He looked over at Fort-de-France and at the approaching Tigresse. Time was growing short, and if he were going to fight it would be best to do it now while there was still a little room to maneuver, although God knew that once he was locked in battle with three British ships there would be small opportunity for a maneuver.
"Mr. Hubbard," he said, and in his determination to allow himself no emotion the New England drawl which his Navy service had done much to eradicate was more pronounced than ever. "Clew up the topgallants and royals, and then heave to, if you please. We'll wait for them to come up."
Hubbard's dark-complexioned face showed his sardonic smile as the meaning of the words penetrated his understanding; he turned and bawled his orders, and the hands came running to the braces. The Delaware's way diminished as the yards came round, and she lay there in the blinding sunlight, submitting to the waves instead of riding purposefully over them. Peabody turned to watch the British ships swooping down on him, and as he did so he heard a sound on the deck behind him. Somebody was cheering, and the cheering spread, echoing from the main deck under his feet, taken up by the fighting parties in the tops. The whole crew was cheering and leaping about at the prospect of instant battle, and Peabody smiled as he looked over his shoulder at them. They were a fine lot of men.
But this was no time for sentiment. Peabody turned back again to his duty of observing the approaching attack; when the time should come he must have the Delaware under way again, handy and under control for the fight. The Calypso and the Racer were already shortening sail for action, while the Bulldog, still under all canvas, was moving so as to take station astern of them. Their plan would be to try to engage the Delaware all on the same side; he must do his best to prevent it. He eyed the narrowing stretch of blue water across which his fate was approaching.
He was surprised by the sudden appearance of the Tigresse close under the Delaware's stern — she came by under all sail, tearing through the water only at pistol-shot distance away; in fact what first distracted Peabody's attention to her was the sound of her bows cleaving the waves as she approached. Startled, he looked down at the smart little sloop. She was cleared for action, her guns' crews standing ready round the dozen popguns which stood on her deck, and aft there was a glittering party in blue and gold. Standing out among them was the Marquis, conspicuous with his blue ribbon over his shoulder and the orders hung on his coat. He held a speaking trumpet in his hand, and as the Tigresse slid by he raised it to his lips.
"Stay where you are!" he shouted. "I'll come back to you!"
That was damned insolence, if ever there was such. Peabody's mouth opened a trifle in his astonishment, and he stared after the impertinent little vessel as she sailed by, heading straight for the British squadron with the white flag with the golden lilies fluttering at her peak. Peabody watched her round to, square in the Calypso's path, and he saw the white puff of smoke as she fired a signal gun; directly afterwards the Calypso had to throw her sails aback to avoid an actual collision. The British squadron bunched and lost its rigid line as the three vessels clustered together.
"What's on his mind, sir?" asked Hubbard, as much in the dark as Peabody.
"Square away, Mr. Hubbard. We'll go down and
see."
Possibly this might be a chance of catching the British off their guard. If the Tigresse got hurt in the melee it would only be her own fault. But the yards had hardly been braced round before a smart little gig dropped from the Tigresse's side and began to pull towards the Delaware, the white flag at her bows. Dupont was in the stern, standing up signaling with his hand for attention. Peabody looked over at the halted British squadron, at the Tigresse between him and them.
"Oh, back the mizzen tops'l again, Mr. Hubbard," he said. His exasperation showed itself in the omission of the formal "if you please."
They dropped a rope ladder for Captain Dupont — in a ship cleared for action there was no way of offering him a more dignified entrance — and the fat little man came strutting aft to where Peabody had come halfway to meet him. At six paces he took off his hat and bowed; Peabody merely uncovered. To make a leg and double himself in the middle did not seem to be a natural thing to do on the deck of his own ship.
"His Excellency sends you his compliments," said Dupont.
"Yes?"
"And His Excellency would consider it a favor if Monsieur le Capitaine Peabody would be kind enough to visit him aboard the Tigresse."
"Oh, he would?" said Peabody. There were all sorts of replies possible, every one crushing, every one well designed to convey to the Marquis exactly what Peabody thought of this gratuitous interference. Peabody was making his selection when Dupont neatly spiked his guns.
"The British Commodore is there already," he said, pointing over the blue water. Alongside the Tigresse bobbed a smart red gig, the straw-hatted crew fending her off. The sight left Peabody wordless.
"It would give me great pleasure," said Dupont, "if M. le Capitaine would make use of my boat, which is ready."
"I'll come," said Peabody. It was a mad world, and something madder than usual may have happened.
He slid down into Dupont's gig and took his seat beside the French captain, and the swarthy French sailors bent to their oars. On board the Tigresse every preparation had been made for the reception of officers of high rank, and beside the guard of honor stood the Marquis, bareheaded.
"Good morning, Captain," said the Marquis. "I trust you are enjoying the best of health?"
What Peabody wanted to say was "Damn my health," but he forced himself to mutter some form of politeness.
"I must present you to my other guest," said the Marquis. His handsome mouth wore a smile, his bearing was one of perfect deference, but somehow there was a hint of the mailed fist within the velvet glove. "Captain Josiah Peabody, United States Ship Delaware — Captain the Honorable Sir Hubert Davenant, His Britannic Majesty's Ship Calypso, Senior Officer of the British Squadron."
Davenant was a man in his early fifties, gray-haired, with a hard straight mouth like Peabody's and plainly in a very bad temper indeed.
" 'Morning," said Davenant. "The Frogs want to stop us fighting."
He talked English with the gobbled o's and the hot-potato accent which Peabody had last heard used by certain exquisites at Valletta.
"His Most Christian Majesty's Government," said the Marquis, politely, "is determined to maintain its neutrality."
Peabody looked from one to the other, and the Marquis took up the tale. He pointed across the water to Pointe des Negres on one side of the ship, and to Cap Salomon on the other.
"You are within French territorial waters," he said. "I can permit no fighting here between any belligerents whatever."
"But damn it, sir — " said Davenant.
"I shall fire," went on the Marquis, "into any ship disobeying my instructions while within my jurisdiction."
Davenant snorted and Peabody grinned. There was not any particular menace about the Tigresse's popguns, but the Marquis was quite unmoved and continued placidly.
"I left orders on shore," he said, "that the guns of Fort Bourbon and those of TroisIlets were to follow my example. There are twenty thirty-two-pounders trained on us at the present moment, I have no doubt."