"I understand, sir."
"I hope you do. I'm fighting Calypso this afternoon because it's the only way to get out of this damned harbor."
"And you've been damned clever to arrange it, sir."
"That will be all, Mr. Hubbard. See that the men get their dinners at six bells."
"Aye aye, sir."
Peabody was aware that to an outsider the worst of having made all his preparations in plenty of time would be that now there was nothing to do except wait — Peabody remembered how careful Hubbard had been, the morning before the duel, that there should be no waiting on either side. And yet this morning waiting was a pleasure; it gave him time to enjoy his present tranquillity of mind and soul. He felt at his best; he could look up at the green slopes of Martinique and across the blue waters of the Caribbean and take pleasure in them. There was something purifying in his certainty that he was to die that afternoon. He had done everything he could, and he had left nothing undone, nor, looking back over the voyage, had he done anything he ought not to have done. America would register him among her heroes. And he would live in Anne's memory, which was the immortality he desired. He felt no shame in remembering her sweetness and the dear delights he had shared with her. That was strange, that he should feel this purity, as of a medieval knight watching over his arms, having known her ardent passion. It was the crowning of his present happiness.
An hour before noon the pipes of the boatswain's mates began to twitter as the men were called to their dinners. The sea breeze had begun to blow, and would reach appreciable strength when the time came to sail, Peabody decided. He looked up at the pennant at the masthead; if the wind did not shift they would be able to weather Cap Salomon in a single board. Close-hauled, they would very nearly make the rendezvous — it would depend on how soon they would pick up the trade wind out in the Caribbean. He looked out again over his projected course and started with surprise. There was a ship under full sail just coming into sight round Cap Salomon. She had every sail set, studding sails as far as the royals on both sides, and was heading for the bay with the wind well abaft the beam at a speed so great that even at that distance he could see the white water under her bows. She was the Calypso, or so his eyes told him. His brain refused to believe any such thing. There was no possible reason for her to be returning.
"Calypso coming into the bay, sir!" yelled the lookout, but there was that in his voice which told that the lookout did not believe his eyes either.
Atwell, across the deck, had his telescope to his eye.
"Well, I'll be God-damned," he said, turning to his captain, and then hastily added, "sir."
The officers were hurrying up from below, cluttering the quarter-deck and staring at the beautiful vision as the sea breeze brought her in fast.
"Davenant must have remembered something," said Hubbard, and one or two of those who heard him laughed.
"Sprung a leak, perhaps?" suggested Atwell seriously. "On fire down below? Yellow Jack among the crew?"
All the suggestions were plausible, and the laughter stilled as all eyes strained to see if there was anything to be seen which might confirm one of them. She was well into the bay now, and her studding sails came in altogether.
"They've an anchor ready to let go, sir," said Hubbard, without taking the glass from his eye.
"Heave our anchor short, Mr. Hubbard," said Peabody.
It might be a nice legal point, as to whether the return of the Calypso nullified the application of the twenty-four-hour rule. It still wanted twenty-five minutes before noon, but he wished to be ready to dash out of the harbor the moment the Calypso anchored, before Racer or Bulldog could take a hand in the game. To escape into the Caribbean without a battle was better than any hard-won victory. He was prepared to go and leave the diplomats to argue the case subsequently. The loud clanking of the capstan served as a monotonous accompaniment to the excited comments on the quarterdeck.
"Turn up all hands, Mr. Hubbard, if you please. I want all sail ready to set."
Calypso was heading straight for the Delaware; at no more than a cable-length's distance, she rounded to. Every sail was taken in simultaneously, and the roar of the cable through the hawsehole was plainly audible from the Delaware.
"Nothing wrong with the way she's handled," commented Hubbard grudgingly. The sudden bang of a gun made them all start, and then they all felt a trifle sheepish at the realization that Calypso was only firing off her salute to the forts.
"Anchor's aweigh, sir!" came the yell from forward.
"Set sail, Mr. Hubbard."
Courses and topsails were spread on the instant, as the headsails brought her round.
"Calypso's launched a boat, sir," said Kidd.
So she had; a gig had dropped from her quarter and was pulling madly across to intercept the Delaware as she gathered way.
"Keep her close-hauled on this tack, if you please, Mr. Hubbard," said Peabody. He could think of no message whatever which would keep him in Fort-de-France if once he had the chance to escape.
The gig's crew were bending frantically to their oars, making the little craft fly over the surface. Peabody could see the officer in the stern gesticulating wildly as he urged the men to greater efforts. Then as they came close the men lay on their oars and the officer jumped to his feet in the stern sheets, his hands as a speaking trumpet to his mouth; it was the same supercilious midshipman who had once before brought a letter from the Calypso.
"Message from Captain Davenant," yelled the midshipman as the gig was at the level of the Delaware's mainmast. Peabody paid no attention. If he had the chance of getting to sea, he was going to take it.
"Message for Captain Peabody," yelled the midshipman as the mizzenmast went by.
The gig bobbed suddenly as the wave thrown off by the Delaware's bows reached her, but the midshipman retained his balance with the practice of years. He put his hands to his mouth in one last desperate yell as the gig passed under the Delaware's quarter.
"It's peace!" he yelled. "PEACE!"
"Bring her to the wind, Mr. Hubbard," said Peabody. After all, that was the one message which would keep him in harbor; and he had not thought about it before.
The gig overtook the Delaware as she lay hove to.
"Captain Peabody?" hailed the midshipman.
"I am Captain Peabody."
"Sir Hubert's respects, sir, and would it be convenient for him to visit your ship?"
"My respects to Sir Hubert, and it will be convenient whenever he wishes."
The gig turned about and rowed back, while Peabody gave his orders.
"Anchor the ship again, Mr. Hubbard, if you please. Be ready to compliment Captain Davenant when he comes on board."
Peabody dashed below, where the gun deck was cleared of all bulkheads and obstructions ready for action. There was only an exiguous canvas curtain hung to preserve for the ship's captain a shred of privacy up to the moment of action commencing.
"Washington! My best coat! White breeches. Silk stockings. Hurry, d'you hear me?"
"Lord ha' mercy, sir. What are you wanting those for?"
"Jump to it, damn you, and shut your mouth."
Washington could not obey the last order, could not have done so to save his life, but he muffled his remarks in the sea chest into which he had to bend his head as he sought for the clothes, in the highly inconvenient corner of the cabin where the chest had been thrust while clearing for action. Peabody had thrown off coat and trousers and was standing in his shirt before Washington had found the other clothes; as Washington got to his feet the jarring rumble of the cable shook the ship.