The Power and the Glory (5 page)

“The French
navy
? I didn't think the French had a navy anymore.”

“They do, though certainly it's not what it used to be. Nearly all its commissioned officers were aristocrats, and most of them were carted off to the guillotine or murdered by mutinous crews. Former merchant captains command most French naval vessels today, and few of them have experience in battle. British intelligence reports a handful of French frigates in the Indies, though the main fleets remain bottled up in Toulon and Brest. French privateers and pirates do most of their country's dirty work in the Indies.”

“I don't understand, Richard.” Caleb shook his head in confusion. “Why are the French so bent on war with us? Don't they have enough troubles in Europe dealing with the British? And anyway, don't we have a treaty with France?”

“That treaty has gone by the boards. France claims that we violated it, first, by our proclamation of neutrality and, second, by signing the Treaty of London, the one Mr. Jay negotiated with the British. So the French declared the Treaty of Alliance null and void at the same time they declared a
guerre de course
against us. That declaration gives them the right to seize and search any American vessel bound for a British port. Or so they claim in theory. In practice, they claim it gives them the right to seize any American vessel bound for
any
port.”

“Don't they have cause? I mean, France is at war with England,
right? So if the Royal Navy is openly protecting American merchant vessels . . .”

Richard shrugged. “That depends on your perspective. We are English by descent and we have family in England with whom we are in business. When it comes to war, naturally we favor England over France. But when it comes to commerce, we don't play favorites. We support free trade—with every country. We'll treat with the French or the British. Or with the Dutch or the Russians or the Malays. But it's not the Dutch or the Russians or the Malays who last year seized more than three hundred of our merchantmen. It was French cutthroats perpetrating the worst kinds of atrocities. You want an example? Here's one. A few months ago a schooner out of New York bound for Jamaica was attacked somewhere off the north coast of Cuba. She was armed and her captain may have put up a fight. If so, he was likely outgunned and forced to strike his colors. No one knows what happened next. No one on board the schooner lived to tell about it. A few corpses washed up on the shore, or what was left after the sharks finished with them. Pickering, our secretary of state, protested to the Spanish ambassador. But what was Spain, a puppet of France, going to do? The answer is they did nothing beyond confirming that a schooner had been sighted sailing westward off Havana shortly before she disappeared.

“I agree with Father that the British can only do so much. It's up to us, not the British, to protect our merchantmen and answer these atrocities. And the only answer the French seem to understand these days is one delivered by powder and shot.” He uttered those last three words with bitter precision.

“President Adams sent a peace delegation to Paris in July,” Thomas Cutler said in a calmer voice. “John Marshall, the leader of the delegation, is an honorable man. So is his colleague Charles Pinckney of South Carolina. The third delegate, Elbridge Gerry, is a Massachusetts man from Marblehead. While I commend the president for this initiative and his choice of envoys, I seriously question their chances for success. The French don't want peace. They want funds to finance their war in Europe, and privateering is a lucrative source for those funds. They won't give it up easily.”

Caleb took a moment to absorb that. Then a notion struck him. “What's your role in all this, Richard?” he asked. “It certainly sounds as though you have one.”

Richard nodded. “I have been approached, Caleb.”

“By whom?”

“By our president,” his father answered for him. “Mr. Adams has commended Richard to Thomas Truxtun, captain of
Constellation.
Richard's name was also put forth by our dear friend Alexander Hamilton.”

Caleb's eyes never left Richard's. “When do you report to Captain Truxtun?”

“Fairly soon, I suspect.”

“The decision is final, then?”

“No naval officer's commission is final until it is proposed by a ship's captain and approved by the Senate.”

“But if offered, you will accept it?”

“I will, barring the unforeseen.”

“How do I enlist?”

Richard's eyebrows shot up. “
Enlist
? Jesus Christ, Caleb, you just got home.”

Caleb shook his head. “That doesn't matter, Richard. I sat in an Arab prison for ten years, and I have no intention of sitting any longer. I want my life back. I want to get back to sea, and I want to serve my country. I can do both in the Navy.”

Richard met his brother's hard stare until their father intervened.

“That is very noble of you, Caleb, given the hell you've had to endure these past ten years. You make me proud. But the fact is, I can't afford to have both you and Richard taking leave of Cutler & Sons. Agreen is likely to be called up, and if he is . . .” Thomas held up his hands. “I need you here with me. I need you to help manage the family business.”

“In what capacity, Father?”

“In any capacity you choose. You want to go to sea? I can guarantee you that. You want to serve your country? You can, in a most meaningful way. Our carrying trade is our country's lifeblood, Caleb. Without it our economy would collapse, along with our family's fortunes. I am hoping that you will sail to Barbados within the year to learn the family business from that end. John and Robin would welcome your company and your assistance. Please, son, give this matter some serious thought before making your decision.”

It took Caleb only a moment to respond. “I don't need to give it serious thought, Father. Of course I will comply with your wishes. If I learned anything while in prison in Algiers, it's that nothing matters more than family and country. And I can't deny that I have much to learn about our business.” He scraped back his chair.

“Where are you going, son?”

“To visit Mother.”

Richard stood up across from him. “I'll go with you, Caleb.”

 

 

THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS saw lively debate as to where Richard would take his sons and Caleb on the short cruise he had promised them. Will and Jamie fancied the Isles of Shoals, two low, treeless islands off the coast of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Their father, however, thought those islands too far away and peopled by fisher-folk too long cut off from the mores and morals of the mainland. He suggested the Misery Islands in Salem Sound off the North Shore of Boston. These two islands—one big, one small—were an easy day's sail from Hingham and afforded both sheltered coves for anchorage and sweeping vistas of Cape Ann, so named by King Charles I of England to honor his mother, Anne of Denmark.

As it turned out, the cruise had to be scrapped. The following Thursday, a day before the Cutlers were to set sail, the wind strengthened to a full gale, whipping up white foam even within the protected waters of Hingham Bay. Moisture-laden clouds gloomed in from the southwest and stalled over Boston, pummeling its shores and streets with a cold, drenching rain. As the days elapsed and the storm lagged on, concern mounted that the homecoming celebration to honor
Eagle'
s crew would also have to be scrapped.

Providence proved kind, however. Three days before the planned event, the storm blew itself out. Hingham awoke to a soothing, warm October sun, a gentle westerly breeze, and a bright blue sky accentuating the red-gold, brilliant yellow, and tarnished bronze of autumn foliage. Such conditions boded well for what had to be done, and quickly. Scores of men and women converged on the Lincoln farm south of Hingham to prepare for the many hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people who would attend, for it was a well-publicized event open to everyone. Tent tops were erected, tables were brought in, and a makeshift dais was set up for speeches, with chairs set to accommodate the elderly and infirm. Numerous pits were filled with combustibles to slow-cook the beef, venison, and pork that would accompany rounds of beer, wine, and ale. By Saturday morning the broad green pastures surrounding the Lincoln farmstead had been transformed from a serene, pastoral setting into a veritable fairground.

No one appeared more pleased with the results than the host of the event, Benjamin Lincoln. Dressed in a blue uniform coat with buff
facings and gold buttons—three silver stars on the twin epaulettes signifying the rank of brigadier general—he strode about the grounds armin-arm with his wife, a tall, pewter-haired woman of grace and gentility. Together they greeted those who arrived on foot from nearby farms or by horse and carriage from locations farther away. Adults and children alike came dressed in their Sunday best.

The Cutlers arrived early, before noon, to help out where they could and to be on hand to greet the members of
Eagle'
s crew. Their wagon had hardly ground to a halt before Will and Jamie jumped off and darted ahead to where meats lanced on iron spits sizzled over blazing fires. Richard and Katherine, meanwhile, took Stephen Starbuck, Lavinia's husband, a shopkeeper from Duxbury, and Frederick Seymour, husband to Anne Cutler and a physician from Cambridge, to greet the general and his wife.

“Welcome,” General Lincoln said, shaking each man's hand in turn. “Mrs. Lincoln and I are honored that you are able to join us today.”

“You must travel to Hingham more often,” Mrs. Lincoln admonished. “We miss your wives and we miss seeing you. I remember your sons, Doctor. They are a handsome brood, though from the look of them they must be quite the handful.”

“That they are,” Anne confirmed.

As morning melded into afternoon, Richard and Katherine strolled about among the guests, talking to as many people as possible. At one point they saw Caleb in the company of four of his shipmates walking toward the dais where Benjamin Lincoln was preparing to speak. What he had to say was indistinct—Richard and Katherine were too far away—though his intent was clear enough. One by one, each member of
Eagle'
s crew was invited up to the platform to stand between the general and his wife and receive the cheers and applause of those gathered around. This day, there would be no talk of war or piracy or an agrarian economy going to seed.

“Darling,” Katherine said, after the crew had received their due, “I see Joan Keating over there. I fancy a word with her. Please excuse me for a moment.”

Richard smiled to himself. Experience had taught him that a “word” between Katherine Cutler and Joan Keating would likely last a great deal longer than a “moment.” He contented himself by watching the proceedings on the dais until he noticed Agreen Crabtree trying to make his way toward him. It was slow going, for there were many partygoers in between, and Agreen cut a popular swath in Hingham.

“Ahoy, Agee,” Richard said when they were together. “How's Lizzy?”

“Doin' fine,” Agreen said. “Disappointed not t' be here. Dr. Prescott's given her strict orders t' stay put. I don't plan t' stay long myself. Just wanted t' pay my respects t' the men.” His eyes narrowed. “Anne told Lizzy you've heard from Captain Truxtun.”

“That's right, I have. A post arrived yesterday.”

“And?”

“I'm to meet with him in three weeks' time. He'll size me up and figure out what to do with me—if anything. While I'm down there I plan to stroll around a bit, maybe talk to a few people. Father thinks we should consider opening a second office in Baltimore. It's our westernmost seaport, and it has easy access to Pennsylvania and the Ohio Valley. From there we can ship our goods inland. Plus, it's well protected from storms and invasion. And, it's a lot closer to the Indies than Boston.”

“That's true; all of it. Baltimore's quite the place, I'm here t' tell you. I dropped anchor there twice while in Sloane's employ. I'd give a sow's ear t' join you on
this
cruise 'cause I'd enjoy takin' you around t' some of the choice spots. 'Course, seein' as how you're so prim and proper and all, I'd have t' limit my tour t' the respectable establishments. But no matter, you haven't invited me; and besides, I wouldn't want t' leave Lizzy in her state.”

Richard nodded his agreement. “You're on the beach until the baby's delivered, no question. Maybe after that . . . What is it, Agee?” he asked when he noticed Agreen's attention focusing on something over his shoulder. “Why the silly grin?”

“Ah, Richard? Friendly fire's comin' up aft. I suggest you wear ship.”

Richard turned around to find Anne-Marie Endicott standing demurely before him. She was dressed simply, as was her custom since casting off the trappings of a marquise and fleeing France back in '89. But the simple rose-colored cotton dress and the off-white shawl draped across her slender shoulders neither concealed nor diminished a physical presence so alluring that, in pre-revolutionary France,
la crème de la crème
of Parisian society had characterized the Swiss-born beauty as
une belle femme du monde
, an expression denoting either high praise or deep envy, depending on who was offering the comment. A flourish of thick, flowing curls framed delicate facial features, the black locks a sharp contrast to Richard's yellow hair. Yet the eyes settling affectionately upon him were as bright a sky blue as his own.

“Hello, Richard,” she greeted him. “You seem surprised to see me.”

He kept his expression noncommittal. “Not surprised, Anne-Marie. Happy. I'm always happy to see you.”