In the afternoon Hubbard found work for the crew. He had the anchors and the ironwork tarred, while Rodgers the boatswain kept a select party doing neat work on the rigging — knots and Flemish eyes and pointings. The ship's boys were making sinnet and the sailmaker had a party at work with needle and palm on a new fore-topsail, while the spun yarn winch buzzed cheerfully away spinning yarns with which a few fortunate men — for some odd reason it was the most popular work in the ship — walked solemnly forward and aft. The rain squalls came up; sails and yarns were bundled under cover, and the helmsman had a moment's activity keeping the ship from being taken aback. Then in an instant, as it were, the rain was past, the deck steamed in the hot sun, and the wind began its cheerful note again.
The first watch was called, and work on the ship was suspended. Peabody gave permission for clothes to be washed, taking advantage of all the unwonted fresh water on board, and soon the lines which had been rigged were gay with all the red-and-white shirts and white trousers of four hundred men. The sun was dipping to the west. Two bells were struck, and then three, and then came the hail which Peabody had been waiting for.
"Deck there! Sail to leeward! Two sails, sir! A whole fleet, sir!"
"Clear for action, Mr. Hubbard, if you please. Hoist the colors, and dip them twice."
The drums went roaring through the ship. Like magic the lines and the clothes vanished from forward. Boys went racing along the deck strewing sand. Groups of men came running to every gun, casting off the breechings, taking out the tompions, pulling rammers and sponges from their racks. The Marines came pouring up into the quarter-deck, falling into stiff military line in their blue-and-white uniforms and jaunty shakos while the sergeants inspected them before taking their parties up into the tops.
"The schooners have hoisted their colors and dipped them twice, sir," said Midshipman Wallingford.
"Yes," said Peabody.
That was the acknowledgment of his prearranged signal for the convoy in sight to leeward — if the convoy had by some chance appeared to windward the colors would have been dipped once. Peabody took his glass and ran up the mizzen rigging. Halfway to the top was as far as he needed to go; with his feet astride and his back leaning against the shrouds he could see the convoy coming down upon him, close-hauled on the starboard tack. There was only one ship-rigged vessel in sight, although there were two barquentines and four brigs. None of the brigs was a man-o'-war, for he could recognize their familiar outlines as typical West India traders. But the ship — he looked at her more closely. She was flush-decked, and she showed a line of gun ports, checkered black against yellow. Fore- and main-topmasts were about equal, and her canvas was faintly gray instead of a lively white. She was a British ship of war, then, and presumably the twenty-gun corvette Racer whose presence Hunningford had been doubtful about.
"Ship cleared for action, sir," hailed Hubbard from the quarter-deck.
There were more sails crowding up over the horizon now, and as Peabody turned his glass upon them he checked himself in instant certainty. There was no mistaking those topsails, that silhouette — a British frigate, or he had never seen one before in his life. He scanned the other sails closely, and then traversed his glass back again over the fleet. No, there was no sign whatever so far of the brig Bulldog which Hunningford had mentioned, and Peabody would have been surprised if there had been, yet. The senior officer of the British squadron, if he knew his business, would have the corvette to windward of the van — as she was; the frigate he'd have to windward of the main body where she could most easily cope with trouble — and she was there; and the brig would be in rear to keep her eye on the stragglers, where presumably she was. He closed his glass and descended to the deck.
Murray was positively dancing with excitement and anxiety, and even Hubbard was walking up and down the quarter-deck with quick rapid strides.
"Set all plain sail to the royal, Mr. Hubbard, if you please, and put her before the wind."
"Aye aye, sir. Before the wind, sir."
"Mr. Murray!"
"Sir!"
"I want the round shot drawn from the guns. Load with two rounds of dismantling shot."
"Aye aye, sir. And I'll point the guns high, sir."
Murray was quick to grasp a plan. The Delaware had three ships of war to deal with, and must put all three out of action so as to leave a free hand for the privateers. Peabody watched the men at work on the quarter-deck carronades. With corkscrew rammers they drew the wads from their pieces. Then they twisted the elevating screws, forcing in the wedges under the breeches, until the carronades were pointing sharply downwards. With the roll of the ship the round shot came tumbling from the muzzles, falling with a thump on the deck, to be snatched up and replaced in the garlands against the bulwark. Next the dismantling shot was rammed in — cylindrical canvas bags, which concealed the missiles within. For these big thirty-two-pounders each bag contained a dozen six-foot lengths of iron chain, each joined to a single ring in the center. On discharge they would fly like a hurtling star, effective to a range of five hundred feet, cutting ropes and tearing canvas to shreds. Sawyer of the Boston Navy Yard had long advocated the use of dismantling shot, but Peabody had yet to see it employed in action. Peabody was aware that the British thought its use unfair, but for the life of him he could not see why; he supposed it was because they had not thought of it for themselves.
Peabody looked ahead. The frigate had tacked about, and was heading towards the Delaware, to inspect this strange ship of war which had so suddenly appeared. The corvette had backed her mizzen topsail, and was allowing the convoy to catch up with her while she took the frigate's place; the British had been guarding convoys for twenty years continuously now, and understood their business. There was a string of flags rising to the frigate's main-yardarm.
"M W P," read off Wallingford. "It doesn't make sense, sir."
The private recognition signal, of course. There would be a code reply, of which he was ignorant; but there was a reply he could make which would be quite sufficient.
"Bring her to the wind on the port tack, Mr. Hubbard."
As the ship came round the ensign at the peak became visible to the British frigate. Peabody smiled grimly as he saw the effect it produced — more signals soared up the frigate's halyards, and a white puff of smoke from her bows showed that she was firing a gun to demand the instant attention of her consorts and the convoy. This was the moment of surprise. No king's ship in the West Indies could know until that moment that a big American frigate was loose on the high seas.
He watched his enemies warily to see what they would do.
The frigate was holding her course, parallel to the Delaware's, both of them lying close-hauled. Now the corvette was coming round, too; Peabody could only see her topsails, and she was six miles farther to leeward of the frigate. And dead to leeward of the frigate, and far beyond her, Peabody saw another pair of topsails on the horizon wink as they came round, differentiating themselves sharply from the others beyond. That was the brig, then. They were all three heading towards him, as he had hoped; the privateers, far astern of him and on a course diametrically opposite, were out of their sight and would soon have a free hand with the convoy.
Vigilant, he watched his enemies. If they were wise, they would close up together to meet his attack. The Calypso by herself was of slightly inferior force to the Delaware, and in a ship-to-ship duel he would fight with confidence in victory, even with his knowledge of the chanciness of war at sea. But the Calypso and the Racer together would be grave odds against him, and even the Bulldog could cause him serious annoyance if the Delaware were involved in a hot action. By bringing his ship to the wind he had made a pretense of refusing battle — they might chase him in heedless pursuit, as they were doing at this moment, widening their distance from the convoy, confident that there could not possibly be two United States ships at sea simultaneously and forgetting the lurking privateers.