Peabody scratched his big nose as he read this invitation. Certainly his instructions from the Secretary of the Navy enjoined the strictest regard for the susceptibilities of neutrals.
"Shore boat's waiting for an answer, sir," said the midshipman.
There was no reason in the world why he should not accept, and every reason why he should. Peabody sat down at his desk and painstakingly repointed his quill before writing.
U.S.S. Delaware.
May 30, 1814.
Captain Josiah Peabody, Lieutenants Hubbard, Murray, and Atwell, and Acting Lieutenant Howard, have much pleasure in accepting the kind invitation of His Excellency the Governor and the Countess d'Ernee.
"Washington! Bring me a candle."
It would be far more convenient, and, in a wooden ship, a good deal more safe, to use a wafer to seal the letter, but there was the dignity of the United States to consider. Peabody melted the wax and impressed the ship's seal upon it with the thoughtless dexterity of his long bony fingers, and yet with the utmost deliberation. He was slow in handing the thing to the midshipman, slow in dismissing him. It was only when the door had closed, when the fussy Washington had tidied the desk and gone out, that he reached the moment which he had deliberately postponed while waiting for it impatiently, and abandoned himself to his thoughts.
He knew who would be there, whom he would see, to whom he would undoubtedly talk. He knew now that she had not been out of his thoughts since he had seen her. He had struggled honestly against those thoughts. They not only might have interfered with his duty, but they were sinful — twenty years at sea had not eradicated from his mind the idea of sin implanted in him during twelve years of childhood in New England. And now it was no use struggling against them any longer. He gave way to them. He would see those black curls and those blue eyes. He would feel her palm against his — there was sinful pleasure in that thought. The cabin suddenly became too cramped for him, too stuffy, and he went out with long hurried strides, up to where everything was illuminated by the rosy sunset.
On deck he addressed his four lieutenants, gravely, and yet with the lopsided smile which he always employed; Peabody had never seen any particular advantage to be gained from impressing it upon his subordinates that his requests were orders to disobey which involved a maximum penalty of death. Gravely they listened to him, just as they had done when he had been giving orders for the raiding of Nevis.
"You will all of course wear full dress," said Peabody, after telling them of the invitation he had accepted on their behalf. "Epaulettes, silk stockings, swords. Have you a silk cravat, Mr. Howard?"
Howard had been only a midshipman when the Delaware commissioned, and Peabody knew by experience that midshipmen often sailed with inadequate outfits.
"Well, sir — "
"I'll see that Mr. Howard has everything, sir," interposed Hubbard.
The dandy from Charleston might be expected to have at least two of everything, even though when the voyage started the odds had been ten to one that defeat and death lay at the end of it.
"Very well," said Peabody. He was racking his brains to remember what Truxtun had said in similar circumstances, when he was a young lieutenant. Truxtun had taken his young officers ashore to receptions, too, had worked conscientiously to educate them in the niceties of a society of which, perforce, they saw little enough, and of the necessity for which Peabody was still only convinced against his will.
"You will dance with every lady who needs a partner," he said. "I don't have to remind you of that. And there'll be plenty of wine — you'll be careful how you drink."
"Aye aye, sir."
"And — Oh, that'll do. Dismiss."
There were bright lights over at the quay when Peabody took his place at the tiller of his gig that evening among his officers, and as the boat made its way over the quiet water the lights gradually resolved themselves into flaming torches held by colored servants in blue-and-white livery. A footman stooped to help the officers from their boat, and they climbed out. The solid stone of the jetty felt strange under their feet, for it was eighteen weeks since they had last trodden earth; they all stamped a little curiously as if to reassure themselves. The colored footman welcomed them with a few words which none of them understood, and under the guidance of two torchbearers they began their walk up into the town. On the far side of the jetty there were other torchbearers, another boat coming in; and Peabody, glancing across, saw the red light of the torches reflected from gold epaulettes and buttons. Apparently the British officers were also attending the Marquis's reception; the Americans passed within a couple of yards of the waiting group, and on both sides a sudden silence fell over everyone, conversation dying away guiltily. No one knew whether or not to say "Good evening" to his enemies, and the situation was complicated by the fact that only Peabody and Davenant had been presented to each other. In the end the British officers looked out across the dark harbor while the Americans hurried by awkwardly.
There were lights at every window of the Governor's house, and long before they reached it they could hear music; at the open door stood a dozen colored footmen, appearing strange to Peabody's eyes in their knee breeches, their smart livery, and their white hair-powder. The Americans handed over their boat-cloaks and stood eyeing each other in the dazzling light as they adjusted cravats and ruffles; Peabody was conscious of a dryness of the throat and a queer feeling, comparable a little to hunger, in the pit of his stomach. Howard was as nervous as he was, he was glad to note — the boy's hands were not quite steady as he tried to shoot his cuffs. The calmest one among them was Atwell, who looked about him quite unabashed.
"I've a wife in New London," said Atwell with a grin on his homely face, "who'll never forgive me if I can't tell her all about this evening. Please God I can remember what the women are wearing."
At the head of the stairs stood three figures, the Marquis with a torrent of lace running from his chin to his waist, his blue ribbon crossing his breast, an order dangling from his neck and a star over his heart, as handsome a picture as one could see anywhere. Lace and ribbons and stars — Peabody thought of them all with instinctive suspicion, but when the Marquis wore them they had not that meretricious appearance which he would have expected. On the Marquis's right was the Countess d'Ernee, in her widow's black, her white shoulders a little solid, the smile with which she greeted the guests a little forced — so Peabody thought. And on the Marquis's left was Anne.
When Peabody looked at her all the rest of the glittering scene faded out; it was as if her face alone was standing out against a gray and misty background, like some miniature portrait. All Peabody's vagueness as to her appearance vanished with startling abruptness. Of course he knew, he had always known, exactly what she looked like. He had been so sure of it that the minutest change would have been instantly apparent to him. He found himself smiling as their eyes met, the whole of his body singing with happiness, which, he told himself, was due to the extraordinary identity between her present appearance and what he remembered of her. There was something hugely satisfactory about that, like the solution of some involved mathematical problem, or like picking up moorings in a crowded harbor with a gale blowing.
Something that Atwell had said echoed in his mind, and he tried to force himself to take note of what she was wearing. But it was difficult; it was hard to focus his gaze upon her, just as it had been hard in the old days to focus upon the candle flames of the mess table when he had been drinking. There was a white throat and white shoulders; Peabody's head swam as his gaze went lower down and he saw that Anne's gown did not begin until there was more than a hint of her bosom revealed. He expected a sudden consciousness of sin at the revelation and was a little taken aback when it did not come, as when an aching tooth suddenly ceases to hurt. There was something black and something red about her gown; he was sure of that. And there were pearls in the picture, too, which were just as mathematically satisfactory, but whether because of the pink-and-white skin or because of the contrast with the black curls he could not decide.