The Captain from Connecticut

Chapter XIII

CAPTAIN DUPONT was arranging the guests for what he announced as a "contredanse."

"It's nothing more than a Virginia reel, sir," said Hubbard, sidelong to his captain whom he found at his side; Hubbard's wary glances were darting up and down the line and observing everything, quick to make de­ductions. Hubbard had no intention whatever of being betrayed into any uncouthness or of displaying pro­vincial ignorance.

Peabody really did not know how he had come to be in that file of dancers, or how he had come to be op­posite the pretty girl who was his partner. Anne was farther down the line, with a glow on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Craning his neck Peabody could see that she was opposite the red-coated British Marine officer, and as to how that had come about he was just as ignorant. All about him there was a babble of chatter, French and English intermixed, and some of the English he heard was strange enough. Not only was there the London accent of the naval officers, but there was the West Indian accent of the residents, which was far more difficult; and Peabody guessed that the Martinique French which was being spoken around him was just as marked a dialect as West Indian English. Captain Dupont was performing prodigies, calling the figures first in French and then in English.

Peabody recaptured all the lightheartedness of the earlier part of the evening as the dance progressed. He felt no twinge of jealousy when he saw Anne's hand in the Marine's; everything was extraordinarily natural as well as being merry. Once or twice she caught his eye — she was smiling already, but that did not detract from the smile she had for him; and when in the chain her hand touched his he was conscious of a message whose good fellowship surprised him. He had always thought that a love affair would contain a certain bitterness, or a certain remorse, which was certainly not the case at present.

The dance ended, and Peabody found himself in the supper room with his new partner. The latter fell upon the food provided with a healthy appetite — over and over again Peabody had to intercept one of the numerous footmen who were circulating through the crowd and relieve his tray of something which had caught his partner's eye. Peabody himself found the food not so interesting. There were only made dishes to be had, things so fluffed up and maltreated as to be unrecognizable. There were little pies, whose crust was so fragile as to be unsatisfactorily ephemeral; they contained a couple of mouthfuls of some meat or other so minced and muddled as to be completely distasteful. There were stews of one sort or another, and Peabody took one look at them and decided not to venture further — just any­thing could be concealed in them, and Peabody would rather have tried a stew produced in a ship six months out, which at its worst could hold nothing more than the rats and cockroaches to which he was accustomed. There were piles of fruit; his partner, dismayed at his lack of appetite, tried to press some on him, and secured for him a dish of some dismal pulp extracted from some­thing like a vast orange — a "shaddock," his partner called it, otherwise known as the "grape fruit," rather inconsequentially. She even went on to explain that learned men had come to the conclusion that this thing was the veritable forbidden fruit which Eve had given to Adam, and yet Peabody did not find it attractive. Despite the damp heat he was hungry, but there was nothing to take his fancy, no honest roasts or grills, not even a dish of beans.

Corks were popping incessantly, and the footmen bore trays loaded with wide glasses filled with a golden wine; the bottles were cooled by being wrapped in wet cloths and hung in the draught, so the girl explained, her eyes looking at him over the rim of her glass. There was some­thing enchanting about that wine, as Peabody admitted on tasting it. It was bubbling merrily as he drank, just like the sparkling water which Dr. Townsend Speakman had for sale in Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. The light-heartedness of that wine re-echoed his own — the lamentable supper had done nothing to damp his spirits.

Davenant entered the supper room at that moment, his eyes meeting Peabody's as though the pair of them were crossing swords. Each of the two instantly decided to look away again and not risk a further interchange of glances. Peabody's eyes traveled round the room; wherever he looked he could see the blue and gold and white of the British Navy, as well as the red coat of the Marine officer who was offering refreshments to Anne. Evidently the British Navy followed the same practice as the American, of leaving the watch in harbor in the charge of the master and the master's mates so as to free the lieutenants; most of the lieutenants, at least, who could be serving in the three British ships must be present.

It was when he had formed that conclusion that Peabody decided on a new plan. It was so simple that he wondered why he had not thought of it before — except that all simple plans are exceedingly hard to think of. At one moment his mind had been void of ideas; at the next he had the whole scheme ready in his mind, its ad­vantages and disadvantages balanced against each other, and his decision was taken for action. Quite without thinking he rose to his feet, rather to his partner's sur­prise, so that he sat down again. The essence of the plan lay in his not calling attention to himself, in his await­ing his opportunity to act unnoticed. He looked across at Hubbard, conversing in a lively group of mature females with all his Southern courtesy, and at Howard who was blushingly supping with Madame Clair. Murray was just in sight at the far end of the room, but Atwell was nowhere to be seen; Peabody wondered with extraor­dinary tolerance whether he was forgetting, some­where out on one of the wide porches, the existence of that wife of his in New London. The four of them would be surprised when they knew what he had done.

"I don't think you heard what I said, Captain," said his partner, a little tartly, breaking into his thoughts.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said Peabody hastily. "I can't think what came over me."

"I can guess the cause of your distraction," she said. "It was either war or a woman."

"Maybe so," smiled Peabody.

He did his best to be conversational and natural, but the spell was broken, and his attention was not on the present. His partner was a trifle mortified, for here she had secured what was perhaps the greatest prize of the evening, in supping with the American captain, only to find she had no chance whatever of conquest. It occurred to her that it was still not too late to try again to see whether any of the lieutenants were not more susceptible, on the principle of a lieutenant in the hand being better than a captain in the bush.

"I think, Captain," she said, "that I had better be going back to Mother."

Peabody did his best to express regret, though only half-convincingly. He escorted her out of the room and to her mother's side, and he forced himself to make the conventional remark and to bow leisurely when he left them — anything rather than allow anyone to guess that he was in a hurry. He did not look back over his shoulder as he left the ballroom, for he knew that would be the surest way of calling attention to himself. He walked slowly down the deserted staircase, and slowly out to the main door. The colored footman there ad­dressed some remark to him in island French which he did not understand.

"Oh yes," he replied with a drawl. "I guess so."

He was through the main door now; the fact that his cloak was still in the house ought to persuade the foot­man that he was only intending to be absent a short time. He would have to abandon the cloak, just as he was abandoning his four lieutenants. A miracle might bring them back to him, but otherwise he would have to get along without them as best he could. There were some other capable midshipmen who might make useful acting lieutenants, and his master's mates were all of them experienced seamen. The Delaware might not be so efficient, but at least she would be free — if he got her out of the harbor tonight the British ships would be compelled to stay for another twenty-four hours, and he would have a whole day to forestall pursuit. There would be an outcry among the British, he could guess. They would condemn his action as a slick Yankee trick, without a doubt. Let them. He had made no promises, he had passed no parole, nor had he made any appearance of doing so. This was war; Davenant would be court-martialed and broke when it came out that he was at a ball when his enemy gave him the slip — that was hard luck on Davenant, but war always meant hard luck for somebody.

By now he had passed the sentry at the gate, had picked his way across the dark square, and was on his way down the steep street to the water front. Another thought made him hesitate in his stride, not because he had any idea of returning, but because it knocked him off his balance. Anne! He had forgotten all about Anne! He had had her soft lips against his hard ones. He had kissed her. Not only had he kissed a woman, but the woman he had kissed was Anne. He was not the same man as had walked up that evening from the boat. There was a tre­mendous upheaval within him, even though he still hurried down the dark street.

It was perfectly likely that he would never see her again. Even if death did not come to him, the exigencies of the service and the chances of war would more likely than not keep him from her. An infinite sadness over­came him at the prospect. He had not even said good-by to her — he knew that such a notion had not occurred to him because he never would have imperiled the success of his plan by doing anything of the sort. Peabody felt pain like a cancer in his breast as he thought of leaving Anne. Life had been gay and hopeful a few minutes ago, and now it was depressing and cruel. He was leaving Anne; he was sneaking away in the darkness, like a thief, to resume a hunted life, to go on ruining small traders and harmless fishermen, to be disquieted by every sail that showed on the horizon — slinking round the Carib­bean like a wolf in the forest, and with destruction awaiting him at the end — and he would never see Anne again. In the darkness the hard lines deepened beside his mouth as he hurried on, stumbling over the inequalities of the street. The puff of warm wind that came down with him told him that the land breeze had just begun to blow — the land breeze which he had counted on to take him out past the Diamond Rock to freedom, to destruction.

At the water front the moon revealed his gig still waiting for him against the quay; most of the men were dozing uneasily, wrapped in their cloaks and doubled against the thwarts; three of them, including his cox­swain, were standing on the quay chatting with a group of dusky women whose peals of laughter, he knew, must have been tempting to men who had been at sea for so long. But he knew there had been no desertion; he had selected his gig's crew himself. As he approached, and the men recognized his tall figure looming in the darkness, they broke off their conversation abruptly and a little guiltily, although the women, unabashed, went on laughing and talking in their queer island French. Muggridge the coxswain sprang down into the gig to assist his captain, and the boat pushed off.

"Don't say I'm in the boat when they hail," said Peabody quietly.

"Aye aye, sir."

The boat glided over the moonlit water towards the phantom shape of the Delaware; on the other side of the bay the three British ships rode at their anchors. A little to seaward the remembered silhouette of a French coast­guard cutter showed that the French Preventive Service was still awake, but it could not legally interfere with what he had in mind.

"Boat ahoy!" from the Delaware.

"No, no," hailed Muggridge back.

That indicated that there were no officers on board, just as "Aye aye" would have been warning of the presence of officers, or the answer "Delaware" would have announced the coming of the captain himself. Muggridge like a sensible man directed the course of the gig to the Delaware's larboard side — only officers could use the starboard side. The boat hooked on, and Peabody went up the side in two sharp efforts. O'Brien was in the waist and peered through the puzzling light at the apparition of his captain arriving unannounced on the port side.

"What the hell — ?" he began.

"Quietly!" whispered Peabody. "I don't want a sound. Turn up all hands — quietly, remember. Ask Mr. Poynter to come to the quarter-deck."

"Aye aye, sir."

His period of duty in a raiding frigate had already accustomed O'Brien to the strangest orders and oc­currences. He turned to do his captain's bidding while Peabody made his way to the quarter-deck. The drowsy hands stationed there started in surprise when he appeared; Peabody was aware that none of the men had had a proper night's sleep the night before — at best, an hour or two snatched by the guns — but he clean for­got that he himself had not closed his eyes since he had been awakened twenty-four hours ago. Poynter loomed up before him; there was only the smallest noise as the hands came trooping to their stations from their broken sleep.

"I want all sail loosed to the royals, Mr. Poynter," said Peabody to the acting master. "Every stitch ready to set when I give the word. Have the cable buoyed and ready to slip. Mind you, Mr. Poynter, I don't want a sound — not a sound, Mr. Poynter."

"Aye aye, sir."

"The four lieutenants will not be returning on board," went on Peabody. "See that the warrant officers are warned. You will take over Mr. Hubbard's duties."

"Aye aye, sir." Poynter waited in the darkness for any further surprising orders, and when none came he volunteered something on his own account. "A letter came for you from the shore an hour or two back, sir."

"Thank you," said Peabody. He held the note in his hand while he hurried to the rail to stare through the darkness at the British squadron. He could see nothing and hear nothing suspicious, but this was a nervous moment. If the Delaware should get clear away it would be a resounding triumph for the United States Navy, and the British would be a laughingstock from the Caribbean to Whitehall. With a flash of insight Peabody realized that probably the most potent action he could take with the small means at his disposal was to set the world laugh­ing at the British. The land breeze was blowing well — the Delaware would be able to make a straight dash out of the bay.

"Cable's ready to slip, sir," reported Poynter. "Sail's all ready to set."

"Thank you, Mr. Poynter. Slip the cable."

"Aye aye, sir."

Poynter was of a plethoric type; Peabody could hear his labored breathing, and could guess at the strain Poynter was undergoing at having to give in a whisper orders which he was accustomed to bawling at the top of his voice. Men were scurrying up the rigging in the darkness like rats in a barn while Poynter vanished forward again, and Peabody remembered his letter. He opened it in the shielded light of the binnacle.

Bureau du Port, Fort-de-France, Martinique.

The captains and masters of ships of belligerent powers in the ports of His Most Christian Majesty are informed that to avoid incidents of an international nature no movements of such ships will be permitted between sunset and sunrise. Ships violating this ordinance will be fired on.

Godron, Capitaine du Port

Contresigne: —

Son Excellence le Gouverneur-General, le Marquis Charles Armand de St. Amant de Boixe.

So that was that. He felt he should have foreseen this, but it would not have been easy to guess at the prompt­ness of the decision which the French authorities had taken. They were quite within their rights to take any measures they chose within reason for the proper control of their port, and without a doubt the guns of the bat­teries were trained to sweep the sea at the exit of the bay. The avenue of escape which he saw before him was blocked. That cursed preventive cutter was probably waiting with rockets to signal any movement.

"Snub that cable!" he roared forward at the top of his voice; the sound breaking through a mystical still­ness, he still had to repeat himself before they understood him. And there could only have been a fathom or two of cable left by the time the purport of the order penetrated their minds.

"Mr. Poynter," yelled Peabody, and Poynter came puffing aft; the spell of previous maneuvers still bound him so closely that although Peabody spoke loudly Poynter still tried to puff quietly.

"Make all secure again, Mr. Poynter, if you please," said Peabody coldly, "and then send the hands below."

"Aye aye, sir," said Mr. Poynter. Discipline fought a losing battle with curiosity in Mr. Poynter's breast, as could be guessed from the intonation of the monosyl­lables, but Peabody was not in a mood to gratify it.

"That will be all, Mr. Poynter," he said. Then Poynter turned away completely mystified. Peabody could accept the inevitable. He was not going to explain it to Poynter.

A moment later, a gig under oars went tearing by. Peabody saw in the stern sheets gold glittering in the moonlight, and he heard Davenant's voice.

"Pull, you bastards! Pull, you sons of bitches!"

Davenant's voice was cracking with anxiety — Peabody saw him leaning forward beating the air with his fists as he exhorted his men; Davenant must have had a tremendous fright at the prospect of the Delaware getting to sea without his knowledge. Peabody grinned to himself while the hands were shortening cable, and two minutes later another boat shot out of the darkness and came alongside, spewing onto the Delaware's deck a quartet of excited officers in full dress.

"Were you going without us, sir?" asked Hubbard.

"That was in my mind," snapped Peabody. He found himself on the verge of venting his ill-temper on innocent victims; he had done that once or twice in his career, and had found it an evilly attractive habit, like indulgence in strong drink. His iron self-restraint came down on him again and then allowed free play to his natural kindliness.

"Get below, the four of you, and get some sleep."