For Love of Country (22 page)

“You look well, Caleb,” Richard managed at last. “Better than I expected.”

Caleb forced a smile. “I manage. We all manage. We have Captain Dickerson to thank for that.” He indicated the man standing by the table. “He's done so much for us,” Caleb explained. “Each day we're fed a pound of bread and some bits of camel meat. That's standard prison fare. But Captain Dickerson is able to procure some decent food for us every now and then, and he makes certain our clothes are boiled once a week. The Arabs respect him. He's the reason we're still alive—or at least not sold off to some worse form of slavery.”

Richard released his brother, walked over to the table. “Thank you, Mr. Dickerson,” he said, gripping the man's hand. “Thank you for your care of my brother and the crew.” He was grateful Dickerson was in the room. Had he not been, Richard knew, it would have been impossible to keep his frayed emotions in check.

“My duty, Mr. Cutler,” Dickerson said in reply.

There was a brief, awkward silence, broken finally by Caleb. “How are Mother and Father, Richard? And Anne and Lavinia?”

Richard turned around. “Everyone is well, Caleb. They send their love to you, of course.”

“And Katherine?”

“Beset daily by Will and Jamie's mischief. And Caleb? You have a niece. Her name is Diana. She was born just before I sailed from Boston.”

“A niece. Diana Cutler.” Caleb shook his head in wonder. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lass.”

“She is that.” A wave of powerful emotion surged between them when Richard added, his voice cracking, “Had we had a son, we would have named him Caleb.”

Caleb smiled. He quelled the wave of emotion with, “Well, that means that you and Katherine will just have to keep on trying until you have another son.”

Richard held up his hands defensively, relieved for the distraction. “No promises, Caleb. It was not an easy birth.”

Fifteen minutes had elapsed. Forty-five minutes remained. Richard's eyes flicked from Caleb to Dickerson and back again. “When were you informed that I was coming here?”

Caleb deferred the answer to his captain.

“I learned about it from the guards,” Dickerson said. “I've managed to pick up a little Arabic, since as an officer I'm excused from heavy labor. I am even allowed some freedom to walk about the city, on my parole. See here.” He drew up his trouser leg to reveal a thick iron ankle bracelet, a badge of special status. “Two days ago, we were informed by the French consul—ah, I see you have met Monsieur de Kercy—that you had an audience this morning with the dey.”

“And have you been told . . . about what happened during that audience?”

“The result,” Caleb confirmed. “Not the details.”

Richard quickly summarized the proceedings, purposely omitting the possible role of Thomas Jefferson. He still could not fully accept the dey's claims about the American consul, and he would not relay deeply troubling information that might cause the prisoners to lose hope. He did dwell, in detail, on the final offer the dey had made to him. “I pray you understand, Caleb,” he concluded, “why I had to refuse it.”

Caleb's blue eyes met Richard's with an expression of deep concern, not for himself. “Of course I understand,” he said. “We have a country to build, don't we, and a revolution to justify. Besides, Richard, even if you had accepted the dey's offer, I would not have left Algiers with you. Under no conditions would I leave here without my shipmates.”

Richard's desire to walk over and embrace Caleb again proved almost irresistible. But he felt the seconds ticking by, and in any event, that would only have embarrassed his brother. “Are other Americans being held here? In addition to
Eagle
's crew?”

“Yes,” Dickerson replied. “Five from
Dauphin
and three from a brigantine out of Charleston. At one time there were fifty-one captives here besides ourselves. But most of them have been sold off elsewhere. One of them converted to Islam,” he added bitterly. “And Mr. Cutler, I have the sad duty to report that three of
Eagle
's crew have departed this life.”

“Who?” Richard heard himself ask.

“Nathan Reeves, Ashley Bowen, and Joshua Winter.”

“How?”

“Reeves and Winter from the plague, three months ago. Bowen was executed, not two fortnights after we got here. He went off his head and tried to escape. Trouble is, as you've seen for yourself, there's nowhere to escape to. We warned him about that, to no avail. They brought him back from the desert half-starved and raving mad, cursing Allah and the dey and every Arab that's ever lived. They tortured him for his heresy. He was still alive when they spiked him on a hook on the outside wall. It took him two days to die. It was a warning to the rest of us. We could see his body every day while we worked on the breakwater. They left him hanging there until nothing was left but bones picked clean by the birds.”

Richard was too appalled to speak right away. Three good men lost, Christian men, fine, able-bodied seamen. Reeves and Winter hailed from Weymouth; both were married with young children. Bowen, hardly in his twenties, hailed from Cohasset. He had wed a comely Hingham girl just a month before
Eagle
's final voyage. Richard had stood up for him at their wedding.

“I'll write to their families,” he said, as if to himself alone. “And I'll ask Katherine to look in on Mary. She's so young. She'll take this very hard.”

“Aye, that she will,” Dickerson agreed.

“And I'll write Father,” Richard pledged in that same faraway tone that nonetheless contained a timbre of iron resolve. “Cutler and Sons will not forget these men or their families. We take care of our own. Please tell them that, Mr. Dickerson. Make sure they understand.”

Richard's fury over the injustice and savagery of these deaths was bubbling up like hot lava from its core and in danger of spilling over. He paced back and forth until he was able to calm his nerves somewhat. More minutes ticked by.

“There is something else I must ask,” he said, his hardened gaze taking in both men. “You say that other ships' crews were brought here,
but then were sold off elsewhere. Why has
Eagle
's crew been kept intact here in Algiers? Why haven't you
all
been sold as slaves?”

Caleb nodded. “It's a question we've asked ourselves, Richard, more than once. I've already given you one reason: Captain Dickerson. But we're convinced there are other reasons. As near as we can tell, it was back in February that bin Osman was informed of your sailing here with ransom money. That was when they stopped transferring prisoners from Algiers.”

Richard did the calculations. Four months was the correct time frame. In early February Alexander Hamilton had informed the Cutler family that Congress had officially notified the court of Dey Mohammed bin Osman of
Falcon
's pending visit. But the proceedings that morning seemed to indicate that bin Osman was expecting the Americans to be bringing almost twice the amount of money they had actually brought with them. Who had given the dey that impression? And why?

He put those questions to Caleb. Dickerson replied. “Kercy, is my bet,” he said, an assertion that did not surprise Richard. What
Eagle
's captain said next did surprise him: “Though it could just as well have been the British consul. I don't trust Logie any more than I trust Kercy, I don't care how many gifts of food and coin he gives us. It's blood money, to my mind.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Dickerson?' Richard asked. “That the British are also involved in this . . . ?” He wasn't quite sure what he meant by “this.”

“I'm sorry to say they are, Mr. Cutler,” Dickerson said. He gave Richard a look of pure disgust. “So are the Spanish. So are the Dutch and Swedes and Danes. So are the Portuguese. But our primary suspects are the British and French, for a good reason.”

“Which is?”

Dickerson shrugged. “As the two strongest maritime powers in Europe, they have the most to lose.”

“From what? American competition?”

“Precisely. The way I see it, Mr. Cutler, all Europe is conspiring against us. To protect their trade routes, you understand. America is a threat to them. Not a military threat; God knows, the Kingdom of Naples could overrun us in a month. No, the threat they see is the size and range of our commerce. And our claim to free trade. That claim has their merchants up in arms. The truth is, Mr. Cutler, America stands
alone. Europeans mean to cripple us economically, and they are getting all the help they need from the four Barbary States. This much I've learned from my privileges here: the treachery of these people knows no bounds. Europeans are using Arabs and Arabs are using Europeans in a combined effort to prey on our country. We're the world's whippingboy, and without a navy to protect our trade, there's not much we can do about it.”

“That's a serious accusation, Mr. Dickerson,” Richard said. “If I understand you correctly, you are accusing the Barbary rulers of acting in concert with the British and French against America's commercial interests.”

“You understand me correctly, Mr. Cutler. Mind you, there are no formal alliances involved. That would be too obvious. But the alliances are real enough, mark my words. Of course, I can't prove any of this. It's just what my bones are telling me.”

Over the years the Cutlers had learned to rely on what Dickerson's bones told him. There was good reason why Thomas Cutler had given him command of
Eagle.

“Is there any evidence you can offer? Anything I can pass on?”

“No, I'm afraid not. And what good would it do if I could? America is powerless to do anything to stop these abominations. In any event, my evidence is what I see with my eyes and hear with my ears. I have heard that Queen Maria of Portugal has persuaded Whitehall to deny Royal Navy escorts to American merchant vessels in the Mediterranean. And I know for certain that Kercy and Logie have urged bin Osman to seize American ships. I have heard this said in what little Arabic I understand and in what questions I've had answered.

“There's more,” he continued. “We believe the two consuls have supplied the dey with specific information on the whereabouts of American ships in the Mediterranean—information gained from their own country's warships out on patrol. I am convinced that is how
Eagle
came to be seized.”

Richard's thoughts, as Dickerson spoke, went to Jeremy Hardcastle. He could not believe that Katherine's brother had anything to do with such duplicity and treachery. Whitehall, yes; Parliament, maybe; but not Jeremy. That was unthinkable.

“And,” Dickerson went on, “the consuls have advised bin Osman that America is a fruit ripe for the picking—a rich country easily able to afford whatever tributes the dey might decree. Bin Osman knows nothing
about America, Mr. Cutler. He relies on his ministers and foreign consuls to supply him with information, and he tends to accept whatever he's told. Of course, it doesn't hurt that what he's told is what he wants to hear.”

The door to the spartan chamber opened. A Muslim guard entered. He pounded the haft of his spear on the floor and held up five fingers, then another five. Ten minutes. After the door banged shut, Caleb gave his brother a somber look.

“Richard, there's something else—something that may be worse than anything we've discussed so far. I pray to God I'm wrong, but I think it possible that bin Osman set terms today that he knew you could not accept.”

“Why would he do that, Caleb?” Richard asked warily, as though he was about to be offered the final piece of a puzzle and feared what fitting it in would show. “What would he gain?”

Dickerson said, when Caleb hesitated, “The ransom money you have in your hold, Mr. Cutler. He can take it without having to release a single prisoner.”

A shadow passed over Richard's face. The same thought had occurred to him that afternoon in his cabin. “I have diplomatic immunity,” he said, sounding unconvincing even to himself.

“In theory you do. But only in theory. And only as long as you remain in Algiers. I hardly dare say it, Mr. Cutler, but at this very moment you and your crew may be in greater danger than any of us here in this prison.”

Richard nodded slowly. He could not argue.

“You're sailing tonight, Richard?” Caleb asked.

“Yes,” Richard replied.

“For home?”

“For France. I'm to report to Captain Jones in Paris. He has been appointed to lead a delegation to Barbary to negotiate the release of American prisoners and to establish terms of peace with the Barbary States.”

“Are you a part of that delegation?

“Not to my knowledge.”

“What will you tell Captain Jones when you see him?”

“I will tell him everything I've learned about Algiers during the past two days, including what you just told me. There must be something in all this that will help him in negotiations.”

“When is his delegation due to arrive in Algiers?”

“I don't know,” Richard had to admit. “It hasn't been decided. Our new Constitution is being approved by the individual states. Massachusetts ratified it in February. Maryland ratified it in April. That leaves only two more states to make it official. Next February we will elect a president, and you know as well as I that it will be General Washington. He has publicly stated that if he is elected, the release of American sailors held in North Africa will be a top priority of his administration.”

“In another year or two, then,” Caleb said, unable to prevent frustration and misery from creeping into his voice.