Hugh Hardcastle threw up his hands in disgust. “If Mr. Jefferson believes that,” he scoffed, “then the man truly is the bloody idiot you Federalists contend he is. He is naïve beyond belief. Great Britain will survive quite handily, thank you very much, without American trade. And His Majesty’s government will soon find other customers for Britain’s exports. Those soon-to-be liberated Dago Indians in South America are perfect examples, and I can think of many more. My opinion? Not only will Great Britain survive an American embargo, she will flourish as a result of it. British merchants will be only too pleased to fill the void, and they will happily sing a sea chantey as they waltz their way to the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street,” referring to the popular term for the Bank of England.
“Exactly, Hugh,” Endicott heartily agreed. “That is my thinking to the letter. We should be seeking ways to mollify the British—to work with them, not against them. We most definitely should not be seeking ways to antagonize them. Imagine the effects of a trade embargo on this country! Our carrying trade is the lifeblood of our economy, and here we have a president who seeks to sever that artery and watch the lifeblood spill out. Mark my words well: if Congress approves this embargo, it is not only the New England shipping families who will suffer. Without trade to England and her colonies, where do southerners sell their cotton? Where do westerners sell their furs? All Americans, regardless of where they live or what politics and religion they happen to fancy, will be reduced to selling goods and services to each other. And damn few of us will have the money to purchase anything from anyone, anywhere. This policy would ruin us. Ruin us, I say.” Endicott’s tone had risen in pitch at the onset of his spiel, but by its end had plummeted to tones of utter despondency.
Jamie Cutler asked, “Just how imminent is this embargo, Mr. Endicott? And how much support in Washington does Mr. Shaw believe the president has?” He had a personal stake in asking those questions. If an embargo were to be enacted into law, it would fall to the U.S. Navy and a handful of revenue cutters to enforce that law.
Caleb Cutler stood up. “If I may, Jack?” Endicott nodded, sat down, and stared blankly down at the floor.
“To answer your second question first, Jamie,” Caleb said, “as you heard Mr. Endicott state, James Madison supports the embargo to the letter. In fact, many in Washington believe that the embargo is his idea. And a number of others in the cabinet and in Congress support it, although I doubt most of them either understand or appreciate its full implications. I doubt the president does.
“The answer to your first question is less clear. Nothing is definite. We have not reviewed the legislation because there is as yet no legislation to review. Jefferson apparently has his proposal ready to submit to Congress but has not yet sent it. Why he hasn’t is a matter of conjecture. Mr. Shaw does his job well, but of course he is not privy to Jefferson’s thinking. Perhaps the president and his secretary of state are waiting for the right moment to act. What that moment might be is anyone’s guess. Whatever the reason, we must assume that if and when Jefferson does send the legislation to Congress, it will receive the necessary votes and be enacted into law. Ever since the Republicans took control of both the House and the Senate, Congress has given the president pretty much everything he has asked for. But we won’t know exactly what the proposed legislation entails, and what loopholes it may contain, until after we have reviewed the document with our legal counsel.”
“It’s blasphemy,” Endicott muttered. “Utter madness.”
Jamie said to Caleb, “I understand that, Uncle, thank you. But surely Mr. Shaw has some notion as to when the legislation will be sent to Congress?”
“His best guess is within the year,” Caleb replied. “I doubt President Jefferson would want to hold a bill of this magnitude in abeyance for very long. Unless, of course, either the United States or England decides to back down.”
“That won’t happen,” Hugh Hardcastle said adamantly. “With respect, Caleb, things have already gone too far for either side to back down with honor. But I will say this for the American president: he acts boldly when conditions warrant it. He may act foolishly, I grant you; and on this matter he is so far off the wicket he is playing on another field. But he does take action. He also understands what Jack said a few minutes ago: that despite what some members of his own party contend, America is not ready for war, especially for a war with England. That would be tantamount to national suicide. The United States would suffer a colossal defeat, and you would find yourselves back in virtually a colonial status.”
“Many Americans would argue, Captain Hardcastle,” George Hunt put in, “that a virtual colonial status is where we find ourselves today.”
“I take your point, Mr. Hunt,” Hugh conceded.
Richard listened to this discourse with growing apprehension. Like everyone present—like most people living in the five New England states—the last thing he wanted to contemplate was a further deterioration of relations with the mother country. As he and other Federalists had long contended, and as Endicott had hammered home today, England was America’s natural ally. Their citizens shared the same history, the same blood, and the same aspirations for the future. Without question, England had committed any number of actions against the interests of the United States both at sea and along the northwestern frontier. Richard himself had been on a Cutler & Sons vessel that was boarded by British sailors and Marines off Bermuda, and he had watched helplessly as one of his sailors was dragged away to certain death. But he understood that the Royal Navy was perpetrating similar atrocities against its own merchant fleets in order to man the more than one thousand warships sailing under Britain’s flag. He also understood that Great Britain was locked in a death struggle with France. The victor would determine the fate of England and of Europe. To Richard’s mind, all bets were off and all sins forgiven when an individual or a nation was backed into a corner and forced to fight for its very survival.
He was able to retain some optimism because of his firm conviction that once the war between England and France was settled, the issues that divided Americans and Europeans would dissipate and relations would gradually be restored to normal. It was, after all, the way of history, and the alternatives were simply too mind numbing to contemplate. War with England or a trade embargo: either might well destroy his country and his future. Everything his family had worked hard to build during the previous half century would come crashing down around them. Jack was correct when he predicted that. But for Richard and Katherine—and for many other Americans—there was more. If it came to war, they would have one, perhaps two, sons engaged in combat on a U.S. Navy gun deck in a conflict from which the United States could not possibly emerge victorious. That possibility remained in a nebulous future, though. What troubled him most at that moment was Endicott’s warning.
“Jack,” he said, “you spoke of a war against our own government. Please explain yourself.”
Jack Endicott rose to his feet, his earlier fury now replaced by resignation. He looked exhausted and years older than his actual age. “Perhaps ‘war’ is not quite the right word,” he admitted quietly. “But of this I can assure you: Jefferson’s policies and his refusal to negotiate further with England will be opposed by virtually all Federalists and a great many Republicans. Mr. Shaw is adamant on that point. If Jefferson and the Congress believe for an instant that they can impose a trade embargo without severe repercussions, they are very much mistaken. Like you, Caleb, I believe that those in power will impose the embargo regardless—and the results of doing that will be disastrous. In his communiqué Mr. Shaw offered us a clue as to what actually may happen as a result.”
“We’re all ears,” Richard said into the silence that followed.
The irony in Richard’s voice was not lost on Endicott. “I should hope so, Richard,” he said. “Although Mr. Shaw did not name names, he has it on good authority that certain members of Congress are preparing to meet in secret. Their objective? To discuss taking New En
gland out of the Union and establishing a separate nation.”
“That’s poppycock, Jack,” Richard blurted out, dismissing Endicott’s stunning announcement with a wave of his hand. “It’s nothing more than alehouse chatter. I’ve heard that sort of drivel before—from people who were deep into their cups. Surely you don’t mean to tell us that you take such a notion seriously.”
“I do take it seriously,” Endicott countered. “And so should you. So should we all. This Republican regime in Washington never has and never will act in New England’s best interests. It is time for us to accept that and to stop hoping the tide will turn. It is time for us to stand together as a cohesive political body. This I pledge: I will do whatever is necessary—I repeat: I will do whatever is necessary—to prevent Washington from destroying my reputation and my business. If that means I support and help finance the creation of a new nation, then so be it. I am informed that many others of consequence believe as I do.”
“Those are brave words, Jack,” Richard stated in a non-confrontational tone, hoping at all costs to avoid a rift among family members. “Words to make Patrick Henry proud. I do understand your apprehension,” he added sincerely. “Every man in this room understands it because we are together in the same boat, so to speak. And I understand your sense of outrage. I just don’t happen to agree with your solution.”
“And what, pray, might your solution be, Richard,” Endicott asked.
“I’m afraid I have none to offer,” Richard admitted.
THE MEETING over, Richard said good-bye to Will with the promise that he and Will’s mother would sail to Boston soon after Adele gave birth to their first grandchild. Now that Adele was in her final month of pregnancy, Anne-Marie Endicott had insisted that her daughter and Will remain at the Endicott residence on Belknap Street on Beacon Hill with a midwife and Boston’s finest physicians standing by. The demands of Cutler & Sons and C&E Enterprises, which required long hours on Long Wharf, would keep Caleb and his family in Boston as well. Jamie, too, planned to stay in Boston for another three days. He needed to report to his superiors at the Charlestown Navy Yard regarding the disposition of Constitution, which was soon to be relieved by Chesapeake as flagship of the Mediterranean Squadron. He also wanted to spend time with Will and lend what support he could to the nervous father-to-be. The next day, Hugh Hardcastle was to set sail with a cargo of oak lumber and barrel staves, his first command of a Cutler & Sons’ vessel and his first visit to the offices on Fleet Street in Baltimore. So it would be just Richard and Agreen on the return voyage to Hingham.
“You’re certain I can’t entice you to stop by for luncheon before you leave?” Endicott inquired as Richard made ready to depart. Endicott possessed an uncanny ability to separate business and social matters, and he never allowed one to be confused with the other. The sparks of controversy so evident during the meeting had been summarily extinguished once Caleb pronounced the meeting adjourned. Others might fret and fume for hours or even days over what had been said or implied during a business session, but not Jack Endicott. It was, Richard had once said to Katherine, the most admirable and unique of Endicott’s social talents.
“Thank you, Jack,” Richard replied with equal bonhomie. “But I really must get back to Hingham. Perhaps later in the week?”
Endicott gave him a broad smile. “Of course,” he said. “But you do realize that by deferring my invitation you are placing my well-being in considerable jeopardy. I will have Anne-Marie’s wrath to contend with as soon as I arrive home and tell her that you are not coming. I believe I would do better to hide out here and not go home at all.”
Richard laughed but said nothing further. He shook Endicott’s hand and those of Caleb and Jamie, and reiterated his promise to return to Long Wharf three days hence. He wished Hugh fair winds and then left the countinghouse in company with Agreen.
“My love to my sister,” Hugh called after them.
Richard and Agreen walked in silence along a wharf alive with the bounty and bustle of commercial enterprise. A gusty breeze and a dazzlingly bright sun enlivened the afternoon; diamonds flashed and danced upon a sapphire sea awash with white crests. The sun felt warm when they were in the lee of a building; once in the teeth of the wind, however, the brisk twenty-knot northerlies had the muscle to bite through several layers of wool clothing. At the end of the half-mile wood-and-stone structure a single-masted packet boat bobbed up and down with the wave action. A thick mat-like padding hanging over her starboard railing protected her hull from abrasion as it bumped against the wharf.
Once on board, Richard and Agreen helped the master and mate to hoist main and jib and cast off. Together they put the fifty-foot craft on a course between Long Island and Gallops Island, on a broad reach sailing for Hingham Bay.
Although the boat had a sizable cabin, Richard and Agreen chose to remain topside. The stiff April breeze became less persistent once the packet had creamed into the lee of the Boston Harbor islands and the wind was more at their back. They were quite comfortable sitting on the top of the cabin to windward with their feet on the deck and the sun full on them. And the scenery they passed by at a good clip was, as always, worthy of note.
“You know what galls me the most in all this?” Agreen said reflectively after a long spell of silent contemplation. The boat’s master and mate remained aft, discreetly out of earshot beside the tiller.
“What’s that, Agee?” Richard asked halfheartedly, his thoughts already ahead in Hingham. His gaze remained fixed off to larboard at the drumlin that defined Gallops Island at high tide.
“Well, as I see it, we’re the ones sufferin’ the most from what the British are doin’. I mean, it’s our ships bein’ boarded, our sailors bein’ impressed, our cargoes bein’ taxed and seized. We’re the ones takin’ it deep in the hindquarters, and yet it’s the Republicans in the South and West who cry foul. Jack is right, Richard, when he says that those of us here in New England desire peace with the English. We want t’ work things out with them, and why shouldn’t we? Our livelihood depends on it. Besides, do you think for one minute that England wants a war with us? Hell, no. Of course not. They’ve got their hands full with Bonny over yonder in Europe. We’re a distraction, that’s all: a fly buzzin’ around the lion’s head. Thing is, we could work things out if Jefferson and his-all weren’t so damn hellfire bent on twistin’ the lion’s tail. Jack’s right about that too. And it’s those Republicans who propose we build gunboats rather than frigates because if war comes, so Dearborn claims, it would be a defensive war only and therefore we wouldn’t need frigates.” His scorn for Henry Dearborn, Jefferson’s secretary of war, reddened his face. “Now that’s poppycock! It is t’ me, at least. But then, I’m just a rube from Nowhere, Maine.”
Richard looked askance at him. “You can don that hayseed cloak as much as you like, Agee,” he said, “but it won’t serve. You’d still be one of the smartest men I know. And the best damn sea captain I know. And the best friend I’ve ever had,” he added with feeling.
Agreen nodded in acknowledgment and then looked away, embarrassed by Richard’s overt expression of affection and praise. “So what do you make of all this?” he asked moments later.
Richard shrugged. “I just don’t know. Two things are certain: it’s bad, and it’s going to get worse. Perhaps a lot worse, as Jack seems to think—and for the reasons he stated. I may find his ways annoying, Agee, but I can’t deny his intellect and business insight. My family is where it is today because of three men: my father, my Uncle William, and Jack Endicott. The profits of C&E dwarf those of Cutler & Sons, and it was Jack’s vision of the China trade that finally convinced my father and uncle to throw in our lot with him. So I’d be a fool not to listen carefully to what Jack has to say. And I will confess to you that what he had to say today scares the living hell out of me. If Jefferson does broadside our carrying trade, our world will turn upside down. It is madness, as Jack says. But I can agree with Jack only so far. I cannot for the lif
e of me accept his notion of taking New England out of the Union. Nothing on earth could justify doing that. I love my country, and my country is the United States.”
“Amen t’ that, Richard.”
Just north of Hough’s Neck, the packet entered the twelve square miles that formed Hingham Bay. Ahead on the horizon off to starboard, in the narrow open space between the foredeck and the foot of the jib, Agreen caught a glimpse of Grape Island, its familiar low terrain marking the entrance of Hingham Harbor. In these more sheltered waters the wind had moderated considerably; the packet’s former twelve-knot speed had settled into a lazier pitch and roll on the waves of a following sea. At this rate, he estimated, they would arrive at the Hingham docks within the half hour. It was now or never, Agreen decided. He drew a deep breath.
“Richard, there’s somethin’ I need t’ ask you. It’s on another subject.”
“Ask away.”
Agreen hesitated, then: “It’s about Katherine.”
Richard stared steadily northward at the distant gap between Peddock’s Island and Pemberton Point known as Hull Gut. On the mainland side rose a thirty-five-foot structure that gave the end of the Nantasket Peninsula the alternate name of Windmill Point. During the early years of his marriage, that desolate but alluring spit had been Richard and Katherine’s favorite destination, to walk and talk, and simply to be alone together. As he normally did whenever he caught sight of that windmill, he recalled the magic of that warm September afternoon years ago when, to his delight, Katherine had enticed him into shattering social mores by making love amid the thick shrubs and tall sea grass encircling the windmill. Richard often found himself wondering what would have happened had Rebecca Hanson or another of Hingham’s gossipmongers caught sight or wind of what they had done. The thought never failed to induce a smile. “What about Katherine?”
Agreen chewed on his lower lip. “I’m concerned about her.”
How Dark the Night Page 16