The stars winked down through the twigs over his head-there was no sign of daybreak there. The "false dawn" that had appeared earlier had not spread over the sky. It would be hard luck, he told himself, if no one came along that road before sunrise, but the attempt would still have to be made. The minutes lengthened out into what seemed like hours, and his straining ears had picked up no sound except the distant murmur of the sea and the occasional high note of an insect. Some sort of stinging fly was bothering the men, and he had to whisper a sharp reprimand when someone let out a hoarse oath. He had scarcely done so when the sound of a man's voice singing reached him.
The seamen heard it too, and crouched in absolute silence. The singing came nearer, and footsteps could now be heard-footsteps as unsteady as the singing. They were approaching from northward, the direction of Perpignan, and would pass the lair of Septimus and his men before reaching Barry's ambush.
Cautiously Septimus poked out his head so that he could look along the road. A dark figure was already in sight, not more than thirty yards away, stumbling along drunkenly. A French farmhand, probably, reeling home after a night's wine-bibbing with his friends in Perpignan. The information that such a man could give wouldn't be much use to a British frigate, thought Midshipman Quinn as the man shambled past only a foot or two from him, raucously singing
"Aupres de ma blonde, Qu'il fait bon,
Jait bon,Jait bon,
Aupres de ma blonde, Qu'il fait-"
The singing stopped abruptly, and simultaneously Septimus and his party ran out on to the road. They were in time to see Barry and his four men make an easy capture. The dazed and bewildered labourer-for such he seemed to be-made no resistance and was allowed to make no noise. Brawny arms held him while he was neatly gagged and his hands tied behind him.
"Got him!" Barry said triumphantly as Septimus came up to him. "Now for the shore and back on board!"
"Wait," Septimus begged him urgently. "You speak good French, Charles, don't you? Better than mine?"
"I suppose so," replied Barry with obvious impatience. "But why-"
"Listen, Charles. It's just possible we can do better than this fellow. "
"I'm not going to wait," said Barry nervously. "A cavalry patrol might come along this road any moment."
"Two minutes won't make much difference." Septimus drew his friend away from the group of men. "All I suggest is that you get the party off the road--into the stream-bed by that bridge, if you like--and ask this fellow a few questions."
"But-"
"Pray do as I ask, Charles. Under the bridge we'll be hidden from anyone who passes on the road."
Barry hesitated and then gave in, though he plainly disliked the idea. The seamen pulled their grunting prisoner down the bank of the dried-up stream and into the black shadows of the bridge. The two midshipmen followed.
"Now, Mr. Barry," said Septimus, drawing the cutlass from his belt, "if Beamish takes off that gag, I venture to suggest our prisoner may be able to tell you something of interest. But first, tell him that if he makes any sound above a whisper, I'll cut his throat."
As he spoke he let the point of his weapon rest against the neck of the Frenchman, who squirmed away from it. Barry, whose French was a good deal more fluent than Septimus's, did as he suggested. The gag was taken out, and the prisoner's first choking protests silenced by a gentle pressure of the cutlass-point.
"Ask him if any soldiers pass along this road," muttered Septimus.
Barry repeated it in French. The prisoner, evidently partly sobered by the shock of his capture, replied without hesitation that soldiers did pass, every day. They took supplies from Perpignan to the garrison at Port Vendres. No, he didn't know how many soldiers there were in either town. But he could tell them that there was a big French ship-of-war, the Vengeur, in Port Vendres harbour.
"Is this road patrolled by soldiers?"
Why, of course it was. It was the main coast road, and there were patrols on it day and night, cavalry patrols of twenty men and a sergeant. Prompted by Septimus, Barry asked when the night patrol usually passed that spot. And the answer made both midshipmen jump.
"At this time, messieurs, coming from Perpignan. I am surprised it has not passed already."
"I tell you, Charles, it's our duty," whispered Septimus urgently.
"I won't do it-we must get away at once," Charles Barry returned, trying to pull his arm from the other's grasp.
"You must see that this prisoner's not much use. He knows nothing about the garrisons. He says there's a sergeant in command of these patrols of dragoons, and that's the man we want. Quick, Charles-it depends on you."
Septimus had dragged his friend a short distance away from the others to pour into his ear a brief outline of the plan he proposed. Charles was required to play a leading part in this plan, for he alone could speak French well enough to sound like a Frenchman. He had refused vehemently, but the young midshipman could tell that it was only fear of losing his nerve that was keeping Charles Barry from taking a chance.
At any moment the sound of hoofbeats on the road from Perpignan might tell them that it was too late. Septimus played his last card.
"If you're coward enough to refuse, Charles," he said between his teeth, "pray stand aside. I'll do it for you."
"You can't!" gasped Barry in dismay. "They'll know you're English the moment you say a word!"
"I don't care. I shall do it."
"See here, Sep-this is mutiny," muttered Barry. "If I report you-"
"Report me, then. It will be worth it. Stand aside, please!"
Barry drew a long breath.
"All right," he said desperately. "I'll try it. But-"
"Good," snapped Midshipman Quinn briefly. "I'll see to the placing of the men. Remember-straight under the bridge when we've got him."
He raced back to the others without waiting for Barry's reply. The dawn light was growing now, and he could see that the gag was back in their first prisoner's mouth and his ankles tied together. The Frenchman would have to be left there-no doubt someone would find him next day.
"Mr. Barry's party!" he said briskly. "All of you except-who's the tallest?-Pierce, into the thicket west of the road, twenty paces north of this bridge. Wait there until you hear me screech at the top of my voice-I've a good screech-and then rush out and lay on with your cutlasses. Use the flats, and hit all the horses you can. I want real confusion, but no shouting, mind. When you hear me screech a second time, make westward into these thickets with as much noise as you can. To your action-stations, now!"
As the three seamen crept across the road and disappeared into the shadowy bushes, he turned to his own four men.
"Beamish, you and Pierce will come with me. The rest of you heard what I told Mr. Barry's party? Good. You'll hide in the bushes opposite them. Do exactly as they do. Garraway, take charge of the diversion party and bring every man to the beach when the action's over. Carry on!"
With Pierce and Beamish at his heels, he hurried to where Barry was standing irresolutely at the roadside. Already, he noticed, it was light enough to see the dead whiteness of Charles's face.
"All's ready, Mr. Barry," he reported formally.
Charles grasped the midshipman's arm with a shaking hand. "Sep!" he whispered hoarsely. "I can't-"
" Listen!"
In the silence that followed the tense exclamation the distant clatter of approaching hoofbeats came clearly to their ears. A troop of horsemen were cantering towards them from the direction of Perpignan.
"Here they come," remarked Septimus calmly. His hand closed on Charles's shoulder for a second. "We all depend on you, Mr. Barry. "