Kydd was in no doubt. "Any kind o' war is fine. This is thumpin' good news—and c'n I say, sir, if we both have the same enemy then we must be friends."
"No! No—I didn't say that. I didn't say that at all. We just has the same enemy, is the truth of it. I'll be doing my duty at sea and you'll be doing yours as you see it." He took back the paper. "If it's any clearer," he said gruffly, "I mean to say I hope we meet at sea one day—as equals, Mr Kydd."
The convoy was finally ready to sail. Showers blustered in from the north in curtains of white, vivid against the sullen grey of the sky, and lines of foam-crested waves advanced seaward.
A sullen thump came from forward—the signal gun for departure; two cutters moved about the dozen merchantmen cajoling, threatening, shepherding. It was so similar to Kydd's sailing from Falmouth, yet there was a difference: the lift of a head, the ringing shouts of the petty officers, the brazen size of the flag at the mizzen peak, the length of the pennant at the mainmasthead. This was a unique experience: to be aboard the first frigate commissioned in the United States Navy, and the first to put to sea on a war cruise.
Kydd stood out of the way, to the side, buffeted by the wind and with rain dripping from his hat brim. He was in no mood to go below. Although he was a spectator, he knew that no one would forget the day: a navy brought in just months from nothing to one that could execute the will of the nation. From helpless acquiescence to a sea force that would now go against the country's enemy—and conceivably within hours.
He looked forward. Gindler strode ahead proudly, disdaining oilskins over his lieutenant's uniform. To starboard the square, lofty lighthouse of Cape Henry lay abeam. With Constellation in the lead, the convoy left the haven of Chesapeake Bay and sailed for the open ocean to the east and all that lay beyond.
Standing out to sea the frigate lifted to the swell, new men staggered to the businesslike roll, while others sniffed the wind as if eager to be out to sea—or was it in anticipation of bloody action? The merchant ships bunched together close to the American frigate: there had been talk ashore of a pair of big privateers lying in wait and self-preservation was a strong motive for keeping station.
The weather moderated as they made their offing, although Constellation needed only double-reefed topsails to stay with her labouring convoy. Kydd walked forward, keenly appreciative of the motion of a frigate once more and interested indeed in the weatherliness of the American.
After the sociability of the dinner he was now greeted with cautious nods and the occasional smile—even the intense Lieutenant Rodgers touched his hat to him at one point.
When the land had been sunk and a tossing wilderness of empty ocean had been reached, the convoy dispersed, some to the Barbadoes, others to Dublin and London, thousands of miles of hard sailing with small crews, with the constant fear of sighting the sails of a predator. But Constellation was free now to soar.
"Mr Kydd." Truxtun snapped, as though struck by a sudden thought. "We shall be cruising south tomorrow." The rest of the quarterdeck was listening intently. "Therefore I believe it would be most expedient for you then to take your leave from this vessel. I shall stop a Philadelphia packet for your convenience, sir."
Kydd had taken to standing beside the lee helmsman, willing the ship on, feeling her motion through the water, and turned in surprise. "Er—why, of course, Captain." It was a disappointment not to see the frigate at her best, and despite the circumstances of his passage, there was something about this ship and her crew . . .
In the dog-watches, as the ship shortened sail for the night, Kydd lingered on deck, then went below for his last dinner aboard the Constellation. He went to his accustomed place at the end of the table, but found a black steward there. "If y' please, sah," he said, and pointed to the head of the table, where all the American officers stood with glasses, grinning at him.
"Come 'n' set, Tom," one called. Kydd did as he was asked, and took the chair normally occupied by the first lieutenant, bemused.
"Just wanted t' wish you God speed, Mr Kydd," Rodgers said, proffering a glass.
Kydd took it and lifted it to them. "Your very good health, gentlemen," he called, touched beyond measure.
The group broke into warm conversation, and as dinner was brought he found himself talking as amiably as any. More wine, more dishes: Kydd felt a rush of feeling that came out as hot words of admiration for their fine ship, their spirit, their future.
He sat with flushed face and beamed at them all. No cool talk of the London Season, not a word about fox-hunting or estates in the country, this was good sturdy conversation about horses, prospects of prize money, scandalous theatre gossip—here he could safely say his piece without fear of being thought a boor.
"Fr'm Kentucky, friend, you'll hanker after this . . ." Bourbon whiskey was added to the list of Kydd's American experiences.
"Did I ever tell ye of Gibraltar? Now there's a rare place, one thunderin' great rock . . ."
Happy and muzzy, he did not notice that Truxtun was in the wardroom until he suddenly saw him sitting at the other end of the table. He froze—but Truxtun raised his glass. "Ye share the same forename as me, Tom, and I'd like to say that, should you find it in your heart to become an American, there could be a berth aboard Constellation if you choose."
Kydd turned in to his tiny cot, unable to control his whirling thoughts. An American? Thomas Paine Kydd, citizen of the United States, gentleman of the land and lieutenant of the United States Navy? It was not impossible—he had no ties, no wife and family back in England.
Excitement seized him and his eyes opened wide in the darkness. Why not start a new life in a country where there did not seem to be any difference between gentleman and commoner, a nation that seemed to have so much land and so few people— opportunity unlimited?
But he held the King's commission. Would he be betraying his country in her time of need? What about other officers in foreign navies? Well, they had been allowed to resign their commissions to take service, and was there not one in the Russian Navy who was now a grand duke? And, above all, if he were in the American Navy he would be fighting the King's enemies even if it was under another flag.
And there were so many English seamen already serving-he had heard aboard Constellation the accents of Devon, the North, London. He could always be among his countrymen if he felt lonely. They had made the choice, even if many had chosen desertion. Could he?
He tossed and turned until finally sleep came mercifully to claim him.
It seemed only minutes later when he jerked awake. He knew that he had heard a cannon shot and sat up. Almost immediately the urgent rattle of a drum beating to quarters set his heart hammering.
Kydd dropped clumsily out of his cot and reached for his clothing. Nearby, thumping feet sounded urgently. He struggled into breeches and shirt, flung on his coat and raced barefoot up the companion to the upper deck.
In the cold of daybreak, out of the thin drifting rain ahead, the dark shape of a ship lay across their path. Constellation's helm was put up to bear away. Even in the bleak grey half-light it was plain that they had come upon a man-o'-war, a frigate, who had instantly challenged them.
"Get out of it, damn you!" Truxtun bawled, catching sight of Kydd. "Get below!"
There was something about this enemy frigate—Kydd knew he had seen her before.
"Now, sir!" Truxtun bellowed.
It was the characteristic odd-coloured staysail, the abrupt curve of her beakhead. But where? Her colours flew directly away and were impossible to make out; the two signal flags of her challenge flickered briefly into life as they were jerked down and, her challenge unanswered, her broadside thundered out.