Midshipman Quinn, who had put on his spectacles to examine the casing, took them off again and frowned at them. There was the light of a scheme in his eye.
"If Captain Sainsbury adopts the plan I think he'll adopt," he said, "he'll need every man of the Althea's complement-including myself, you, and Beamish. How long before we're off Point Flambeau, Mr. Preece?"
"If this wind holds, sir, you might say thirty-six hours."
"Can Beamish make three more of these shells within twenty four hours?"
"I do reckon so, sir. Why so, if I may be so bold?"
"Because I've a mind to try what Little Jim can do against Terrible Jack," said Mr. Quinn, and left Mr. Preece in his cubby scratching his head.
It was less than twenty-four hours later when the captain of the Althea summoned all his officers and midshipmen to the main cabin. The frigate was lying hove-to seven miles from the French coast, or that part of it-just south of the big port of Marseilles where Point Flambeau jutted far out into the Mediterranean. Captain Sainsbury had had an enlarged copy of a section of the chart made and hung on the bulkhead of the cabin[2].
He spoke for ten minutes in his calm, rather hard voice, and no speaker ever had a more attentive audience, for he was outlining the proposed attack on Fort Flambeau. Then he rose from his chair and went to stand by the big plan.
"Stand round, gentlemen," he said, "and take note of every detail. In less than sixteen hours you will all, with the exception of Mr. Haswell, be ashore on the enemy territory represented on this plan. At least, I hope so. Your landing depends on whether the outlet of this stream, which you see coming down to a cove a quarter-of-a-mile north-east of the fort, affords a landing-place." He pointed to a curving line running down from northward to the coast. "You will observe that elsewhere the coast round Point Flambeau consists of steep cliffs. The fort itself is hexagonal in shape, and--judging by the road to it which is marked here--has its entry port on the north side. That road passes through a defile between two small hills about three hundred yards north of the fort. The eastern hill is a ridge which rises close above the stream. Is that clear to all of you?"
He waited until each of his listeners had answered. Lieutenant Pyke, Lieutenant Gifford, Captain Salter of the Marines, and after them Midshipmen Cocker, Barry, and Quinn, all replied that it was clear.
"Very well," said the captain. "Here is the plan. The Althea, with a skeleton crew and myself in command, Lieutenant Haswell assisting, will stand in for the point at first light. As I have said, the landing-parties will have rowed ashore during the night, and will have taken up positions. Captain Salter and his Marines will be on the end of the eastern hill overlooking the road" --the Marine captain, a red-faced man with magniflcent sidewhiskers, nodded-- "and Mr. Pyke and Mr. Gifford with their men will be concealed further to the east on the same ridge."
"The-er-the midshipmen, sir?" put in Fitzroy Cocker, greatly daring.
"Thank you, Mr. Cocker. I was about to give you your stations. You yourself will be with Mr. Gifford's party. Mr. Barry and Mr. Quinn with Mr. Pyke."
Septimus repressed his disappointment. He liked Mr. Gifford, while Lieutenant George Pyke was an old enemy of his.
"I expect to draw the fort's fire," continued Captain Sainsbury. "If this gun they call Jean Ie Terrible really exists, we shall give the French a little target practice with it. The first shot fired from the fort is your signal to attack. Captain Salter will leave one-third of his Marines to guard the defile in case of any enemy approach along the road, and attack west of the main gate. Mr. Pyke will rush the main gate when the breach is made. Mr. Gifford will attack the eastern walls. Your object will be to gain the walls unobserved, of course, while the French are busy with Althea." He turned to the First Lieutenant. "Mr. Pyke, the general command of this expedition is yours. If you succeed in entering the fort, waste no time in rendering all guns useless--particularly this giant gun, if it exists. I suggest that Beamish--the strongest man on board--and the gunner's mate go with your party."
"Aye aye, sir," said Pyke.
"When your task is complete, withdraw as you came. Pull along the coast north-eastward for one mile, then head southeast to rejoin the ship. Has anyone a question to ask? No? Then that is all, gentlemen. I advise you to begin your preparations at once."
No sooner were the three midshipmen out of the main cabin and on deck than Septimus made off for' ard.
"Hey!" cried Barry. "Where are you bound for, Sep?"
"I am beginning my preparations, as the captain advised," replied Midshipman Quinn. "I want to warn Beamish that he'll have to carry something for me."
Four boats crept silently in towards the dark uneven cliff-line of the French coast. The faint creak of oars was lost in the murmur of the sea against the rocks as they drew nearer and altered course a little to head for the inner corner of a small cove under the cliffs, where the four shapes merged in the black shadow. The September night was overcast and the sea was very slight-a perfect night for landing in enemy country.
A hoarse voice, pitched low, spoke as the first boat grated against rock.
"All's well, sir--flat ledges here."
"Quiet, confound you!" came Lieutenant Pyke's angry whisper. There followed a confused clinking and trampling as the Marines landed first, their white cross-belts showing in the darkness and making them look like eerie skeletons. Orders were whispered, muskets slung. A seaman who had been sent to investigate the route came back to report that the stream-bed was all sharp rocks but could be followed. File by fIle, stealing from the boats like sea-ghosts come to invade the land, the Althea's expeditionary force penetrated into Napoleon Bonaparte's territory once again.
Midshipman Septimus Quinn, clambering up the pitch-black gorge of the little stream and trying to keep his cutlass from banging against the rocks, spoke over his shoulder to Charles Barry.
"Charles! Has Beamish got that bag?"
"Yes," came the whispered reply, "he's just behind me with-" A furious whisper--Mr. Pyke's--interrupted him.
"Silence! Or by heaven, Mr. Quinn, I'll send you back to the coast! "
It was perhaps reasonable to maintain a close silence, for although Fort Flambeau was a quarter of a mile away beyond low rugged hills a sound could carry far on such a still night. Septimus spoke no more.
The long file of men was climbing up the left-hand side of the miniature gorge now, and many were the smothered oaths as they came in contact with the spiny maquis bushes that grew in the cracks of the limestone. Once out of the gorge, it was plain that dawn was not far off. The low clouds were taking shape overhead and the outlines of rocks and bushes could be seen-which was just as well, for this was very rough ground. Lieutenant Pyke was leading the way, and leading well, as Septimus freely admitted. The thorns and rocks underfoot were on a steep slope, but this soon levelled out. They were on the crest of the eastern ridge of little hills.
With no more than a short whispered order, the three parties separated. Mr. Gifford's men dropped out of the file and were left to conceal themselves as best they could among the bushes and boulders. The Marines and Pyke's party went on for a short distance and then Pyke halted his forty men at the point where the ground began to drop again. The Marines went on down the slope to disappear in the shadows.
Septimus found himself a spot between two low thorn-bushes which seemed to grow on the edge of the downward slope, and lay down with his cutlass beside him to wait. A few yards away Barry was doing the same. From behind a large rock on his left came a cautious whisper.
2
It was later copied into Midshipman Quinn's private Log, from which the sketches and diagrams in this book are taken.