He drew the chair to a more confiding proximity. ‘Let me be frank, Mr Kydd. Your position as a King’s officer in a warship of the United States Navy is anomalous, not to say irregular, and there are those who would put the worst construction on your presence. Therefore you are entered as a supernumerary on board, specifically a friend of the captain. You haven’t yet the pleasure of an introduction to Captain Truxtun, but he will be advised of you, and will be encouraged to take full advantage of your knowledge and experience of the Royal Navy. I’m sure he will appreciate your assistance.’ He leaned forward further. ‘Before you go, I should like to make it very plain that on your return I would deeply appreciate your sincere appraisal of our efforts. Do you think this will be possible?’
‘Sir.’ Kydd felt resentment building at the way so many seemed to be treating him like a pawn in a higher game.
‘Then, sir, it only remains for me to wish you God speed on your voyage. You will find Lieutenant Gindler waiting in the drawing room below.’
‘Was all that necessary?’ A figure moved out from behind a covered escritoire.
Stoddert closed the door. ‘I think so. The military of any race should not be overburdened with considerations of politics.’ At times Murray, his political agent, could be insensitive to the perceptions of others.
‘Be that as it may, Mr Stoddert, you didn’t warn him of the Republicans – he should have been told.’
‘That we have an opposition in Congress so lost to honour they would stop at nothing to ruin our navy for crass political gain? Jefferson has done his worst to try to prevent America reaching for a sure shield against the world – how can I explain that to a man whose country continues to exist only because of her own power at sea? I cannot. In any case, this talk of subverting crews and so on is probably from unreliable sources and should be discounted. What most concerns me are my captains. A prickly, difficult bunch, Murray. Especially Truxtun.’
‘A fighting captain,’ Murray interposed strongly.
‘Oh, indeed. But as a privateer. And pray bring to mind the fluttering in Congress there was during the English war, on hearing how he set John Paul Jones himself to defiance over some notion of which ship was to fly some pennant. Not one to be led easily – and too damn clever by half. Did you know he was once pressed by the Royal Navy?’
‘Indeed?’
‘But that’s by the by. Here is my main hope for L’tenant Kydd. He has no interest in politics. He’s a tarpaulin mariner and cares only for his ropes and sails. He must be intelligent, he wouldn’t hold a commission else, so he’ll be able to tell me exactly what I want to know . . .’
Nothing could convey better to Kydd the continental vastness of the country than the overland coach journey with Gindler to Baltimore. From as fine a four-horse conveyance as any in England, they admired the spring-touched verdancy of the deciduous woodland that had replaced the northern conifers, the glittering lakes, rivers and blue-washed mountains far into the interior.
At stops to change horses, Gindler added to Kydd’s impressions: he pointed out that beyond the mountains to the west the land was wild, stretching for more than sixty degrees of longitude; an unimaginable distance, more than the Atlantic was wide, and no one knew what was within it. Unsettled by the effect of this enormity Kydd was glad when they met the cobblestones of Baltimore.
‘She’ll be lying in the Patuxent river,’ Gindler said. ‘We’re nearly ready for sea.’ There was no delaying: a fast packet on its way down the Chesapeake to Norfolk had promised to call at Patuxent and their ship.
The sight of naked masts and yards towering above the low, bushy point made Kydd’s pulse quicken. The packet rounded the point into the broad opening of a river and there at anchor was the biggest frigate he had ever seen.
‘A thing of beauty,’ breathed Gindler. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Kydd concentrated as they neared the vessel. She was distinctive and individual; her lines and finish owed nothing to the conservative traditions of old-world shipwrights, and there was an alert purposefulness about her. There was much in her that a sailor could love. Nearly half as big again as the lovely Artemis, she seemed well armed. ‘Twenty-fours?’ he asked.
‘Indeed! I’d like to see any frigate that swims try to come up against the old Connie,’ Gindler said proudly.
‘Old?’ Kydd said wryly, observing seamen applying a tar mixture to the last remaining raw timber of the bulwarks.
‘Well, I grant you she’s newborn, but I have the feeling you’ll be hearing from us in the future, my friend.’ His glance flicked up to the flag with its stars and stripes and he added softly, ‘I promise you that.’