Julian Stockwin - Command

The boatswain's call sounded, clear and piercing, as Kydd came up the steps, his best cocked hat with its single dash of gold clapped firmly on as he mounted. At the top he stopped and deliberately removed his hat to the flag in the mizzen, then turned to the waiting officer. "Commander Kydd, Royal Navy," he said gravely, "of His Britannic Majesty's ship Teazer."

The officer, young and intense with a high forehead and dark eyes, straightened. "Lootenant Decatur, United States Navy frigate Essex." He did not offer to shake hands, instead bowed stiffly and stepped aside to make way for his captain coming out on deck.

Kydd bowed and allowed himself to be introduced. "Cap'n Bainbridge. Welcome aboard, Commander. Might I offer you some refreshment?"

The pinnace lay off; Bowden could be trusted to keep his boat's crew in order and be ready for the signal to return. "That's kind in ye, Captain," Kydd said politely.

The great cabin was plainly furnished but clean, with a sense of newness and the scent of North American pine. "Ye have me at a disadvantage, sir," Kydd said carefully, over some wine. "We were at our watering, as you can see." If there was going to be any friction then it would be this: access to the single water source.

"Our intention also, Commander." Bainbridge was an impressive figure, over six feet tall and with a striking fore-knot in his plentiful hair. "I've a ready respect for your service, Mr Kydd, and that's no secret. Why don't you take your fill of the water and we'll stand by until you're done?"

"That's handsome in ye, sir, but I know th' spring an' there's enough f'r us all. We'll take it together, cask b' cask."

"A good notion. We'll do that," Bainbridge said genially, and got to his feet.

"Sir," Kydd said earnestly, "I was in th' United States when y'r quasi-war with France started. It strikes me there's grounds here f'r—who should say?—mutual assistance against th' aggressor?"

Bainbridge's eyes went opaque. "Commander, the quasi-war is now concluded."

"Ah. So—"

"The treaty of 1778 is no more. We are neutrals, sir, and will faithfully abide by our obligations. I will wish you good day, sir."

It had been worth the try, but it did not furnish the real reason for an American presence so deep into the Mediterranean. "Sir—may I know of y'r interest in these parts, if y' do not think it impertinent t' ask?"

"I do. Good day to you, sir." He conducted Kydd back on deck.

Out in the sunlight Kydd blinked, aware of every eye on him. "Thank ye, sir, f'r your hospitality—it's a very fine ship y' commands."

He passed a silent Decatur, sensed the burning eyes following him and was making to step over the side when someone grabbed his shoulder. He swung round and saw a grinning officer holding out his hand. "Be darned—and this must be Tom Kydd as was. A commander, no less! "

"Aye. An' don't I see Ned Gindler afore me?" It was half a world away from Connecticut but the same friendliness that had so cheered him as a new lieutenant again reached out to him.

"Well met, Ned!" Kydd grinned. The deck remained silent and still about them. Kydd turned and crossed to Bainbridge again. "Sir, it's not in m' power t' return y'r kindness to all of ye in my little ship, but it would give me particular pleasure t' welcome L'tenant Gindler aboard."

"Thank you, Commander. Mr Gindler would be pleased to accept. Until sundown, Lootenant?"

Gindler lifted his glass to Kydd. "Well, I have to declare, she's one trim lady—I guess she's handy in stays?"

"She is that," said Kydd, smugly. "A real flyer on the wind. Not as you'd say spankin' new, but she'll get a lick o' paint when we have time," he added defensively.

"You must be very proud, Tom," Gindler said softly, looking at Kydd with an enigmatic expression. "Captain of your own ship, and all."

It brought Kydd up with a start: what were his present worries compared to what he had won for himself? "A noble thing it is indeed, Ned. Do ye know, I have more power than the King of England?" At Gindler's quizzical look he added, "I may hale a man before me an' have him flogged on the spot—by the law of the land this is somethin' even His Majesty may not do."

It brought laughter from the American but all Kydd found he could manage was a lop-sided smile. Gindler's amusement receded. "My dear fellow—if you'll pardon my remarking it, your demeanour is not to be expected of a grand panjandrum. No, sir! Too much bowed by care and woe in all . . ."

Kydd's smile turned to a grimace. "Aye, I will admit t' it." He stared through the pretty stern windows at the bright, sunlit sea outside. "I have m' ship, this is true, but unless I can shine in its command I'll have t' yield to another. And there's no glory t' be found in small-ship work, all convoys 'n' dispatches, so how am I to find it?" Gindler started to come in but Kydd went on bitterly, "We got word of a French corvette in these waters an' I was sent to bring it t' battle. My one chance—but the cruise is finished without so much of a smell o' one."

He looked up half hopefully. "Ye haven't word of it at all, Ned?"

Gindler murmured noncommittally.

Kydd's eyes fell. "Then, o' course, you havin' made y'r peace with the French you'll be honour bound not t' tell me even if ye knew." Gindler continued to look at him wordlessly.

Tossing off his wine, Kydd changed his mood. "But here I sit, neglectin' m' guest! Tell me, Ned, have you hopes y'self for an advancement at all?"

Gindler's face shadowed. "You may recall, friend, that our war is finished. We're now neutrals not just in name. No war, we don't need ships—or officers is the cry."

"Did m' eyes deceive? Is not Essex as fine a frigate as ever I saw?"

Looking uncomfortable Gindler replied, "Yes, but I have to say there are few more." He hesitated, then went on, "We have a new president, m' friend, a Thomas Jefferson. Now, in the past we've been handing over bags of gold to the Barbary pashas to keep from raiding our trading ships. Jefferson loathes this craven knuckling to pirates and hates even more what it's costing us. We are here to do something about it."

Kydd made to refill his glass, but he shook his head. "Have ye?"

"Not—yet."

"You—"

"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 . . ."