Rhythmic singing came from the men forward, and he felt a continual low shuddering in the deck that was, without doubt, the capstan at work. A sudden clatter and flurry of shouting would be a fall running away with the men while heavy thumps against the ship’s side were the boats being brought in and stowed. The noises lessened until there was silence. They were ready to proceed.
Constellation’s deck lifted and moved. In a deliberate sway it inclined to starboard, a heel that paused then returned and steadied to a definite angle, which had only one meaning: they were under sail and moving through the water.
Kydd threw down the newspapers – it was too much. He had to catch a glimpse of the sea. There were no stern windows in the wardroom, so the nearest place to see the ship’s position was from the captain’s cabin above.
He hurried up the companion and through the lobby. To the sentry loosely at attention outside the great cabin, he muttered, ‘Have t’ see out.’ If he craned his neck, he could just glimpse the coastline of the Patuxent slowly rotating; a discernible wake was disturbing the water astern and the frenzied squeal of blocks could be heard even below decks.
He nodded to the marine and returned to the wardroom.
He knew vaguely that they should shape course south down Chesapeake Bay to the sea, but without sight of a chart he was in the dark. The angle of the deck lessened, then he heard another volley of faintly heard shouts, and there was a brief hesitation – they must be staying about.
At the right moment the tiller groaned with effort as the wheel went over but after some minutes there was no corresponding sway over to larboard. They had missed stays. Kydd cringed for the officer of the deck as the unmistakable bull roar of Truxtun erupted; he was grateful to be out of sight. He picked up the Review again and flicked the pages.
After an hour or so the motions were repeated but this time in a smooth sequence, the frigate taking up on the opposite tack. Again the manoeuvre and again an easy transition. Dare he emerge on deck? He waited for a space; the angle of heel increased gradually and he guessed that more sail was being loosed. Kydd could stand it no longer. He made his way to the aft companion and mounted the steps to the quarterdeck. In the tense scene, not a soul looked his way. Groups of men were at the bitts, the base of the masts, the forecastle, all looking aft to where Truxtun stood with folded arms, staring up at taut canvas.
‘Stream!’ he snapped, to the men at the taffrail. One held the reel of the log high while the log-ship, a triangular drag piece, was cast into the sea astern to uncoil the line from the drum. It hurtled out at speed and when the sand-glass had run its course a lanky midshipman called, ‘Nip,’ and then, ‘Eleven knots an’ a hair over.’
Truxtun’s expression did not change. ‘Not good enough. I’ll have the lee stuns’ls abroad immediately.’
The spring breeze whipped the tops from the waves as Kydd edged his way behind Truxtun towards the wheel and binnacle. Under the unblinking eye of the quartermaster he got what he wanted – a sight of the compass. South-south-east, wind from the west with a touch of north in it. Ideal blue-water sailing for a frigate: no wonder Truxtun was letting her have her head.
They were passing a broad river mouth to starboard with small vessels of all kinds converging at the confluence. ‘Potomac,’ hissed the midshipman behind him.
‘I beg y’r pardon?’ Kydd said, taken off-balance.
‘The river – Potomac.’ He busied himself preparing the log for another cast.
‘Thank ye,’ Kydd said quietly.
With stuns’ls drawing and royals atop each mast, Constellation foamed ahead. It was remarkable for a new vessel to have achieved such speed so soon. The log went out and the excited midshipman yelled, ‘A whisker less fourteen!’ It was nothing short of extraordinary – and exhilarating. If Kydd was not to be an active participant at least he could enjoy the sensation.
Truxtun’s eyes darting aloft, then aft, caught Kydd’s eye. Kydd smiled broadly in open admiration. ‘She goes like a racehorse!’
‘Aye – like a Yankee racehorse!’ But there was no rancour in his voice and his grim expression had eased. It would be a gratifying thing, thought Kydd, to be in command of a frigate that, with her twenty-four pounders, could outfight any other and, at the same time, run or chase as she chose.
In the darkness of late evening they came to single anchor in the shelter of Hampton Roads, within sight of the broad Atlantic. The wardroom was abuzz at the splendid showing of their ship and it seemed only right to invite their captain to a hearty dinner.
Kydd sat at the furthest remove from Truxtun’s place of honour at the head, but he was grateful to be present, hearing the happy talk about him, seeing friendships being forged and strengthened that would stand by them all in the ocean voyages ahead.