Kydd glared at Junon. ‘I saw y’r ship firing on an American flag vessel not two days ago.’
A rustle of interest was interspersed with occasional shouts. Junon allowed it to die away before he made his reply to Schroeder. ‘Regrettably there are occasions when Captain Junon’s government requires him to confirm that a vessel is not conveying contraband – there are some whose conscience is not clear in this regard and attempt to flee. It is sometimes a necessity to deter.’
‘And is this the action of a friend to America, I ask the captain?’ Kydd said hotly, incensed at Junon’s facile delivery.
A burst of clapping provoked angry shouts from another quarter and Dwight called for order again.
Kydd’s face burned. ‘We also have our treaty!’ he lashed out. ‘And in it—’
‘Sir!’ Schroeder called, in mock outrage. ‘You must recall that yours was not a treaty of friendship – not at all. This was, dare I say it, the vanquished accepting terms from the victor!’
A storm of mixed protest and cheers broke out, obliging the constable to intervene. Dwight stood and waited for the uproar to diminish, then spoke firmly: ‘Will the strangers now withdraw?’
Outside, Kydd paced rigidly, avoiding Junon’s amused glances, as they waited for the meeting to come to a decision. It was not long before the hoots and shouts died away. After an interval the constable summoned them back.
‘L’tenant, we have voted on the matter of your request,’ Dwight said importantly. ‘The township of Exbury has considered it, and as selectman I have to tell you your request is denied.’
Kydd’s expression tightened, but he tried to put the best face on it, remembering to turn and bow to the people of the town.
‘The business of this meeting is now concluded.’
The gathering broke up noisily and people streamed to the door. Dwight fiddled with his papers and, in a low voice, said to Kydd, ‘I’m sendin’ a rider to Hartford. This should be gov’ment business.’
Jacob Hay came forward with his hat in his hands. ‘Jus’ like t’ say sorry it came out agin you, Mr Kydd, but as ye can see, the people spoke.’ He put out his hand and Kydd could see that it was genuinely meant.
Outside, people were still in groups, some in animated discussion. Kydd could not remember when he had felt so isolated. A roar of laughter drew his attention: it was Darby, one of the hotheads of the morning’s events at the French ship.
Kydd’s blood rose as the man approached him. ‘Y’ lost yer vote, then,’ he said loudly. Kydd could not trust himself to reply, but then Darby clapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘No hard feelin’s? I’d take it kindly if you’d sink a muzzler with us, friend.’
Kydd could not think what to say, but a surging need for the release of a drink and the rough companionship of a tavern overcame his wonder at American generosity of spirit. ‘Aye, I would,’ he said, and allowed himself to be taken to the Blue Anchor. The weatherboard tavern was already alive with humanity, and Kydd began to feel better. There were odd glances at his clothing, but Darby loudly announced his presence. ‘What’ll ye have?’ he asked genially.
‘Er, a beer?’
‘Beer? That’s spruce, birch, sassafras?’
A nearby toper closed his eyes and chanted, ‘“Oh, we can make liquor t’ sweeten our lips – of pumpkins, o’ parsnips or walnut-tree chips.”’
‘Aye, well, it’s the sassafras, then.’
It was the strangest-tasting brew. ‘Er, what do ye mix with this’n?’ Kydd inquired carefully.
‘We don’t mix anythin’, Mr Englishman. That’s straight beer, it is, bit o’ y’r beet tops, apple skin, roots all boiled in, gives it taste, o’ course.’
Kydd downed it manfully, then called for something different. Darby slipped a china mug across to him. ‘Flip – now there’s a drink f’r a man.’ Kydd lifted the creaming brew doubtfully and was not disappointed at the strength of the rum that lay within.
‘To th’ American flag!’ Kydd called.
There was a surprised roar and Kydd found faces turning his way. The reddest called across to him, ‘Well, I can’t drink t’ your king, friend, but I can t’ your good health.’
The drink was doing its work and Kydd beamed at his new friends. In the corner a pitch-pipe was brought out and after a few tentative whistles two young men launched into song.
‘Come, join hand in hand, brave Americans all,
And rouse your bold hearts at fair Liberty’s call;
No tyrannous acts shall suppress your just claim