The six men of the prize crew had clambered on board after him. The Althea's boat was pulling back to the frigate. He was alone, in command of an armed brig, with half-a-dozen seamen and eleven prisoners to dispose of. He turned away from Jeanne to face his men, his mind seething with the orders that must be given at once.
"Beamish, you're appointed second-in-command. Take Frith and Eccles and get all these Frenchmen secured in the forecastle. Search the place for arms first, and see that the men are unarmed."
"Aye aye, sir."
Septimus addressed Jeanne. "Mademoiselle, pray tell your men that at the first sign of resistance they will be shot. My men, as you see, are all armed with musket or pistol."
"I shall say nothing to them!" cried the girl angrily, folding her arms.
"As you please, mademoiselle," Septimus replied coolly, and mustered his halting French. "Vous, Francais, si vous montrez quelque resistance, mes matelots vous Jerez morts, vitement! Comprenez?"
It was obvious that his meaning was clear to the Frenchmen. One or two of them even grinned widely at the midshipman's efforts in their language. Beamish and his two assistants shepherded them towards the forehatch.
(Рисунок отсутствует)
The brig Blanche, captain (for one day) Septimus Quinn.
"Dobbs! Reave those flag-halyards and hoist British colours," was Mr. Quinn's next order, followed by a command to Wallace and O'Neill to make temporary repairs to the fore-rigging and get the foresail hoisted.
The seamen ran to execute these instructions, leaving Septimus and Jeanne Terray facing each other alone. The girl's flushed defiant face made a contrast to the midshipman's calm but somewhat puzzled countenance.
"Your name, mademoiselle, if you please?" he asked.
"Jeanne Terray. Why do they send you on board my ship instead of a man?"
"I obey my orders, mademoiselle," returned Septimus, unmoved. "I cannot ask you to give up your sword, since I saw you fling it away. But I do not wish to confine you in your cabin. If you will give me your parole, your word of honour that you will take no action of any kind against me or my seamen, you will be free--"
"I will not give it!" Jeanne cried, stamping her booted foot. "Why should I? You English pirates attacked a merchant ship--a harmless brig carrying a harmless cargo. You are not men of honour, to whom I would give my parole!"
Septimus raised his eyebrows. "You must remember, mademoiselle, that my country is at war with yours," he remarked. "As for your ship being harmless, there is a nasty hole in the bulwarks of the Althea, made by a six-pounder ball. I must remind you that we only fired to disable your rigging after you had refused to heave-to. "
"So, because you were the stronger, I ought to have given in without firing a shot!" she flashed. "I tell you, Monsieur Midshipman, I would have fought you to the last if my mate had not surrendered against my orders!"
"Your mate was wise, mademoiselle. All the same, you will allow me to say that I admire your courage in resisting-"
"I do not want your admiration!"
Jeanne turned her back on him. Septimus was scratching his head and wondering what to do with her when Beamish came trotting up to him.
"Prisoners snug and safe, sir," he reported. "No weapons, sir, and I've rigged a beam across the forecastle door."
"Very good, Mr. Beamish."
Septimus was about to add further orders when Dobbs, squat and black-whiskered, hurried to him from the poop to report the flag-halyards reaved and the British colours hoisted.
"Althea's off, sir," he added. "Dippin' her ensign--see it?"
Septimus spun round in time to see the frigate's colours dipping in salute as she went about on her new course.
"Then dip our own colours, man-quickly!" he snapped. "This is a British prize, and we-"
He broke off as O'Neill's fiery red head appeared at his elbow.
"Misther Quinn, sir," said the Irishman breathlessly, "the fores'l yard's cracked in smithereens, and not a spar can we find to use instead. "
A second later Eccles, an undersized London River seaman, bobbed up on the midshipman's other side.
"Please, sir--the prisoners, sir," he squeaked. "They're a-shoutin' for food, sir--ain't ' ad no breakfus, sir, so they says."
"My men must be fed!" put in Jeanne angrily.
"Plenty o' nice raw cabbages on board," suggested Dobbs with a grin. "Maybe they'd relish some-"
"That's enough!" The midshipman's voice had an edge to it. "Why haven't you obeyed my order? Step lively, Dobbs, or I'll have you in irons! You, O'Neill, get that yard rigged. Lash two sweeps from the longboat yonder if you can't find a spar. Eccles! This lady will show you where the brig's pantry is. One loaf, or two rounds of hard tack, to each Frenchman, and a pannikin of water. "
"I refuse-" began Jeanne.
"You'll obey, or your men will go hungry," he told her sternly.
"Mr. Beamish, go with them. When the food's issued, lock Mademoiselle Terray in her cabin. She declines to give her parole. Look sharp, now!"
The men scattered at his rapid fire of orders. Jeanne shook off Beamish's arm and led the way, throwing a furious glance over her shoulder at Septimus. Mr. Quinn, left alone, mopped his brow with his handkerchief. He had experienced his first taste of a captain's responsibility and found it a little trying. He felt thankful that the Blanche's voyage to the fleet off Toulon would not be a long one.
The Blanche, with her sails flapping, was still yawing about in the breeze. He hurried aft, to the helm, and steadied her, leaving Dobbs to keep her to the wind until the foresail could be rigged again. Then for'ard, to see that O'Neill and Wallace, with Frith to help them, were getting on with the work. On the way along the deck he caught sight of the six-pounders swinging to the ship's roll. Those would have to be made fast before the brig got under way--and there was surely a long spar lashed under the bulwarks between the guns? Examination showed it to be a jury-topmast. Of course, neither the feather-brained O'Neill nor the slow-witted Wallace had thought of looking there for a spar.
Five minutes later he had Frith cutting down the spar for a new yard while Wallace and O'Neill spliced the severed rigging, Eccles and Dobbs securing the guns, and Beamish at the helm ready to receive the course for sailing. Septimus hurried below to find chart and dividers, hoping that they would not be in Mademoiselle Terray's cabin, where she was locked in. He had no wish to hold further conversation with that difficult young lady.
The second cabin he entered-he guessed it was the mate'shad a chart pinned on a small table. It did not take him long to estimate the brig's present position and decide on his course. Up to the deck he raced again, slackening his pace to a more dignified walk as he approached the poop.
"Course due south, Mr. Beamish," he said, "when she's fully rigged again. I'm going to stay on that course until nightfall and then make eastward."
"Aye aye, sir," returned Beamish. "If this easterly wind holds," he added, "we'll be beating up against it all the way to Toulon, sir. "
From for'ard came Frith's hail. "Fores'l all ready for h'isting, sir. "
"Hoist away!" shouted Septimus.
The canvas ran up, flapping from its new yard, and bellied out in the wind. Beamish put the helm gently over.