"He won't," replied Septimus. "But you'll please to say that if Mr. Cocker will apologise for his past conduct and mend his ways in future, I am willing to call it off."
The gunner's mate hurried away with this message, and quickly returned to report that Cocker would certainly not apologise. He then went back to Barry, who had opened the case of pistols. Together the two seconds tested the flints and loaded with powder and ball. Together--looking, Septimus thought, extremely absurd--they measured out the thirty paces. Once more Mr. Preece returned to his principal, this time to place him in position with his back turned towards Cocker, who was being similarly placed by Charles Barry.
"Mr. Quinn, sir," said Preece, "here's your pistol. You're to stand as you are until the word Fire! is given. Mr. Barry will-"
He stopped speaking suddenly, his grey head cocked to one side.
"Tamn!" he muttered. "MyoId ears is playing tricks, indeed. You didn't hear a bugle-call, sir, now?"
"No," replied Septimus.
The feel of the cold pistol-butt in his hand had made him realise that in a few seconds he was to be the target for Fitzroy Cocker's bullet. He had to fight down the paralysing fear that crept up his spine. It was his own doing, after all, and if he escaped alive after standing Cocker's fire, the senior midshipman would never again be able to insult him-in fact, Cocker would be made to feel ashamed. For Septimus intended to discharge his own weapon into the air after allowing Cocker to fire at him.
"Mr. Barry will give the word, sir," Preece was saying. "He'll give One- Two- Three-Fire, and on that you'll turn and pull trigger. You can cock your pistol now. Are you ready, sir?"
"Yes," said Septimus steadily.
"And heaven forgive me for aiding and abetting such tamn foolishness, yess indeed!" muttered Mr. Preece as he hurried away.
Septimus stood with the pistol in his lowered hand, staring in front of him. His position was at the eastward end of the duelling ground, and he could see the place where the ridge of the higher sandhills came down to meet the flat green stretch. The green flat passed behind the ridge as if quite a big area was hidden there. In the fast-increasing light of morning it looked a pleasant place to wander and explore, though not so pleasant as the far-off fields and copses round Linton Abbott. It would be nearing harvest-time in Hampshire now, and the thought of leaty shades and quiet streams made him suddenly homesick.
"One!"
Charles's voice sounded quite shaky. It must be an unpleasant business being a second in a duel.
"Two!"
Immediately after that word had been uttered, Septimus heard
what sounded like an echo of it, coming from some distance away-perhaps from that ridge of sandhill. His gaze sharpened as he stared down at the spot where green flat and brown sandhill met.
"Three!"
"Stop!"
The voice of Midshipman Quinn prevented the speaking of the fatal command to fire. Cocker swung round angrily, Mr. Preece and Barry stared in astonishment. They saw Septimus crouching on all fours and gesturing urgently to them to do the same.
"What in the name of Hades," began Cocker wrathfully, and was stopped by Barry's hand gripping his shoulder.
"Quiet-and get down!" said Charles, in a hoarse whisper.
Mr. Preece was already crawling towards Septimus. The three of them crept to the edge of their plateau and lay flat on their stomachs beside Septimus to peer downward through the thin stems of the marram-grass. They saw at once why Mr. Quinn had committed the unusual crime of calling off a duel at the last moment.
Marching rather raggedly round the corner of the sand hill came a small column of armed men. They had bits and pieces of uniform--here and there a military shako and a cross-belt or two--but nearly every man carried a musket on his shoulder. The officer who marched beside them wore the blue uniform of the French infantry. The column was only two hundred yards from where the four lay, and about fifty feet below the level of their sandy plateau.
A Rough Plan to Shew the Coast where my Affair of Honour with Mr. Cocker was interrupted by the French Volunteers. Sketched by Midshipman Quinn in his Log.
"Well now, bless me!" muttered Mr. Preece. "What will they be doing here, at this hour of the morning?"
"D'you think they've seen us?" Barry asked.
"Not they, sir. I reckon they're like our militia-volunteers in training. Look now, the officer's halted ' em to start drilling."
Septimus looked at Cocker. "My apologies for interrupting our affair, Mr. Cocker," he whispered. "As you see, a pistol-shot would have endangered all four of us."
"You're right," Cocker grunted. "And I tell you what-we'd better not waste a second. If those fellows happen to get on the crest of the dunes, they'll see the water-party-and shoot ' em down like dogs. Come on!"
He started to wriggle back and get to his feet. Next moment Septimus, who had done the same, grabbed him and pulled him back.
"Too late!" he said coolly. "We seem to have got into the middle of our French friends' field-day. Look up there!"
The others followed the direction of his pointing finger. Moving along the flank of the sandhills above them was another line of armed men. They were cut off from the beach.
Luckily the spot where the duelling party were crouching was a fairly good hiding place. The little plateau was a sort of narrow shelf on the lower face of the sand dunes, just above where they fell to merge in the flat land behind them. It was narrow at the end, and partly overhung by the sandhill above it, which gave cover from anyone looking down from the crest above. By lying flat on this sandy ledge, they could also escape observation by anyone passing below. The column of men at the foot of the dunes was so close that the words of the officer in command sounded quite loud. Charles Barry, after listening for a minute, turned a worried face to his companions.
"I think they know we're here!" he announced in a whisper. "The officer's just told his men that they will advance up the sandhills in five minutes' time, to attack the enemy."
"They would close in without waiting to announce it, if that was the case," Septimus pointed out. "No, Charles. I think this is a force of volunteers practicing army manoeuvres. The enemy is that line of men up above us, and they'll be defending a position."
"That's it!" exclaimed Mr. Preece. "And I'll wager my whiskers, gentlemen, that the defending force will fall back and take another position on the crest-I've seen our lads doing the same at Shoreham Camp, yess indeed!"
Cocker put his red head into the conference. His blue eyes were gleaming.
"Then we'll have to fight for our lives," he said hoarsely. "We're between the two forces and they're bound to see us when they start closing in."
"There must be forty or fifty of them," whispered Barry; "and nearly all have muskets-we haven't a chance, with only two loaded pistols between four of us."
"Worse than that," Septimus added. "If they withdraw to the crest as Mr. Preece thinks they will, the men on the beach are doomed. Our duty is to them, gentlemen. They must be warned."
Below them the file of French volunteers was being formed for the mock attack. There was not a moment to lose if the seamen on the beach were to be saved from the deadly fire which would be poured in upon them if the French reached the crest and caught them unawares.
"Here's my plan," said Septimus rapidly-he had that moment thought of it. "One of us must show himself and draw the enemy's attention. He must make the whole force pursue him westward if he can. The rest must get over the crest as soon as the way's clear and order the water-party to embark and pull back to the frigate. It's the only way-"