"Main and fore braces!"
As the yards were hauled back the Blanche caught the wind and heeled slightly. Then she was ploughing slowly through the water on her southward course, the first leg of her voyage towards Toulon, and her new captain could spare a glance for the ship he had left. The Althea was already a small white speck on the northern horizon, standing in towards the enemy coast and the last of her daring reconnaissances. Mr. Midshipman Quinn fought down the feeling of loneliness that came suddenly upon him and turned his mind to the work in hand.
The Blanche was shipshape and under way, but he had still much to do. Beamish could be trusted to see that the men were at their proper stations. Meanwhile, it was Mr. Quinn's task to examine the brig's papers and cargo lists-and those were almost certainly in the captain's cabin, where Jeanne Terray was imprisoned.
It had to be done. He went below, and making his way aft to the stern cabin unlocked the door. Though it was the largest cabin in the ship, the stern cabin was very small compared with Captain Sainsbury's cabin in the Althea. It was lit by a window in the stern and furnished with seat-lockers, cupboards, and a small table. Jeanne was sitting at the table facing the door, with her face hidden in her hands. At the midshipman's entrance she hastily lowered her hands and lifted her head defiantly.
"Pray pardon my intrusion, mademoiselle," Septimus said politely, "but I have to ask you for the Blanche's cargo lists."
"And if I decline to give them?" she countered.
"Then you will put me to the trouble of searching this cabin for them, mademoiselle." He noticed that the girl's hands had gone below the table, as if to a drawer there. "I fancy," he added, "the papers I require are in that drawer."
"They are," said Jeanne between her clenched teeth. "And so is-this !"
She made a swift movement, and Septimus found himself looking into the muzzle of a pistol, at a range of three feet. Inwardly he cursed his folly in not making certain that the girl was unarmed. Outwardly he remained quite composed. The click as the pistol was cocked sounded very menacing.
"I gave no parole," Jeanne said exultingly. "Your life is now in my hands, Monsieur Midshipman." She rose to her feet. "You will walk in front of me to the forecastle, making no outcry, and release my crew. Otherwise--I shall shoot, be certain of that!"
Midshipman Quinn's eyes met hers steadily. He did not move. "Mademoiselle," he said calmly. "I shall do no such thing and you will not shoot. You have too much sense."
"Why should I not pull trigger now, monsieur?" she cried threateningly.
"Because, mademoiselle, the noise of the report would bring my men here at once. You would kill me, but they might very well kill you--and your crew--in revenge. Give me that pistol, please."
Without moving his gaze from her he reached slowly for the weapon. For a moment he thought she would pull the trigger, so furious were her eyes. Then they wavered and fell. He grasped the pistol by the barrel just as she let it fall. Next moment she had flung herself on the seat under the stern-window, sobbing wildly.
Mr. Quinn uncocked the pistol and dropped it into his pocket before rummaging in the drawer and finding the lists he wanted. Then he made a rapid but thorough search for any other aggressive weapons, without finding any. Finally he addressed the unheeding figure on the window seat.
"Your supper will be served at sunset, mademoiselle. You will no doubt excuse me from joining you."
With that he went out, locking the door behind him.
A study of the Blanche's cargo-lists confirmed that she was carrying a very full cargo of vegetables and fruit, as well as a few other packages. One of the latter, he noticed with amusement, was listed as "Bale Seventeen, Theatrical Costumes for Marseilles". It was an item he was to remember later, in strange circumstances. There were also several boxes of fresh eggs. He went to find Eccles, who had been assistant cook in the frigate.
At sunset precisely a very hungry Jeanne, sitting resignedly at her table, heard the lock of her cabin door click. A wizened and grinning seaman entered with a tray whose contents steamed and smelt delicious.
" 'Ere's a honion homellette, miss, a melon an' sugar, an' a glass o' wine," he said. "Also one pistol, hunloaded--all with the compliments of Mr. Septimus Quinn."
An hour after sunset the east wind freshened. By four bells in the first watch it was blowing half-a-gale, and the brig Blanche was tossing and plunging under shortened sail. There was no rest for her prize crew that night, and it was not until near dawn that Midshipman Quinn noted a sudden change in wind direction. The driving gusts ceased, the sea became a smooth and heaving black surface instead of a series of white-fanged waves, and as the first faint light grew there spread around the tossing vessel a grey haze that hung low on the waters.
Septimus went down to the mate's cabin and lit the oil-lamp. He had been unable to alter course during that stormy night, but the brig must be at least twenty miles out from the coast now, and with the wind veered to south he could make eastward for Toulon. He put on his spectacles and pored over the chart, trying to estimate what position his ship had reached. The gale must have blown him well to westward, so that he would be more than twenty miles west of Toulon. With this favouring wind, however, the Blanche should sight Lord Nelson's ships before noon. He wondered where the frigate was by this time. Probably she had headed out to sea again as soon as her investigation of the coast was finished, and might have passed quite close to the brig during the night. Captain Sainsbury would certainly not linger close inshore, for it was rumoured that the 6o-gun French warship Vengeur, risking contact with a British line-of-battle ship in her anxiety to meet and fight the raiding frigate, had come out of Port Vendres harbour and was at sea.
He was on the point of leaving the cabin to give the helmsman the new course when the sound of running feet and excited voices on deck made him hurry up the ladder to the poop. In the grey light of dawn everything was grey--the wet decks, the figures of the seamen, the mist that enclosed a circle of heaving grey sea and cut down visibility to a hundred yards or less. Beamish met him as he emerged on deck.
"Frith's at the masthead, sir," he said rapidly. "Says he can see above the mist-there's a big vessel heading straight for us, about a mile away. Frith can only see the upper part of her masts-three of 'em, sir--but he swears she's French by her rig, and a warship."
Septimus thought quickly. It might just be possible to dodge the strange vessel in the mist, but if he failed he must be ready with some other device. With six men and four small guns he could not hope to put up a fight against a big Frenchman. The wind had dropped still more and was from the south.
"Starboard your helm, Mr. Beamish," he said, "and bring the wind astern."
That would set the Blanche heading north again, but she would be creeping away from the Frenchman's course. If the enemy's lookout had not seen the brig's masts above the sea of mist, there was still a chance of getting away unseen. That chance could not be counted on, though.
"Wait!" he added as the big seaman turned to pass the order to the helmsman. "Haul down our colours, Mr. Beamish, and hoist the French flag. Have all arms concealed. If the Frenchman gets near enough to hail us, leave all the talking to me."
"Aye aye, sir!" returned Beamish cheerfully, saluting and trotting aft.
Septimus, reflecting that a man who took emergencies with a broad grin, as Beamish did, was worth three men with worried expressions, hurried for' ard to where the rest of his men were swabbing the decks and setting to rights the gear that had been disturbed by the gale. He selected Wallace, a slow-thinking Scot who could be relied upon to obey orders, and bade him get a musket and come below. To the rest he spoke briefly and with emphasis.