She made way for him. “Good afternoon to you, Mr. Cutler,” she said pleasantly as he strode past her. “I trust you to remember me to your dear wife.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Hanson,” he said with a quick sideways glance, “I will tell her all about our encounter.”
At his home a short way farther down South Street he found Katherine knitting in the parlor. “I just collided with your friend Rebecca Hanson,” he called out as he hung his hat from a peg on the wall beside the front door.
“How lovely for you!” she said sarcastically as he took a chair across from the sofa where she was sitting. “What did that old windbag have to huff and puff about this morning?”
“As you would expect, she’s shocked that Jamie and Mindy are getting married next month. To her warped mind, a betrothal in August and a wedding in October can mean only one thing. She was born two hundred years too late. She belongs back with the witches of Salem instead of in modern-day Hingham.”
Katherine smiled. “Why didn’t you just tell her the truth? That Jamie and Mindy want to be wed before Constitution sails?” Left unspoken was what they both realized was another reason for the brief engagement: Katherine Cutler might be unable to attend a wedding in May or June of the following year.
“Rebecca Hanson doesn’t want the truth. She wants material she can use to grind through her rumor mill, the more salacious the better. What I should have told her is that Mindy is with child and they decided they had better make it legal before the baby popped out. Hell, you know that’s what the old battleaxe wanted to hear me say. That’s what she was praying I would say. Most likely it’s what she’s saying right now to her busy-body friends.” He threw up his hands in frustration and then noticed an unfolded piece of paper with a broken seal on a table beside the sofa. “Who is the letter from?”
“It’s from Cynthia, with a note from Julia. Joseph brought it over.”
“Joseph was here? I’m sorry I missed him. We haven’t seen him in quite awhile.”
“And we’ll be seeing less of him now that classes have started up again at Derby. But that’s all right. He’s doing so well there, Richard. It’s working out just as we had hoped. He is everyone’s favorite teacher.”
“He has you to thank for that, Katherine. The entire school should thank you for that. So, what does Cynthia have to say?”
Katherine handed him the letter and summarized it while he read.
“Cynthia and Julia are definitely coming to Hingham next spring for a short visit. Cynthia wants to see her son, of course, and they both want to see us. They would stay for two or three weeks. John and Robin are apparently all for it.”
“And you?” he asked cautiously. “Are you all for it?”
“I honestly don’t know, Richard,” she said. “Joseph has asked me to respond to his mother, but I don’t know what to say to her. I would so love to see Cynthia and Julia one more time before . . .” She let it go at that.
Richard refolded the letter. “Perhaps we should wait a few weeks to see how things develop,” he said soberly, adding, to impersonalize what he had just said, “There is just too much uncertainty and trouble in our world today.”
“There is that,” Katherine had to agree.
Twelve
Hingham, Massachusetts
March 1808
IN DECEMBER 1807 the ax fell. Its blade had been hewn to a fine edge during the months following Leopard’s assault on Chesapeake, and the impact, when it hit, tore the body politic of the United States asunder. Although the vote was far from unanimous, the Tenth Congress, as expected, passed the Embargo Act recommended by President Jefferson, and he signed it into law on December 22. At the same time the government put into effect the Non-importation Act passed in April of the previous year, which prohibited the importation of many items from Great Britain, including leather, clothing, hats, and beer.
The Embargo Act was not one law but a series of laws passed in rapid succession to close loopholes in earlier iterations, especially as they related to Canada. Highly lucrative smuggling by boat, wagon, and sled began to flourish along that colony’s border with Vermont and upper New York State. At its core, the Embargo Act was intended to end American foreign trade in an attempt to deny Britain and France the produce from America they so desperately needed—in Jefferson’s judgment, at least—in their epic struggle, and thus force them to end impressments, seizure of cargoes, and other affronts to American law and honor. The act closed down American foreign shipping—all of it: to Europe, to the Orient, to the West Indies, to every port of call around the globe. Specifically, the act prohibited American merchant vessels from sailing into any foreign port unless authorized to do so by President Jefferson or an official customs collector. To encourage compliance, shipping companies were served notice that violations of the act would incur a financial penalty of $10,000 for each offense, in addition to forfeiture of the ship’s cargo. Federalists—and many Republicans as well—viewed the Embargo Act as a flagrant abuse of Americans’ liberties. The act permitted port authorities to seize cargoes without a warrant and to bring to trial any shipper or merchant who was suspected of even contemplating a violation of the embargo. Merchant vessels purportedly sailing from one American port to another American port were required to post a surety bond that was forfeited if the vessel happened to stray from its stated itinerary.
The draconian law smacked of the worst of European totalitarianism. It also flew in the face of long-proclaimed Jeffersonian principles of a limited federal bureaucracy and minimal government interference in the lives of private citizens. But on this issue the president was adamant. He would not yield an inch even though members of his own cabinet opposed him, most notably Treasury Secretary Albert Gallatin, who argued in cabinet meetings that the embargo would be ineffective and impossible to enforce. Gallatin’s tune played to deaf ears. Jefferson summarily approved any and all red tape and expansion of governmental powers necessary to enforce the embargo. In coffeehouses and taverns across Federalist New England, rumblings of outrage and opposition began anew; along the shores of Lake Champlain and the coast of Down East Maine there were threats of open insurrection. The brief period of national solidarity following the Chesapeake affair that had brought New England back into the fold had been severed by the ax. New Englanders once again began to look to themselves to save themselves.
“At least the man had the decency to announce that he would not seek reelection,” Caleb Cutler groused during a family supper at his home on Main Street in Hingham during an evening in mid-March. Outside, rain and sleet splattered against the window-panes, a mixture that in South Hingham, four miles inland and away from the warming effects of the sea, would be falling as snow. In the stone hearth a fire crackled agreeably, spreading its warmth across a dining table that seated four couples of the extended Cutler family. Diana and Peter Sprague were conspicuously absent. After the Christmas season they had moved from Hingham to a suite of rooms on Eliot Street in Cambridge near the home of Anne Cutler Seymour and her physician husband, Frederick, in order for Peter to be near his law studies at Harvard. Tonight, as had been true of many nights recently, Mindy Conner Cutler was staying with the Spragues so that she could be with Jamie when he was allowed to leave his post in Constitution. The superfrigate, once again under the command of Capt. John Rodgers, was undergoing a major refit at the Charlestown Navy Yard, and her commissioned and senior warrant officers were required to be on station most days to oversee the process and to monitor progress.
“Aye, he did,” Agreen said. “But ask me and I’ll tell you: Jefferson’s not tryin’ t’ do the honorable thing by limitin’ his presidency to two terms as President Washington did. No sir! The man wants out; he’s tired of his responsibilities. And hell’s bells, who can blame him? Besides, he knows he wouldn’t be reelected if he ran again.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Richard countered. “I agree that Jefferson wants out, but I suspect he’d be reelected by a good margin were
he to run again. Next year the Federalists will likely nominate Charles Pinckney again,” referring to a South Carolina statesman, Revolutionary War hero, and Federalist icon, “to oppose Madison, and last time around he was soundly defeated. Madison and Jefferson are two peas in a pod, as you like to say, Agee. In fact, the embargo is probably more Madison’s idea than Jefferson’s. Our agent, Mr. Shaw, tells us that Madison has been pulling the strings and essentially running this country for the last two years while Jefferson has been biding his time, waiting to step down and return home to Monticello.”
Adele Cutler spoke up. “Like him or not, you have to admire a leader who truly believes he can achieve his diplomatic objectives through economic coercion rather than by force of arms, and thereby save lives and save his country from the ravages of war. President Jefferson may be an idealist, and I agree that in this instance his idealism may have gotten the better of him, but I say that this war-torn world needs a good deal more of his brand of idealism.” She took a sip of wine and added wryly, “I realize that my stepfather would see me in a stock and pillory for uttering such blasphemy.” A chorus of jovial agreement followed that remark. “Fortunately,” she added, “he is not here to hear it. But it is a shame,” she continued in a more serious tone. “Jefferson started his presidency with such hope and promise, and he is ending it in such misery and despair.”
Other citizens of the United States and in the halls of Congress might disagree with those last few words, but no one at the table did. Nor was anyone at the table surprised either by Adele’s candor or her eagerness to engage in verbal jousting over business and politics. It was one reason why she had become fast friends with Mindy Cutler and Diana Sprague. Well educated and well read, they shared traits that many young women of Boston society found unladylike and unbecoming.
For an extended interval the group sat in silence and ate their supper of roast venison, potatoes, and peas, the only sounds the clinking of utensils on china, the quiet sighs of gastronomic contentment, and the crackling of birch logs in the hearth. At length, Will Cutler broached a subject that was on everyone’s mind but was rarely mentioned outside the inner sanctum of the Cutler & Sons’ countinghouse on Long Wharf.
“Uncle Caleb,” he ventured, “just how long can Cutler & Sons continue to pay its sailors with no revenues coming in?”
Caleb gave his nephew a startled look. “As long as it takes,” he said immediately. “How can you even ask such a question, Will?”
Katherine Cutler glanced at her husband, who said, “What your uncle means to say, Will, is that our sailors are our lifeblood and we must keep them on whatever the cost. When they signed on with us, we made a compact with each of them that Cutler & Sons would care for them and their families, come what may. I made that very same promise twenty years ago to the crew of Eagle as they sat in an Algerian prison and worried about their loved ones back home. Cutler & Sons made good on that promise, even though we had far fewer resources then than we do today, and kept it throughout the ten years it took to gain the crew’s release. For all those years their families never went without. We continued to pay each family what each sailor was due by contract. People wonder how we manage to sustain such loyalty among our crews. Well, there’s your answer. So, we’re not going to abandon our sailors now, even if that means dipping into our own family’s reserves. They will continue to be paid as long as we have funds available to pay them. Sooner or later our government will come to its senses and repeal this embargo. When it does, we’ll need our sailors in our employ, and we’ll need their continued loyalty. That goes from Mr. Hunt right on down to the lowest-paid deckhand. We’ve been through this before, haven’t we?”
“Yes, of course, Father,” Will said. “I have always understood that and I agree wholeheartedly. My question, though, is how long can we continue to do it?”
“As long as it takes,” his father said, reiterating Caleb’s words in a tone that brooked no dissent.
“And bear in mind,” Caleb said in a more congenial tone, “that Cutler & Sons is not entirely without revenues. You’ve seen the books, Will. Granted, our earnings today are not what they were in years past, but funds are still coming in. John and Robin can still ship to us, and we can sell sugar and rum to the interior of our country through our Baltimore office.”
“Assuming Americans can continue to afford such items,” Will asserted.
“I can’t disagree,” Caleb said. He left unsaid his most profound fear, one shared by every member of his family and by many of his countrymen: the effects of a prolonged embargo could devastate the fragile American economy and bankrupt the nation and nearly everyone in it. He also left unsaid the legal point that while Cutler & Sons merchant ships from Barbados were still allowed to ship goods to America under the embargo, they were not permitted to load cargo for the voyage back to Bridgetown—or to any other port. That meant they had to sail from the United States with empty holds, and that cut potential revenues in half and squeezed potential profits to the point of no return.
“What of C&E?” Lizzy Crabtree inquired. Earlier in the evening, she and Phoebe Hardcastle and Joan Cutler had resolved to make every effort to steer conversation away from the dangerous shoals of current affairs out toward deeper, calmer waters. But that had been like trying to contain a raging river with a fish net. Their resolve having gone by the boards before the first course was served, Lizzy was succumbing to the inevitable in asking her question.
“That is the great unknown,” Caleb said. “We have long regarded the Orient as the future of our family business, but today even that business is uncertain. Although we own only a 50 percent share of C&E Enterprises, we have committed the bulk of our resources to it. To date, those investments have paid off handsomely. But with England doubling its efforts to blockade the Continent and Napoléon issuing his Milan Decree and threatening to impound any neutral merchant vessel that complies with British orders in council, C&E is in danger of losing its biggest and most lucrative market. It’s also in danger of losing its crews. King George has called Jefferson’s bluff and is urging the Royal Navy to step up its efforts to impress American sailors. At least we know where he stands on the issues of the day. So much for any lessons we hoped the good king might have learned from the Chesapeake affair.”
“He did agree to suspend punishment of the three American sailors,” Katherine pointed out.
“I don’t think the good king had much to do with that decision, my dear,” her brother Hugh countered. “That would have been made by the Admiralty, and I’d wager it was not motivated by any humanitarian gesture. More likely it was made in response to pressures in Parliament. Many MPs disagree with King George, and in fact openly oppose the impressment of Americans. They contend, quite correctly, in my opinion, that England has jolly well enough troubles over there without stirring up the pot over here. Of course, I may be mistaken; it has been known to happen, as implausible as that may seem. To our knowledge, the three American sailors have not yet been released, and their ultimate fate remains as uncertain as our own future prospects.”
“So, you will be sailing with Jack Endicott to Cape Town, Hugh?” Joan Cutler asked. What had once been merely a business proposition from Jack Endicott to Jan Van der Heyden was about to become a reality. It had taken months to coordinate, with correspondence crisscrossing the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, but a summit meeting between Endicott and Van der Heyden had been arranged for mid-July in Cape Town, Africa, a popular port of call located roughly halfway between C&E Enterprises’ New England office and its Far Eastern headquarters on Java in the Dutch East Indies.
If Jack Endicott was clear on what the two business behemoths would be discussing during their rendezvous, however, he was offering no clues, not even to Caleb Cutler. Indeed, the entire affair was shrouded in mystery. To date, Endicott had chosen to ignore the embargo, and as a result, C&E Enterprises had been fined $20,000 and two of its ships’ cargoes were now in the hands of the U.S. Treasury Department. Eve
n worse, C&E merchant ships that had managed to evade port authorities, revenue cutters, and the U.S. Navy had not netted much of a profit, certainly not enough to justify the business risks. Worse still, one of those vessels had been detained by the British and then seized by French authorities in Rotterdam because her captain had complied with British demands. Napoléon subsequently announced, tongue in cheek, that by seizing the ship and its cargo he was simply helping the American president enforce his embargo.
“Napoléon is playing Jefferson for a fool,” George Hunt had commented when word of that arrived at the company’s countinghouse on Long Wharf.
“Which is exactly what he is,” Endicott had spat in disgust. “The United States has become the laughingstock of Europe.”
Worst of all, to Richard’s mind, was Endicott’s flouting of the law. The Cutler name was attached to C&E, and as a former naval commander with one son currently serving as an officer in the U.S. Navy and another son aspiring to that position, his family was sworn to uphold the nation’s laws, including the embargo. Richard was adamant that Cutler & Sons would play by the rules, whatever the consequences, and Caleb had agreed.
“Yes, Joan,” Hugh confirmed. “We sail in six weeks. Unless, of course, Agreen has a change of mind and agrees to serve as Falcon’s captain. It grieves me no end to admit it, but he was Jack’s first choice.” He smiled at Agreen.
Agreen shook his head. “Falcon is yours to command, Hugh,” he said. “She’s as fine and fast a vessel as has ever put to sea. No one needs t’ remind me of that. But I have two reasons for declinin’ Jack’s offer. One reason is sittin’ across from me at this table, and the other reason is upstairs playin’ with young Thomas. No, Baltimore is the limit for this old sea dog.”
“How very fortunate for Lizzy and Zeke,” Phoebe Hardcastle said sharply, either unable or unwilling to mask her sarcasm. The prospect of her husband being away at sea for many months was not to her liking, and the mention of children always seemed to underscore her inability thus far to successfully deliver one.
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