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

forward. Compared with his little cuddy on Elizabeth, however, the space Constellation reserved for her captain was a veritable ballroom.
    At Truxtun’s invitation, Richard sat down in one of the chairs. Truxtun sat down across from him and rested his clasped hands on the table. Into the silence that ensued Richard interjected, “On the cruise south, Captain, I had occasion to read your book on naval strategy and tactics. I bought it from a Boston bookseller.”
    â€œJust so? How did you find it?”
    â€œVery much like the treatises written by Rodney and Hood,” Richard enthused, referring to two of England’s greatest naval heroes. “And, of course, those by Admiral Nelson.” He caught himself when Truxtun gave him what Richard interpreted as a sardonic smile, adding somewhat sheepishly, “I wasn’t trying to be self-serving in saying that, Captain.”

    â€œI didn’t think you were, Mr. Cutler. I am flattered by the comparisons and impressed by the quality of your reading. But what truly delights me no end is the knowledge that I have now sold at least one copy of my latest book. That makes one copy more than of my first book, on wind currents.”
    They chuckled comfortably together before Truxtun rose. “Excuse me a moment, Mr. Cutler, while I see to our refreshment.”
    Truxtun walked over to the cedar cabinet and poured out two glasses of claret from a cut-glass decanter. He handed one to Richard and resumed his seat across the table from him.
    â€œTo book sales,” he said, raising his glass. “And confusion to our enemies.” He downed a swig, sighed contentedly, and leaned back, crossing his right leg over his left. Moments ticked by as each man silently took the measure of the other. Richard absorbed the pewter-gray eyes that served as focal points of a broad, clean-shaven, middle-aged face; the broad nose, thin lips, and short neck. Truxtun’s thinning, tawny hair was pulled straight back in a tightly bound queue. Richard found himself wondering if this seemingly hard-bitten sea officer ever indulged himself with a sniff of powdered tobacco or donned a perfumed wig. Only when forced to by social convention, he conjectured.
    Truxtun broke the silence. “As you can see, Mr. Cutler,” he said offhandedly, “I am a simple man with simple tastes. Although I must say that the simplicity of these surroundings puts even me on edge. Circumstances will change once my personal stores arrive from Perth Amboy. Though I doubt these accommodations will ever equal those of your brother-in-law . . . Captain Jeremy Hardcastle, isn’t it? Attached to the Mediterranean Squadron?”
    â€œYes, sir. Captain Hardcastle is my wife’s oldest brother. I am pleased to report that her other brother, Hugh, was recently promoted to the rank of post captain. He remains attached to the Windward Squadron in Barbados.”
    â€œSo I understand. Your wife had a third brother, did she not? One serving as midshipman in Serapis at the same time you were serving as acting third lieutenant in Bonhomme Richard ?”
    Richard lowered his eyes to his glass. “That is correct, sir. His name was James—his friends called him Jamie. I was honored to be counted among those friends.” He said nothing more, surprised by Truxtun’s knowledge of his wife’s family and wondering what other details of that bitter North Sea naval engagement he might know. The respectful silence that ensued suggested that Truxtun knew, at least, that Midshipman
James Makepeace Hardcastle had died in Richard’s arms on Serapis ’ weather deck as the battle reached its bloody conclusion.
    â€œWell,” the captain said at length, “I am honored to be in the presence of such naval accomplishments.”
    Richard raised his eyes. “What accomplishments are you referring to, Captain?”
    Truxtun smiled. “Come now, Mr. Cutler. You’re