A Call to Arms Read online

  On the afterdeck, Peter Weeks raised a glass to his eye. Agreen did likewise amidships. Neither glass was necessary. Falcon’s entire crew saw the ball strike the railing of the lead vessel halfway between her mainmast and stern. Distant screams of men impaled by shards of jagged wood echoed across the jeweled waters of the strait.

  A great cheer resounded through Falcon, followed, moments later, by a second great cheer when both vessels suddenly wore ship and made for shelter among the numerous islands dotting the strait’s western regions.

  “Great jumpin’ Jehosephat!” Will exulted as Agreen made his way aft. “What a shot, Mr. Crabtree!” He punched the air with a fist.

  “Mind the helm, Will,” Agreen cautioned.

  “Well done indeed, Agee,” Caleb said calmly. “Cutler & Sons is most grateful for your excellent aim.” Even the normally staid Caleb could not resist a smile.

  Agreen grinned back.

  An hour later Falcon hauled her wind and set a new course due east toward Cape Pujat. Tonight she would anchor in Peper Bay. Tomorrow morning, God willing, the long outbound leg of her cruise to the East Indies would be over.

  VENETIAN MERCHANTS trading with the Muslim sultanates on Java were the first to open Westerners’ eyes to the richness of the Spice Islands. What Europeans beheld in the Far East inspired the Age of Exploration, an era during which one maritime power after another sought not to advance the teachings of Christ, but rather to control the lucrative trade routes bearing the cloves, mace, coffee, black pepper, and other luxuries that well-to-do Europeans were keen to purchase. Throughout the 1500s, Portugal, France, Spain, Britain, and Holland fought fierce campaigns against each other and against local kingdoms to gain control. In the end, the Dutch prevailed.

  The Dutch East India Company—Vereenigde Oost-indische Compagnie, in Dutch—was founded in 1602. It became the world’s first mega-corporation—the first company to issue stock and the only company ever to be granted quasi-governmental powers to wage war, negotiate treaties, coin money, and establish colonies. For almost two centuries the VOC paid an annual dividend of 18 percent on investments. That handsome return encouraged additional investments in VOC and the spice trade, which the Dutch protected with all the means at their disposal. VOC merchant vessels were armed to the teeth with the latest in naval gunnery; on land and at sea VOC military personnel confronted and eliminated any threat to the company’s commercial empire. By 1625 Holland held a virtual monopoly on the East Indian spice trade. Such was their resolve to control every source of supply within the 17,500 islands of the East Indian archipelago that the Dutch gave away the island of Manhattan to the English in return for the tiny volcanic island of Run in the Banda Islands where nutmeg was cultivated. The Dutch drove away, starved, or slaughtered the local Bandanese to ensure exclusive Dutch control of the island’s plantations.

  By the time Falcon sailed through a breakwater of small islands protecting the northern approaches to Batavia Bay in 1801, Holland’s iron grip on the East Indies had relaxed considerably. VOC, in fact, was bankrupt and had closed the doors to its Far Eastern headquarters several years earlier. A victim of both internal corruption and external pressure exerted by the rival British East India Company and French East India Company, VOC had finally bowed to the inevitable and allowed in the competition.

  Dutch influence remained strong, however, especially in Batavia, the old colonial capital on the north coast of western Java. Will Cutler stood as mute and full of wonder as the rest of Falcon’s crew as Peter Weeks guided the schooner under reduced sail toward the long commercial wharves near the base of the city wall. He could not see much of the city proper—the smooth, ten-foot stone wall prevented that—so he took in the area around it: a flat, largely treeless area where simple stone huts and makeshift tents seemed to form a separate city; the lush tropical rainforests beyond; and, farther away, jagged volcanic mountains wisping smoke. In the harbor, boats of all descriptions swung at anchor. Many were two-masted, ketchlike vessels with rounded bow and stern; others were larger—brigs, brigantines, and dhows—and several others were larger still. The largest of all looked more like a first-rate ship of the line than a merchant vessel.

  It was another vessel, however, that demanded Agreen’s attention as Falcon glided in toward her anchorage. She was of considerable length—Agreen estimated 150 feet on her weather deck—and displaced 800 or 900 tons. She had graceful lines and a jaunty bow and stern, and she was clearly a naval frigate: her gun port strake was painted pure white, and her sails were furled to their yards in Bristol fashion. Agreen’s gaze took in her ensign halyard. There, high up on its peak, stirring to life in the awakening breeze, fluttered the Stars and Stripes.

  “Well I’ll be goddamned,” he muttered under his breath.

  “That’s Essex, Agee,” Caleb Cutler confirmed. He had walked forward to stand beside him by the foremast chain-wale. “I don’t see Congress,” referring to the U.S. Navy superfrigate that accompanied Essex as they became the first American warships to round the Cape of Good Hope into the Indian Ocean. “Perhaps she’s out on patrol, gathering up other merchantmen.”

  “Stations to drop anchor!” Peter Weeks shouted from the helm. As the schooner slowly turned to the wind, the leeches on her jib and spanker began to shiver and her spanker boom jounced about. “Away anchor!” Weeks ordered when the way came off her. Sailors in the bow let go the anchor holds. The anchor rode rumbled out through the hawser hole, and the great wrought-iron fluke splashed into the harbor. The jib and spanker were quickly doused. For the first time since departing Cape Town, Falcon lay peacefully at a port of call.

  Her entry into Batavia Bay had been duly noted aboard Essex, anchored several hundred feet away. Falcon’s anchor had barely touched bottom when the frigate dipped her ensign three times. Falcon returned the salute. Within the half-hour a ship’s boat glided up alongside the yellow hull of the schooner. An officer dressed in white duck trousers, a loose-fitting white cotton shirt, and a fore-and-aft bicorne hat climbed up the rope ladder and stepped through the larboard entry port.

  “I am George Lee, third lieutenant of the United States ship of war Essex, at your service.” He raised his hat deferentially and bowed as the hot breeze tousled his sandy brown hair. “And you are?”

  “Falcon, out of Boston,” Caleb responded. “My name is Caleb Cutler. I am the proprietor of Cutler & Sons, which, as you may know, is a joint partner with C&E Enterprises based here in Batavia. This gentleman”—indicating Agreen—“is Agreen Crabtree. He is the master of this vessel. This young man is Will Cutler, my nephew. And this”—indicating Weeks—“is Mr. Peter Weeks, the schooner’s mate. All sailors aboard are American citizens in the employ of Cutler & Sons.”

  Lee bowed a second time. “Thank you for the introductions, Mr. Cutler.” His eyes scanned the deck. “I bid you all a very good morning and welcome you to Batavia. My captain, Edward Preble, has asked me to determine your business here, but from what you just told me, that hardly seems necessary. That ship you see over there”—he looked admiringly toward the vessel that looked like a ship of the line—“as I am certain you are aware, is China, one of your own. She carries thirty-six guns, four more than Essex, and a crew of one-hundred-fifty. In two weeks’ time we shall be escorting her and a number of other merchant vessels home to Boston. You are most welcome to join us.”

  Most of Falcon’s crew had not, until this day, seen China, although everyone knew of her. Not only was she the largest merchant ship in the C&E fleet, she was one of the largest merchant vessels afloat. Her thirty-six 12-pounder guns had been procured by Will’s father through his connections with the Cecil Iron Works in Havre de Grace, Maryland, the same foundry that had provided guns for USS Constellation in the war with France.

  “Or perhaps it’s the other way around,” Lee commented dryly. “Perhaps it is China that will serve as escort. You will still be in Batavia in two weeks?”

  “I doubt it,” Caleb replied. “Your kind offe
r is duly noted, Mr. Lee, but we must conclude our business with our agent in Batavia as quickly as possible and return to Boston. Among other reasons, young Mr. Cutler here has a wedding to attend. His own.”

  George Lee smiled at Will. “Well, Mr. Cutler, I can understand why you wish to return to America with all due haste. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials and on the success of your family’s business. I am honored to have the pride of your merchant fleet with us on our voyage home to Boston. I hail from Manchester on Cape Ann, you see, and I, too, am the scion of a shipping family. I was, if I may be so bold to say it, one of the private citizens who staked the money to have Essex built.” He grinned. “Perhaps that explains why Captain Preble saw fit to appoint me her third lieutenant.”

  Caleb reflected that Lee might well be right about that. Essex had been built three years ago on Winter Island off Salem, Massachusetts, courtesy of seventy-five thousand dollars in private subscriptions staked by merchants in Salem and elsewhere in Essex County who sought a means of protecting their carrying trade. She was subsequently offered to the fledgling U.S. Navy—which was delighted to receive her.

  “A final matter,” Lee concluded, “before I must regretfully shove off. Captain Preble has asked me to extend every courtesy to you while you are in Batavia. You will soon receive an invitation to dine with him aboard Essex, as your schedule permits. If I am also invited, I shall take pleasure in learning more about your cruise to the East Indies. In the meantime, if there is any service I might perform for you or courtesy I might extend, you know where to find me.”

  WHEN CALEB AND WILL CUTLER disembarked at the commercial quays and walked through the open gates into the city later that day, they took a few moments to steady legs still anticipating the roll of the deck. It was hotter here away from the gentle breezes of the Java Sea, and the intense humidity made the light cotton of their shirts stick to their skin. As they walked along the raised left bank of the Jacatra River, which bisected the city, each had the thought that they could just as well be in Amsterdam or Rotterdam. The red-brick and gray-stone construction characteristic of Dutch colonial architecture lined straight, wide streets intersected here and there by stinking canals with raised embankments. The center of the city was itself a fortress; nearly everything about this government hub had a military feel to it. Caleb took pleasure in identifying the buildings he had visualized from the descriptions of others. The nearby Koningsplein, a large open square, was surrounded by the three-story mansions of the social elite, each mansion separated from the others by rows of teak, rattan, and pine trees. Gardens full of orchids, sago palms, and flowering shrubs perfumed the air and masked the city’s rank odors. On the far side of the square, nestled between two European-style churches, he spotted the Stadhuis—city hall—a substantial gray-stone, red-roofed building with Greek-style columns at the doorway. The attractive two-story building to its right housed the Far Eastern headquarters of C&E Enterprises.

  “You haven’t said a thing since we left ship, Will,” Caleb teased. In truth, he was equally awed by the unexpected dimensions of this exotic city, notwithstanding the many details that Jack Endicott had described to them back in Boston. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure what to think, Uncle,” Will replied as he absorbed the city’s sights and scents. Caleb had never seen his nephew so subdued. Perhaps he, too, was thinking that this city and others like it in the Far East were the future of Cutler & Sons.

  A knock on the front door of C&E Enterprises summoned a servant wearing red-and-white livery and a sugar-white peruke with a black bow attached to the queue at the nape of his neck. He bowed low when Caleb introduced himself and his nephew.

  “Welkom, Herr Cutler. Wij verwachtten u.” The servant caught himself and straightened. “Excuseer. Welcome, Mr. Cutler. We have been expecting you.”

  “Dank u. Is Herr Van der Heyden in residence?”

  “He is, Mr. Cutler. If you will follow me, please.”

  The servant led them down a handsomely appointed hallway floored in black and white tiles. Numerous landscapes and seascapes adorned the wood-paneled walls. Here and there a chair or settee was strategically placed between long, thin, Chippendale-style tables set with blue-and-white porcelain vases full to bursting with fragrant flowers. The high ceiling kept the temperature in the hallway blissfully comfortable.

  At the end of the hallway the servant stopped before a door and turned to face the Cutlers. “If you would be so kind as to wait here,” he requested politely. He knocked on the door and disappeared inside.

  He reemerged in the company of a square-jawed man of medium build with white-blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and a thin mouth. Although the finely attired Dutchman appeared younger than Caleb, Caleb knew him to be in his early forties, the age of his older brother Richard. Caleb also knew that Jan Van der Heyden hailed from Groningen in northeastern Holland but had spent most of his adult life outside Europe in the employ of VOC. Despite his good looks, he was unmarried. He had remarked to Jack Endicott during an initial interview that he was married to his business, and she was a most jealous mistress. That single remark had confirmed for Jack Endicott the wisdom of hiring Van der Heyden to manage the business affairs of C&E Enterprises in the Far East.

  “Mr. Cutler, I am so very honored to meet you.” He extended his hand and Caleb felt the strong grip as their eyes locked. Van der Heyden’s English bore only a trace of a guttural Dutch accent. “And this young man, I must assume, is William Cutler, eldest son of your brother Richard Cutler.”

  Caleb gave Will a brief nod.

  “Yes, Herr Van der Heyden” Will confirmed. “But please call me Will. Everyone does.”

  “So Mr. Endicott informed me. When he visited here last year, Will, he spent much time telling me about your family. From what he told me, and from what he has written to me since, there is much to admire.” His gaze shifted back to Caleb. “Will you join me in my office? It is, after all, your office, Mr. Cutler.

  Will looked about in appreciation as they entered the well-appointed room. Van der Heyden’s office was the size of a living room in a substantial Hingham home. Oriental carpets graced the floor, each carpet supporting either its own cast of sofas, rattan chairs, and tables, or a desk with a straight-backed chair. There were three desks in the room, each of fine wood. The most substantial was near a large mullioned window overlooking a colorful flower garden as well maintained as any English garden in Kent or Hampshire. The walls were replete with tapestries, bookcases neatly filled with leather-bound books, and oil paintings of Dutch statesmen of a bygone era. At Van der Heyden’s invitation, the three men settled comfortably on sturdy rattan chairs upholstered in a stylish red-and-yellow fabric.

  May I get you anything? Some food or drink, perhaps?”

  Caleb looked at Will, who shook his head. “Not at the moment, thank you. But Will and I hope to take supper with you this evening.”

  Van der Heyden made a small gesture toward the servant, who discreetly took his leave. When the door closed softly behind him, Van der Heyden turned back to his guests. “Mr. Cutler,” he said, “not only do I insist that you and your nephew join me for supper this evening, I also insist that you both stay in my home during your time in Batavia. It is near the city square that you passed on your way here. We will have a better opportunity to become acquainted, and a bed with clean sheets in your own rooms must seem a luxury after shipboard accommodations. Am I correct?”

  Caleb smiled. “You are. Will and I greatly appreciate your kind hospitality, Herr Van der Heyden.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Cutler.” The Dutchman returned the smile. “It is the least I can do for an employer who agreed to hire me without ever having met me.”

  “I have great faith in Mr. Endicott’s business judgment.”

  “As do I, sir. As do I.”

  “So,” the Dutchman said, “How do you find Batavia thus far?”

  “Will perhaps said it best on our way over here,” Caleb replied
good-naturedly. “Batavia is not Boston.”

  Van der Heyden sent Will a humorous glance. “Since I have not had occasion to visit Boston, I cannot make the comparison. Certainly the climate here is different from yours, yes? This is our dry season; be thankful you did not come here during our wet season, when we have drenching rains every day. And the humidity! Ach! Such misery!”

  Will and Caleb exchanged glances. The humidity could be worse?

  To break the ice, or rather to melt it, Van der Heyden said jovially, “Will, I understand from Mr. Endicott that you are soon to marry his eldest daughter, yes?” Will nodded. “How delightful. When is the wedding to occur?”

  “A year from now, in June.”

  Van der Heyden beamed. “June is an excellent month for a wedding. I understand that Adele is a very beautiful young woman, and as intelligent as she is beautiful. All of which makes you, my dear sir, a most fortunate young man. I hope someday you will sail with her to Batavia.”

  “Or you, sir, to Boston,” Will countered politely.

  “It will be a grand affair,” Caleb commented, “which is why we must work diligently during our time here. On our return voyage we plan to sail across the Pacific and around the Horn—a circumnavigation for our schooner—and we plan to be back in Boston by early October. Can we conclude our business within ten days, do you think, Herr Van der Heyden?”

  “We shall make it so, Mr. Cutler. We shall start tomorrow morning by reviewing the accounts line by line, and we shall continue our work until you and Will understand every element of our business, from our sources of supply to the customers we serve in Asia, Europe, and North America. Once you have mastered the ledgers, we shall visit several plantations on which we harvest spices. I am not certain which you will find more to your liking: the exotic plantations out there or the accounting books in here. I hope you will find enjoyment in both. It is, after all, your future.”