The Captain from Connecticut

Chapter XX

CAPTAIN SIR HUBERT DAVENANT had said it was most irregular. He had gobbled like a turkey cock about it when it had been first suggested to him, mouth­ing his words in his queer London accent, and yet it had only taken a few minutes to convince him both of the essential reasonableness of the scheme and also of its likelihood of success.

"Fox and geese, eh?" he had said, with the chart spread before him. "We'll chase Mr. Fox Lerouge into a tighter trap than he knows of."

The Marquis had given the scheme his unqualified assent when he was consulted about it. He had offered the services of the Tigresse to stop the least obvious of the bolt holes through the Saintes' Passage, and he had looked upon his son-in-law with something more than approval when the scheme was made clear to him. The military details — the need for complete secrecy to en­sure surprise — he accepted as a matter of course, even though Davenant and Peabody, glancing at each other across the council table, expressed secretly to each other by their look their certainty that the Tigresse with her French crew would be horribly mauled if ever she found herself broadside to broadside with the Susanna.

The Marquis had pledged his word to the execution of his part of the scheme — the issuing of sealed orders to Dupont and the sudden reversal of orders at sunset to the captain of the port and the officers commanding in the batteries.

Night was coming on apace when Peabody in the Delaware began to make the first of his preparations for sea. Eight p.m., well after dark, was the time appointed for the start.

"We don't want to spoil the ship for a ha'p'orth o' tar," said Davenant when the time was being discussed — in other words, they did not want to risk disclosing their plans to any possible informers in Martinique for the sake of gaining an extra half hour perhaps of darkness; besides, by that time the first puffs of the land breeze would help to get them clear of the harbor.

"Mr. Hubbard," said Peabody. "We are leaving Fort-de-France tonight."

"Aye aye sir," said Hubbard; and then: "Pardon me, sir, but have you squared the port captain?"

"No," said Peabody. "But we'll be allowed to leave. The British squadron will be leaving at the same time. So will the Tigresse."

"Geewhillikins, sir," said Hubbard; the dark mobile face lengthened in surprise, and Peabody relented. There was no sense or purpose in keeping his first lieutenant in the dark.

"The unofficial armistice is still going on," he said. "All we're going to do is to catch this Haitian pirate, Lerouge. After that we meet again in Fort-de-France and start again on the same terms as before. I've given my parole to that effect."

"I see, sir," said Hubbard. He digested the astonish­ing information slowly. "It won't do the men any harm to get them to sea again for a time."

Curiosity struggled with discipline, and curiosity won in the end.

"Pardon me, sir," said Hubbard again. "But was this your idea?"

"Yes."

"It's a damned clever idea, too, sir, if you'll allow me to say so."

"I'll allow you to."

"The French'll be as pleased as Punch if we get this Lerouge out of the way. I suppose they've said so, sir?"

"They have."

"And we keep the ball rolling that much longer with­out risk to ourselves. Oh, that's great, sir."

"I'm glad you think so, Mr. Hubbard. We'll get under way at four bells in the second dogwatch."

"Aye aye, sir."

The land breeze was breathing very faintly when the Delaware got under sail in the darkness — she crept over the black water with hardly a sound of water rippling under her sharp bows.

"There's the Tigresse, sir," said Hubbard to Peabody, pointing through the darkness to where a faint nucleus of greater darkness was just visible.

"Yes," said Peabody, and he pointed in return over the quarter. "And here come the British."

The Calypso in the van could be almost recognized; the Bulldog in the rear was hardly visible at all, but enough could be seen to make plain how well-handled were the three ships in their line ahead. Peabody felt a queer feeling of comfort. For months he had been at sea in continuous imminent danger, with every man's hand against him and not a friend within call. Even though he knew this present interlude to be a brief one, there was something pleasant about having even tempo­rary friends. The thought of friends carried his mind inevitably to his wife. By now she would have received his note: —

Dearest, I shall not be coming home tonight, as I have duties to perform in the ship. Please keep the servants think­ing that you still expect me, as it is important that the news that I am not returning be delayed as long as possible. And will you please forgive me for leaving you like this, dear? It is my duty that takes me from you. Your father will explain why tomorrow. I shall see you again in a week.

That note had been hard to write — Peabody had written nothing except formal letters all his life. It had been the first time he had written the word "Dearest," and the first time he had ever written "dear" in the middle of a letter, but it had not been that which had made the writing hard. It had been hard to face the fact that he had not admitted his wife into his confidence, that in the deep secrecy in which the move had been planned he had not made an exception of Anne. But that was where his duty lay. Military secrets must be told to no one unnecessarily, and he had told no one. Anne, waiting for him, would be hurt and disappointed — that was what made it hard. Later she might be hurt again when she realized that he had not trusted her, and that would be harder still. Peabody drummed on the rail with his fingers, and then suddenly he knew that Anne would understand.

"Course south by east, Mr. Hubbard," he said.

"South by east, sir."

They would weather Cap Salomon now. In three hours — less if the breeze freshened as it should — they would be rounding Cabrit. It would be a long reach back to the Caravelle, but they should be there well before dawn, and the British, weathering Cape St. Martin in the opposite direction, would drive Lerouge straight into his grasp. In any event it was a joy to feel the lift and surge of the Delaware again beneath his feet, to hear the wind in the rigging and the music of the sea under her forefoot. Peabody recalled himself guiltily at the thought that at this very moment he might instead have been in Anne's arms — a wife cer­tainly deprived life of its primitive simplicity in ex­change for enriching it. It was an effort to dismiss the thought from his mind. A wife was a wife and his duty was his duty. He bellowed a sharp reprimand at the captain of the foretop and had the weather fore-top­gallant studding sail taken in and reset, and, having re­lieved himself of some of this unaccustomed internal stress, he made himself go below to rest for a few hours before dawn. He was a little afraid as he composed himself to sleep, lest married life was softening him.

"Eight bells, sir," said "Washington, allowing the cabin door to slam as a gust of the fresh trades came into the stuffy cabin. "A clear night, sir. Ship's on the starboard tack, sir. "What shirt, sir?"

"The one I've got on," said Peabody, swinging him­self out of his cot. "Bring me a cup of coffee on the quarter-deck."

Murray was officer of the watch; he came up in the darkness while Peabody sipped his coffee and studied the traverse board and the scrawled writing on the slate which constituted the deck log.

"We're nearly up to the Caravelle, sir. You can hear the surf on the cays."

"It's a nasty coast," said Peabody.

With all these Lesser Antilles, practically without exception, the Atlantic side, to windward, was without real harbors, and dangerous with reefs and cays. The main life of the islands was carried on on the leeward Caribbean side, where were to be found the anchorages and the large towns. The rule held true from Antigua down to Trinidad.

"Lay the ship on the other tack, Mr. Murray, if you please. I want to be five miles farther to windward by dawn."

Lerouge would certainly be taken by surprise. He would be aware of the dead end which had been reached in Fort-de-France by the Delaware and the British squadron, and he would be counting on a free hand until the matter had been decided and an action had been eventually fought and repairs effected; and he probably had sources of information in Martinique on which he would rely for ample warning. The sudden appearance at dawn of the British squadron would sur­prise him but would hardly imperil him; he would set all sail and leave them easily behind. But it would be a very different story when the Delaware, fast and handy, appeared right across his course, with the British spread wide in pursuit behind him. The moon was behind clouds and setting fast.

"Mr. Murray! I want the best men you've got at the mastheads at the next relief."

"Aye aye, sir."

The Delaware was beating to windward close-hauled; it would be safe to leave an even greater distance be­tween her and the island. With the wind abaft the beam Peabody fancied that she would be faster than the Susanna, and the courses would converge if Lerouge did not want to pile his schooner on the coast — although that might be the way to prolong his life to the maxi­mum. The tops of the waves going by were already growing a little more visible; there was enough light from the eastern sky to show up their ghostly white. This trade-wind air, clean and fresh after its journey across three thousand miles of sea, was delicious after the stuffiness of Fort-de-France. Along the eastern hori­zon now there was a decidedly noticeable line of brighter color, almost green by comparison with the deep blue of the area above it. It was widening, too, and changing in color; the green was shifting into yellow, and now the yellow was changing into orange and from orange to red. Miraculously the sky was brightening. During the last few minutes everything on deck had become visible. Then the Delaware rose on a wave, and as she rose a little fleck of bright gold was visible peeping over the horizon to the east. It disappeared as she sank again, but at the next wave it was there, larger and plainer, and at the following wave it was clear broad day, with the sun fully over the horizon.

"Now," said Peabody to himself. "Where's our friend Lerouge?"

It would be a disappointment if he had doubled back on his track to run into the Tigresse in the Saintes' Pas­sage; it would be a far worse disappointment if he had got clear away from the British altogether. But Peabody had done all he could do, and he had nothing for which to blame himself in that event. He looked up at the masthead to make sure that the lookouts were attend­ing to their duty; the Delaware was as close to the wind as she would lie, thrashing away with the big Atlantic rollers bursting under her bows and the bright rainbows playing on either side of her. Far back on the lee quarter lay the mountains of Martinique, a pale purple against the blue sky. On the far side of them Anne was waking alone in the big bed with the vast dome of mosquito netting over it. Between the ship and the island were the innumerable cays and reefs of the windward shore, revealed mainly by the white surf which burst con­tinually against them — the long peninsula of the Caravelle showed itself as a green chalk-mark along the dazzling white.

"Sail on the weather beam!" came a hail from the masthead. Hubbard raced with half-a-dozen midship­men up to various points of vantage aloft.

"She's that schooner, sir. And heading straight for us."

"Clear for action, Mr. Murray, if you please. Quarter­master! Keep her on the wind."

"Schooner's hauling up, sir," reported Murray.

"Will we weather her?"

"Yes, sir. Easily."

So that was all right. If the Delaware had cut off her escape to windward, and Martinique lay to leeward, and astern of her lay the British squadron, the Su­sanna's fate was sealed. It only remained to see which ship would take her — whether she would go about and face the British, or hold her course and fight the Dela­ware. The guns were being cast off and run out, the decks were being sanded, and from below came the clatter of the bulkheads being taken down. Peabody turned his glance to search the horizon on the larboard beam for any sign of the schooner, but the two ships were not near enough yet to be within sight of each other from the deck.

"If you please, sir," hailed Hubbard, "the schooner's put up her helm. She's come before the wind."

" 'Bout ship, Mr. Murray."

The hands sprang from the guns to help at the sheets and braces, and the Delaware came round like a top. As she steadied on her new course Peabody caught his first glimpse of the schooner, the rectangles of her big topsails against the sky.

"Starboard a point," he said to the helmsman, and then, hailing the masthead: "You can come down, Mr. Hubbard."

He had the schooner under his own personal observa­tion now, and he could lay his own course. He would intercept her before she could either pile herself up on the cays or — as was probably Lerouge's hope — escape into dangerous waters where no ship would dare follow her.

"I thought I could see the Racer's royals just before I came down, sir," said Hubbard. "I wasn't sure enough to report it."

"I expect you were right," said Peabody.

"Hope we get her before she comes up, sir," said Hubbard.

"We will if she holds that course much longer."

On their converging courses the schooner and the Delaware were nearing each other fast. Peabody could already see the gaffs of her big fore- and mainsails. She was going through the water very fast, but no faster than the Delaware with all sail set and the trade wind blowing hard over her quarter.

"She's a lovely little ship," said Hubbard. "Pity she fell into the wrong hands."

"She'll be in the right ones again soon enough," said Peabody. "Mr. Murray! Load with canister. I want this done quick and clean. One broadside as we come along­side and then we'll board her in the smoke."

"Aye aye, sir."

But Lerouge had no intention of submitting to a close-range action without an attempt to dodge past the frigate which lay between him and life. Peabody saw the big fore and aft sails flap, saw the schooner spin on her heel as she wore round, and at the first sign of the maneuver he was already bawling the order which brought the Delaware to the wind, close-hauled on the same tack. Peabody knew that the schooner would not hold this course for long, heading as she was back towards the British squadron and narrowing her already small free area of sea. He saw the schooner's sails shiver again as though she were preparing to tack. No, she would not do that — it would bring her too close to the Delaware. It must be a feint to induce him to put the Delaware about so that while the big frigate was engaged in the maneuver Lerouge could dodge back again. He smiled to himself in the exciting pleasure of quick thinking and shouted further orders. The Dela­ware came up a little closer to the wind; the headsail sheets were brought across, and the Delaware's sails flapped thunderously. That was convincing enough. Lerouge was expecting the Delaware to tack, and now that she showed all the signs of it he put his helm up again and spun the schooner round in his desperate effort to drive past the Delaware. But the moment Peabody saw Lerouge's masts separate he was ready with his orders. Over went the helm, back came the headsail sheets, and he had beaten Lerouge in the race. Already the two ships were near.

"We've got her now!" yelled Murray at the top of his voice, apparently without knowing he was speak­ing.

Peabody could make out the individuals on the schoon­er's deck. Aft there was a red spot — that was Lerouge; perhaps to play on his name he wore habitually a red coat looted from the baggage of some British officer. He could see the bustle on the schooner's deck — could see the guns' crews bending to their work. Next mo­ment the schooner was wreathed in smoke, and the air was full of the sound of round shot. The main-topmast stay parted with a loud snap, but that was all the damage done, and the two vessels were still nearing each other. Once more Lerouge feinted, turning the schooner to port, towards the Delaware, and then spinning suddenly back to starboard, but Peabody was not to be de­ceived by the feint. He held his course for a few more seconds and then ported his helm — all the extra ma­neuverability of the schooner availed nothing when her captain was being outguessed by a shrewd opponent.

He was on the schooner's quarter now, and the vessels were not a cable's-length apart. Another broadside — a crash below and a hole in the forecourse. The schooner would have to dodge again at once, or submit meekly to having the Delaware run alongside her. Here it came! Peabody had foreseen it and was ready.

"Hard a starboard!" he ordered the quartermaster, and then, lifting his voice: "Starboard guns!"

The neat turn brought the ships close together, head­ing in the same direction.

"Hard a port now," said Peabody, and as the Dela­ware's broadside crashed out frigate and schooner came together in the smoke.

Peabody's fighting blood was racing through his veins. He had drawn his sword and swung himself into the mizzen rigging.

"Boarders!" he yelled.

There was no need for self-control now, no need for clear thinking. He could fling himself into the fight, abandoning himself to the mad impulse of it all, and recompense himself for months of rigid caution. He scrambled down into the mizzen chains and dropped onto the schooner's deck, sword in hand. Behind him the Delaware swung round, pushing the schooner be­fore her, widening the gap between the vessels' sterns and closing it at their bows, while the boarders jostled each other at the main deck ports, and he was left all alone — and unconscious of it — abaft the wheel on the schooner's deck.

The hurricane of canister shot had swept the schooner like a broom. There were dead men everywhere, and only a few half-naked black figures were grabbing weapons to meet the attack. But not five yards from Peabody was Lerouge in his red coat with the gold lace flashing in the sun, eyes and teeth gleaming in his black face, and Peabody leaped forward to cut him down. His sword clashed on Lerouge's guard; Peabody cut again, the cut was warded off, and then he thrust and thrust again at the bosom of the red coat. He might as well have been thrusting at a stone wall.

It dawned upon him that Lerouge was a swordsman who must have picked up the art of fencing during his service in the French Navy. He feinted and lunged; the lunge was parried, and he lunged again desperately to anticipate the riposte. That riposte would come soon, he knew already. Only while he could maintain this fierce attack was his life safe — the moment it slackened Lerouge's blade would dart forward and kill him, he knew. He beat against Lerouge's blade, thrusting first over and then under, his iron strength and long reach only a poor compensation for his lack of skill, trying to remember his early lessons in swordsmanship, and the course of a dozen hours in fencing he had received twelve years ago from the Maltese fencing master in Valletta. The blades rasped harshly together, jarring his fingers as they gripped his sword hilt, and only in the nick of time did he beat aside the first thrust which Lerouge had made. This was death, death in the hot sun; the loud noises of battle which he heard about him reached his consciousness as faintly as the squeaking of mice.

Lerouge's mirthless grin, as his thick lips parted snarl­ing, appeared to grow wider and wider until Peabody seemed to see nothing else. The sword blades slipped apart, and Peabody made a wild blind effort to cover himself. There was a sudden burning pain in his right forearm, and his sword hilt escaped from his paralyzed fingers. Desperately he leaped forward; chance — or his own rapid instinctive reactions — put Lerouge's sword blade into his left hand, low down by the guard, and he tore the weapon out of his path as he closed with his powerful antagonist. His right arm was paralyzed no longer as he flung it round Lerouge. His left hand battled against Lerouge's right for control of the sword, his right behind Lerouge's back seized the golden epau­lette on Lerouge's right shoulder, and his right foot was behind Lerouge's heel. He put out all his strength for the fall, was balked, swayed to his left, and heaved again in one last insane effort. Lerouge's feet left the deck, and he fell with a crash, Peabody staggering above him with the sword in his left hand and the golden threads of the torn-off epaulette in his right.

The deck was thronged by now with American sailors cheering and shouting, and the din they were raising reached Peabody's ears now in its natural volume. Some­one came rushing forward with a pike to pin Lerouge to the deck as he rolled over on his face, but Peabody kicked the weapon up in the nick of time.

"Tie him up, Harvey," he said, recognizing the man, and a dozen willing hands grabbed lengths of rope and bound Lerouge until he was helpless.

The schooner was captured — here came O'Brien running breathlessly aft with an American flag to hoist at her peak while the Calypso came tearing up with all sail set, too late to show in the honor of the capture; and here came Captain Davenant, as fast as he could heave his ship to, and as fast as his gig could whisk him across the big Atlantic rollers.

"Congratulations, Peabody," he said.

"Thank you, sir," said Peabody.

It was pleasant to have made a clean job of the business before the British arrived.

"You are wounded, sir!" said Davenant.

Peabody looked down; blood was dripping slowly, in heavy blobs, down his right hand and falling on the deck. His right sleeve was heavy with blood as he moved his arm. And his left hand hurt him too — as he looked at it he saw that the horny palm had several haggled cuts across it where the nearly blunt part of Lerouge's blade had scored it.

"It's nothing," said Peabody.

"Wounds in this climate are always important, sir," said Davenant. "Have you a capable surgeon? Hamil­ton, go back and fetch Doctor Clarke."

The midshipman touched his cap and dashed off.

"My doctors are quite capable, thank you, sir," said Peabody. He was conscious of a lassitude which was unusual to him and he did not want to argue about any­thing — the sun seemed too hot.

"They will probably be glad of Clarke's opinion all the same," said Davenant, and then, looking round the schooner: "And I suppose this is Lerouge?"

The burly Negro in his red coat snarled again in his bonds as attention was drawn to him — Peabody re­membered that snarl vividly.

"A nasty-looking customer," said Davenant. "Any other survivors?"

There were six of them, grouped round the mainmast, all bound. Two of them were squatting on the deck, weeping aloud. Lerouge looked at the two captains and saw his death in their faces.

"St. Amant'll hang 'em if we take 'em back to Fort-de-France," said Davenant. "It'll mean a trial and evi­dence and depositions, though. He's a whale for the letter of the law — we both know that."

"We've taken 'em red-handed," said Peabody. He knew the law of the sea and the instant fate which awaited pirates. His head was beginning to swim in the heat, and there was a hint of sickness in his stomach, although Lerouge deserved nothing better than this that was going to happen to him — something worse, if any­thing. Pirates captured at sea by the officers of a navy were hanged on the spot. Hubbard had turned up from somewhere, and his dark saturnine face wore a message of doom for the pirates, too; Peabody saw the two deep grooves between the bushy black eyebrows. Those grooves seemed to fill the whole seascape at that moment.

"Hang them," said Peabody. He hardly recognized his own voice as he spoke.

His head was swimming worse than ever, and his impressions of the rest of the business were confused. He would never forget the wild struggles of the bound Lerouge as the hands dragged him away down the heaving deck, nor the screams of one of the other Negroes and the ugly sounds with which they ended.

But blended with those memories were others of the doctors grouped round him, of cool bandages applied to his burning arm.

"Bind it up in the blood and leave the bandage un­opened for a week, that's my practice," said the pontifi­cal Doctor Clarke to Doctor Downing across Peabody's recumbent body — this Clarke wore hair powder which soiled the shoulders of his coat, Peabody saw. He did not know how he had got back to his cabin, but there he was, undoubtedly; and overhead was the clatter and rumble of the guns being secured again.

"I make it a rule never to have a rule," said Downing. "Open your hand, sir, if you please. Ah, no more than a few fibers severed, I fancy."