"Form, now!" he snapped. "Look lively! Smile, every man-and make plenty of noise when we reach the street yonder. Ready? Then forward!"
A few minutes later those citizens of Marseilles who chanced to be passing along the Rue de la Ferronnerie halted to stare, and stood still to laugh and applaud, as a procession of seven persons swung into the street from a side road.
First came a small and dapper gentleman in a black Court dress, his spectacled face adorned with moustache and small pointed beard, juggling with three balls and bowing right and left as he juggled. On either side and a little behind him were two lithe men in red-and-green suits, like foresters, one of whom appeared to prefer walking on his hands to progressing like ordinary folk, while the other was a Catherine Wheel of coloured legs and arms as he flung himself along in a series of cart-wheels, emitting joyful shouts as he did so. Next came a gigantic man whose swelling muscles were revealed by the folds of a leopard-skin worn over one shoulder. Held aloft on the palm of one hand he supported what appeared to be a girl in flowing draperies, a girl with remarkably golden locks who kissed her bony fingers to the citizens. Lastly, and causing peals of laughter from the onlookers, there came a portly girl in red ringlets and a vivid yellow gown (the lumbering Wallace) and a hairy ape-like creature decked in ribbons and bows. It is to be feared that if Mr. Septimus Quinn could have seen the antics of Dobbs and Wallace, he would have thought them extremely vulgar; but the citizens of Marseilles seemed to find them funny in the extreme.
One or two flags and streamers were the only signs of carnival in the Rue de la Ferronnerie, but from the direction of the quays came the sounds of revelry--a band was playing, and people were singing and shouting. Septimus had turned to the right when he led his motley crew out of the alley. He now took the first turning on the left, making towards the sea-front, while French men and women waved and shouted jests at him.
The sky overhead was red with sunset, and a little breeze bore the smell of salt to their nostrils. A new wildness came into the was their road of escape, their familiar friend, their home- -the sea.
The French Republic's sloop-of-war Chasseur lay at her moorings well out in the big harbour of antics of Mr. Quinn's Troupe. They were free, and somewhere close at hand Marseilles. She was a slim and speedy little craft and had been a smuggler before the naval authorities had given her six twelve-pounders and a naval crew-only to find that there was little work for her to do. The French fleet was penned in Toulon harbour, and except for a few warships that made hasty ventures out of port and back again, no French vessels put to sea. There was always the danger of meeting one of the squadrons of the hated Nelson, or a roving frigate like the Althea which had been doing such damage along the coast. The Chasseur made a sally out of Marseilles once a week, for exercise, and that was all.
On this evening of September 28th, the night of the Marseilles water carnival, the sloop was a graceful black outline on the manycoloured waters of the harbour. The fading crimson of sunset was outdone by the brilliant lights along the waterfront, where torchlight processions and fireworks were already beginning, their flares and trails of light reflected on the slow-moving surface.
"A pretty picture, pardieu!" remarked Lieutenant-de-vaisseau BruneI as he leaned on the sloop's after-rail. "Don't you agree, Philippe?"
Sous-Officier Philippe Cartier grunted. "It'd be prettier if we were somewhat nearer to it," he said. "Diable! But I'd like to be dancing with a girl or draining my fifth glass in a cafe! Why did we have to be picked for duty aboard?"
"Someone has to keep the deck-watch on this ship," retorted BruneI. "For my part, I'd rather be on board the Vengeur. She sailed yesterday to hunt that impudent English frigate, and they may have come to grips by now."
"Vengeur won't have much trouble with a mere frigate, if she catches her," Cartier remarked. "Diable! I'm hungry. Who's on board, besides Lemaire?"
"No one. Captain Desmoulins gave leave to all the men except Cook Lemaire and us."
"A nice thing!" grumbled Cartier, making funnels of his hands the better to watch the movement on the quays. "Everyone but us having fun on shore. I can see them dancing down by the water there-hear the music?"
He began to execute some dance steps on the deck. Brunel sighed as he too gazed at the galaxy of lights ashore.
"Some of the fishing-boats have coloured lanterns rigged in them," he said. "They're pulling about the harbour. Maybe one of them will come out here."
Cartier stopped his dancing. "Diable! But that would be good fun!" he said eagerly. "I suppose, Lieutenant, we couldn't invite them on board--just for a few minutes? We could have a little party--especially if there happened to be some presentable females with them!"
BruneI removed his cocked hat to scratch his head.
"Well, I don't know," he said doubtfully. "Captain Desmoulins left no instructions-"
"Bah to Captain Desmoulins!" broke in Cartier disrespectfully. "By this time he's dead drunk in some cafe-you know him. And look! One of the illuminated boats is coming out in this direction. Shall I give her a hail-just for a joke?"
The Lieutenant-de-vaisseau hesitated. He was as disgusted as Cartier at being left on board and deprived of an evening's revelry, but he was in temporary command of the Chasseur, and for a French naval officer of the Republic he was a dutiful young man.
"No," he said at last. "If the boat comes alongside, that's another matter. But no hailing her, Philippe."
Both the young Frenchmen watched the approach of the lantern-hung boat with some excitement. She was a large open boat, with the gondola-like prow of the Mediterranean, and she was being pulled by oars. A string of gaily-painted lanterns was hung from stem to stern, and as she came nearer the sound of a man's voice singing a French drinking-song came pleasantly across the water to their ears.
"Nice voice that fellow's got," commented BruneI. "I once heard an Irish tenor sing, when I was in Dublin during the Peace, and this man has the same-"
"Lieutenant!" interrupted his companion excitedly. "I can see women's dresses in that boat! There are some girls with them!"
"H'm!" grunted BruneI. "If I remember aright, Lemaire can play the concertina. We could have half-an-hour's gaiety, perhaps there's room for dancing on the deck here. But mind you, Sous-Officier Cartier--only half-an-hour. We might find ourselves bowing to Madame la Guillotine if we're found out!"
"I'll risk it," laughed Cartier. "See! The boat's making straight for us."
On came the illuminated craft, a picturesque sight with all its lanterns reflected in the rippled black water. The singer certainly had a sweet voice, although he seemed to know only one song. The girls' dresses could be seen through the twilight now, and a highpitched voice emitted a trill of laughter. A civilian boat, thought Brunel, must not be allowed to come nearer without being hailed.
"Boat, there!" he shouted. "Who are you?"
The reply came in a confident tone but with a marked foreign accent.
"I am the Great Enrico, M. le Capitaine, and with me are the ladies and gentlemen of my troupe. May we bring you some of the gaiety of Carnival in the midst of your duties?"
"It's the Italian fellow," whispered Cartier. "I saw the notices he has a troupe of acrobats and so on. I'll wager the girls are pretty. Let's have them on board, Lieutenant!"