Free The Power and the Glory by William C. Hammond

that’s fine, just fine. I’d be much obliged if you’d tell him that his captain requests his presence on board ship. You may advise him that Mr. Cutler has arrived from Boston. This is for your trouble.” He pressed a silver coin into the young man’s palm.
    The lad brightened at the sight of the coin. “Thank ye kindly, Cap’m. I’ll be back with Mr. Sterrett quick as kiss me hand, or my name ain’t Thad Joe Wilkins.”
    â€œWho is Mr. Sterrett?” Richard inquired as the lad raced away. He and Truxtun began walking forward toward the main hatchway, a large rectangular hole amidships. That hatchway by itself defined a major difference between British and American naval architecture. On board every Royal Navy frigate of Richard’s acquaintance, the weather
deck remained open to the gun deck below, save for a narrow gangway running along each side of the ship that connected the forecastle to the quarterdeck. On Constellation , the deck was flush from stem to stern, the only open access belowdecks afforded by the rectangular hatchway. The rest of the spar deck was heavily planked, save for a much smaller hatchway forward and another one aft, before what appeared to be a skylight cut in abaft the mizzenmast to provide light and ventilation for the captain’s cabin.
    Truxtun paused at the broad, sturdy ladder. “Andrew Sterrett is my third lieutenant. He comes from a good family here in Baltimore, and he has impressive bluewater experience for someone his age. Which, by the bye, is twenty-two. John Rodgers is my first. At the moment he is with his family in Havre de Grace, a town north of here on the Chesapeake. It also happens to be the home of the Cecil Iron Works, where I plan to purchase the guns for this ship. And to our further good fortune, John’s father is a lifelong friend of the foundry’s owner.
    â€œThe cost?” Truxtun asked, picking the question from Richard’s mind. “The cost is $225 per 24-pound gun. That adds up to a bit more than $5,000 just to arm the gun deck. Add another $1,500 or so for the smaller guns on the weather deck, and another $500 for swivel guns, and you have the grand total. Wouldn’t want to be responsible for that bill, eh, Mr. Cutler?”
    â€œNo indeed, sir,” Richard agreed. He made a mental note of what Truxtun had just said and stored it away for future use.
    Truxtun clambered down the pinewood steps and turned aft. Richard followed behind, taking note of the gun deck, empty save for neatly stacked piles of heavy canvas panels that someday would define the captain’s quarters, now open to view. As he walked past a wasp-waisted drum—the bottom half of the capstan he had seen on the deck above—he ran his fingers along the smoothly polished oak base and the twelve iron pigeonholes set higher up. Someday soon, sailors would insert metal bars into those holes and push together to hoist the ship’s anchor from the river bottom.
    â€œMind your head,” Truxtun cautioned, as he made ready to descend to the next deck. “We’re heading for the orlop. There’s something down there I want to show you.”
    They did not linger on the berthing deck. There was not much to see beyond additional stacks of canvas panels and jalousie doors that would define the officers’ cabins located on either side of the wardroom, which was directly beneath the captain’s cabin. Slicing down through
a circular opening cut out of the deckhead above was the mizzenmast, stepped below on the lowest deck, the orlop. Forward, toward the bow of the ship, the crew would someday sling their hammocks. In the open space between the crew’s quarters and the wardroom, as on most naval vessels, would be quarters for the ship’s complement of Marines, a human barricade that protected the officers aft from the crew forward should any thoughts of mutiny arise.
    Richard followed Truxtun down to