The Power and the Glory

by William C. Hammond

  The next morning, after attending the service at First Parish Church, the Cutlers attacked platters of roast venison, candied fruits, squash, and potatoes. This feast was followed, to the children’s delight, by a smorgasbord of pumpkin, raisin, grape, and apple pies baked by the indefatigable Edna Stowe. As the Christmas meal drew to its gratifying conclusion, Jeffrey Seymour commented that his aunt must really have gorged herself on pies; just look at the size of her belly—a comment that ignited a round of giggles from his cousins and a look of censure from his mother. Before Anne Cutler Seymour could reprimand her son for his crude remark, Lizzy Crabtree spoke up.

  “It was those last two pies that did me in, Jeffrey,” she said solemnly, patting her swollen stomach. “I should have quit after the third one.” Her comment set the adults to laughing and brought puzzled expressions to the faces of the other children. Agreen drew her close with one arm and planted a fond kiss on her cheek.

  There were gifts to exchange, by tradition one gift per family member to each other family member. But the gift that had meant the most to Richard and Katherine had been given to their son Will eleven days earlier, on the occasion of his sixteenth birthday.

  “What is it, Father?” he had asked as he took the small package wrapped in simple brown paper.

  “Open it and see, Will.”

  The boy opened the package to find a small, leatherbound book. Will flipped through the thin white pages. On each right-hand page was a date in the month of September 1781. Notes and observations had been written beneath each date in his father’s bold handwriting.

  “But what is it?” Will asked again.

  “A journal I kept,” his father informed him, “before the Battle of Yorktown. I was serving at the time in an 80-gun French man-of-war. I wrote in that journal every night in my cabin until the sea battle off the Chesapeake. After that, I was stationed ashore with General Lafayette’s division. My commanding officer was Colonel Hamilton.”

  “Your father wants you to have this journal,” Katherine explained further. “You are our firstborn, so the honor falls to you. But it’s really for all three of you. We ask that you keep it safe, Will, and share it with Jamie and Diana when they are old enough to appreciate what a truly precious gift this is.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Will said with feeling, grateful nonetheless for the new bamboo fishing pole he had also received as a birthday gift.

  JANUARY WAS UNUSUALLY MILD for southern New England. What snow there was either quickly melted or changed over to rain along the immediate coast, making it possible for the Cutlers to sail to and from Long Wharf whenever it suited their purpose. George Hunt rarely had good news to report, however. Increased raids on American commerce had by mid-January sent marine insurance rates rocketing as high as 27 percent of the estimated value of a ship’s cargo. Each new report strengthened Richard’s resolve to find privateer captain Paul-Louis du Bourg and exact revenge.

  “These rates are crippling us,” Hunt said, stating the painfully obvious to Richard, Caleb, and Thomas Cutler inside the Cutler & Sons counting house. Outside, a cold, dreary rain drummed against the window glass. “If they go any higher, well . . .” He threw up his hands.

  “Father,” Caleb volunteered, “why pay for insurance at all? Since the Royal Navy protects many of our vessels in the Indies, what if we inform Mr. Church that we no longer intend to purchase insurance? Even if we lost a cargo or two, wouldn’t we still come out ahead?”

  Thomas Cutler shook his head. “No, Caleb. I understand what you’re saying, and I know that other shippers are doing just that. But I will not. The risk is too great. If just one of our vessels is seized, that’s the equivalent of a 100 percent insurance rate on her cargo. And bear in mind that we’re not talking just about cargoes here. Men’s lives are at stake. Men who work for us and whose families depend on us.”

  “I realize that, Father. But once a vessel is boarded, men’s lives are at stake regardless of whether or not her cargo is insured. And a vessel escorted by a warship isn’t likely to be attacked in the first place.”

  “I concede the point, Caleb. But you’re forgetting that these days, the Royal Navy has fewer ships in the Indies than before. You’re also forgetting what Richard found out for himself—that French privateers are operating right here off our coast, where the Royal Navy cannot protect them. No, we must carry insurance unless we’re willing to court financial disaster with every ship that sails. And that I am not prepared to do.”

  That statement settled the matter. After a pause, George Hunt said to Richard, “Mr. Endicott was here inquiring after you the other day, Mr. Cutler. He asked me to tell you that he is hoping to see you as soon as that may be convenient.”

  “Did he say why he wants to see me?”

  “He didn’t, though I suspect it has something to do with trade to the Orient. I hear he has been saying quite a lot about that recently.”

  “What do you think, Father?” Richard asked. “We as a family have discussed it before, of course, but never in conjunction with Jack Endicott.”

  Thomas Cutler shrugged. “Jack Endicott can be a pompous ass at times, and he’s a bit too presumptuous for my taste. But we’d be fools not to listen to him. He’s a shrewd businessman and we would do well to cultivate him. I particularly admire his willingness to allow his personnel to invest along with him in his business ventures. It’s something we should consider doing. And he has excellent relations with the Crowninshields and Derbys,” referring to two of Salem’s most powerful shipping families. “Having said that, we are in no position to start a new venture of any kind, especially now that Agreen has been commissioned to serve in Constitution. In a few months you’ll both be on leave from Cutler & Sons. That’s a big sacrifice for an enterprise like ours to make.”

  “I understand, Father. With any luck, our stint in the Navy will be brief. No doubt Captain Nicholson will grant Agee the same consideration that Captain Truxtun gave me, to cut short my service if war is averted.” He turned to George and added, “Will you set up this meeting with Endicott?”

  “Of course, Mr. Cutler.”

  THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, in the bedroom of her modest home on Pleasant Street, Lizzy Cutler Crabtree gave birth to a baby boy. It was not an easy delivery. Katherine and Edna Stowe, hastily summoned by Agreen at the first throbs of contractions, did what they could to help under the supervision of James Prescott, the Cutler family physician. Even with the windows cracked open and cool wintry air seeping in, Lizzy stewed in sweat, her thick yellow hair plastered against skin drained of color, her eyes closed tight in anguish, her teeth clenched hard on the soft leather bit Dr. Prescott had tucked into her mouth. Hours slogged by, with Lizzy suffering one form of hell upstairs and Agreen suffering another downstairs. Finally, with one “give-it-all-you’ve-got-left” push, the baby slid out, and the high-pitched wail emanating from the Crabtree bedroom was no longer that of a woman in the throes of labor but of her newborn child come into the world at last.

  Katherine summoned Agreen upstairs.

  “You have a son, Agee,” Lizzy smiled weakly as her husband rushed to her side. Supine, her head propped up on two pillows, she was too bone-tired to take her son from Edna Stowe, who had cleaned the infant and wrapped him in a light woolen blanket.

  “Yes, and I have a wife,” Agreen choked. He smoothed back the damp golden locks and kissed her forehead. “Dear God, Lizzy, I thought I was losin’ you.”

  “I’m fine, dearest, honestly I am,” she murmured. “Here, see to your son.”

  Agreen rose to his feet. With painstaking care fortified by stiff apprehension he took the baby from Edna. For long moments he stood in silence, gazing down in wonder at the babe in his arms as his son stared blankly back. “Sweet Jesus Christ God Almighty damn!” was all he could muster. Katherine turned away to hide a smile as Edna sniffed disapprovingly.

  The next morning, Richard, Katherine, and Diana dropped by for a visit. Agreen met them in the downstairs hallway
looking every bit the picture of a proud father, despite his bloodshot eyes. Beyond him, they could hear Edna puttering about in the kitchen.

  “Congratulations, Agee,” Richard said. “The whole town’s talking about baby Zeke. Once Lizzy is up and about, you’ll have more visitors than you can manage. People always want to help at a time like this.”

  “People are helpin’,” Agreen said. “You could feed a frigate’s crew on the food that’s been left on the front stoop so far.”

  “Can we see the baby now?” Diana urged.

  “In a moment,” Katherine said. “If it’s all right with you, Agee, Richard would like a minute or two with Lizzy first. They have been so very close for so many years.”

  Agreen glanced inquiringly at Richard, who nodded in silent reply. “Hell’s bells, Richard, I’m not denyin’ you anything. Not with the wages you’re payin’ me to sit around and do nothin’.”

  Upstairs, Richard knocked gently on the door to Lizzy’s room and announced himself. The door was slightly ajar. When bidden in, he pushed it open. At the threshold he hesitated. Lizzy was sitting up in bed, her flushed face reflecting the warmth and radiance of the sun-filled room. She was nursing her son, and even with the sheets and blankets thrust up about her middle, her swollen breasts were largely exposed to view.

  “I’m not embarrassed if you’re not,” Lizzy happily welcomed him.

  Richard smiled. “I’m the father of three children, Lizzy,” he said, walking over to her. “I doubt there’s much about the ways of a woman’s body that can embarrass me.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed her cheek. “After what Katherine told me, I’m relieved to find you looking so well.”

  “It wasn’t so bad, really. And I’m feeling much better now. Dr. Prescott wants me to remain a-bed until the weekend, but I’ll be up in a day or two. Don’t worry. I shan’t do anything I shouldn’t.” She gazed down upon her son sucking hungrily. “Isn’t he just the handsomest little tyke?”

  “He is. That’s because he takes after his mother. And I see he slobbers over his food just like his father. How did you two come up with the name ‘Zeke’?”

  “It was Agee’s wish. I rather like it as a nickname. For his real name I wanted something a bit more distinguished, so on the parish rolls he is Alexander Cutler Crabtree. But we’ll call him Zeke.”

  “Sounds like a good compromise to me. When will you write your family?”

  “Soon. Oh, Richard, I do so hope Zeke and I can visit my parents. Father writes that Mother is not well. He says that another Atlantic crossing is not possible for her. So we must go to England if they are to see their grandson.”

  “We’ll make that happen, Lizzy. I promise you we’ll make that happen. Katherine wants to see her family too, for the same reason. It’s been too many years since we were all together for your wedding. And Diana was just a wee babe back then. So let’s plan a family reunion in Fareham for next summer. I don’t know if Agee and I can join you, but even if we can’t, you and Katherine should go with the children.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Richard. Truly it is. I do so hope that you and Agee will be able to come. I pray every day that you both will receive an early discharge. I can’t bear the thought of either of you being in any sort of battle at sea.”

  “You needn’t worry, Liz. That’s what I’ve been wanting to tell you. One visit to Constitution in Boston and you’ll worry far more about our enemies than us. Constellation is the same sort of ship. The French have nothing to match her, should it come to that.”

  “Please God it does not come to that, Richard.”

  THE MEETING WITH JOHN ENDICOTT, set for six o’clock on Friday evening of the following week, did not take place in the offices of Cutler & Sons as George Hunt had assumed it would. Rather, it was held at the Endicott residence at Fourteen Belknap Street on Beacon Hill in Boston. Knowing that the meeting would last late into the evening, Richard made arrangements to stay the night on board a Cutler vessel moored at Long Wharf.

  He had been to the Endicott residence before and knew what to expect: a freestanding red-brick edifice of federalist construction facing east toward the harbor. Inside, at ground level, were four rooms in addition to the kitchen, each stylishly appointed. A butler took Richard’s hat and helped him off with his coat, then escorted him to the elegant parlor. The wingback chairs that graced the room were covered in exquisitely embroidered fabrics, the end of each armrest curling in intricate patterns. So, too, the ornate camelback sofa, the oak parquet floor covered with Persian carpets that glowed in jewel-like colors, the neatly stocked bookcases, the murals of merchant ships and horses and bowls of daffodils, the gold-lacquer Louis XIV escritoire, the Georgian chest-on-chest highboy with polished brass handles, the white marble hearth in which a fire crackled. All, in sum, defined for Richard the difference between the comfortable lifestyle he was accustomed to and true financial wealth.

  “Good evening, Richard. What joy it is to see you.”

  Richard looked up from the book he was perusing and smiled at Anne-Marie. She was dressed tastefully in a dark blue velvet dress with a belt to match and a delicate cotton fichu that covered her shoulders and neck. Her hair had been meticulously coiffed and tumbled down in rich ebony curls that contrasted sharply with the pure white of her shawl. About her were the faint, alluring scents of rosewater and jasmine.

  “May I offer you a glass of Madeira?” she inquired when he failed to respond right away. “It’s what Jack and I are having. He’ll be down in a moment. He’s so looking forward to this evening.”

  “Madeira is fine, thank you,” Richard said. He added, with sincerity, “You look lovely, Anne-Marie. As lovely as the day we met in Paris. And not one day older.”

  She laughed easily. “What a shameless flatterer you have become, Richard Cutler. But who am I to gainsay flattery? Gallantry counts in my book, and deserves its reward.”

  She drew close and kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering a moment or two longer than propriety might dictate. When she drew back, their eyes met in a silent communication. In the ensuing quiet Richard thought to say something lighthearted, more to put himself at ease than her, but his intent was truncated by a cultured young female voice.

  “Good evening, Mr. Cutler. I hope we’re not intruding.”

  “Not at all, Adele,” her mother said, quickly composing herself. “Please join us. Mr. Cutler is delighted to see you and Frances.”

  “I am indeed,” Richard said. He bowed in response to the girls’ quick knee-bend, a far cry from the grand sweeping curtsy of French aristocrats that they had performed for him when they were first introduced in the de Launay residence in Paris. Both girls were filling out beguilingly into womanhood, especially Adele, who already, Richard noted with a stab of fond remembrance, bore a striking resemblance to her mother at age eighteen.

  “My family sends their greetings,” Richard told them. “Will sends you a special greeting, Adele.”

  Adele blushed prettily. “Thank you, Mr. Cutler. I am so pleased to hear that. Please send Will my warmest regards in return. I look forward to seeing him again soon, as I look forward to seeing every member of your family.”

  The quick tapping of footsteps on the stairway was followed moments later by John Endicott’s grand entrance into the room. A servant followed close behind bearing a tray with three glasses, each filled halfway with robust Portuguese wine.

  “Ah, Richard,” Endicott greeted, crossing the room with his right arm outstretched. “You do us great honor by coming here this evening. There is no one my family would rather host.”

  “The honor is mine, Jack,” Richard said, bowing slightly to the stout, ruddy-faced, slightly balding man who was several inches shorter than he. Endicott was dressed similarly to Richard, though the cut of his cloth was finer, the fabric richer, and the fit precise to a fault. He took a glass of Madeira from the tray and raised it.

  “To our health, our country, our friendship.” He drank deeply,
nearly draining his glass. “Right,” he said, after a brief round of pleasantries had been exchanged, “not to move things along too quickly, I suggest we proceed to the dining room. We can continue our conversation there. Adele, Frances, you may return later this evening to bid Mr. Cutler goodnight.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Frances replied, dutifully bending her right knee.

  “Well-mannered young ladies, aren’t they,” Endicott said with the full pride of ownership as he watched the two girls disappear upstairs.

  “Their mother raised them well,” Richard commented dryly. A sideways glance at Anne-Marie confirmed that she, at least, had caught his meaning.

  “Yes, quite. Well, shall we?” Endicott encouraged.

  The dining area was next to the kitchen and, as anyone who had surveyed the rest of the downstairs would have anticipated, superbly furnished. Dominating the space, set upon a thick Turkish carpet, was a rectangular mahogany table with graceful cabriole legs and claw-and-ball feet. Eight matching armchairs surrounded it, each with identical leaf-green upholstery on the seats. Two silver candelabras provided light and a sense of conviviality, reinforced by a fire ablaze in a sizable red marble hearth. Oil paintings graced the walls. In the far corner, near the twin oriel windows, a Chippendale china cabinet displayed fragile blue-on-white dishes and tea sets.

  “How is Gertrud?” Richard asked Anne-Marie after they were seated, both to make conversation and because he was genuinely concerned.

  “Not well, I’m afraid,” Anne-Marie replied. She was at the end of the table with Richard to her left, her husband to her right. “The doctors think she may have an ailment of the kidney. She’s upstairs in bed but asked me to send you her regards.”