"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.