That was a very different story indeed. No frigate in the world could stand being knocked about by thirty-two-pounders. The chances were that every ship in the bay, British and American, would be dismasted in a few minutes' firing. The Marquis still smiled, his manner was perfectly polite, but the mailed fist was quite obvious. He had every intention in the world of carrying out his threat.
"God rot all Frenchmen!" said Davenant, petulantly. His gold epaulettes flashed in the sun as he swung back and forth looking at the batteries. Then he rounded on Peabody. "You came in here because you knew this would happen, damn you!"
"I did not, damn you, sir!" snapped Peabody.
"Come out of the bay and fight me, then."
"I was going to say the same thing," blazed Peabody, shaking with wrath. "Come on!"
"Gentlemen!" said the Marquis. There was an edge to his voice.
"Mind your own business!" said Peabody.
"Gentlemen!" said the Marquis again. "Don't forget the twenty-four-hour rule."
That halted them in their stride. A vague recollection of his reading of the almost forgotten laws of neutrality came into Peabody's mind.
"When the ships of two belligerents enter a neutral harbor," said the Marquis, "an interval of twenty-four hours must elapse between their respective departures. I cannot stop your leaving, but I can, and I will, stop your leaving together. I have to consider His Most Christian Majesty's dignity."
It was perfectly true. In a world which had known no neutrals whatever for years the rule had been forgotten, and furthermore during earlier years Britain's overpowering naval might and the desperate exigencies of her position had forced her officers to ignore neutral susceptibilities — as Peabody well remembered. But here was a neutral with both the will and the power to enforce her neutrality, with a couple of batteries armed with thirty-two-pounders loaded and pointed and ready. He caught Davenant's eye, and the British captain was so obviously crestfallen that he could not help smiling. And with his smile his hotheaded passion evaporated, and his native shrewdness returned along with his clear common sense.
"Please do not consider it presumption on my part, gentlemen," went on the Marquis. "I must apologize in advance for any appearance of trying to advise you. But may I remind you that I do not expect either of your Governments would be too pleased if any offense were offered to that of His Most Christian Majesty?"
"Damn His Most — " began Davenant, and then he bit the words off short. The ways of statesmen were strange and inscrutable. There was a peace congress being summoned at Vienna, and a lively incident between the British and the new French Government might perhaps wreck some of the politicians' dealings. And in that case God help the career of the officer responsible! Peabody could see the struggle in Davenant's face as he tried to control his peppery temper and be tactful. The Marquis ignored the unfinished sentences, while Davenant began to reframe his plans in accordance with this totally new situation. An idea clearly struck him, and he turned to Peabody.
"You can't go out first," he said. "There's nothing you'd like better than a twenty-four-hour start."
Peabody was in agreement. Two hours' start would be enough, for that matter. Once the Delaware was over the horizon the business of catching her would be far more complicated for the British. To the American Government, a frigate loose on the high seas was worth two — was worth two dozen — in harbor or with their whereabouts known. But he kept his face expressionless; he was not going to yield any points in this argument if he could help it.
"I'll have to go out first," said Davenant, thoughtfully; "I'll wait for you tomorrow."
Peabody was quite taken aback by this calm assumption. He felt he had never heard anything quite so British before in his life.
"You'll go out first?" he said. "Why shouldn't / go out first? I came in first."
"That's nothing to do with it," replied Davenant tartly.
"I'll make it have something to do with it," said Peabody.
"You will, will you?"
Davenant braced himself stiffly, his chin protruding as he put his head back to meet the taller man's eyes.
"That's what I said," answered Peabody.
Then at that moment the ludicrous nature of the argument and of their attitudes suddenly struck him. He was reminded of the preliminaries to his first fight at sea, when he and Grant — the Grant who subsequently was killed at Tripoli — were squaring up to each other at the age of twelve on the foredeck of the coastguard cutter Beagle. Peabody laughed, uncontrollably, and Davenant began to dance with rage. Only for a second, for his own sense of humor came to the rescue of his dignity and he laughed as well. The first round closed with the two of them grinning at each other. Davenant was the first to regain his composure.
"Seriously, sir," he said, "I don't know what the Admiralty would say if they heard I let you out of here after chasing you in. I'd be court-martialed — I'd be broke — I'd be on the beach for the rest of my life, if they didn't shoot me."
"And what about me?" said Peabody, this presentation of the case revealing a new light to him. "What would they say about me in Washington? What would the Navy Department say if I let you go out of here on better terms than you came in? We have courts-martial in our service, too, sir."
"Yes, I suppose you have," said Davenant thoughtfully. "Damn all admiralties."
Peabody had the feeling that each of them was sparring for an opening in this second round, after the heated exchanges of the first.
"Gentlemen," said the Marquis, "may I make a suggestion?"
They both turned and looked at him, suddenly reminded of his presence after some minutes of oblivion.
"Yes, sir?" said Davenant. Peabody noticed the hauteur of his manner — the irritating manner of one who represented the most powerful navy in the world.
"Can a question of this importance be decided in five minutes' conversation?" asked the Marquis. "I must confess that I myself can see no way out of this impasse at the moment. And I might remind you that our five valuable ships are all of them hove to, on a lee shore. Why not drop anchor in Fort-de-France for tonight at least? You gentlemen may not be specially busy, but as Governor of this island I have other things to do besides listening to your arguments, educational though they are."
Davenant looked back at Peabody, and Peabody looked at Davenant.
"How's your water?" asked Davenant.
"I've enough," said Peabody cautiously.
"So've I. But I'd like some fresh. And I could do with some fresh vegetables after chasing you round the islands for five weeks. Is there any sign of scurvy among your men?"
"They'd be all the better for a run ashore," admitted Peabody.
"I don't let my men ashore in a neutral port," said Davenant. "At least, only the few I can trust not to desert."
He checked himself on the tempting edge of the abyss of professional conversation.
"I'm delighted to see you in agreement, gentlemen," said the Marquis.
At first that seemed to be taking a good deal for granted, but the more the two captains considered the statement, the truer it appeared to be. To each of them the moment appeared to offer a golden opportunity to give his men a rest while at the same time conferring no advantage on his opponent.
Chapter XII
A LETTER for you, sir," said the midshipman on duty, after knocking at Peabody's cabin door.
The seal on the back was elaborate — a coat of arms of many quarterings. Peabody broke it with care, and unfolded the paper.
The Governor's House, Fort-de-France. May 30, 1814.
His Excellency the Governor and the Countess d'Ernee request the pleasure of the company of Captain Josiah Peabody and of his Lieutenants tonight at the Governor's House at 8 p.m. Dancing.