not leave it again.
Further along the beach Fitzroy Cocker and Charles Barry were landing from another boat. Cocker and Septimus had treated each other with the utmost politeness since the challenge, as two duellists were bound to do before the "affair". Mr. Preece, the gunner's mate, had been let into the secret, for Septimus had to have a second and Preece could be trusted. The old Welshman had shaken his grizzled head when Midshipman Quinn had approached him with his request.
"I don't like it, Mr. Quinn, sir," he had said. "No, indeed. I tell you now, asking your pardon, it's tamn foolishness. But I see well the matter must be settled somehow, so I'll act for you, sir-though I will be praying no one is hurt, yess indeed!"
At this moment Mr. Preece was giving instructions to Roberts the carpenter as to the filling of the casks.
"Mr. Cocker and Mr. Barry, with Mr. Quinn and myself," he finished, "will be going over them sandhills to keep a watch. Look to it that you waste no time, now, Roberts!"
The seamen were getting the empty casks ashore while others went along the stream looking for a suitable place for filling them. Cocker and Barry came along the beach. Barry, whose face wore a worried expression, was carrying a long case under his arm.
"Where do you suggest, Mr. Preece?" he asked, trying to appear as calm as a duellist's second should be.
The gunner's mate pointed to the sandhills. "Beyond the crest, sir, if that's your pleasure."
"It isn't my pleasure at all, but we must be out of sight of the ship and the water-party. That'll do."
The four started to walk up the beach, Septimus and Mr. Preece leading. The soft sand of the steep dunes had to be climbed, and some of the grave dignity of the procession was lost in the stumbling and tumbling. Barry lost his footing and went head over heels, and the expression on his face as he picked himself up again made Septimus want to laugh. This was not, he told himself severely, a proper state of mind for a person about to engage in a duel. When he discovered that Barry had twisted his ankle in the fall, he was less amused.
As they approached the crest of the sandhills Mr. Preece muttered a warning in the ear of his "principal".
"Better come gradual-like over the skyline, Mr. Quinn, sir. If so be as there's any Frenchies t' other side we'll have to find another spot."
That, too, struck Septimus as funny. Here they were, sneaking about on enemy territory looking for a quiet place where two of them could kill each other, when there might be armed men waiting for them who would shoot all four of them out of hand. That was unlikely, however, for this huge area of lagoon and marsh was a bad place for a British landing and would therefore not be patrolled or guarded. Certainly there was no one to see the four heads that poked themselves cautiously over the dune-crest to peer through the coarse marram-grass that grew there. The sight that met their gaze was unexpected.
On their left, lower sandhills undulated away to where broad lagoons and marshes stretched level into the morning haze. On their right, tall dunes hid the countryside. But straight in front of them, running towards the northern distance, was a broad strip of grassy ground broken here and there by rocks-evidently the rock reef east of the bay was the end of a solid peninsula of rock rising from the marshes. This was not all. A mile or more away on the grassy flat were clumps of stunted trees and the shapes of low buildings, and a track leading from them and disappearing behind the dunes on their right showed that men or animals came that way.
"This won't do, gentlemen," said Preece in a low voice. "By your leave, I suggest we abandon our plan."
"I agree," Barry said with relief in his tone.
Cocker snorted. "Well, I don't. We've come here to fight and we've no time to waste. The water-party will be ready in half an hour. Perhaps Mr. Quinn also thinks of abandoning the plan?"
The sneer irritated Septimus, who would otherwise have been inclined to side with the others.
"Mr. Cocker is right," he declared. "This opportunity of settling our difference must be taken. There's no one about and those buildings are probably a farm. There's a flat space further down that suits our purpose."
"Aye aye, sir," sighed Mr. Preece. "Then I'll suggest we goes well down on this side, so as to be more out of view from them buildings."
They slid and stumbled down from the crest, through a lower rank of dunes, and over a third barrier before they reached a secluded little plateau between two sandhills and overlooking the green flat fifty feet below.
"Good enough," Barry said, with a nervous glance at Preece. "Shall we-begin?"
Everyone now became exceedingly formal. Septimus and Cocker retired to each end of the little plateau while Barry and Mr. Preece conferred together in the middle. It was rapidly growing lighter now, and Septimus noticed the colours developing in his surroundings. The sand glowed pinkish-brown, the flat lands stretching away inland showed emerald green for the marshy ground and steel-blue where the lagoons spread their shallow waters. Far beyond the long strip of solid land, the shapes of distant hills stood against the sky. And he noticed now that those low buildings had a mast beside them, with a flag of some kind hanging from it.
Mr. Preece came towards him. His wrinkled face was solemn. "Thirty paces, sir, if you're content. Mr. Barry says I'm to ask if you won't agree to call off this duel, supposing Mr. Cocker thinks the same way."