Forestaysail and gaff-topsail rose and bellied out in the light breeze, a girlish giggle from aloft indicating that Seaman Eccles was doing his part. The sloop Chasseur curtseyed to the wind and headed seaward, bound for Lord Nelson's fleet sixty miles away off Toulon.
Chapter EIGHT
The Sea Fight
LIEUTENANT-DE-VAISSEAU Charles Brunel writhed and twisted on his bunk, trying to rid himself of the constricting bonds that tied his hands and feet. It was his own bunk, in his own cabin in the French sloop-of-war Chasseur. That was the most galling thing of all. To be a prisoner on board his own ship, and because of his own carelessness, was a thing that made him hot with shame whenever he thought of it-and he had thought of it continuously during the twelve hours the sloop had been at sea. For she was at sea, manned by the impudent Englishmen who had captured her and taken her out of Marseilles harbour on the previous evening.
In the side of Brunel's bunk there was a projecting nail-head. It was very difficult to get the cord that bound his wrists against that tiny rim of sharp metal and he could only do it for a few minutes at a time, but he kept doggedly rubbing the cord against it. So far there was no sign that he was fraying the cord.
He paused for a while to ease his aching muscles. What a fool, a criminally careless fool, he had been! How the Englishmen had escaped from their prison and obtained the fantastic disguises in which they had come aboard, Brunel could not guess. The fact remained that he, Charles Brunel, had himself invited them on board, without orders from his absent captain and without troubling to make certain they were what they appeared to be. As he lay helpless in his bunk, with the sloop pitching rhythmically over the waves of the Mediterranean, he was both furious and ashamed.
He was also doggedly resolved to make amends for his folly-if ever he could get free.
He was about to begin again on his attempt to fray his bonds when the door of the cabin opened and a smallish young man--a mere boy, in fact--came in. Lieutenant Brunel, after a moment's staring, recognised the leader of the English seamen.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," said the newcomer in slow but understandable French. "I trust you are not too uncomfortable?"
Midshipman Septimus Quinn had removed the moustache and small beard which had disguised him as the Great Enrico, but was still wearing the black satin coat and knee-breeches. He was also wearing his spectacles, for he had just come from the captain's cabin where he had been working out the sloop's course for Toulon. As the French Lieutenant made no reply to his greeting, he sat down on the side of the bunk and looked sympathetically at his captured foe over the steel rims of his glasses.
"Permit me once again to point out, Monsieur Brunel," he said, "that if you would give me your parole--your word of honour to attempt no escape or other action against us--I could release you from those unpleasant bonds and you could walk about on deck instead of being cooped up here."
"I will not give my parole," BruneI said sullenly.
"The other officer, Monsieur Cartier, has given his parole," Septimus pointed out. "It would be greatly to your advantage, Lieutenant, if you also would-"
"I refuse!" broke in the other loudly.
The midshipman started to shrug his shoulders and checked himself quickly. This talking in French lingo made one use French gestures. He must guard against becoming too much like a Frog!
"Then you must remain as you are," he said. "Food will be brought to you and your hands untied so that you can eat it. Otherwise, you have only yourself to thank for your position."
"Do I not know it?" Brunel broke out passionately. "Was it not I myself who asked you and your cursed Troupe on board? Your Strong Man and your acrobats-"
"Not forgetting the charming ladies," put in Mr. Quinn with a chuckle. "But I think I understand you, Lieutenant," he added more seriously. "You blame yourself and will take the consequences. Also, perhaps, you are hoping that we shall encounter the sixty-gun French warship Vengeur."
Charles Brunel gave a start, and Septimus, who was watching him, noticed it.
"Yes, Monsieur Brunel," he nodded. "Sous-Officier Cartier has informed me that the Vengeur sailed trom Marseilles thirty-six hours ago in search of His Majesty's trigate Althea, my own ship. So far nothing has been seen of her, and it's quite probable that the frigate has already reached Lord Nelson's fleet off Toulon. When this vessel also reaches tbe Toulon fleet, you will be honourably treated as a prisoner of war. I repeat, Monsieur, you have nothing to gain by refusing your parole."
"Yet I still refuse it," growled BruneI.
Septimus took off his spectacles, wiped them, and put them in his pocket.
"Bien, Lieutenant BruneI," he said, "I shall not ask you for it again. You may like to know that it is now two bells in the forenoon watch with a fair breeze blowing from due west, and that I hope to be with Lord Nelson's fleet by nightfall." He stood up. "It is warm in here--I'll send a glass of wine down to you."
"I want no wine--you understand? No wine!"
Brunel spoke savagely, and writhed over until his face was turned to the cabin bulkhead. Septimus, after a moment's hesitation, bade him au revoir and went out of the cabin.
Left alone once more, Charles Brunel recommenced rubbing his bonds against the protruding nail-head. He had not been unmindful of his enemy's courtesy in offering him wine, but he had refused it because it meant that his hands might be untied. Whoever untied them might notice the fraying of the cord which he hoped had begun. If he could but free his hands it would be easy to free his ankles. And then? The sloop's powder-magazine was below decks amidships, and locked. He could not hope to break into it unobserved. But he might reach the store where the cotton-waste and oily rags were kept, and there was flint-and-steel there too. He could start a fire that a meagre crew of six English seamen would not readily put out, and that fire would eventually reach the magazine. There would be an end of Charles Brunel as well as of the Englishmen, but Brunel cared nothing for that. He was in the mood to give his life to wipe out the shame of his capture.
It was two bells in the forenoon watch, that spectacled youth had told him. At noon his food would be brought to him. They would untie his hands then and see the frayed cord. If he was to get free, he had only three hours or less to manage it. He set to work with furious energy, rubbing and rubbing at the fraying of the cord.
Midshipman Quinn made his way slowly on deck. He was inclined to like Lieutenant Brunel, and felt a certain sympathy for the Frenchman. However, if the young man chose to be sullen and discourteous he could do nothing about it. He came up into the sunshine of a bright and windy September morning, and his spirits rose as he remembered what he had achieved. Not only had he brought all his six men safely out of the clutches of the enemy--out of a French prison and a great French port--but he had also taken a valuable prize. If he could bring the Chasseur into the safety of the Toulon fleet he would have done a notable piece of work which would probably be reported in the Gazette and advance his chances of early promotion. And unless the sloop fell in with the Vengeur there was every reason that this would happen.
The sloop was bowling merrily along under full sail. Beamish had been right when he judged her a fast sailer. On every side stretched the brilliant blue, flecked with white, of the Mediterranean, for Mr. Quinn was keeping the French coast below the horizon on his larboard hand. Fortunately a sloop-rigged vessel, with a single mast, a jib, mainsail, forestaysail and gaff topsail, was not difficult to handle with a skeleton crew. But it took all six of his crew to put her about or shorten sail. Just now she was running free, and the trustworthy Frith at the helm needed no assistance. But every man, he noticed with pleasure, was on deck and busy.