Quarterdeck

By return new fleet instructions were sent to her signal lieutenant, the effective date three days hence.

Kydd groaned with vexation. Signals and their meanings were a prerogative of the admiral commanding the station and were buried in the Fighting Instructions, detailed prescripts from the admiral for the precise manner in which he wished his ships to engage the enemy. Admiral 'Black' Dick Howe, who had brought the fleet mutiny at Spithead to an end the previous year, had done much to standardise operation of flag signals and Kydd saw that these from Admiral Vandeput were similar.

There were ten signal flags, then the preparative, and the substitute—pennants and wefts, differences of meaning depending on where hoisted, night signals, recognition procedures, signals for individual ships, divisions, fleets. This was the system that had resulted from so much practice over years of sea warfare. It had gone into battle with Howe on the Glorious First of June; only the previous year Jervis had signalled Nelson at St Vincent, and Duncan had used it with such effect at Camperdown.

Now Lieutenant Kydd had inherited this accrued wisdom and must prove himself worthy of it. He took the signal pocket book, which had been owned by his dead predecessor, as a model and with scissors and patience set about constructing the vade mecum that would stay with him while he was a signal lieutenant.

The flag-lieutenant himself brought the summons: Lieutenant Kydd to wait on the admiral immediately. Kydd flinched when he recalled his previous summoning. What could be the reason now? It was astonishing. He was a mere lieutenant—and so many commanders would slay to be noticed by a commander-in- chief—and there was no apparent reason for it.

Kydd bawled at Tysoe in a fever of anxiety: only new stockings and faultless linen would answer. Decorations? He had none. Sword? The plain hanger he had bought in Halifax would have to do. He pulled on his breeches, watched by half the wardroom.

A gig was brought alongside and Kydd descended the ship's side and sat bolt upright in the sternsheets. The bowman cast off with an excess of flourishes and the midshipman in charge set the men to pulling smartly.

The flag-lieutenant led the way wordlessly to the great cabin. 'Lieutenant Kydd, sir.'

'Enter!'

Admiral Vandeput advanced to meet him. 'Well, now, is this the officer the fuss is all about?' He regarded Kydd keenly.

'Sir?'

The white-haired admiral spoke in an easy manner; this could not be a carpeting.

'Please sit, Mr Kydd.' He went round his desk and found a paper, while Kydd perched on the edge of an elegant Windsor chair. 'This is a most particular request, not to say direction, and it comes from Mr Liston. Our minister to the United States, that is—what you might call an ambassador.' He laid the paper on the table and Kydd glimpsed the cipher of the Court of St James at the top.

'In it he desires me to release an officer for a particular service to a foreign power—as you probably know, we have had officers seconded to the Swedish Crown, St Petersburg, other countries. This is not unusual. It is a little odd, though, that you have been named, and that you are so damn junior.' His quiet chuckle took the sting from his words. 'It seems the United States is conjuring up their own navy and they have asked Mr Liston for an observer from the Royal Navy, if possible a Lieutenant Kydd. He feels that it would be right at this time to be seen co- operating with a neutral nation.

'There! What do you think of that, Mr Kydd? You're noticed diplomatically.' His genial smile grew wider and he stabbed a finger at Kydd in emphasis. 'And I'd wager more went on ashore in that backwoods village than ever found its way into your report, hey-hey?'

'Er, sir, I—'

'Never mind. Whatever it was, you did right. Now, let's talk about what you'll be doing. They've got together two or three frigates—built 'em themselves, damn it—and I've seen the gunboats their Revenue runs. Calls 'em their 'treasury navy.' Now, you'll probably be shipping in one of their frigates—they're fitting out now. Your status will be supernumerary for the voyage—a passenger, any Christian would call it—and you won't be called upon to serve a gun if it comes to fighting.'

'Er, who will be their enemy, sir?'

'Well, that's a little difficult to say, but . . .' he tapped his nose '. . . I've been hearing that the French have overstepped their position, making hay with American trade, and they don't like it. In any event, they'll probably tell you about it themselves.

'Now, I know you'll comport yourself as a gentleman should, marks o' respect to all the proper persons, flags and so on. But I think what they're probably after is a correct steer on how things are done in our service. I don't see any reason why you can't tell 'em anything reasonable they want to know. Must be hard to start from nothing,' he reflected sombrely. 'You go in plain clothes, will be victualled by the, er, United States Navy, and I don't suppose you'll be away from us for long. There's a brig leaving for Philadelphia shortly—it's their capital, where our Mr Liston is expecting you. Good fortune, Lieutenant!'

Kydd took in the sights as the brig rounded Cape May for the long trip up the broad Delaware. This was quite a different land from rugged grey rock-bound Nova Scotia or even pretty, forested Connecticut. Here there was well- settled land on either bank, farming and orchards, settlements and roads. The sails of coastal shipping thronged the river as it narrowed towards the capital. Kydd was impressed. No mean colonial sprawl, Philadelphia was a fine city that stretched for miles along the river, as busy as any he had seen in England.

Kydd followed his baggage ashore and looked to see if someone was there to meet him. A ferry loaded noisily and a market stretched away into the distance, improbably occupying the middle of a wide road.

'Mr Kydd?'

He wheeled round. 'Aye?' he said cautiously.

A well-dressed young man inclined his head. 'Thornton, secretary of Legation.'

'How-'

'Please believe, it's not so hard a task to spy out a sailor, Mr Kydd.' He raised a beckoning finger and a coachman came for Kydd's baggage. 'So good in you to leave your wooden world at such short notice. His Excellency is returning from Mount Vernon and hopes to make your acquaintance tomorrow. I trust you'll find our