"It's me here, sir, Beamish, and I've got the bag."
All round them was the rustle and grunting of seamen finding themselves a comfortable lying position. Then silence, except for the muted twitter of small birds in the thickets-the sign that dawn was at hand.
Slowly the darkness paled and Mr. Quinn's surroundings took shape. He saw first that there was a shallow valley or glen, only two or three hundred yards wide, at the foot of the slope in front of him. The flat-topped shape on its further side quickly revealed itself as Fort Flambeau. The light grew with astonishing speed, and soon he could see the upper half of a sentry moving on the wall of the fort. And he saw now why they had had to halt here instead of using the darkness to get closer to the fort-the ground between the hill and the walls of Fort Flambeau had been cleared of all cover, and the sentry could overlook every inch of it.
There was the sea beyond, even now showing a tint of blue. Fort Flambeau had been built on the very edge of the cliffs, with sea on two sides and on the east side only a narrow strip of rocky ground between the walls and the cliff-edge. That was where Mr. Gifford and his men-and Fitzroy Cocker-would attack. Those new stone walls were at least twenty feet high, but the seamen had their own method of overcoming those. Mr. Quinn felt in his side-pocket, where some tackle of his own reposed. The Althea's sailmaker had been surprised when he was asked for the loan of his sharpest scissors. A faint and rather self-conscious smile spread over the junior midshipman's face as he fingered this strange weapon.
Below on his right he could see the pale thread of narrow road winding through the gap in the hills to the fort. On the hillside above it he caught a glint of red--those Marines were not well concealed. He hoped the sentry hadn't seen it. The massive gate of the fort looked formidable, but, again, the attackers had a plan for dealing with that. Septimus had watched Captain Salter superintending the manufacture of four small kegs during the previous afternoon. It crossed his mind that if those kegs failed to do their business thoroughly it would be a bad business for Mr. Pyke's party.
He turned to whisper cautiously over his shoulder.
"Beamish! "
"Yessir?"
"Stick close to me until we're in the fort." "Aye aye, sir!"
Septimus returned his attention to the fort. In his other pocket was his small telescope. It was nearly light enough to use it now. He could see the flagstaff on the central building of the fort, and the flag hanging limply from it. That was like the Frogs--leaving their colours hoisted all night instead of lowering them at sunset and hoisting them at dawn, as was the British custom. Someone was stirring in that building, for a thin column of blue smoke was rising from it. The cook was starting to prepare breakfast, no doubt. The thought of that made Mr. Quinn's mouth water, for he had eaten nothing since leaving the frigate four hours ago for the long pull shoreward. There was a piece of ship's biscuit--"hard tack"--in his bulging pockets, and he nibbled at it to assuage the pangs of hunger.
That thin column of smoke was rising only a few feet, straight up in the air, before spreading out and vanishing in the morning haze. If the air was as still and heavy as that, Septimus meditated, there would be a good chance for Little Jim to show his effectiveness. But he hoped there was more breeze out at sea, or the Althea would be slow to appear over the horizon. He took out his telescope and scanned the grey-blue sea that stretched away to southward beyond the foreground of sloping hillside and cliff-edge. The horizon was just discernible through the haze, and he fancied he could see the three faint lines, very close together, that could be the frigate's masts.. If she was hull-down now, she would soon be in view from the fort, if the sentry was wide awake enough to see her. Through the dim circle of the telescope he could see the head and shoulders of the sentry moving slowly round the walls, and could even make out his movements as he yawned. Poor Frog! He had probably been on duty for four hours and was looking forward to some food and a doss-down in a warm bunk. Before long he would realise that he wasn't going to get them.
It was a tedious business, this waiting. In the bushes around him the seamen were beginning to get restless, as their movements and mutterings testified. Lieutenant Pyke's growl, threatening flogging to any man who made a sound, was heard more than once before the Fort Flambeau operation began.
It began with a bugle-call in the fort, sounding oddly loud on the calm air. At once Mr. Quinn's telescope was trained on the walls, and since it was now almost full daylight he could see very well what was happening. The sentry had evidently seen the approaching frigate and given the alarm. Soldiers were appearing on the walls, blue-coated men running in disorderly fashion but sorting themselves into ranks. One group of about ten men formed close to the south rampart of the fort, where Septimus had noticed a long grey object like a massive rounded stone. He saw now, in the clearer light, that it was an enormous gun. That must be the famous Terrible Jack, and the ten men were Terrible Jack's gun-crew.
He swung his small telescope towards the sea. There was the Althea, still far out on the blue but a most beautiful sight, for she was under full sail and the white canvas was flushed pink with the reflected colour of the eastern sky. The French gunners would have no time to consider the beauty of the spectacle, though. Already they were bustling about the huge gun, directed by a small plump officer who waved his arms a good deal. The screeched orders came faintly to the ears of the men concealed on the hill. Septimus focused his telescope for a good look at this officer. He wore a large cocked hat, and there was a curious appearance about his face which Septimus could not at first explain. Then he realised what it was. The French officer sported a magnificent black moustache which curled right to his ears.
But now the gunners were elevating the monster gun. He saw the red spark of the match as a man blew it into life and the disciplined movement of the gunners stepping one pace back with the recoil lines. Then from the great muzzle of Terrible Jack darted a long jet of orange flame and a spreading cloud of smoke. The thunder of the big gun's discharge followed quickly. The signal for the attack on Fort Flambeau had been given.
"Wait!" snapped Lieutenant Pyke as his seamen started to move. "I'll give the word!"
The short interval gave Septimus time to note that the shot from Jean Ie Terrible had raised a white fountain of water just short of the frigate and somewhat to one side. Then he was watching excitedly as half-a-dozen of Salter's Marines, crouching and darting forward trom bush to bush, reached the bottom of the hill and started across the open valley towards the gate of the fort. Four of them had small kegs slung on their backs. The northern walls of the fort were deserted-the attention of the defenders was given entirely to the result of their giant gun's shooting. But would the Marines reach the gate without being seen?
Septimus was unable to see what happened, for when the four redcoats were still a hundred paces from the gate Mr. Pyke gave the order to advance.
Down the uneven slope of the hill they came, as silently as speed would allow, using such cover as the thorn-bushes gave. Charles Barry was just in front of Septimus, and Lieutenant Pyke's epauletted shoulders could be seen in front of Charles. At the heels of Midshipman Quinn came Tod Beamish, a canvas bag slung from his broad shoulders. Forty men descending a limestone hillside could hardly help making considerable noise no matter how careful they were, but a glance showed Septimus that the fort had not yet observed their approach. The giant gun bellowed once again as they gained the level ground at the foot of the hill.