Free The Power and the Glory by William C. Hammond Page A

where, normally, the most fetid odors of man and ship festered. Today, Richard’s nose was filled with the more appealing scent of freshly hewn Carolina pine and red cedar. Truxtun struck steel on flint from a tinderbox and lit two whale oil lanterns hooked on the base of the ladder. He handed one to Richard and kept the other for himself. Together they moved forward on the orlop as though into some dark cavern. Except that in here, Richard had to remove his hat and stoop low, his six-foot frame a full foot taller than the distance between deck and deckhead. They crept forward, Truxtun in the lead, away from the ship’s magazine, already sheathed in copper sheeting, past the midshipmen’s mess and the cockpit where the ship’s surgeon would ply his trade, to an area just forward of the stepped mainmast. Here, in the light admitted by two deadlights of thick Wil-liamsburg glass, their vision improved slightly. A short way farther on, approximately amidships, Truxtun raised his lantern.
    â€œThis is what I want to show you, Mr. Cutler. Do you recognize them?”
    Richard raised his own lantern. In the dim light he observed what appeared to be wooden supports about a foot thick and two feet wide cut into the deckhead that followed the curve of the ship’s hull all the way down to the keelson. He counted twelve such supports, six per side—three running forward and three running aft.
    â€œI’ve never seen their like before,” he allowed, “and I don’t remember what they’re called. But I suspect their purpose is to prevent hogging.” He was referring to a potentially disastrous flaw in ship construction that under certain weight and buoyancy conditions forced the ship’s bow and stern to droop and her keel and bottom to arch upward.
    Truxtun lowered his lantern. “You are correct, Mr. Cutler. They are called diagonal riders, and they are there for the purpose you specified. Without them, a ship of Constellation’ s length and beam would likely founder in a storm. The shipwrights in this yard might take their merry time with things and frustrate me no end, but I do credit them for knowing their business. Speaking of which, did you know that David
Stodder, the owner of this shipyard, learned his trade in your hometown of Hingham? It’s true,” he said to Richard’s startled expression. “At the yard of a fellow named Jeremiah Stodder, a relative of sorts. Ah, I see you recognize the name though apparently you’ve never made the connection. In any event, I had my doubts about Humphrey’s so-called innovations in ship design, but I am willing to put those reservations to rest, at least until her sea trials. Those trials will tell us the true story.”
    â€œShe is a fine ship, sir.”
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    IN SHEER SIZE, Captain Truxtun’s cabin emulated the after cabin of a large British warship, running athwartship the entire thirty-foot width of the frigate, from the larboard to the starboard quarter. Today, size was about the only comparison one could make. Whereas a British warship housed its commander luxuriously, precious little graced the captain’s day cabin on board Constellation beyond a rectangular table placed directly beneath the skylight, a small cedar cabinet off to the side, and four straight-back wooden chairs. Directly behind the day cabin, at the very stern of the ship, were the captain’s personal quarters. On the starboard side, against the bulkhead, Richard noted an empty alcove that would serve as the captain’s dining area. Across on the larboard side was a second alcove containing a free-swinging bunk attached to the deckhead by four sturdy ropes, a simple bureau, and a sea chest. Neither alcove had a door, though hard canvas partitions erected along the outer sides clearly defined the two spaces. No partitions, as yet, separated the day cabin from the captain’s personal quarters aft or the gun deck