Peabody strolled forward.
"Good morning, Jonathan."
"Good morning," and then after an interval, "sir."
Jonathan was sick with his wound; otherwise he would not have spoken in such a surly fashion.
"How's the arm today?"
"Hurting like hell," said Jonathan.
Peabody turned to the others.
"Doing well, sir," said one of them.
"Stump as clean as a whistle, sir," said the one whose leg had been shattered below the knee. He was gray with loss of blood and weakness, but he made himself smile as he lay there.
"Cross and Huntley died during the night, sir," said Downing, in a quiet aside to Peabody. "I'm sorry about Huntley — I thought he'd pull through. But I never had any hope for Cross."
"So I remember," said Peabody.
This would be the third successive day in which they had buried dead men overside, and he contemplated the approaching ceremony with distaste. Murray had come up, and was talking earnestly to Jonathan, and trying to catch his captain's eye at the same moment.
"Damn it, man," Murray was saying, "you must remember something about it."
"I don't," said Jonathan, doggedly.
"I was asking about that burst gun, sir," explained Murray to Peabody. "I was thinking, it might have been double-loaded, and it was in Mr. Peabody's charge."
"What makes you think it was double-loaded?"
"I'd just given the order for round shot, sir, because the range was drawing out. If the gun was already loaded with dismantling shot the men might be excited and put in another charge and a round shot on top. That'd burst any gun."
"So it would," agreed Peabody, and he looked at his brother.
"He's trying to blame something on me, the same as always," said Jonathan.
"It's important, sir," explained Murray. "If the men don't trust the guns they're serving — "
He left the sentence unfinished but adequate to the occasion.
"You're quite right, Mr. Murray," said Peabody, looking at his brother again; but Jonathan only shook his head.
"I don't know anything about any double-loading. Mr. Murray wants me to say that's how it happened, of course — anybody can see why. And then he'd have me in trouble, which is what he wants just as much, too."
"Don't speak so insolently," snapped Murray.
"Mr. Peabody cannot be asked questions which might incriminate him," said Peabody, gently.
If it could be proved that Jonathan had allowed a gun under his immediate charge to be double-loaded, Murray might easily charge him with inattention to duty, and Jonathan was clearly aware of the danger, so that he was justified in being cautious in his replies, although not in his manner of making them — only the pain of his wound could excuse that. Murray must have seen all this, for he opened his mouth, shut it again, and turned away after raising his hat to his captain.
"You must be more respectful another time," said Peabody a little testily. He was annoyed that his capable second lieutenant should be annoyed.
"All right, all right," said Jonathan.
Peabody left him to doze in the sun, and walked aft again to see that Atwell got every inch of speed out of the Delaware. The word had got round the crew that there were prizes ahead, and everyone was keyed up in anticipation. The hands worked with a will as the sails were trimmed to the fitful wind, and half the watch below spent their time aloft eagerly scanning the horizon for sails. When the wind backed northerly there were more frequent calls for the watch, because Peabody would not allow the Delaware to tack far off the direct course which he had mentally allotted to the flying convoy, but drove her along in a succession of short boards, tacking every half hour. But nobody minded the extra work; everyone realized that a weatherly ship like the Delaware had her best chance of overtaking dull-sailing merchant ships with a foul wind.
The first sail they sighted proved a disappointment. She showed up to windward on the opposite tack to the Delaware, and the latter intercepted her with ease because she made no attempt to escape. Midshipman Howard's sharp eyes first detected the fact that she was flying two flags, and a moment later a score of telescopes identified them as the Stars and Stripes flying above the red ensign. When they closed within hailing distance she announced herself for what she was — the ship Dalhousie, Kingston to London, prize to the Emulation, Daniel Stevens, prize-master, heading for Charleston with prisoners.
"We've gotten together two hundred of 'em under hatches, sir," yelled Stevens. "Rum, sugar, an' coffee."
She would be a nice prize if she could be taken through the British blockade into an American port; the prisoners themselves represented a fortune, with the Federal Government paying a hundred dollars a head for British seamen placed in the hands of a United States sheriff. Gooding had destroyed some of his smaller prizes, after stripping them of everything valuable, and had sent the Dalhousie in, with the hope that she might make an American port. She had nothing better than an even chance, Peabody decided, watching her sail over the horizon.
Six hours later the lookouts reported more sails, dead to windward, close-hauled on the port tack.
"Two brigs an' two barquentines, sir," reported master's mate O'Brien, all breathless, having run to the masthead with his glass and descended, all within two minutes. "Merchantmen for sure, sir, an' sailing in company."
That meant without a doubt that they were part of the disrupted convoy. There was small chance for them, with the Delaware to leeward of them so that it was impossible for them to scatter far. The barquentines held on their course, and the brigs went about on the other tack, as soon as the Delaware's dread topsails had climbed up over the horizon sufficiently far to be clearly identified.
"Keep her steady as she goes, Mr. Hubbard," said Peabody. "We'll have the barquentine first."
The Delaware could lie nearly a point closer to the wind than the clumsy merchant ships, and could sail almost two feet to their one — she was like a pike among minnows. Remorselessly she ran them down, Peabody watching grimly as the distance shortened.
"Try a shot from one of the bow guns, Mr. Murray, if you please."
The shot crashed out, and Peabody saw a black speck rise to the peak of the nearer barquentine, flutter a moment, and then descend. Apparently all on board were careless of what should happen to their ship now she was taken. She was allowed to fly up into the wind, and lay there all aback in a flurry of disordered canvas.
"Back the mizzen topsail, Mr. Hubbard. Mr. Sampson! Take the quarter boat and take possession. Mr. Kidd! Take six men and go with Mr. Sampson. Pull to the other barquentine and take possession as soon as she strikes. Square away, if you please, Mr. Hubbard. Mr. Murray, put a shot across that other barquentine's bows."
The flag of the leading barquentine rose and fell again, and she hove to. Peabody watched for a moment until he saw the Delaware's boat pulling towards her.