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.