For Love of Country

by William C. Hammond

  “Our own country is spying on us,” Lizzy said to Katherine, “waiting for us to make a wrong step. And this despite the frightful taxes we are forced to pay each year.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Cutler,” Stephen Starbuck broke in. He stood out among the others by the simplicity of the clothes he wore: a plain-cut white shirt, no waistcoat or neck stock, and a drab pair of black trousers and thick cloth shoes that nonetheless were his Sunday best. He was not a Quaker, although he looked like one. He often reminded Richard of Benjamin Franklin in Paris during the war. Not only was Starbuck as comfortably indifferent to current fashions as Franklin was, he possessed the same acuity of mind that allowed him to fly like an arrow to the heart of a matter. “Exactly what do the British expect to gain from the Acts? Liv has told me some of what Richard just explained, but I don’t understand their purpose.”

  “You are not alone in asking that question, Stephen,” William said. “It’s the old way of doing things: colonies sending raw materials only to the mother country, and the mother country sending manufactured goods only to her colonies. Everyone else is excluded from this internal financial scheme, even, at times”—he pointed to himself—“a country’s own citizens. Of course, for such a system to work properly, a country must have a considerable number of overseas possessions capable of producing raw materials. Which England does, of course. As an English citizen I strongly disagree with this policy. I favor free trade because free trade serves everyone, from the Exchequer on down. But the concept of free trade is anathema to the Old Guard, who see it as a threat to the natural order of things and therefore to the country’s financial stability. Does this explanation help?”

  Stephen nodded.

  “Good. Now then,” William continued, “since American merchants are denied access to British-held islands, we—meaning the Cutler family in England—are forced to purchase or hire British-built ships and man them with British sailors—or at least sailors who we can demonstrate are not American. As long as the Navigation Acts remain in force, we will ship our goods directly from Bridgetown to Britain and her possessions, and on to Europe, while Cutler and Sons in Boston will continue to service our North American customers. To accomplish the latter, we must arrange to transfer cargoes at sea after they leave Barbados. I suggest the islands of the Bahamas as the site for such transfers. There are too many of them for the Royal Navy to patrol effectively, and the navy is known to turn a blind eye to what goes on there.”

  “So we are reduced to smuggling,” Anne muttered.

  “You can look at it that way,” her uncle answered her. “Captain Nelson certainly does. Your father and I, however, prefer to think of it as being forced to find more expedient methods of doing business. The bad news—and it is bad news—is that the added expense of obtaining non-American ships and crews is putting a considerable strain on our earnings, as you no doubt noted when you received your recent distributions. Call it what you will, we have no choice. We must serve the customers we have to the best of our ability, while at the same time seeking out new customers in new markets that have no trade constraints.”

  “What new markets?” Lavinia wanted to know.

  “The Orient is certainly one. It’s quite lucrative, as merchants from Salem have discovered. In Canton we can exchange sugar and molasses for teas, calicoes, nankeens, and silks, then sell those goods here and in England at steep prices. Sweden and Russia are two other possibilities. Those countries—”

  Elizabeth Cutler threw up her hands. “Sugar and silk, teas and nankeens,” she wailed, her voice a testament to agony and despair. “That’s all well and good, William, but in God’s name will you please tell me what all this has to do with Caleb!”

  Her husband reached out to soothe her. “We were just coming to that, my dear.” He nodded again at Richard, who rose to his feet. That simple act drew the eyes of the room to him, since up to this point everyone who had spoken had remained seated.

  “What I am about to tell you,” he said, “I have already reviewed with Father and Uncle William. And with Katherine. It was her letter to her brother Jeremy last winter that inspired what we are now proposing to do. However, we agreed not to settle on any course until we spoke with you today. This must be a family decision, for reasons that will become clear in a moment.”

  He paused a moment, drew in a breath. “Whatever we might do to free Eagle’s crew, we can expect no further assistance from the American government. It couldn’t do much even if it had a mind to, since it will take months, perhaps years, to establish whatever form of government is decided upon in Philadelphia and to allow that government to frame our foreign policy. That’s the reality of it. There’s no point in wasting time debating it. Now that the French have abandoned us, we have no one to turn to but ourselves. So it is to ourselves that we will turn.”

  He withdrew a small piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket. “The dey of Algiers,” he said, consulting the paper, “is demanding $59,496 in ransom for Captain Dickerson and the twenty members of his crew. That number, of course, includes Caleb. It calculates to $2,833 a man, on average. Mr. Lamb assumed that he could secure their release for half that amount. He was mistaken. The dey would not have accepted that sum even if Lamb had brought the money with him. It was a mistake we do not intend to make. We will have the entire amount the dey demands, and we will deliver it to him in gold and silver and Spanish pieces of eight. The dey has made it clear that he will not accept paper currency.”

  Family members exchanged glances.

  Lavinia said: “You say ‘we,’ Richard. Who actually is going to do this?”

  “I am. Congress is prepared to grant me temporary status as an agent acting on its behalf in Algiers. My orders are to sail there, pay the ransom to free Eagle’s crew, gather information about Algiers, and then sail to Toulon, to the naval hospital there. While Eagle’s crew is being seen to, I am to travel to Paris and report to Captain Jones, passing on to him what information I have managed to obtain. Our minister in Paris, Mr. Jefferson, has already informed Captain Jones that Congress desires him to lead a delegation to Barbary, at a date still to be determined. His mission will be to negotiate the freedom of all Americans held in the Barbary States and to do whatever is necessary to ensure a lasting peace in the area. Captain Jones is a naval officer respected as much in Tripoli as he is in Paris. He is perhaps the only American who has a chance of succeeding in such a mission.”

  Silence prevailed.

  “Can we assume,” Anne asked into the quiet, “that you talked your way into this appointment, Richard? That it was on your initiative, and not our government’s?”

  “That would be a safe assumption,” Katherine answered for him, adding in a voice blending humor with pique, “I had to put him on the rack to get that information out of him.”

  “I didn’t want to alarm you, Katherine,” Richard explained, his tone contrite even though the two of them had already settled the issue.

  “Will you be in any danger, Richard?” Elizabeth Cutler wanted to know. “I could not bear the thought of having two sons in captivity.”

  “No, Mother,” Richard assured her. “You needn’t worry. I will have official status, and I plan to sail under the protection of the Royal Navy. Not in a formal capacity that would violate British policy, but Jeremy believes he can assist me by having his ship serve as an informal escort. I could sail alongside him in Falcon,” referring to a newly built Cutler topsail schooner, “as he patrols the coast of North Africa. Pirate corsairs respect Royal Navy guns as much as their counterparts ashore. What I have to say to the dey of Algiers may be better received if a British warship is anchored in the harbor alongside my schooner.”

  “Thank God for that,” Elizabeth Cutler sighed. “You’re certain of this assistance, Richard?”

  “Yes, Mother, I am. I have a letter from Jeremy that confirms it. Look at it this way,” he concluded when silence again prevailed. “I can do no worse than Mr. Lamb. Nor suffer greater consequenc
es. The worst that can happen to me is that I, too, will be given the boot from Algiers.”

  Anne said: “You mentioned a sum of almost sixty thousand dollars, Richard. I assume from what you said earlier that Congress is not providing that sum.”

  “That’s correct. Congress has no money to send, so the ransom money must come from us, as a family. That is why we are gathered here today and why we are seeking your approval to do this. Sixty thousand dollars constitutes almost our entire reserves. As Uncle William explained, we can hardly afford such a loss at a time when Cutler and Sons must invest in new ships and crews, and new markets, in order to survive. The stakes couldn’t be higher.”

  Anne did not demur. “When it comes to a vote, I will vote yes. Everyone in this room will. But I must ask why Congress has no money. It provided funds for Mr. Barkley in Morocco, did it not?”

  “It did, but Congress has no more funds available. It has exhausted its resources and has no immediate means to replenish them. Congress has promised us that it will eventually repay the sixty thousand dollars whatever the outcome may be in Algiers and whatever the outcome in Philadelphia. We are at risk only if Congress reneges on that promise. Mr. Hamilton has assured me that it will not, and I believe we can rely on his word.”

  Stephen Starbuck offered a final perspective. “Richard, please do not misunderstand me. We all want Caleb released, and we all support you. It’s a good plan and I admire your creativity and courage. But my concern is this: if the United States continues to pay ransoms for Americans who are illegally held in Barbary, should we not expect to pay ever higher ransoms for ever more Americans illegally held?”

  Richard nodded his understanding. “You’re right, Stephen,” he said. “Of course you’re right. That same thought worries me. But it’s not up to you or to me or to any of us in this room to decide matters of foreign policy. We are but one family trying to save one of our own and those in our employ. I don’t mean to sound callous, but I suggest we set aside your concern until after we have Caleb here at home to worry about it with us.”

  Stephen nodded his agreement. “Until we have Caleb home,” he said somberly.

  Four

  Portland, Maine, Autumn 1787

  THE DEVIL IS IN THE DETAILS, his father often said, and it seemed to Richard during those waning weeks of summer that the legions of hell had ascended from the depths to conspire against the Cutler family. Having agreed on their course of action, the Cutlers now sought to motivate others to work on their behalf. In his mission to Algiers, John Lamb had been careless with the details, and had failed as a result. Richard vowed that he would not make the same mistakes. Nevertheless, with much of the process outside his control, and with the details bedeviling him at every turn like a biblical swarm of locusts, by the end of August Richard’s mood was dark. Even Jamie’s silly antics did not have their usual effect, and Will gave him a wide berth when he saw his father in the parlor prowling back and forth like a lion in its cage.

  “At least we know that Caleb is all right,” Katherine tried to comfort him early one Tuesday morning. They were sitting with Lizzy in the kitchen, its four windows open to allow in the warm, humid breeze. Katherine was watching her husband carefully. She felt his pain and ached for him to do something, anything that would give him purpose. Falcon’s upcoming shakedown cruise would fit the bill. On Friday, Richard planned to take the new schooner down east to Falmouth. Being back under sail again was the ultimate remedy for whatever ailed him.

  “There is that,” Richard had to admit.

  A year after Eagle’s capture, the Cutler family had finally received direct word from Algiers. The letter had been written by Captain Dickerson and had been forwarded by Charles Logie, the British consul in Algiers, to William Carmichael, the American chargé in Madrid. From there it had taken two months to reach Hingham. What Dickerson had to say was encouraging. Eagle’s crew was being treated well, under the circumstances. And no one, at the time of the writing, had been sold off to slavery in Tripoli or Tunis, the fate of many other Christian prisoners. The crew, Dickerson reported, was kept together in barracks located near the harbor and had been put to work rebuilding the breakwater, a backbreaking task. Because he was the ship’s captain, he was excused from most work details and given leeway to walk about the city during daylight hours. Certain of his crew had been singled out for other duties, he wrote, including Caleb, who had been selected to serve as a domestic servant in the royal palace. Caleb had declined what had been meant as an honor, but he had not been punished for his refusal. And so far, not one American had converted to Islam to secure his freedom, an act encouraged by Arabs who coveted Western seafaring skills for their pirate fleets. The letter ended with Dickerson sending his respects to the Cutler family along with his prayer that Eagle’s crew would not be forgotten.

  “It was good of the dey to let Captain Dickerson write you,” Lizzy encouraged. “He didn’t have to do that.”

  Richard gave his cousin a wry smile. His foul mood was in no way relieved by the knowledge that soon after he returned home from Falmouth, she and her father would be returning to England.

  “Perhaps, Liz,” he said. “Though I doubt the dey was making any sort of humanitarian gesture. He wants his ransom money, and he expects this letter to expedite the payments.”

  “How could he possibly know that the Cutler family is going to pay the ransoms, and not your government?”

  “I don’t think he does. Perhaps he misunderstands the situation. Algiers is small—it’s a fortified city much like ancient Sparta. Perhaps the dey thinks that America, too, is a small place where people of influence have the ear of other people of influence, and that’s how things get done. That might be the way it is in Africa, and perhaps in Europe, but God is my witness, it is not the way things are in America. Nothing gets done here without a colossal effort. I have not yet received the document promised me by Mr. Jay, to give one example, and I have written him four times. I’d do better sailing to Philadelphia to get it myself rather than waiting to have it sent here to Hingham.”

  He was referring to what should have been one of the more easily checked-off details: receipt of the diplomatic passport that would identify Richard Cutler as a representative of the U.S. government in Algiers. John Jay, foreign secretary for Congress since 1783, had assured Richard that he would have this document in hand no later than the first of August. It was now almost the first of September.

  “You understand why,” Katherine said. “Now that the issue of government has finally been settled, he can turn his attentions to other concerns, including ours.”

  The issue of how the United States of America would be governed did indeed seem to have been settled. What had been agreed to at the National Convention in Philadelphia by the majority of states had unleashed a flood of celebration throughout the North, some of the joyous backwash spilling over into pockets of federalism in the South and even swirling around Republican high ground there.

  The Articles of Confederation, the feeble glue that since 1783 had struggled to hold the states together, had been dissolved. In their place would rise, like a phoenix, a truly national government presided over by an elected president whose political agenda would be held in check by a Congress representing the people; the decision-making and lawmaking power of those two branches would be balanced by a Supreme Court representing law and order. What the press had labeled the Connecticut Plan, because it had been proposed by Connecticut lawyer Roger Sherman, drew from both a New Jersey Plan calling for a legislature with one vote per state and a Virginia Plan proposing a legislature with voting powers based on population per state. Under Sherman’s plan, trumpeted by some officials as the Great Compromise, Congress would be divided into two forums: a House of Representatives, its size determined by the population of the individual states, and a Senate to which each state would elect two spokesmen, regardless of its population.

  “Yes, well, we’ll see,” Richard said, his dour mood lifting. “My
hunch is you may be right. Never in a million years did I think the convention would accomplish so much so quickly.”

  “Any chance you might see Agee while you’re in Falmouth?” Katherine asked, seeking to reinforce her husband’s cheerier disposition.

  She was referring to Agreen Crabtree, a man brought close to Richard by their shared experiences during the war with England, first as midshipmen aboard Ranger, then as acting lieutenants aboard Bonhomme Richard, both ships under the command of Captain John Paul Jones. During an early morning raid on the English seaport of Whitehaven, Richard had saved Agreen’s life; Agreen had returned the favor, twice, during the battle with HMS Serapis in the North Sea. Richard had invested considerable effort in tracking down his former shipmate after the war, finally locating him in what was now Agreen’s home on Casco Bay in the Eastern Province of Massachusetts—or Maine, as Agreen preferred to call his native land.

  “I’m still hoping,” Richard answered her. “I’ve tried to reach him, apparently to no avail. But he may be there. And if he is, I’ll do everything I can to convince him to join Cutler and Sons. We always have need of so fine a seaman.”

  “And so fine a friend. Think he’ll take the bait?”

  “He will if the bait is a position as ship’s master. I think it’s what Agee wants, and it’s certainly what he deserves. His current employer either has his head buried in the sand or he hasn’t a ship to give him.”