By the time Peabody reached the quay his step was light and he was breathing the muggy air of Fort-de-France as if it were the keen winter air of Connecticut. Out in the bay the pelicans flapped in their rigid formations; egrets and herons, white in the bright sun, haunted the waters of the edge of the bay, and overhead flew the manifold gulls with their haunting cries. Soon he would be as free as they. It crossed his mind that in the history books of the future he would be noted as the man who captured the Calypso, but the thought only crossed his mind and did not linger in it. He simply did not care whether the history books mentioned his name or not, as long as what he had done met with his own grudging approval. He knew himself to have done a good day's work for his country, and he was pleased.
It only remained — Peabody was being rowed across the bay in his gig by this time — to put the Delaware into as perfect shape as possible for the forthcoming struggle. He would have an hour's exercise at the guns this afternoon, before nightfall. Tomorrow morning Hubbard could put the crew through sail drill while he and Murray went through the watch bill to make certain that every man was posted where he could do most good — those forward carronades, starboard side, would not be under good supervision if Corling became a casualty and they had the poorest gun captains — and in the afternoon there would be a chance for a final polish on the gun drill.
He would come out of the bay with all top hamper sent down, every stick of it, and fight the Calypso under topsails alone. A fallen mast then would do least damage, with the courses furled and wetted as a precaution against fire. He would not need speed, because Davenant would try to close with him as rapidly as possible, and under topsails he could still outmaneuver him until the ships came broadside to broadside. Then they would fight it out at pistol shot. It would be better not to board, for Calypso would be full of men and his gunners were the more efficient. Pistol-shot distance, with grape from the carronades and round shot from the long guns. By closing his eyes Peabody could call up the whole scene before him, the deafening roar of the guns and the choking fog of smoke, the splintering of woodwork and the cheers and the screams. Calypso would have to be beaten into a wreck, half her crew dead and the other half dropping with exhaustion, before Davenant would surrender. Davenant would probably be dead too. And he himself? He might be dead. There was at least an even chance of it. But he knew that what he had done was the best he could do for his country.
As Peabody came on deck he blinked, blindly, as though he had just emerged from his dark cabin instead of having been for the last half hour in the blinding light of the sun. In a clairvoyant moment he had been seeing the deck littered with wreckage and corpses, guns dismounted and bulwarks smashed. So vivid had the vision been that he was taken a little aback by the sight of the gleaming white decks and the orderly crew and the guns all snugly secured. It was a couple of seconds before he recovered and began, coldly, to give those orders to Hubbard which were to make his vision into a reality.
Chapter XXIV
EIGHT bells in the forenoon watch, and the hands just dismissed for dinner.
"Calypso's making sail, sir," reported Kidd.
"Thank you," said Peabody.
Since yesterday the British frigate had been under the closest observation. They had watched her top hamper being sent down; they had counted every man who had been rowed across to her from the Racer and Bulldog. Twenty Marines, conspicuous in their red coats, had been sent by the Racer, every Marine she had, probably. That meant possibly that Davenant had it in his mind to board, but the seamen who had also been ferried over were probably quarter gunners and gun captains who might improve Calypso's gunnery. Peabody's guess was that Calypso now had at least a full complement, a most unusual thing for a British ship of war. He himself had suggested to Davenant this supplementing of Calypso's crew, but his conscience was clear, for Davenant would have thought of it himself before the time came for sailing.
Calypso was getting under way in the fashion to be expected of a King's ship, the anchor hove short, every sail set exactly simultaneously, anchor up and the ship on the move instantly. She made a brave sight, even with her topgallants sent down, as she beat against the sea breeze over the enameled green water of the bay. Her first tack was bringing her over towards the Delaware, whose crew was lining the hammock nettings to watch her. There was a little murmur forward, swelling instantly into a deep-chested roar. The crew of the Delaware was cheering its opponent as she passed, cheering wildly. From the deck of the Calypso came one single stern cheer in reply; Davenant was visible on his quarterdeck, conspicuous with his red ribbon and his epaulettes, and he raised his cocked hat in acknowledgment of the compliment. Then the noise from the Calypso ceased abruptly as discipline took hold again and the crew stood by for their ship to go about.
Peabody found himself swallowing, and the iron depths of him were even a trifle shaken, for he was luring those brave men over there to their deaths, and tomorrow the brave men here under his command would be dying at his word. His thin, mobile lips were even thinner during the brief space that he allowed himself to think about it. There was no written word between himself and Davenant either, no public parole. He realized with a start that it had not occurred to him to doubt the other's good faith for a single moment, nor had it occurred to Davenant to doubt his. A single sentence had sufficed to settle the details of the combat, and to come to an agreement far more binding than any treaty between statesmen. He bore no rancor against Davenant, and he knew — allowances being made for Davenant's fiery temper — that Davenant bore none against him. He remembered something of the "treason" which Hunningford had talked at their last interview, and he felt a twinge of regret that fine men and fine ships should be doomed to destruction on the morrow. In a sudden panic he shook the thoughts from him, consumed with misgivings as to whither they were leading him.
"Well, Mr. Styles?" he said to the purser, more sternly than usual.
Mr. Styles produced his lists to prove that the Delaware's stores were complete in every detail, that every water-butt was full, that every brine cask was charged with meat — bought with the Princess Augusta's gold from Martinique butchers, at prices which made Mr. Styles groan — and every bread-bag full of biscuit. Wood for fuel; rum, tobacco, clothing — the Delaware was as fully supplied as the day she left Brooklyn. After the Calypso should be dealt with Peabody's ship would be free to continue her operations for months without being dependent on the shore for anything.