Quarterdeck

Kydd had seen far too many ships fitting for sea to be concerned at the turmoil on deck. He followed Gindler aft to the captain's cabin. Gindler knocked and an irritable bellow bade them enter.

'Mr Kydd, sir,' said Gindler, and when the captain looked up in incomprehension he added, 'Our supernumerary.'

The captain's gaze swivelled to Kydd. Intelligent but hard eyes met his. Then the man grunted, 'Mr Kydd, y'r service,' and turned back to his papers. 'Berth him in the fourth lootenant's cabin. He won't be sailing,' he ordered, without looking up.

'Aye, sir,' said Gindler, and withdrew with Kydd.

Picking their way through men at blocks and ropework— some seaming canvas, others scaling shot—they headed for the after hatchway. 'I fear I must desert you now, Tom, duty calls. I'll take you to the wardroom, and I'm sure Captain Truxtun will want to see you when less pressed.'

'Welcome back, Lootenant!' a fresh-faced seaman called, with a grin, to Gindler and waved a serving mallet.

'Thanks, Doyle,' Gindler threw back. At Kydd's raised eyebrows he added, 'A mort of difference from a King's ship, I think. Remember, aboard here every man jack is a volunteer on wages and, as Americans, they're not accustomed to bending the knee.'

Kydd did not rise to the bait and privately wondered at their reliability in action when instant obedience was vital.

The wardroom was almost deserted. A black messman glanced at him curiously and left. Kydd looked about him. The raw newness had not yet been overcome to bring individuality. At the same time there was an alien air. The unfamiliar wood graining, the slant of the munnions — even the smell: striking timber odours, the usual comfortable galley smells subtly different, no waft of bilge.

He crossed to the transom seat. Reassuringly, it was still the repository of the ephemera of wardroom life and he picked up a Philadelphia newspaper, the Mercantile Advertiser. While he awaited Truxtun's summons he settled by the midships lanthorn and opened it. There was no ochre tax stamp and the paper was of good quality. He scanned the front page, which was given over to a verbatim setting out of a newly enacted statute. The next page, however, was vigorous and to the point: a growing feeling against the French gave colour to the local news and trade intelligence. Further inside there were advertisements and notices.

'Mr Kydd? Cap'n wants ye.' He folded the paper, tugged his waistcoat into position and followed the messenger, apprehensive at meeting those hard eyes again.

Truxtun was standing, his back to Kydd, staring broodily out of the windows of his cabin. He turned and gestured to a chair. 'Sit y'self down, Mr Kydd.' He himself remained standing.

'I'll be plain with you, sir. Mr Secretary Stoddert thinks to provide me with an aide who'll tell me how they do it in King George's Navy. I can tell you frankly I don't give a solitary hoot how you do things—this is the United States Navy and I'm captain o' the Constellation, and I'll do things the way I want.' His face had the implacability of a slab of oak. 'Therefore your presence aboard is a waste. For Ben Stoddert's sake, I'll carry you these few days, but I'll have you know, sir, that I'll be giving orders that no United States officer or crewman shall hold converse with you—I don't want 'em getting strange ideas agin mine about how a ship o' war should be run. I'd be obliged if you'd keep your views to yourself.

'In return, you're welcome to sit at vittles in the wardroom and the fourth's stateroom is yours. You'll know to keep out from under while the ship's being worked, and should we meet an enemy you'll stay below. Have I made myself clear, sir?'

It was going to be a hard time for Kydd. He was not introduced when the wardroom sat for dinner. He was passed the condiments when he asked, but none caught his eye. Desultory talk went on about progress in the final run-up to sea trials in the morning, a few lame attempts at humour—this was a wardroom that had not been long together but would coalesce around individuals as the commission went on.

In the morning he caught Gindler, now a taut-rigged lieutenant, about to go on deck. 'I'm sorry it has to be this way, Tom,' he said softly. He touched his hat and left for the nervous bustle above.

Kydd hesitated: he could see down the length of the deck to the cable party readying the messenger; the tierers were moving down the hatchway for their thankless task at bringing in the cable.

He decided against making an appearance and returned to the wardroom. Although it was galling to be left in ignorance below decks, this was a first voyage with a new ship and a new company and he felt it was not altogether fair to witness the inevitable mistakes and dramas. He found a dog-eared copy of the North American Review and tried to concentrate, but the long tiller up against the deckhead began to creak and move as the man at the wheel exercised the helm. Then piercing calls from the boatswain and his mates told of the hoisting of boats, all suffused with the age-old excitement of the outward bound.

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