The red coats of the six Marines were now clustered right under the big wooden gate of the fort. They would be placing their kegs of gunpowder close against it and lighting the fuses. As the seamen, obeying Pyke's gesture, spread out and began to race for the gate, Septimus caught a glimpse of Mr. Gifford's men breaking from cover some distance away on their left.
The sprinting men, cutlass in hand, were halfway to the gate before those in the fort noticed their approach. A chorus of yells told them that they had been seen-but like an angry reply to the alarmed shouts came a shattering explosion. The Marines had exploded their mine under the gate.
"Run, you lubbers! Run!" roared Pyke at the top of his powerful voice.
Septimus, panting up the slight slope in the first group of attackers, saw heads appearing on the ramparts above as if by magic. One or two scattered musket-shots rang out, hitting no one. He saw, too, that the timbers of the gate had been rent, but not completely shattered, by the gunpowder explosion. Then the whole party was across the open ground and under the north wall of Fort Flambeau. The Althea's feint approach had allowed her landing-parties to reach the fort without being subjected to cannon-fire from the embrasures, and now the guns on the walls above could not bear on them.
"Axes here!" shouted Mr. Pyke, pointing with his sword towards the half-broken gate.
Three seamen leapt forward to strike at the sagging timbers. But the delay was dangerous in the extreme. From the French soldiers on the walls each side of the gate came a volley of musketry. A seaman at Septimus's side fell, shot through the head, and others were wounded. A distant cheering told that Gifford's men and the Marines were attacking to east and west of them, but meanwhile the party attacking the gate would be wiped out unless the gate yielded-and it was still resisting the axemen.
Septimus looked round. "Beamish!" he called. "Out with them!"
The big seamen swiftly opened his bag, allowing four round objects with tags of fuse attached to roll on the ground. Septimus took the flint and steel from him and lit a short length of slowmatch.
"Look out!" Barry called urgently. "Here's another volley!" "You're a cricketer, Charles," returned Septimus coolly. "See what you can do with these balls."
He touched his slow-match to two of the shells. Barry. with a puzzled glance at him, took one of them as it was handed to him. Above the shouting and the crashing of the axes the second volley rang out. Mr. Quinn's cocked hat sailed trom his head, and Beamish gave a loud exclamation.
"Got me left arm, sir-it's nothing," he said, and took the other shell with its sputtering fuse.
"Drop it just over the top, Charles," directed the junior midshipman.
The two iron balls sailed up into the air with their short fuses whirling and sparking. Barry's soared truly, to fall only a few feet behind the line of defenders. Beamish's mightier throw carried well over the ramparts.
"What in the name of goodness are they, Sep?" demanded Barry. "Nothing seems to have happened."
"Pray wait and see," was Mr. Quinn's reply. "And stand by for a third volley."
Under the savage blows of the axes the gate was beginning to yield. Some of the seamen had brought up a great boulder and were hurling it against the timbers. The two Marines who had not carried powder-kegs were bringing their muskets into play against the enemy. If muzzle-loading muskets had not taken such a time to reload, the besiegers would have been mown down by a third and more accurate volley as they surged impatiently round the gate, and the defenders would have been free to concentrate on the two parties assaulting the walls.
But something disturbing was taking place overhead on the ramparts. Before the French soldiers had withdrawn their ramrods after ramming down charge and bullet, they were all aware of the thick black smoke that eddied round them, emanating from the two iron balls that had hurtled over their heads from below. That smoke, or gas, spread like magic in the still air, and as its evil stench came to each man's nostrils he began to cough and choke.
Those below could see the vapour rising above the heads of the enemy. Mr. Preece, appearing unexpectedly at Septimus's side, was chuckling delightedly as he lit the fuse of another shell.
"Little Jim's the medicine for Boney, yess indeed!" said he, and the two remaining balls, hurled by himself and the junior midshipman, pitched into the fort.
The noise of coughing was loud enough to rival the shouts of the seamen at the gate. A voice above screamed the order to fire just as the gate timbers began to give way, and the volley that came from the muskets of Frenchmen whose eyes were streaming water and whose convulsive coughing spoiled their aim was a ragged one indeed. The seamen, learning wisdom from the first volleys, had scattered, and only a few musket-balls found their mark.
One of them, by ill fortune, lodged in the shoulder of Charles Barry, knocking him to the ground. But he picked himself up and with his left arm hanging limply at his side joined the charge through the gate. For now the way was open-or so it seemed.
Lieutenant Pyke, charging through the gap in the splintered timbers at the head of his men, suddenly turned and flung them back with a roar of "Grape! Coverf"
The French commander, a man of resource, had shifted one of his lighter cannon from the walls to command the ramp inside the gate, and-as the First Lieutenant had guessed-he had loaded it with grape-shot. The gun thundered and its charge screamed down the ramp, rattling against the broken gate. But thanks to Pyke's prompt action and bull-like roar the narrow space was clear of attackers and only one man, caught as he darted round into cover, was hurt.
Next moment Pyke was leading his men back up the ramp. The gunners had no time to reload before the cheering, shouting seamen were upon them. Septimus had managed to get close behind the First Lieutenant for that second charge, and came up on to the flat area inside the ramparts at Pyke's heels. A piercing whistle cut across the noise of conflict-the agreed signal to Captain Salter that the main gate had fallen. The sound was followed by a ragged volley from the rank of Frenchmen who had fallen back as the British gained the ramparts. Not a single shot of that volley appeared to take effect, and it was small wonder. For the area within the ramparts was filled with a black and choking vapour.
As the men of the Althea ran forward brandishing their cutlasses they, too, were coughing and choking, with watering eyes and crimson faces.
"By Hector!" wheezed Lieutenant Pyke, pausing in his stride. "The dogs have fired their magazine!"
"No, by your leave, sir-it's that!" Septimus, his eyes streaming, pointed to a smoking ball of iron that lay a few feet away. "Smokebomb, sir!"
Pyke spared a glare for him and then continued his rush.
The scene on the ramparts was a strange one. Half-visible through the curling wreaths of smoke, seamen and soldiers clashed with cutlass and pistol and sword, for the French were resisting gallantly. But instead of British cheers and French cries of Vive la France! there was one universal uproar of coughing, choking, wheezing and gasping.
Septimus caught a glimpse of Charles Barry, with his left arm hanging helpless, lunging with his cutlass at a French soldier.. But Midshipman Quinn had checked his advance before he came to grips with an enemy. He had plans of his own. Dodging through the smoke and the lurching, struggling figures, he came round the flank of the skirmish and suddenly emerged into a clearer atmosphere. For a second he paused to wipe the moisture from his eyes and send a quick glance round him.
On his left were the eastern ramparts, where Gifford's men, having hurled grapnels over the wall, had swarmed up the ropes to gain a footing on the walls in spite of determined resistance. The gunners, abandoning Jean Ie Terrible to deal with this dangerous foe, were aiding their comrades to beat off a savage attack led by red-headed Fitzroy Cocker. And standing apart from the conflict to scream oaths and encouragement at his men was the plump officer, the commandant of the fort.