The Captain from Connecticut

Chapter XXIII

PEABODY'S carefully worded letter had suggested neutral ground for the interview with Davenant, and Davenant's cautious reply had accepted the suggestion; and in the end Peabody had had to make use of "petti­coat influence" in violation of his prejudices although by now not of his true judgment. A word to Anne about his difficulty had been passed on to Aunt Sophie, and Aunt Sophie had responded with an invitation to Cap­tain Peabody to drink a dish of tea with her at the Gov­ernor's house — a much more private and comfortable place in which to talk to Davenant than any cafe in Fort-de-France or any hillside in Martinique. Women were of some use even in men's affairs, decided Peabody, as he walked past the well-remembered sentry outside the gate and followed the butler into the Countess's drawing room.

Naturally there was some constraint perceptible at the beginning of the meeting. Aunt Sophie was all charm, and she poured the tea with admirable grace, the rings on her fingers flashing back the light which leaked in past the shaded windows; but Davenant was ill at ease, displaying a British surliness vastly emphasized by a not unnatural antipathy towards the man who had condescended to spare his life. Peabody on his side was cautious and uncommunicative, a little afraid of show­ing his hand prematurely, so that all Aunt Sophie's con­versational efforts met with a poor reception — espe­cially as both her guests detested tea and were too polite to say so. But Peabody, noting the Englishman's ill-temper, and clairvoyantly realizing the reasons for it, was glad. It might be easier to induce him to agree to a step which could only be thought of as rash — to goad the bull, so to speak, into making a charge which would lay him open to a sword-thrust.

Aunt Sophie replaced her cup in her saucer.

"Tea, Captain Peabody? Tea, Sir Hubert? No? Then if you will forgive me, I will leave you alone for a few minutes. There are some domestic trifles I must at­tend to."

Davenant hurried across the room to open the door for her, and she sailed out with all her stately grace, turning before she left them with a few final words.

"I shall see personally that no one listens at this door," she said. "There is a sentry at the garden door who speaks no English."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Davenant, bowing her out and shutting the door before turning back to Peabody. "A fine woman that. You have married into an admir­able family, Peabody."

"I thought so myself," said Peabody, sitting down with all the coolness he could display. "But it is most kind of you to say so, sir."

Davenant sat himself opposite him. He, too, was doing his best to display cool indifference, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, and leaning back relaxed in his chair. But beneath his lowered lids he was watch­ing Peabody closely, and he was drumming with his fingers on the arm of the chair.

"Well, what is it, sir?" he said at length.

"A challenge, sir," said Peabody. "Another one."

Those last two words were the darts to infuriate the bull, as he could remember seeing them employed in the bullfight at Algeciras. Davenant flushed a little, but he kept his reply down to one word.

"Yes?" he said.

"I'm tired of watching you across the bay," said Pea­body, "and I guess you're tired of watching me."

"I'm tired of all this tomfoolery," said Davenant.

"I'm not surprised," agreed Peabody. "The whole island, of course, is amused at you."

"At me?" said Davenant, on a rising note.

"Yes," said Peabody. "Of course they do not under­stand the whole circumstances of the case. They can only see that you have twice my force and are having to wait here just because I do."

"They think that, do they?"

"I'm afraid so, sir. You and I know it's not true, but you can hardly blame them for judging by appear­ances. The mob thinks much the same all the world over."

"Damn the mob," said Davenant. But another shaft had gone home. He was thinking of the British mob, of the English newspapers, and the rash conclusions they might draw regarding his conduct. "Come out and fight me, Peabody."

"I want to," said Peabody with an edge to his voice.

"I said I had a challenge for you. Come out in the Calypso and fight me, ship to ship."

"I'd like to, by God," said Davenant, and then, trying to keep his head: "What about these damned neutrality laws?"

"We'll have to obey the twenty-four-hour rule," said Peabody. "But if I go out first I'll give you my parole to wait for the Calypso outside territorial waters. I'd be glad to let the Calypso go out first on the same under­standing — it does not matter either way."

"You mean me to leave Racer and Bulldog out of the action?"

As a sailor Davenant was trying to remain clear­headed even while as a man his fierce instincts were over­mastering him.

"Yes."

"Thirty-eight guns to thirty-six, and a hundred and fifty tons advantage to you."

"I know that, sir. But it's the nearest match we can arrange. You can draw extra hands from your other two ships which will help redress the balance. As many as you care to have."

"So I can."

"I'll be glad to do it. My officers have been discon­tented ever since our last meeting because they were sure I ought to have closed and captured the Calypso."

"Closed and — by God, sir, what do you mean by that? I still had every gun in service. If you had closed instead of cutting my rigging to pieces — by God, sir, you'd have learned a lesson you sadly need."

The bull had charged.

"I'll close with you this time, I promise you, sir," said Peabody. "I won't have a convoy to destroy as I had before."

The mention of the convoy brought Davenant out of his chair. Its destruction must have called down upon his head an official reprimand whose memory still galled him. He gobbled at Peabody, his cheeks flushed, as Peabody effected his last prod.

"Let's hope conditions will be fair," said Peabody. "When we took the Guerriere and the Java and the Pea­cock, we heard afterwards that the wind or the sea favored the Americans. We must see that neither of us has that kind of excuse to offer this time."

"You're insolent, sir!" raved Davenant. "Meet me how and when you like, if you dare!"

"I have already said I would," said Peabody. "We have only the details to settle. Which of us will go out first, Calypso or Delaware?"

"Have it your own way."

"As you will, sir."

"I'll take Calypso out at noon tomorrow, then you can leave next day, and I'll be waiting for you ten miles west of Diamond Rock."

"I think that will suit admirably, sir," said Peabody, rising to his feet.

He was hard put to it to maintain his expression of cool indifference and to conceal his elation, and he did not want to run even the slight risk of Davenant's re­considering his decision.

"Ten miles west of Diamond Rock the day after tomorrow," he said. "Until then, sir, I must hope that you enjoy the best of health. Would you be kind enough to convey to the Countess my thanks for her hospitality and kindness?"

"I will, sir," said Davenant, with his stiff bow.

Outside, in the muggy heat of Fort-de-France on his way to the quay, Peabody walked as if on air. The plan had succeeded. He had got the best of the bargain. His presence in Fort-de-France had served to retain twice the force, to watch him — but when England had a navy a hundred times as strong as the American, what did that count? An American ship loose at sea, free to ravage and destroy, forcing the British to impose all the hampering restrictions of convoy on their trade, was worth a hundred American frigates in harbor.

He knew he could defeat the Calypso if the latter were unsupported by the Racer and Bulldog. It would be a hard fight, but he would win it, and there would be enough left of the Delaware to patch up and conduct on a fresh voyage of destruction; a weakened crew — Peabody made himself contemplate calmly a total of a hundred and fifty casualties — and patched sails and jury rigging, but she would still be strong enough and fast enough to play Old Harry with merchant ships. And the Racer and Bulldog had depleted crews already, if he knew anything about King's ships; Davenant would deplete them still further to give Calypso a full complement for what he must know would be the fight of his life. They would not be in a position to hamper his activity very much — they would be an easy prey for him if they dared to cross his path after he had finished with the Calypso.

Delegates were discussing terms of peace in Europe. What the basis of peace might be he had no idea, but of one thing he was sure, and that was that it would do his country no harm during the discussions if it were known that an American frigate was at large again in the West Indies. Perhaps in the United States they were tired of the war, disheartened, despondent. The loss of the Essex and of the President would not have helped to cheer them up either; the news of the capture of the Calypso would act as a tonic to them — if the peace negotiations broke down and further sacrifices were required of them, this victory would give them the necessary tonic. The White House — or what was left of it, if Hunningford's account of the raid on Washington were correct — would be all the better for the stimulus of a little victory, too. Mr. Madison might be an admirable Presi­dent — as to that Peabody knew little and cared less — but as a war minister he had been a woeful failure.

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.