The Seekers Page 30

  When Gilbert learned the whole unbelievable story, he penned the Republican’s first editorial in favor of the war. He demanded the firing of the incompetents in Washington who had informed Hull too late, and insisted on replacement of the general with a younger, more competent man. But he also voiced support for President Madison’s decision, and the action of Congress.

  The night the editorial was published, a dozen hooligans appeared on Beacon Street and hurled rocks at windows in the Kent house. Three were broken before Gilbert dashed outside, his father’s Kentucky rifle loaded and ready to fire. He had taught himself how to use the rifle several weeks earlier, anticipating just this sort of nocturnal visit.

  The hooligans screamed obscene insults and lobbed a few more rocks. Gilbert raised the rifle. Instantly, the small mob disappeared in the darkness. An hour later, still white from the incident and suffering sharp pains in his chest, Gilbert was rushed up to bed.

  Against the advice of Doctor Selkirk, he was up and working twenty-four hours later.

  iii

  On the twenty-sixth of July, sails appeared in the President Roads below Boston harbor. The sails belonged to the city’s own frigate, Constitution.

  She anchored and poured her tars into the streets soon after. They spread a story of an incredible feat of seamanship. Jared heard the particulars on the afternoon of the twenty-seventh, when he went to the recruiting office newly opened in a rooming house operated by a Mrs. Broadhurst in Fore Street.

  He ran most of the way. Constitution hadn’t filled out her crew roster before clearing Annapolis in early August.

  iv

  A plank table had been set up in the first floor parlor of the rooming house. After a few preliminaries, the officer behind the table asked, “You’re familiar with the ship for which we’re recruiting, I take it?”

  “I am.”

  “I mean to say, our recent exploits?”

  “The town’s talking of nothing else—though to be honest, nobody seems quite clear on all the details.”

  “I don’t doubt there’s considerable exaggeration in the retelling,” the young officer commented. “Hardly necessary. The truth’s remarkable enough.” He helped himself to a drink from a jug of rum.

  The young man was one of Constitution’s lieutenants, slender and tanned. Jared reckoned him to be twenty or twenty-one. And almost too handsome. His dark hair pinned up in a queue looked as glossy as a woman’s. His brown eyes had a languid quality—maybe from rum. He had profferred the jug the moment Jared walked into the airless, musty parlor, but Jared had declined. Now he almost wished he hadn’t. Somehow the officer made him self-conscious.

  The young man put the jug down, his tongue creeping slowly along his pink upper lip. His eyes ranged over Jared’s face. The boy grew even more uncomfortable, tried to distract the lieutenant.

  “How long were you actually chased—?”

  “Three days,” the young man answered in a slightly slurred voice. “Three days and two nights. Almost sixty-seven hours.” He didn’t sound like a southerner, but neither did he speak with a New England accent. Jared decided he must be from one of the middle states.

  “And you realize”—the officer punctuated the remark with a pointing finger—“not a man or boy aboard caught a wink of sleep during that entire time. You are not volunteering for a life of leisure.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Good—excellent.”

  The young man rose, strolled to the front window, his black pumps clicking on the scarred floor. Jared fidgeted. The room was depressing, its appointments old and shabby, in sharp contrast to the lieutenant’s elegant white stockings and breeches and blue tailcoat. His huge half-moon hat lay on the table near a litter of forms. He gazed out the window a moment, then let the curtain fall.

  “If you’re prepared to work hard, you’ll enjoy the privilege of serving under a damned fine sailor—”

  “Captain Hull.”

  “Quite right. He’s a fighter—but no fool. We came on the enemy three days out of Chesapeake Bay. Five of His Britannic Majesty’s best—”

  “I heard it was six.”

  “Exaggeration again. Five were sufficient to give Hull pause, I assure you. There were four men-o’-war and Guerriere, the frigate that’s caused so much trouble recently.” The lieutenant gestured in a languorous way. “Hull knew we stood no chance against those odds. Besides, the enemy had a slight breeze and we had none. But the captain vowed we wouldn’t be captured.” The lieutenant smiled. “Not quite the same attitude as you find in the army. There, it seems, they surrender the moment the enemy farts.”

  Jared shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He supposed this praise of the navy was intended to generate eagerness in new recruits, but in his case it wasn’t necessary. “I had no desire to join the army. My father was a soldier, but—”

  “Was he!” the lieutenant broke in. “So was mine. Where did he serve?”

  “In Ohio—when it was still the Northwest. He fought with Wayne at Fallen Timbers—”

  “Remarkable! My father was there as well. Got himself killed, the poor wretch. Perhaps the two knew each other. Is your father still living?”

  It was easier to simply say no than to give a complicated explanation about Abraham Kent’s disappearance.

  “Well,” said the lieutenant, moving closer to Jared and squeezing his shoulder, “we have something in common, don’t we?”

  The dark, languid eyes held the boy’s. Jared felt acutely uncomfortable, said quickly, “How exactly did you escape the five ships?”

  For a moment the lieutenant acted annoyed. But he released Jared’s shoulder.

  “First we put men in rowboats, to tow us ahead. We gained a little headway, but not enough. And as soon as their wind died, the damn Britishers used the same trick.

  So next morning, we began kedging. Do you know what that is, my boy?”

  “I don’t,” Jared replied, growing irritated himself. To be called a boy by an officer barely out of his teens was demeaning.

  Besides that, the lieutenant’s half-lidded eyes had a disturbing way of focusing on odd places. Jared’s mouth, his hands, and once, he was sure, his groin—

  “You’ll discover what it means if we sign you on,” the lieutenant told him. “To kedge, a special anchor’s fastened to the longest, stoutest hawser you can put together, using all the cordage aboard. Ours stretched half a mile—”

  “I did hear someone talking about a long line.” Jared nodded, anxious to conclude the business and get away. But the lieutenant was in no such hurry. Jared took it as another bad sign.

  “The hawser’s rowed ahead of the ship, don’t you see, and dropped with the kedge anchor. Then the ship’s pulled forward by men picking up the hawser and walking aft. That helped us move along in pretty fair fashion. Whenever one of the enemy got a little too close, Captain Hull ordered shots from four of our long twenty-fours. To set them up in the stern, we cut away—am I boring you?”

  Jared’s head jerked up at the abrupt change in tone. He had clearly angered the lieutenant—

  Well, what of it? He was ready to walk out. He disliked the atmosphere in the dark, stifling room; and he disliked the officer even more—

  Abruptly, he remembered his larger objective. He had no desire to fail at this early stage. So he held his temper and forced himself to shake his head. “It’s a fascinating story.”

  “I should hope you’d find it so,” the lieutenant sniffed. “We want our recruits to be enthusiastic—satisfied—in every way.” Again there was a faintly lewd undertone to the words. Or perhaps Jared’s nervousness was making him imagine it—

  “As I was saying, we cut away the taffrail to make room for two guns, and two more were poked right out through the windows of the great cabin—Hull’s cabin.”

  “And you did get away at last—” Jared said, hoping to hasten the end of the interview.

  “By using every trick. To lighten us up, the captain
dumped most of our drinking water. Ten tons, almost. He sent the topmen aloft to wet the sails. A wet sail holds more air than a dry one—another bit of information for you to store away in that handsome head.”

  Feeling feverish and desperate for a breath of outside air, Jared pressed his palms against his legs and struggled to feign interest. The lieutenant uttered a low chuckle. Was his pretense so obvious? Jared wondered.

  “On the second night, we ran into a squall. Hull shortened sail just as we bore into the storm. He knows the Atlantic weather back and forth, you see. He predicted the squall would be a small one—”

  I must get out of here! Jared thought wildly. Then, in his imagination, he saw Harriet Kent.

  How smug she’d look if he came home with excuses instead of an enlistment agreement. Though he was writhing inwardly, he stood his ground.

  The lieutenant seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. Prolonging it—for sport. The young man tilted the rum jug again. Fastidiously dabbed his lips with a kerchief taken from his sleeve. Only then did he continue.

  “The British, on the other hand, obviously feared a real blow. They hauled down everything. Shortly we lost sight of them—the squall hid us. Hull got busy and cracked on canvas. Sure enough, we were out of the squall soon, picked up a nice wind and showed ’em our heels. It was a hell of an effort, but every man did his part, without sleep and without complaint. And not twenty days ago, many of them were as green, as”—a pause—“inexperienced as you.” Another silence. “My boy, I’m disappointed.”

  “Why?”

  “I expected you to be more impressed.”

  “But I am! I wouldn’t have come here otherwise—”

  “You can bet the Britishers were impressed. I’m sure there was plenty of cursing on their part that night—especially aboard Guerriere. Her captain, Dacres, is an old friend of Hull’s, you know. They met in England some years ago, and they’ve a standing bet. If they ever engage, the loser presents the winner with a first-quality hat—”

  Jared tensed. The officer was walking toward him again. He almost cringed from the touch of the supple hand on his shoulder.

  “I’ve only told you all this in order to demonstrate the sort of effort that’s expected from young fellows who sail with Captain Hull.” The fingers constricted slightly. “Maximum effort and obedience. Absolute obedience to every command—every wish of your officers. But you and I will have no problem there, will we? We’ve already discovered we have things in common—”

  Unwilling to suffer the fondling any longer, Jared jerked away. The lieutenant’s dark eyes widened.

  “Well. I see you have a ready temper.” The smile was gone. “You’ll have to curb that, else it’ll be curbed for you.”

  Just a simple nod of assent required immense effort on Jared’s part. A muscle in his jaw quivered. His eagerness to join Constitution’s crew had all but disappeared. He wondered whether the young officer was the sort of warped person he’d heard about but never met—one of those who disliked the opposite sex and preferred their own—

  Even speculating about that, he couldn’t walk out. He couldn’t quite bring himself to throw away his first real chance to discover whether he was capable of surviving—and succeeding—in a difficult situation. So he endured the officer’s pointed stare, and reminded himself that it was hardly fair to judge a company of more than four hundred sailors and marines by the actions of one.

  The lieutenant resumed his seat, picked up a form. Jared’s conclusions about the officer were abruptly shaken when a door opened down the dim hall leading back from the parlor. He saw a fleshy young woman pulling up one shoulder of a bed gown to cover a heavy, red-nippled breast.

  The young woman swayed. Drunk, was she—?

  Livid, the lieutenant jumped up. He stalked two steps down the hall.

  “I remind you, Mrs. Broadhurst, we rented these rooms for official business. Kindly keep yourself out of sight.”

  The blowzy young woman ran a palm down her thigh.

  “But you said—”

  “Presently,” the officer whispered. Some unspoken communication seemed to leap between the two. With an undertone of savage force, he repeated the word: “Presently.”

  The young woman kept rubbing her thigh. The lieutenant took one more step in her direction. She blinked, turned and lurched out of sight. The door closed.

  The officer returned to the parlor. He smiled as if to dismiss the incident. But his eyes were humorless. “You’ll forget what you’ve just seen. As a personal favor to one of the officers with whom you’ll be serving, Mr.—?”

  Jared fought a shiver of fear. “Kent.”

  Relaxed again, the officer strolled back to the table. “Ah, that’s right. You did mention your name at the start of our chat. I thought it had a certain familiarity. You did say your father fought at Fallen Timbers—?”

  “Yes.”

  “An officer?”

  “A cornet in the dragoons.”

  “I don’t recall the name in the letters my mother’s kept almost twenty years. Still, there’s something famil—”

  He snapped his fingers. “Are you perchance related to a Mr. Gilbert Kent of Boston?”

  “He and my father are half brothers.”

  “Then Gilbert Kent’s your uncle.”

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  “Do you know him, sir? You must begin to get accustomed to showing your officers the required respect, Kent.”

  Jared kept silent, but the muscle in his jaw quivered again.

  “I know your uncle by reputation only. Although the citizens of this city crowded the docks to applaud our escape, their enthusiasm doesn’t extend to their purses. Colonel Binney, the local naval agent, has exhausted his current allotment of government funds. No bank will grant him a loan. So Captain Hull’s been reduced to begging donations in order to replenish our stores—principally our water. I was told that a Mr. Gray and a Mr. Kent jointly volunteered the sum of seventeen thousand dollars to furnish what we must have before we can weigh anchor.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” Jared said, truthfully. The officer’s eyes flickered. “Sir.”

  The lieutenant seemed more hostile now, very likely because he sensed how Jared felt about him.

  “Don’t expect your uncle’s generosity to earn you any special favors. Only your responsiveness to the desires of your officers will do that.”

  Though severe, the young man still managed to invest the words with a faintly lascivious quality. Having seen the woman, Jared was totally confused. What sort of person was this lieutenant?

  The lieutenant set about completing the required forms. Presently he handed them across the table.

  “Read, then sign your name or make your mark.”

  “I can sign, sir. I’ve had schooling.”

  The lieutenant drifted to the window again, lifted the curtain, stared into the August glare.

  “Yes, I should have guessed that from your rather quick tongue. Aboard ship, however, we’re more interested in the strength of your body.”

  Jared’s hand jumped. He barely managed to write his name in a legible way.

  The officer took the papers, signed one copy. The street door opened. A man stumbled to the parlor entrance, his voice gruff. “This the recruitin’ place? Can’t see a damn thing—”

  The smell of gin was overpowering. But the lieutenant instantly exuded good humor: “Come right in, sir. Your eyes will adjust in a moment—”

  He handed Jared his copy of the enlistment agreement, then leaped forward as the ragged man swayed. Only the lieutenant’s hands kept the drunk from pitching on his face.

  The officer maintained a façade of friendliness as he helped the man to a chair, repeating an earlier speech to Jared almost word for word. “You’ve come to investigate service under Captain Hull?”

  “Mebbe.”

  “Well, you’ll be joining a proud ship, sir.”

  “Just one ’at pays money an’ hands grog aro
und regular is all I give a shit about.” The drunk belched, nearly toppling from the chair.

  The lieutenant cleared his throat behind one hand. “Understandable, perfectly understandable. I’m sure you’ve heard of our escape from Guerriere and four other British vessels, though. We were chased three days. Three days and two nights—”

  Jared folded the agreement, tucked it in his breeches, started for the parlor door.

  The lieutenant called after him, “Report to the end of Long Wharf at dawn tomorrow. A longboat will be waiting to take new recruits out to the ship.”

  “I’ll be there, sir,” Jared said, not looking back.

  The hot, humid air of the street engulfed him. He sat down on the stoop, tugged the agreement out of his pocket and studied it without really seeing it. He had just signed away one whole year of his life. It was what he’d wanted when he walked into the recruiting office, but now he wondered whether he’d done the right thing.

  The whole city—excluding the influential anti-war faction, of course—was hailing Isaac Hull as a hero, a master of naval tactics. Jared reminded himself that he was fortunate to be going to sea with a captain of Hull’s caliber.

  Yet serving with Hull also meant serving with that odd lieutenant—

  He realized he didn’t know the man’s name. He looked at the signature at the bottom of the agreement.

  Hamilton Stovall 6th Lt., U.S.S. Constitution.

  He made up his mind to avoid Lieutenant Hamilton Stovall insofar as that would be possible within the confines of a 204-foot frigate.

  v

  By his own choice, Jared went to Long Wharf alone the next morning. He put everything at Beacon Street, from his Uncle Gilbert’s prideful good wishes to his cousin Amanda’s sobs, out of mind as he walked jauntily along, a small canvas bag dangling from one hand.