Command

'Some would say that Dale, our commodore, is a mite lacking in spirit. We surely put their noses out of joint at first, but all we've achieved is threats of war from all four pashas, who are put out by not getting their due tribute.'

'So you'll have y'r war.'

'Not so, I'm grieved to say it, for Congress has not declared war back. In the main, we're to leave their ships in peace to go about their 'lawful' occasions of plundering our trade.' His face tightened.

'It has t' come to war,' Kydd said warmly, 'and then you'll get y'r ship, Ned!'

Gindler said nothing, and at his dark look Kydd changed the subject. 'The Essex—a stout enough frigate. Must be a fine thing t' be an officer aboard.'

Gindler threw him a look of resigned exasperation. 'Dear Tom, we're a small young navy and everyone in it knows everyone else. Therefore preferment and seniority are a matter of characters, origins and hearsay.

'I speak only between we two, but under the strict and unbending Cap'n Bainbridge—whose treatment of the enlisted hands is, well, shall we say less than enlightened?—I share the wardroom with our absurdly young first l'tenant, Stephen Decatur. Who is of burning zeal but given to duelling, a vice much indulged in by us, I fear. Therefore I'll leave it to your imagining what it is to be one of such a company who do suffer our frustrations to such a degree . . .'

Kydd had never been in such a situation, but he could see what it meant to his friend and felt for him. 'Ned, y'r New England trees in spring should be a famous sight, I believe. Do tell me, I c'n remember 'em now . . .'

'You're in the right of it, friend. All along the—'

There was a hesitant knock at the door: it was Dacres. 'Sir, I'm sorry to say, there's some kind of—of altercation at the watering place. Midshipman Martyn seems unable to keep order in his men. Shall I—'

'No. Call away the jolly-boat, an' I'm going ashore m'self.'

'And if you have room . . .' said Gindler, smoothly. At Kydd's look he added, 'In the instance that I may be of service in the article of translations, as it were.'

The source of the altercation was easy enough to detect: the slippery runway for the casks up to the rock fissure from where the water sprang could take only one, either coming or going. Boatswain's mate Laffin stood astride it with fists at the ready, a sailor opposite him, a bull-sized black man, grinned savagely, and other Americans were bunching behind him.

'Moses! Step back now, d' you hear?' Gindler shouted, from the boat. 'You want to start another war?'

A harsh bass laugh came from the huge frame. 'They wants 'un, I c'n oblige 'em, Mr Gindler.'

Kydd quickly crossed to Laffin. 'What's this, then?' he snapped.

'Cousin Jonathan—can't take a joke, sir. Thinks mebbe they're better'n us—'

There was a roar from the Americans and Kydd stepped between them, holding up his hands. If he could not pacify both sides, and quickly, there was every likelihood of a confrontation and repercussions at an international level.

'I'm surprised at ye, Laffin,' he began. The man looked at him sullenly. 'Do ye not remember how we settle these matters in the fleet?' Laffin blinked without reply.

He turned to Gindler, whose eyes were warily on his men, now spreading out as if taking positions for a fight. 'Sir.' He took off his cocked hat and flung it on the sand in front of Gindler. 'I do challenge th' United States Navy!' There was an audible gasp and he saw Gindler tense. 'T' find which is th' better ship—fair 'n' square—we challenge Essex to a contest o' skill an' strength. A race o' one mile, under oars.'

After a dumbfounded silence there were roars of agreement. Gindler stepped forward, picked up Kydd's hat and returned it to him with a bow, saying, in ringing tones, 'On behalf of my fellow Americans, I accept your challenge, Mr Kydd.'

He turned to his men and said, 'We can't let 'em think that as a nation we do not know how to play fair. We'll have the same number of men, of course, but—we exchange boats before we start.'

Kydd grinned. Clearly Gindler was no stranger to the stratagems common in fleet regattas. This would put paid to anything underhand.

The watering was completed at breakneck speed and a course laid out from under the bowsprit of Essex to a buoy half a mile along the coast.

The two boats were readied. In deference to the smaller craft that Teazer carried, her pinnace was run against Essex's yawl, both pulling four oars. Much was made of the transfer of oarsmen from one to the other, particularly the remarkable sight of the sovereign flag of each nation proudly at the transom of another. Wry comments were passed concerning the workmanship of their boats of the occasion, Teazers scorning the carvel build of the yawl while the Essexes sighed theatrically at the clencher-build of the pinnace, but the four oarsmen took their places readily enough, adjusting foot-stretchers and hefting the fifteen-foot sweeps.

Every boat that could swim lined the course, filled with hoarsely yelling spectators; the rest crowded the decks of their respective ships. On the fo'c'sle of Essex Kydd slowly raised a pistol. The shouting died away as the oarsmen spat on their hands: the crack of the pistol was lost in a sudden storm of cheering and they bent to their sweeps in a mighty, straining effort.

The boats leaped ahead, nothing between them. Bainbridge and his officers grouped together on the foredeck, solemnly observing progress—the first to return and pass under the bowsprit would be declared winner.

It was a tight race; the shorter but quicker strokes of the Americans contrasted with the longer but deeper pulls of their opponents and they were round the buoy first—but on the run back the gap narrowed by inches until it became too close to call.

'America by a nose!' Decatur yelled, punching the air as the two craft shot under the line of bowsprit.

'Not so fast, Lootenant,' Bainbridge said, in a hard voice, among the deafening noise of cheering and argument.