The Power and the Glory (38 page)

Richard pressed the paper to his lips and offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the safe delivery of his family. An Atlantic crossing in October was not to be taken lightly, especially when sailing against the prevailing westerlies. The thought of the voyage and the dangers it presaged had gnawed at him for weeks. Now worry would feast on him no longer.

His eyes swept over the single page of tight cursive flow. So Bonaparte desired peace now that he had swept the Directory from power and proclaimed
himself First Consul of France. Well, why wouldn't he desire peace? The Navy Department had confirmed that thus far in this war a relative handful of American naval and Treasury vessels had captured one French navy frigate and three corvettes, and had captured or sunk more than a hundred French privateers. Not to mention a French fort being blown to kingdom come. Having defeated the world's greatest sea power, Richard mused, the young republic was giving fits to the world's greatest land power.

His mind stuck on the mention of his father's illness, or whatever was keeping him a-bed. That Katherine did not seem overly concerned was reassuring. A red flag stirred nevertheless. Richard had never known his father to linger in bed for any reason. Rarely had he been ill or even acted out of sorts. To those who knew him, Thomas Cutler seemed a paragon of mental and physical heath, the sort of man to whom others turned when
they
were ill or out of sorts.

Richard folded the letter and placed it in the drawer of his small writing desk. His wardroom cabin was warm, but not oppressively so, despite the early evening hour. His cabin was, after all, the most commodious on the ship apart from the captain's suite, and he enjoyed the privacy and relative luxury of the space, especially now that
Constellation
was in port and out of discipline and he could linger there at his leisure, excused from watch duty as a privilege of high rank. Forward, he could hear the muffled laughter of men and women at play on the berthing deck, and up a tier on the gun deck as well. Richard smiled to himself. Captain Truxtun, following an official period of mourning to honor the passing of President George Washington in December, had yielded to the human condition and had allowed wives and sweethearts to come on board ship during the port call. “Wives and sweethearts”—a delightful Royal Navy term that more often than not was a euphemism for local women of easy virtue.

Richard rose to his feet and stretched. Fatigued, his eyes heavy, he glanced at the vest watch lying on his desk: 7:35. Too early to retire. He decided to go up on deck and take the air. Tomorrow morning he would answer Katherine's letter and include it with the others he had written during the cruise.

On deck he met a former midshipman reclaimed from
L'Insurgente
and promoted to third lieutenant by Captain Truxtun during
Constellation
's layover in Portsmouth. “Good evening, John,” Richard greeted him. Both officers were dressed casually in breeches, silver-buckled shoes, and cotton shirts.

“Good evening, sir,” Dent replied. “A glorious one, isn't it?”

“Indeed. Reminds me of Boston in late August. A perfect evening to enjoy ashore, I should think.”

Dent grinned. “Which is where I'm bound in a few minutes, at the end of the watch. Mr. Sterrett and I are taking supper at a new tavern on Bay Road. We're told it's an excellent place. Would you care to join us, sir? We'd welcome your company.”

“Thank you, John, but no. The only place I'm bound tonight is my bunk. I'm done in. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day I'll try this eatery of yours, assuming it passes muster with you.”

“You may expect a full report in the morning, sir,” Dent announced cheerfully. He took his leave and walked forward amidships in the direction of an open-shirted topman named Wheaton, who was talking quietly to an exotic-looking woman of Carib Indian descent. Her skin was smooth and reddish brown; shiny ebony hair fell straight down to her waist. She was smiling encouragingly at the topman. She might not understand English, but her body language spoke volumes. Wheaton ignored Dent as he walked discreetly past, although the woman's dark olive eyes took in the young lieutenant and then flashed aft, more meaningfully, at Richard.

Richard returned her smile, then leaned against the starboard bulwark and gazed out on a naval base that these days seemed more American than British. The British light frigate
Concorde
lay at anchor amid a clutch of unrated Royal Navy vessels bobbing and straining at their moorings in the light chop. Almost hidden among them were larger vessels of the Leeward Islands Squadron flying the Stars and Stripes:
Baltimore, Pickering, Enterprise,
and
John Adams
.
Eagle
and the refitted
Insurgent
were out on patrol.

“A pretty sight, eh, Mr. Cutler?”

Richard straightened instinctively. “Sorry, sir. I didn't hear you approach.”

“Tut, tut, man. Relax. Do not naval regulations regarding a ship out of discipline include her first lieutenant?”

“I believe they do, sir,” Richard said.

“Well, then, be at your ease.”

Thomas Truxtun joined Richard at the railing, his gaze on the five short-barreled, wide-bore carronades lined up before him along the starboard bulwarks between midships and taffrail. Five others of equal bore and design were positioned across on the larboard side. Each was
mounted on an immovable wooden bed equipped with a slide that absorbed the gun's recoil when fired. The outer end of the bed was secured to the deck by a heavy bolt. On the inner end were two wheels designed to swivel like casters and provide greater ease in swinging the gun from side to side. Just as lethal as traditional long guns, these 24-pounder carronades were considerably lighter and smaller, and thus suitable for installation on the weather deck. And only three men were required to service each gun. Their single drawback was that they were effective only at short range.

“We owe Captain Hardcastle a great debt for securing these guns for us,” Truxtun said, adding, with a touch of pride, “
Constellation
is the first ship in the U.S. Navy to carry them. Though I doubt she will be for long. Once Captain Talbot gets wind of this, he'll demand the same for
Constitution
. And if history is any judge, Stoddert will find a way to give him what he wants.”

Richard understood the bitterness in his voice. During
Constellation
's refitting in Portsmouth, Truxtun had traveled north to New Jersey to visit his family. There, out of the blue, a letter from Benjamin Stoddert had informed him that the Navy Department had officially awarded Silas Talbot seniority over him. It was an issue that had been hotly contested for more than two years, and its resolution had infuriated Truxtun, who felt compelled to resign his commission. What had happened next was somewhat vague. Truxtun refused to talk about it, and each officer harbored personal opinions that in the aggregate only served to muddle the facts. What
was
clear was that both John Adams and George Washington had intervened in the drama, the former president by inviting Truxtun to Mount Vernon to appeal to Truxtun's patriotism and sense of duty, and the current president by venturing to Perth Amboy to present his most accomplished sea officer with the gold medal awarded him by Congress and to convince him not to quit the service. Truxtun had agreed to withdraw his resignation on the condition that he never be placed in a position where he would have to report to Talbot. Stoddert readily agreed and Truxtun reported back for duty in
Constellation,
finally setting sail for Saint Kitts six weeks behind schedule.

“Think we'll have occasion to use these guns, sir?” Richard asked to steer their conversation away from dangerous waters. The open feud between Talbot and Truxtun had been a trial for him, for he held both naval commanders in the highest personal and professional esteem.
“This war shouldn't last much longer. Our envoys have been in Paris for a number of weeks. Perhaps terms of a treaty have already been worked out.”

“Perhaps. But until we're at peace, we remain at war. When peace does come—and I agree that it will come shortly, there is no need to drag out his affair—it's home for us again, this time on a more permanent basis. You will be leaving the service then, Mr. Cutler?”

“That's my intention, sir. And I shall do so with great regret. I will miss the Navy more than I thought possible.”

Truxtun nodded sympathetically. “I understand,” he said. “The Navy has a way of growing on you, doesn't it? It's why I decided to return to service rather than retire, as logic and justice dictated I should. And since you feel the same as I do, why not do the same and stay in the service? The Navy needs officers of your caliber.”

Richard shook his head slowly. “I have considered that, sir, assuming there's a place for me in a peacetime Navy. And I would do it under different circumstances. But I find it hard to be separated from my family for such long periods. I have a young daughter who needs her father at home. My wife tells me that our younger son, Jamie, is anxious to follow in my footsteps and join the Navy. So he may be leaving home soon. And I cannot disappoint my father. He has high hopes for me in Cutler & Sons.”

“I cannot speak for your father, Mr. Cutler, but I can speak for Secretary Stoddert. Should you decide to remain in the Navy, you need not be separated from your family. I have it on good authority that Stoddert is about to introduce the Royal Navy practice of allowing certain qualified officers to remain in the service on half pay during peacetime. You'd be on furlough—on the beach, so to speak, and a Hingham beach at that—but you would remain a commissioned officer who would return to duty if and when another war threatens. I'd be delighted to recommend your name for that list, if you'd like me to.”

“I
would
like you to, sir,” Richard replied without hesitation, “and I would be honored if you would.” He could not resist a smile.

Truxtun smiled as well. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you, sir.” After a pause, Richard returned to the subject of the carronades. “I suppose, then, that the prospect of peace means we shall not have occasion to see these ‘devil guns' in action.”

“To the contrary, Mr. Cutler, I believe we will. And soon.”

“Soon, sir?”

Truxtun nodded. “Quite soon. The Royal Navy may not have many ships left in the Indies, but they still have a vast network of spies. And British spies on Guadeloupe report that a French frigate has put in to Basse-Terre to take on passengers and provisions. They report she's planning to depart for France within a fortnight. When sighted, she was sailing in the company of a 28-gun corvette. I was informed of this not thirty minutes ago in a note sent over from
Concorde
by Captain Sweeney.”

“If she's a frigate, sir, she must be
La Vengeance.
”

La Vengeance
was a frigate of 54 guns, the largest and by all accounts the last French naval vessel of consequence in the French West Indies. For three weeks
Constellation
had scoured the waters and recesses of the Lesser Antilles in search of this ship as an angler might stalk a monster fish rumored to inhabit a lake. They hadn't found her, but the cruise had provided ample opportunities to drill the men hard at the new 18-pounder guns that had replaced the 24-pounder long guns on the gun deck to better stabilize the frigate and make her less top-heavy.

“The British have confirmed that indeed she is
La Vengeance
. And if her captain intends to flee the Indies, I intend to stop him. Please advise Boatswain Bowles that we sail tomorrow with the tide at six bells in the afternoon watch. And advise him to see these ladies off—graciously, mind you, but
off
—and to recall everyone on shore leave. As of midnight tonight, Mr. Cutler,
Constellation
is a ship
in
discipline.”

 

 

AT DAWN ON FEBRUARY 1, on the third day at sea,
Constellation
sighted a ship sailing far out in the Atlantic. At that distance even the most keen-eyed lookout could distinguish only that she was ship-rigged.

Richard was standing by the taffrail, squinting astern through a long glass. “Run up the English colors,” he ordered James Jarvis, the junior officer of the watch. “And please inform Captain Truxtun that his presence is requested on deck. Walk, if you please, Mr. Jarvis,” he called after him when the young midshipman scampered off in a young mid's eagerness to obey a command.

“Aye, aye, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Richard next addressed the boatswain and master's mates at the helm: “Prepare to wear ship.”

As the signal midshipman retrieved the British ensign from the flag locker and made ready to hoist away, James Jarvis went below to report
to the captain. In short order, Truxtun appeared on deck in full undress uniform, save for his cocked hat.

“Good morning, Mr. Cutler,” he greeted his first lieutenant. “Mr. Jarvis informs me that we have sighted a ship.”

“Good morning, Captain. Yes, sir, we have. She's to the southeast, following a northerly course. On the chance she's English, I have ordered the British ensign raised. We are standing by to wear ship. I am assuming you want to give chase.”

“What is our present position and course?”

“Antigua is ahead to larboard, sir. Barbuda is to starboard. Our course is northwest by north.”

“Very well, Mr. Cutler. If she is British she'll respond quickly enough. You may wear around and calculate a course of interception.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Richard stepped forward and brought a speaking trumpet to his lips. “All hands! Stations for wearing ship! Man clewgar-nets and buntlines! Spanker mainsail brails! Weather main, lee crossjack braces! Handsomely there, you men!” Instantly his orders were piped through the ship.