"Very well, Uncle," said Septimus, obeying.
The Rector frowned at him in silence for a few moments. He was not an unkind man, but he found it quite impossible to understand Septimus. In the days when the Reverend Theophilus was young, boys had been boys. They ran races, played games, gave each other black eyes and gory noses, and never looked inside a book unless they had to. Septimus was quite different. He read every book he could lay hands on and seemed to be more interested in how a football was made than in kicking it. And he was for ever experimenting. Not for the first time, the Rector wondered what on earth would happen to Septimus when he was plunged into the career he was destined to follow.
"My boy," he said gravely, "I feel I am to blame. I should have had this talk with you long ago. I fear I have been too much occupied with my own work to give you the care I should have given. "
"Pray don't distress yourself, Uncle," replied Septimus with equal gravity. "You have been exceedingly kind."
It was one of Septimus's most irritating habits to tell people not to distress themselves, and the Reverend Theophilus felt some of his kindness evaporating.
"I cannot understand you," he went on rather more sharply than before. "For more than a year you have known what your career is to be. For the last two months you must have realised that any day might see you summoned to take your place in that calling. Yet what steps have you taken to prepare yourself for it?"
Septimus continued to regard him calmly in silence. He knew by now that his uncle required no reply to questions of this kind.
"Your activities during the time you have resided here," pur sued the Rector, "have been remarkable only for their -ah- peculiarity. At present your time, and the pocket-money which your father directed should be paid to you, appear to be devoted to playing about with dangerous chemicals."
"Not dangerous, Uncle," observed Septimus mildly. "I took care to read Doctor Priestley's manual-"
"Do not interrupt me. Before that, you employed your leisure in acquiring the art of glass-blowing, in the course of which this house was twice nearly set on fire. Before that again, it was carpentry - a menial occupation for one of your birth. There was the disgraceful occasion - I trust you have not forgotten it, for I have not - when you went about this village and countryside in a succession of disguises, including" - the Reverend Theophilus snorted disgustedly - "including the disguise of a travelling juggler."
"It took a long time to learn all those tricks," nodded Septimus thoughtfully.
"Bah! What use will they be to you? And where was your dignity, sir? You seem to have no conception of what will be required of you in the near future, and it is my duty as your guardian-a duty which, perhaps, I have neglected-to enlighten you." The Rector placed the tips of his fingers together and settled himself in his chair. "I shall begin by drawing your attention to the perilous situation in which Britain finds herself at this time."
Septimus perceived that he was in for a long lecture. It was characteristic of him that he did not fidget or shuffle his feet. He was capable of remaining perfectly still for long periods; indeed, he had once tested himself, by way of experiment, and had succeeded in standing motionless for two hours and a quarter outside the Rectory toolshed.
"This country," began the Reverend Theophilus, "has been fighting the French for ten years. I do not count the few months of uneasy peace which ended last May. Napoleon Bonaparte has sworn to bring all Europe under his rule, and he has succeeded with every nation except one. Britain alone remains to defy him. At this moment a huge invasion army is gathered on the other side of the Channel, waiting to attack. In his armies Bonaparte has ten men to our one. You perceive that this country and people-including you and me, Septimus-are in the greatest danger."
He paused. Septimus knew all this well enough, but he went on listening politely with one ear. The other was cocked to listen to a sound from outside, the sound of cantering hooves approaching the Rectory; they seemed to have turned into the gate and now clattered to a standstill at the door.
"One thing only," resumed the Rector, "stands between Britain and her terrible foe-the British Navy. By God's grace our seamen and sea-officers are the finest the world has ever seen. That, Septimus, is why I am wondering how you, when the time comes, will-" He broke off as the housekeeper, after knocking at the study door, came in. "Well, Mrs. Cattermole?"
"The mail rider from Petersfield just brought this, sir," said Mrs. Cattermole, holding out a flat oblong package. "It's addressed to Master Septimus and marked 'Urgent', so thinking as perhaps I'd best bring it straight in-"
"Thank you, Mrs. Cattermole."
The Reverend Theophilus took the package and waited until she had gone out. Then he glanced at the heavy seal, imprinted on purple wax.
"I do believe," he said in some agitation, "that my instructive talk has come too late after all."
"As the package is addressed to me, Uncle, I'd better open it," suggested Septimus.
"Of course, my boy, of course."
Septimus slit the covering and took out a folded sheet of stiff paper. As he read its contents his small face gave no hint of the excitement he felt. At last he looked up.
It's from the Admiralty in London, Uncle," he said calmly. "It says that Mr. Septimus Quinn, hitherto borne on the books of His Majesty's ship Centurion, is transferred as Midshipman to His Majesty's frigate Althea-and is to report on board for immediate duty. "
"Ar," said old Lambie the carrier, flicking his whiplash at the ear of his aged horse as they clattered along the dusty lanes. "So you be away off to fight they Frenchies in a King's ship. Ar."
"In a frigate, Lambie, not a battleship," corrected Septimus.
"Ar," said Lambie. "Well, you be mortal young, Master Sep. But Lord Nelson, he were younger nor you when he jined as a midshipman, so you keep a-goin' and mebbe you'll end up a lord."
The carrier's cart was bearing Mr. Midshipman Quinn to Petersfield, where he would get the Portsmouth coach. It was a sunny morning towards the end of July, two days after the arrival of the letter from the Admiralty.
Those two days had been busy ones at Linton Abbott Rectory. Septimus had to be outfitted for his new career, and only the fact that the tailor at Alton was Mrs. Cattermole's brother-in-law had enabled two blue coats of regulation pattern to be completed in the time. The white breeches and stockings and buckled shoes Septimus already possessed. A retired naval lieutenant with a wooden leg, who lived in the parish, had advised as to the cut of the coats and the style of cocked hat to be worn, and had even given Septimus the dirk he had worn as a midshipman. Septimus himself had constructed the small but stout sea-chest, with his name on it, which was now stowed behind him in the carrier's van. He was fully equipped with everything-except knowledge of ships and the sea.
Before he died, Mr. Charles Quinn had contrived to have his son's name placed on the books of one of His Majesty's ships as a midshipman, which privilege he was able to obtain without difficulty because of his distant relationship to William Pitt, now Prime Minister of England. It was quite a common arrangement for this to be done, and it gave extra seniority; Septimus Quinn would have over a year's seniority as midshipman before he even set foot on board a ship. But though boys were sometimes "borne on the books" for years, often while they were still at school, without being appointed to a seagoing ship, in time of war they were likely to be called up at very short notice. And this had happened to Septimus.
As the carrier's cart rumbled through Selborne and out into the sunlit lanes towards Greatham, Septimus Quinn had every reason for feeling unsettled and anxious about his future. He was not, in his own opinion, a fighter. The only boat he had ever been in was an ancient punt on a lake near Linton Abbott. Yet here he was, setting forth to go to sea in a fighting frigate with two hundred shipmates who were all strangers to him. But Septimus, it will have been noticed, was of a philosophical turn of mind. With no brothers and sisters, and-after his father's death-no real friends, he had learned to be self-sufficient and independent. He had also developed a knack of being interested in everything that came his way and finding out what he could about it, whether it was a lump of sulphur or a gypsy conjuror. So in spite of the perils and adventures that undoubtedly lay ahead of him he was neither afraid nor particularly excited. On the whole, he would have preferred to stay at Linton Abbott and do some more research into the remarkable properties of Potassium Chlorate when united with Sulphur; but he was prepared to be interested in fighting the French now that it was to be his profession.