Quarterdeck(103)

The talk roamed over the chance of war with France, seeing The Glory of Columbia at the Chestnut Street theatre, the right way to treat a halibut – it was just the same as his own wardroom . . . but different.

The dishes came and went, and the cloth was drawn. Blue smoke spiralled to the deckhead, glasses were raised and confidences exchanged. The chatter rose and fell. Into a chance silence Gindler’s voice was raised: ‘Ah, Mr Kydd, you must have seen some sea service in your time. Pray tell us of it.’

Glances were shot at Truxtun but he gave no sign that he objected.

‘Aye, well, I had th’ good fortune to take a cruise around th’ world,’ Kydd said, thinking quickly. ‘A frigate, nearly as fine as this.’ He saw this was received well. ‘Setting a parcel o’ philosophers on a rock, an’ keeping the cannibals in their canoes at bay . . .’ He told them of the adventure, and when he concluded with the sad wreck of Artemis on the Azores, there was a general stirring of sympathy.

Midshipman Porter leaned forward and exclaimed, ‘Have you b’ chance seen action?’

‘A little – Camperdown, which was where I got m’ step.’

Kydd wouldn’t be drawn on the experience and tried to move on to Venice, but Truxtun himself interrupted: ‘Your fleet were in bloody mutiny before then.’ A ripple of muttering showed that the dreadful events had been shocking news here as well. ‘How did that affect you?’

The warmth of the evening fell away as he forced his mind to deal with the sudden release of memories. ‘It – my ship mutinied, but I was not hurt.’

‘Would you say the sailors had just cause?’

‘At Spithead they had their reasons, and the Admiralty granted most and gave a pardon. But at the Nore . . .’ He felt his face redden.

‘Yes?’

‘At the Nore, where I was, their cause was understandable but they went about it the wrong way.’

Truxtun growled, ‘There’s no treating with mutineers, ever.’

The next day a small convoy had yet to assemble, so the dark-featured First Lieutenant Rodgers was sent ashore to the settlement of Norfolk to open a recruiting rendezvous to bring in more volunteers. Kydd saw Truxtun hand him silver at the gangway, saying, ‘Get some music going and grog for all hands – indulge their humour in a farewell frolic.’ Rodgers grinned and went over the side.

From forward came the dull blang of scaling charges as they cleared the cannon of rust and debris. Men squatted on the foredeck as they made up paper cartridges for the small arms, while others had the hatches off for the last of the sea stores still coming aboard.

By the early afternoon activity had died away. But Truxtun was not satisfied. He beat to quarters, and for two hours had the great guns exercised. Big twenty-four-pounders given resplendent names by their gun crews, Thunderer, Volcano, Murderer, and all plied with ferocity and resolution.

That night Kydd did not sit down with the wardroom. Captain Truxtun had requested the pleasure of his company and he entered the great cabin with some apprehension, for they were alone. Through the stern windows Kydd could see dim specks of light on shore; a tawny gold issued from the windows of a vessel anchored nearby, prettily dappling the water.

They passed pleasantries while they took a simple meal, and the steward swiftly removed the dishes. Kydd’s wariness grew with Truxtun’s politeness. ‘Do take a chair,’ Truxtun said, gesturing to a comfortable one near the stern windows. He found a cedar box in his writing desk and drew out a cigar. ‘Do you indulge, Mr Kydd?’ At Kydd’s declining he put it away again.

‘You’ll pardon me, Mr Kydd, but you’re the darnedest Royal Navy officer I ever clapped eyes on.’ His frank gaze was unsettling. ‘I can tell a smart man when I see one. Don’t have the airs of a King’s man but I’ll guess that’s because you come from the people.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘So, do you hold it right to press men from under their own flag?’

‘Sir, if these men are British they have a duty to—’

‘They are American, sir.’

‘They say they are.’

‘They hold protections to prove it – and these are spat on by English officers.’

‘Yes! Th’ rate for an American protection by your consul in Liverpool is one guinea and no questions asked.’

Truxtun smiled. ‘We each have our views.’ The smile disappeared. ‘It’s insulting to our flag for our merchant ships to be stopped and submit to search on the high seas. What do ye think of that?’

‘Sir, Britain is a small island,’ he said carefully. ‘Trade is all we have. To survive we have to protect it, and—’