The Power and the Glory (34 page)

Curious as to Talbot's meaning, Richard was about to ask when there came a rap on the door. Two officers were announced and entered the day cabin. One man Richard knew by reputation. The other he knew by heart.

“I believe you have met Mr. Crabtree,” Talbot said good-naturedly. “This other gentleman is Mr. Isaac Hull, my first. Mr. Hull, I introduce you to Mr. Richard Cutler,
Constellation'
s first.”

“Welcome on board, Mr. Cutler,” Hull said as they shook hands.

Richard knew a little about this lean, attractive, clearly well-bred officer about ten years younger than he. Hull hailed from Connecticut and in recent years had been the master of several merchant vessels. One of these, Richard recalled, had been seized by a French privateer off the coast of Cuba with loss of American lives. What first struck him about Hull physically was the wavy black hair that framed his clean-shaven face, and the long sideburns that inched down to his lower jaw and curved inward toward his chin. His eyes, too, were jet black, and
set close together under thick, bushy eyebrows. Richard also recalled that Hull's naval career had been launched with more than a gentle push from his uncle, Continental army hero William Hull, a close friend of Samuel Nicholson.

“Thank you, Mr. Hull. I am delighted to be on board.”

Richard's gaze shifted to Agreen Crabtree standing by the closed door next to Hamilton. When their eyes met, Agreen gave him a weak grin.

Talbot observed the exchange. “Well, Mr. Cutler,” he said, “now that you have met my commissioned officers, may we invite you to join us for supper this evening here in my cabin? Mr. Davenport, the ship's master, will be joining us. In the event you wish to sleep on board, we shall have a cabin prepared for you. In the meantime, I suggest that you and Mr. Crabtree spend some time at your ease.” He stepped back toward his desk, a signal for his officers to take their leave. “Until this evening, gentlemen. And Mr. Cutler, you have my word that the land snails we have in store for us are at least halfway edible.”

“Where to, Agee?” Richard asked moments later when they were alone on the gun deck. “How does a brace of fresh air sound?”

“Almost as good as seein' you again, Richard.”

Richard slowed his steps to follow Agee up the ladder leading to the weather deck. Topside, sailors in casual, loose-fitting garb and low-crowned black hats worked about them, swinging ropes up and over the lower yardarms to hoist provisions from lighters up onto the deck, then down the wide rectangular hatch onto the gun deck. From there they would be lowered further below to storage under the orlop. Other sailors were lowering away the remaining ship's boats—a long boat, two whaleboats, two cutters, the captain's gig, and a punt—and tying them up astern of the frigate to keep them clear of the on loading. Richard and Agreen returned the sailors' two-fingered salutes and walked forward past the foremast to the forepeak, near the entrance to the head, which at the moment was unoccupied. There, where the massive bowsprit and jib boom extended out from the forecastle seemingly into eternity, they could speak in private.

“My Lord, Agee,” Richard marveled as he gazed down the 204-foot length of the flush deck, then upward the same distance to the foremast truck and the mile upon mile of standing and running rigging dedicated to that spar alone. “What an amazing ship she is. I've never seen one like her.”

Agreen followed Richard's gaze upward. “Nor had I, Richard.”

“How are you?” Richard asked, with concern, when their eyes came level. “What is it you have? Or had. You don't look any worse than you normally do.”

Agreen chuckled softly. “Thanks for the compliment. Truth is, I don't know what I have. Neither does the surgeon. Whatever it is, it's takin' its sweet time gettin' the hell out of me. We know what it's
not
, and that's the yellow fever. If I had
that
, I'd be ashore in quarantine quicker than a doxy after a dollar.”

“How are Lizzy and Zeke? Have you heard from them?”

“Not since we left Santo Domingo. Since then we've been cruisin' the Spanish Main, chasin' privateers and pirates. And we've had some success doin' it. Took several prizes and sank three of the bastards. If I know Lizzy, there'll be letters for me when we return t' station, though Lord knows when she may have written them. She an' Katherine are bound for England with the children, so neither of us will be hearin' from them for a spell.”

“No, we won't.” Richard leaned back against the bow. He folded his arms on his chest and studied his friend for several moments. “Agee, I must ask you something.”

“I thought you might.”

“When Nicholson was captain of this ship, what was he doing here in Barbados all those times? And why was he relieved of duty?”

Agreen gave him a brief nod, as if to acknowledge that he had indeed been expecting those questions. He turned to gaze out to where a Royal Navy sloop of war rode at anchor. Two brown pelicans glided low over the water's surface between the two ships, their broad wings fully outstretched, their eyes searching for schools of baitfish darting about under the floating patches of yellow Sargasso weed. He edged closer to Richard but spoke as if to the sloop.

“The answer t' both your questions is the same,” he said. His voice had a distant, secretive quality underscored with acrimony. “And that answer is that Nicholson is a no-account coward.”

Richard leaned in even closer. “That's a serious charge, Agee,” he half-whispered. “Can you back it up?”

Agreen had to fight to keep his voice low. “Back it up? Jesus, Richard,
you
backed it up just by what you asked. Instead of doin' what we were ordered t' do—chase down the frogs—we cruised for months where the frogs were not. Barbados? It's a lovely island, I'll give you that. And I'm jealous as hell of all the time you've had here t' loll about and chase women. But where are the French? Not here, that's for damn
sure. Oh, Nicholson's a fair enough seaman, I suppose. He'd do well as master of a merchant ship. But for the life of me I will never understand why the Navy Department saw fit t' rank him number two on the captain's list. He's no naval commander. He'll do whatever it takes to avoid a fight.”

When Richard had no immediate response, Agreen continued.

“Stoddert finally had enough. He fired a broadside, citin' what he called Nicholson's ‘litany of failures,' and ordered him t' swallow the anchor. That sure as hell got Nicholson's dander up. He fumed and raged around this deck like an angry peacock. But there was nothin' he could do. Stoddert wanted him out, and out he went. Silas took command, and since then morale on board ship has risen pell-mell from the orlop up t' the weather deck. We've seen our share of action, and Silas aims for us t' see more. At supper t'night he'll tell you about this island off Guadeloupe. It's where we're headin' next. It's a refuge for French privateers, so the British tell us, and Silas figures there might be some ripe fruit in there for us t' pick. Let's hope so. He aims t' restore the honor of this ship, Richard, and by God he'll do it if only Boney will stop talkin' peace and give him half a chance.”

 

AS MUCH AS he hated to leave his cousins, Richard ached to get back to sea, especially with the prospect of serving, however briefly, with Agreen Crabtree and Silas Talbot on board the magnificent
Constitution
. In any case, several members of his family had already left Barbados. Hugh and Robin had departed three weeks earlier on board
Redoubtable
and by now should be halfway to England. Caleb, too, was gone. The previous week he had boarded a Cutler merchant brig bound for Charleston to offload hogsheads of sugar and molasses before sailing on to Boston with a cargo of cotton and tobacco that would eventually find its way, together with barrels of Cutler dark rum, to a London dockyard along the Thames.

Caleb's had been a difficult leave-taking, both for Richard and for his cousins. But young Joseph had taken it far better than anyone expected. On Thursday, the day that sea superstition decreed was the luckiest day to weigh anchor, Joseph did for Richard what he had done when saying good-bye to Caleb. On that warm, humid morning he stepped up on his own, without having to be coaxed by his parents, and offered his hand to Richard. His grip was both warm and steady. “Farewell, Uncle,” he said, his lower lip trembling only slightly. “Godspeed. Thank you for all you have done for me.”

“Thank you for what you have done for
me
, Joseph. I'll see you again soon, either here or in Hingham.”

He repeated those same words to Seth, Mary, and Benjamin before taking Peter's tiny hand in his own. He grinned down at the tot, who replied with an expression that could have passed for either scorn or utter boredom.

“Bless you,” Cynthia said to Richard. “Bless you and Caleb both.” She could say no more. Emotion clogged her throat.

“My love to Katherine and your family, dear Richard,” Julia managed during a fleeting embrace. “Although I know you won't be seeing them right away.”

Richard nodded at John before boarding a waiting carriage. Then he was gone, his destination His Majesty's dockyard in Bridgetown.

 

“WE'VE RAISED Marie-Galante, sir,” Isaac Hull informed his captain after the officer of the watch had informed the first lieutenant.

“Where away?” Silas Talbot demanded. He had heard the cry from aloft and now scanned a clear horizon.

“Broad on the loo'ard bow, sir.”

Spyglasses shifted to an area of water four points to larboard of the course
Constitution
was following. That her officers could see no evidence of the sixty-one-square-mile island that Christopher Columbus had named in honor of his flagship came as no surprise. As the ship's master had informed them that first evening when Richard Cutler had dined on board, the highest peak on the island of Marie-Galante rose a mere 670 feet above sea level. John Davenport, the ship's master, had gone on to explain, much to the officers' amusement, that the island was so flat and round that the French referred to it as
la grande galette
, or “the big pancake.”

“Steer northwest by west, a half west,” Talbot ordered the quartermaster's mates at the double wheel. “We'll approach by night.”

“Northwest by west, a half west, aye, aye, sir,” the senior helmsman replied.

Richard Cutler, stationed by the mizzen, set his glass off the frigate's larboard quarter, to where the vessel
Nancy
veered northwestward on a parallel course. She was a substantial sharp-lined, low-freeboard brigantine with square sails on her foremast and a large fore-and-aft sail on her mainmast, but next to
Constitution
she looked like a ship's boat. On her driver gaff fluttered the Stars and Stripes, somewhat deceptively. True, she was an American ship, built and owned, but she was
an American vessel known to be trading in contraband with the French.
Constitution
had come upon her unexpectedly the previous day and had given chase. A warning shot fired across her bow persuaded her master to stop running and lie to. Her crew was rowed over to
Constitution
and her master strong-armed aft to Captain Talbot, who, after a word with him, dispatched them all below to the brig. Lieutenant Crabtree had taken command of
Nancy
, along with a skeleton crew of eight sailors and seven Marines. His first orders had been to jettison the vessel's cargo of rice and salted fish and hose down the hold.

“Gentlemen,” Talbot had enthused before his officers the evening before, “Providence has smiled on us most kindly. Most kindly,” he repeated.

Assembled before him in the after cabin were two of the ship's lieutenants, the ship's master, the captain of her Marine contingent, and eight midshipmen. They stood at attention before his desk, waiting for their captain to explain himself. When he took his time doing so, the burly captain of Marines offered a tentative, “Sir?”

Talbot smiled in mock astonishment. “Why, Mr. Carmick, I am surprised at you. I would have thought a man of your intellect and intuitions would have already guessed my intentions.”

“Sorry, sir,” Daniel Carmick fumbled. He smoothed his handlebar mustache with a nervous motion and glanced sideways at his fellow officers. They all stared stoically ahead; no one was willing to come to his rescue. “I'm afraid you have me on this one.”

“Do I indeed?” Talbot's gaze took in his audience. “You young gentlemen there,” he said at length. “A show of hands if you please. How many of you have studied Virgil's
Aeneid
? Come my good lads. Be not shy. I am not your schoolmaster. I shan't require you to recite lines of Latin.”

The midshipmen tittered nervously. Three raised a hand halfway.

“Good. We're finally getting somewhere. Now who among you three can summarize for me the story of the Trojan horse?”

The senior officers exchanged quick, muddled glances as seven of the eight midshipmen looked to Roger Jeffrey, at seventeen the senior mid on board ship and the best educated of her junior officers.

“Mr. Jeffrey,” Talbot said with a trace of a grin, “it seems the honor of reply has fallen to you.”

Jeffrey cleared his throat. “Well, sir,” he said in a voice searching for confidence and clarity, “the story takes place during the Trojan War. The Greeks were not able to defeat the Trojans in the field, nor could
they take Troy by siege. So they pretended to give up the siege and sail home to Greece. Before they left, they offered the Trojans a huge wooden horse they had built as a tribute to their bravery. But it was not really a gift, sir. It was a ruse. Greek soldiers were hiding inside the horse when the Trojans came out to accept the gift and wheel it through the city gates. That night, as Troy slept, the soldiers hidden inside shimmied down to the ground on ropes. They opened the gates to the Greek army, which in fact had not sailed away, and put every Trojan man, woman, and child to the sword.”