Barry met his glance and looked away. Then he turned to gaze with worried eyes at his brother midshipman. They were as nearly alone as any two people could be in the confined space of a ship-of-war.
"See here, Sep," he said in a low voice, "I'd like to tell you something. I've been wanting to tell someone for a long time. I'm afraid. "
"Afraid?" repeated Septimus, half-wondering whether he was joking. "And pray, Charles, what are you afraid of?"
"Fighting-death-wounds," Barry said hurriedly. "Oh, I know it's a deuced awful thing to confess, but it's true. I've kept it to myself until now, and I'm only telling you because I know you won't make fun of me. I don't know what to do about it."
Mr. Quinn groped in the pocket of his blue uniform coat and got out his spectacle-case. It was a habit he had when confronted with a serious problem, and he had hooked the steel-rimmed glasses over one ear before he realised what he was about and hastily put them back again.
"But, Charles," he said, frowning, "we have so far seen no fighting. You can't be afraid of something you've never seen."
"Yes, you can. At least, I can. I'm a coward, Sep-that's what it amounts to. I lie awake at night sweating to think how I might behave when we go into action. I'm not like Fitz, looking forward to getting to grips with the French, you see."
Septimus thought this out for a moment. Then he looked up to nod reassuringly at his friend.
"In short, Charles," he said in that grave manner which Fitzroy Cocker and Lieutenant George Pyke found so infuriating, "you are afraid-of being afraid. That doesn't make you a coward. Pray don't distress yourself by thinking along those lines. When the time for action comes I shall be quite as nervous as you, I assure you. The only thing to do-"
His sage advice was cut short by the lusty squealing of the bosun's pipes calling All hands!
As he trotted aft towards the quarterdeck, with the barefooted seamen scurrying past him to form their divisions, Septimus was still frowning. He was troubled about his friend's confession.
Captain Sainsbury stood erect with hands linked behind him, looking down at the rows of brown faces in front of him. Every officer and man of the Althea's complement of two hundred was waiting to hear what he had to say, except the few who could not be spared from the handling of the frigate. He raised his harsh voice so that it carried to the rearmost man.
"I want you all to understand that the Navy has many tasks to perform. We have been given a special task. It is unlikely to bring us much glory, and we may not take a single prize. This vessel is ordered to cruise independently along the French coast between Port Vendres and the Hyeres Islands, with the object of bringing back information about the disposition of French forces along that coast. "
He paused. A slight rustle of movement ran along the ranks of seamen-hardly to be called a whispering, for no one spoke. It was the only sign of their disappointment.
"In the course of this main task," resumed Captain Sainsbury as gravely as ever, "we shall be forced to maintain close contact with the coast, along which a number of vessels-enemy vessels -are still plying their trade. It would not, I am sure, be the intention of Their Lordships at the Admiralty that these vessels should be allowed to reach their destination if we fall in with them. "
Again he paused, and this time the brown faces were grinning and here and there a deep chuckle sounded as someone tumbled to it that there would, after all, be enemy ships to capture and booty to be won. Midshipman Barry did not look particularly happy as he returned Midshipman Quinn's surreptitious wink.
"However," the captain was saying, "we shall not allow the chances of prize-taking to distract us from our duty, which is to discover all we can about Bonaparte's defences. That will mean landing-parties in enemy territory. We shall be striking a very harmful blow at the Frogs with every item of information we bring back, and if we can also find opportunity to destroy some of Boney's property-well, we'll not waste that opportunity."
The men were all grinning widely now, and a voice piped up: "Good old Saint! That's the med'cine for Boney!"
"I will flog the next man that raises his voice without orders," said Captain Sainsbury without altering a muscle of his lean face. "Ours is no easy task, and without proper discipline we shall not carry it through. I rely on every officer and man to do his duty. Mr. Pyke, you may dismiss the men to their quarters."
Pyke's bull voice roared the dismissal. Septimus and Charles Barry went down to the midshipmen's berth, where they found Mr. Midshipman Cocker preparing to go on deck for signal duty on the quarterdeck. Beneath his red hair the face of the big senior midshipman was sullen.
"Well, Fitz," Barry greeted him, "you heard our fate, I presume?
Lord Nelson isn't to have the honour of our company after all."
"The worse for us, demme!" Cocker burst out, ramming his hat on defiantly. "Prowling along the coast, snapping up defenceless trading-ships-where's the glory in that?"
"Nevertheless," remarked Septimus mildly, "our cruise may be a good deal more useful to England than half-a-dozen single-ship engagements. "
"Pah! May be-and may be not!" Fitzroy Cocker strode angrily towards the companion-ladder. At the foot of it he paused, ducking his head under the low deck-beams, to glare back at them. "It's my belief," he growled, "that you're glad there's a chance of saving your precious skin, young lickspittle-you too, Charles!"
He ran up the ladder. Charles Barry, whose face had flushed dark red, turned to Septimus.
"What d'you think he meant by that?" he demanded. "Sep, suppose he knows how I feel! Suppose he starts spreading the tale that I'm-"
"Pray don't distress yourself, Charles," interrupted the junior midshipman. "Our friend Fitz has the habit of speaking without thought. Just now he is angry and disappointed. His words meant nothing. "
But Barry would not be reassured. His fear of being a coward was beginning to prey on his nerves, Septimus reflected. The sooner Charles Barry had a chance of proving to himself that he could conquer fear, the better.
It was to be several days before that chance came. The Althea sailed steadily over the blue sea-miles of the Mediterranean with a favourable wind to speed her, keeping the coast of Spain just out of sight on her larboard beam. Spain, although she was in league with the Dictator of Europe, was not actively at war with Britain, and when (as happened twice) the frigate sighted a Spanish ship she merely displayed her colours and held on her course.
Those few days were not spent idly on board the Althea. The gun-crews were continually exercised under the supervision of Lieutenant Gifford, the second officer. The sails and rigging were overhauled piece by piece. Lieutenant Pyke exercised the seamen aloft whenever he got the chance, and the midshipmen were in turn put in charge of boat-lowering practice under conditions of absolute silence. Mr. Pyke had not been as active in finding fault with Septimus since the midshipman's rescue of Tod Beamish. His red face still wore a scowl whenever his eye fell on Mr. Quinn, however. Septimus suspected that Captain Sainsbury had spoken to the First Lieutenant about the unwisdom of sending junior midshipmen to the masthead during a gale, and he realised that if this was so he would be even less popular with Mr. Pyke than before. "Lobsterface" was the sort of man who would bear a grudge even against a boy of half his own age.