“That is hardy the point, Mr. Larkin.”
“And what is the point, Mr. Meyers?”
“The point is that your ship has committed an act of war against the United States. For that, God help you.”
“No, Lieutenant Meyers,” Larkin said. He bowed slightly from the waist and insolently tipped his bicorne hat in a farewell salute before climbing down into the pinnace. “If it should come to war, God help you. And God help your country.”
Eleven
Boston, Massachusetts
Summer–Fall 1807
PUBLIC REACTION to the unprovoked attack on a U.S. Navy frigate by a British man-of-war was swift and violent. It was as though a towering tsunami had washed across the American continent, leaving every citizen gasping and spluttering in a stupefied rage.
The repercussions began soon after Chesapeake limped back to her home port at Norfolk, Virginia. On the very day of her arrival, Mayor Luke Wheeler signed a resolution denying the Royal Navy access to provisions, water, and repair docks that formerly had been theirs for the asking. He also made it ominously clear that American magistrates could no longer guarantee the safety of British naval personnel who dared to come ashore. Mayors of other major ports on the Eastern Seaboard followed suit when word of the national disgrace reached them. Finding themselves personae non gratae wherever they went, most Royal Navy officers took Wheeler’s advice to heart and remained on their ships. Those reckless enough to venture into cities and towns often found themselves turning tail and running for their lives in front of angry mobs brandishing pitchforks, knives, and tree limbs—and anything else that came to hand.
The honor of the United States had been besmirched by three British broadsides, and Americans demanded an explanation. Commodore Barron and his officers held the keys to such knowledge, but those keys they kept close to their vests by order of Secretary Smith, who forbade any of Chesapeake’s crew to speak publicly about the incident until a court of inquiry had been convened and witnesses interrogated. Even the most isolated South Carolina cotton planter understood a “court of inquiry” to mean a court-martial, and the promise of its ultimate justice helped to keep the lid on a pot threatening to boil over.
More was to come. Secretary of State Madison filed a formal protest in London demanding an apology from His Majesty’s government and release of the three American sailors. President Jefferson publicly urged calm while privately conferring with Secretary of War Dearborn and the governors of Virginia and Maryland. Ten thousand militia and a field of cannon were mobilized to ensure that supplies and provisions were denied to the British squadron in Lynnhaven Bay and to discourage the British from taking retaliatory measures. From the quarterdecks of their squadron, British sea officers gazed toward shore at a nation in arms watching them intently.
“Not since the British attacks on Lexington and Concord have I seen the American public so exasperated,” the National Intelligencer and Washington Advertiser quoted President Jefferson as saying in a cabinet meeting; it was a story headlined in most other American newspapers. “And never have I seen this nation so unified.”
Demands for revenge poured in from all sections of the country, including Federalist New England. Although the United States now found itself on a war footing, all but the most diehard fanatics realized that that footing lacked traction. America’s military services remained ill prepared and ill equipped to go to war with anyone, least of all a superpower such as Great Britain. On this point Thomas Jefferson and the members of his cabinet suffered no doubts. Neither, of course, did the British.
ENJOYING ANOTHER delightful link in a week-long string of dazzling mid-August days—warm verging on hot ashore but cool out on the placid waters of Hingham Bay—Katherine Cutler sat on the windward side of a 40-foot sloop bound for Boston. The southwesterly breeze wafting over the cool surface waters of the bay and across the Cutler & Sons packet boat made her shiver, but she welcomed the stab of chill after the heat in the house, and the joy she felt at being under sail again trivialized all inconveniences. Her husband, nevertheless, had noted her shivering and went below to fetch her coat.
“Richard, you really needn’t pamper me so,” she chided him when he returned on deck and draped the coat over her shoulders. “But I love you for it,” she added. He put his arm around her and she nestled in close, resting her head against his shoulder. “I sometimes wish,” she murmured, “that we could sail on like this forever. Just you and me, in a boat like this, forever summer, and forever together.”
Richard gently squeezed her shoulder. “We can,” he vowed to the winds. “And we will.”
With his typical flair for efficiency, George Hunt was waiting for them with a carriage when they arrived at Long Wharf. Richard had the distinct sense that the aging Cutler & Sons administrator had something to discuss with him, but there was no time. It was already approaching eleven o’clock, and Richard and Katherine needed to be back at the wharf in four hours if they were to return to Hingham before the light breeze died out in late afternoon or early evening, as it often did during the sultry summer months.
The distance from Long Wharf to Beacon Hill was roughly a mile. With the congestion clogging the streets near the waterfront and around Faneuil Hall, and again along Beacon Street near the Common, Richard usually found it faster to travel on foot rather than inside a hired carriage. Today, however, walking was not an option, so Richard climbed into the coach after assisting his wife on board, and together they gazed out on a city that in 1807 encompassed a population of nearly 35,000. Boston had become one of the world’s wealthiest and most important trading ports, its wealth reflected on Beacon Hill in the grand homes of the social elite as well in the far simpler homes of the dockworkers living in the North End and South End who provided the hard labor to ensure that the shipping companies earned a satisfactory rate of return.
The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the familiar four-story red brick townhouse at Fourteen Belknap Street. As if poised just inside the dwelling in anticipation of this very moment, a middle-aged man dressed in formal livery and a white peruke opened the front door and strode imperiously down the flagstone walkway leading to the cobblestone street. He opened the side door of the carriage with a flourish and bowed low in European courtly fashion. Offering a white-gloved hand to Katherine Cutler, he saw her properly out and then offered the same hand to Richard Cutler, who shook his head.
“I can manage quite well, Phineas, thank you,” he said in the same jovial tone he had once used with Sydney Simms, his officious yet highly competent steward in Portsmouth. “And a pleasant good day to you,” he said, adding with a grin, “You are especially well turned out this morning, Phineas. Is that a new outfit? I don’t recall seeing it before.”
Phineas Chapman, Richard knew from experience, had adopted the importance and airs of the man he served. He expected social and business discourse among people of consequence to be conducted within well-defined boundaries of propriety and protocol. Idle banter and verbal jousting not initiated by his employer were to be politely ignored.
“A most pleasant good morning to you, Mr. Cutler,” he said without changing his a deadpan expression. “Please allow me to welcome you and Mrs. Cutler to Boston. If you will please follow me.”
Richard offered Katherine his arm, and she took it with a look as if to say, “Can you not help yourself, my dear?” But her lips were twitching as they stepped up the walkway behind Chapman.
Will, looking tired but happy, greeted them in the front hallway. “Thank you, Mr. Chapman,” he said to the butler, who bowed and turned away to attend to other duties. “Mother, Father, how wonderful to see you,” he said, embracing his mother and shaking his father’s hand.
“How is Adele?” his mother inquired eagerly. “And how is baby Katherine?”
“As well as well can be, I’d say. They’re in the nursery. Adele is just feeding her.”
“Can we see them?”
“Of course!” Will laughe
d. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I’ll be in the study,” Richard said. “When the lass has drunk her fill, I’ll come up.”
“I will not wait one second longer,” Katherine said to Will, excitement etched on her face in anticipation of meeting her first grandchild and namesake. “Lead on, oh father my son!” The babe had been born three weeks later than the family anticipated, but the worry that caused had vanished. Young Katherine was born wailing a healthy tune. Will and Adele had long ago chosen names depending on gender, but they had refused to reveal them until after the birth. Katherine had wept private tears of happiness when a letter from Will informed her that her first grandchild had been named in her honor. As Will had concluded in his letter, there were now two Katherine Cutlers in Boston society.
The snug little room that Richard entered was one of the few rooms in the entire residence, Richard often thought, that looked as though people actually lived in it. The “downstairs study,” as the room was called to differentiate it from the more spacious and richly adorned study that Jack Endicott maintained at the rear of the second floor, featured oil paintings, a teakwood desk, wingback chairs, twin camelback sofas, a thick Turkish rug, a deep-set marble fireplace, and tiers of shelves on three walls lined with leather-bound books. Richard was perusing titles embossed on the spines of the books when he felt more than heard someone enter the room. He turned, expecting to see Jack Endicott. Instead he saw Jack’s wife.
“Anne-Marie,” he said, smiling. “How very nice to see you.”
“And you, Richard.” She came up to him and embraced him in her usual manner, as always conveying a silent message by pressing her fingers briefly into his upper back and allowing her lips to linger on his cheek before drawing away. “Congratulations to you and Katherine,” she said cheerfully. “You have an exceptionally beautiful granddaughter. Mother and child are doing just fine, you will be happy to learn—a great deal better than this grandmother. I had quite forgotten how demanding a wee one can be.”
Richard grinned. “From where I’m standing,” he said, “that grandmother is doing just fine as well. And congratulations go all the way around, Anne-Marie. This is a blessed event for us all. My congratulations go also to Frances and Robert. I understand that the newlyweds have returned to Boston and have taken up residence in Louisburg Square. You must be delighted to have them living so close to you.”
“I am indeed. And I am pleased that so many of your family were able to attend the wedding. It meant so much to us all—to me, especially.” She leaned in and said conspiratorially: “For a while there I thought it might be Jamie giving Frances away, and not her stepfather. I have never seen a young man so eager for a wedding to proceed.”
Richard could not help laughing. Never before had he heard Anne-Marie acknowledge her younger daughter’s long and unsuccessful pursuit of his younger son.
“You will be interested to learn,” he said, “that Jamie now has a love interest of his own. I had begun to worry that he would never find a woman to meet his high standards, but she was right there in Hingham all along. Mindy has been Diana’s best friend since they were children. You may recall seeing her with Jamie at Frances’ wedding: the tall, slender young woman with blond hair?”
“Yes, I do recall meeting her. But I thought her name was Melinda?”
Richard nodded. “‘Mindy’ is a nickname.”
“Well, good for Jamie. She is indeed a lovely young woman. Is matrimony in their future, do you think?”
“Nothing is official yet, and of course that is for them to decide. However it may turn out, for the moment Katherine and I are delighted. We’ve rarely seen Jamie so happy and we have adored Mindy for years. I believe even Jack approves of her. And as we both know, when it comes to women and the finer things in life, Jack has impeccable taste.”
He meant it as a light jest and also as a compliment to Anne-Marie. Which is why he was not prepared for the dark cloud that passed over her face. She looked away.
Puzzled, Richard asked, “Is something wrong, Anne-Marie? Did I speak out of turn?”
She laughed wryly. “No, Richard, you did not speak out of turn. You never speak out of turn.”
“What’s wrong, then?”
Her eyes returned to his and she smiled. “Nothing is wrong. In fact, I have glad tidings to share with you. Will and Adele will be returning to Ship Street early next week. It is their wish, and mine, that their daughter be raised in Hingham and not here in Boston. Hingham is their home and where they need to be. Little Katherine will grow up strong and healthy there.”
“That is wonderful news,” Richard said. “Katherine will be so pleased.”
“I do hope so. And if Will joins the Navy, as he has his heart set on doing, there will be many more people in Hingham to attend to Adele and the baby than there would be here.”
“That’s true. And those people in Hingham must include you and Jack. You can come down and visit us anytime and stay for as long as you wish. You would be such a help to Adele, and of course Adele would be happy to have you there. And remember: a Cutler & Sons packet boat is always at your disposal. Just contact George Hunt whenever the mood strikes and he’ll make the arrangements. You need only show up at the dock at the specified hour. Cutler & Sons will take care of the rest.”
“That is extremely kind of you, Richard. I can’t thank you enough. But the fact is—” She paused, and the dark clouds gathered anew.
He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “The fact is what, Anne-Marie? Tell me what’s bothering you.”
She looked up at him, her deep blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. She turned away, walked over to close the door to the study, and returned.
“The fact is, Richard,” she said quietly but forthrightly, “I’m not sure if Jack will be joining me. He has been corresponding a great deal with Jan Van der Heyden in Java, and he may be leaving soon to meet with him in person. If he does, he tells me, he will be gone for many months. Perhaps for more than a year, depending on where they decide to meet.”
Richard shrugged his shoulders. “Is that so unusual? The Orient trade is critical to C&E, and Jack hasn’t seen Mr. Van der Heyden in quite a few years. Given the difficulties we are facing today and those we’ll be facing in the future, a personal meeting makes good business sense whatever the time and distance involved.”
“I don’t disagree,” she said. “Understand: it is not what he is saying to me, it is how he is saying it. I think he is not telling me the truth about this trip. Perhaps he does not even mean to return. He is so angry now, all of the time, with me and with the government because it does not protect his ships and business. And he has so little time these days for me and his daughters. I often wonder if he is even aware that he has a grandchild.” She raised a hand as if to stop Richard from speaking. “Yes, I know, Jack is above all else a businessman. I knew that before I married him. Truth be told, it is why I married him. I wanted the life and social position he could give me. But one thing I have learned in this marriage is that there is more to life than making and losing money. People are what matter. Family is the most important. You understand that, Richard, God bless you. But Jack does not. Oh, no. All I am to him these days is . . . a possession: a charming hostess when he wishes to entertain other businessmen and a person who will listen to his angry rants when we are alone. I am his wife in name only.” She paused, placed one graceful hand over her mouth, and then said in a quieter tone. “I’m so sorry, Richard. I am the one who has spoken out of turn. I should not be troubling you like this on such a glorious day. I apologize.”
“You needn’t apologize, Anne-Marie,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “Not to me. These are hard times, and I fear they are going to get harder. Jack is my family’s business partner, and he takes justifiable pride in the commercial empire he has built. We are all the beneficiaries of his good business judgment.
“Jack is not mad at you, Anne-Marie,” he continued. “Jack is scare
d. He can’t bear to see everything he values, everything he has worked so hard to build, threatened by forces beyond his control. He has to take out his frustrations on someone, and as his wife, that burden unfortunately falls on you.”
“Yes,” she said simply, then: “Thank you, Richard. Thank you for saying that. I need to hear it. Still, I feel terrible placing that burden on you when you have . . . when you have your own concerns to consider.”
She did not explain what she meant, nor did Richard ask.
“I believe I hear a distant wail,” he said. “Shall we go up?”
“You go. This is a special day for you and Katherine, and I have no wish to intrude upon it further. I will see how dinner is coming along. Jack will be joining us, if he can find the time.”
TWO HOURS after the Hingham packet boat set sail for Boston, another boat, a smaller craft, cast off from the same dock and followed a more northerly course. It was clinker-built and carried a single mast with a quadrilateral sail. At its bow was a loose-footed jib whose luff was secured to a forestay that bore down from near the top of the mast to the tip of a 4-foot bowsprit. Forward, an unenclosed cuddy provided storage and shelter for supplies. Planking built in around the cockpit in the shape of a sideways U provided seating, and the polished mahogany tiller was attached to a sizable rudder bolted to the stern. Impressive enough, to Mindy, was the fact that Jamie and Will had built this beauty, but what had caught her eye the first time she had sailed in this craft earlier in the summer was its wide beam—nearly half the length of the boat at the waterline. When she had asked Jamie to explain the boat’s unusual design, he had laughed.
“That’s easy,” he had quipped. “Girls.”
“Girls?”
“Sure. Girls get scared when a sailboat heels over in the wind. So, if Will and I wanted them to go out with us, we needed a boat that doesn’t heel as much. We also needed a boat that doesn’t require a substantial keel so we could get in close to one of the islands, anchor, and then wade ashore for some private time.”
How Dark the Night Page 20