A Call to Arms Read online

  “Mr. Wesley,” Richard said, when his mate walked up beside him, “I’ll be going ashore with my son. I am certain Mr. Hunt has already requested that a space be cleared for Barbara D. He will pay off the crew once she is warped in and her cargo offloaded. Thank you for your assistance on this cruise. And your wise counsel. Please apologize to the men for my . . . bad mood these past several days. I regret burdening you with that.”

  “Pay it no mind, Mr. Cutler,” Wesley said. “And don’t fret a fig about Barbara D. She’ll be as shipshape as can be before anyone is dismissed.”

  “Of that I am certain, John.” They shook hands.

  As Will’s boat approached, Richard looked fondly about the harbor, happy at that moment to see even the screaming gulls soaring and wheeling overhead and the tidal flats covered with rotting fish, their stench covered by the clean scent of sea air born aloft by a surprisingly warm southwesterly breeze. Minutes later he was in the small boat shaking hands with his son, who moved to the forward thwart for the row back to the wharf as his father settled on the after thwart.

  “I want to hear all about your cruise, Will,” Richard said after they had shoved off from the brig.

  “There is much to tell, Father,” Will said as he guided the boat shoreward through heavy traffic. “But I am under strict orders not to say anything until this evening. Mr. Hunt has sent word of your arrival to Hingham, and he has a packet standing by to take us home whenever you are ready to leave. Until tonight, mum’s the word.”

  “So be it.” As Richard watched his son deftly ply the waters of Boston Harbor, the thought came to him that Will had done some maturing during the past few months at sea.

  IT WAS A FAMILY REUNION to remember. These days it was rare to have so many Cutlers assembled in one place at one time. Only Richard’s sisters, who lived in Duxbury and Cambridge with their own families, were not present. The family had gathered at the former home of Richard’s parents on Main Street, which Richard had conferred on Caleb along with the responsibility of managing Cutler & Sons after their father’s death.

  Edna Stowe, the housekeeper who had devoted the best part of her adult life in service to the Cutler family, worked her magic in the kitchen with the help of Katherine and Diana Cutler and Lizzy Cutler Crabtree. The feast of roast venison and potatoes, freshly baked breads, fruits and vegetables from the garden, and two silky-crusted grape pies topped any meal ever prepared in that kitchen.

  “Caleb,” Lizzy said, after they had said grace and were happily eating, “it must be a nice change to have so many of us here tonight. I suppose you’re lonely sometimes, living alone in this big house. You need to find yourself a nice woman and get married and fill these rooms with children. Zeke needs playmates.” She was referring to her young son, the only child she and Agreen could ever hope to have. She glanced at Katherine and then at Richard, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

  Richard agreed with her, unaware that he was the pawn in his cousin’s game. “I’ve been saying that for years.”

  Diana Cutler stifled a giggle.

  “Well, my good man,” Caleb announced magnanimously, “you need say it no longer. Although I shall miss them dearly, my bachelor days are over. I’m striking my colors.”

  Richard laid down his fork. “You’re getting married?” he exclaimed so incredulously that those seated around the table burst into laughter. “You? God’s mercy, will wonders never cease! Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “Joan Cabot. From Boston.”

  “A Cabot? From Boston? You’ve gone right to the fount of Boston society, haven’t you? Are you trying to best your nephew?” He gave Will a quick grin. “How long have you been seeing her?”

  “Oh, off and on for a year or so. Most definitely ‘on’ in recent months.”

  A quip came to Richard’s mind, which he quickly dismissed as inappropriate for mixed company. “So that’s why you’ve been spending so much time in Boston. I thought you were tending to family business.”

  Caleb smiled. “I was.”

  Richard shook his head. “Well that beats all. I suppose this means we’ll have to make some changes around here.” He lifted his glass and crooked his little finger. “Assume fancier airs. Dress in the latest fashions. Commission a carriage or two with the family seal. Take snuff and wear perfumed wigs. When is this magnificent event to occur?”

  “Next September. We don’t want to preempt Will’s wedding. And don’t believe for a moment that Joan is like the other Cabots. She’s more like Katherine, who, as you know better than anyone, stooped low from her lofty position in English society when she married a base commoner like you.” He smiled at Richard’s wife. “You haven’t fared too badly, have you, Katherine?”

  “That’s Lady Katherine to you, Caleb,” she replied pompously, setting off another round of laughter and clinking wineglasses.

  The evening wore on with each family member recounting events of the past six months. Richard was keenly interested in Falcon’s cruise to Batavia and his brother’s impressions of Jan Van der Heyden. As that was far too comprehensive a subject to cover in an evening, Caleb suggested that he, Agreen, Will, and Richard meet the next morning to review the business opportunities inherent in C&E Enterprises. The mood of the evening remained merry until Richard asked his son Jamie for his update. Jamie had been uncharacteristically quiet through dinner.

  The brown-haired seventeen-year-old turned immediately serious at his father’s question. As if on cue, the mood of the evening shifted from merriment to solemnity. Puzzled by this turn of events, Richard glanced around the table. Although everyone met his gaze, no one offered an immediate explanation. Agreen finally broke the silence.

  “We’re at war, Richard,” he said. “America is at war.”

  “At war?” Richard said in disbelief. “With whom?”

  “Tripoli.”

  “Tripoli? The Barbary state? Why, for God’s sake?”

  “We don’t know for certain. Details are slow comin’ in. What we do know is that Tripoli declared war on us, not the other way ’round. Last May, Richard Dale left for the Mediterranean in Congress with a five-ship squadron. His mission was t’ protect our merchantmen over there. I suppose that still is his mission.”

  Richard Dale was an old friend: a fellow prisoner with Richard Cutler and Agreen Crabtree in Old Mill Prison during the war with England and subsequently their shipmate in Bonhomme Richard. It was Richard Dale who had secured the guns for Falcon’s cruise to North Africa fourteen years ago when Caleb and the others of Eagle’s crew were being held captive in an Arab prison and Richard Cutler was sent to Algiers to try to negotiate their release. Richard could think of no better man to command a squadron against those same Barbary pirates—except, perhaps, for Thomas Truxtun, his commanding officer in Constellation during the war with France. Richard’s brain was whirling with the implications when Jamie said, with a sudden burst of pride, “Father, I think I may have secured a midshipman’s warrant.”

  Richard blinked. “What did you say?”

  “I think I may have secured a midshipman’s warrant,” Jamie repeated. He looked to Will for support.

  “It’s true, Father,” Will said. “When we were in Batavia, Uncle Caleb and I met with Captain Edward Preble aboard Essex. I told him about Jamie’s desire to follow in your footsteps and join the Navy. Captain Preble was impressed, even more so when he found out that Jamie had studied at Governor Dummer Academy, just as he had. So he agreed to meet with Jamie in Boston when Essex returned.”

  “And did he?” Richard asked Jamie.

  “Yes, sir. We met six weeks ago in our shipping office. Mr. Hunt was there, too. During our conversation Captain Preble asked me if there was anyone of high office who might recommend me to the Navy. I gave him the names of Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Adams. I am hoping you will write them on my behalf.”

  “Yes, of course I will, Jamie,” his father replied in a faraway tone. “You couldn’t have picked two better references.” His mind
struggled to encompass the evening’s many twists and turns. The image of USS Portsmouth, his future command, still on her blocks at the Portsmouth Navy Yard in New Hampshire, sprang to mind. How would that piece fit into this puzzle? And Jamie a midshipman! The thought filled him with pride—and with apprehension knowing that war had been declared. But was it truly a war? Tripoli could hardly be conceived as a formidable foe. “Where is Captain Preble now?”

  “At his home in Portland. He’s recovering from some sort of stomach ailment and is waiting to receive his command. Which Mr. Smith,” referring to Robert Smith, recently installed secretary of the Navy, “has told him will likely be Constitution. Captain Preble wrote me about that. I have his letter upstairs to show you.”

  “I see. Well, Constitution is a fine ship. She’s not called ‘the pride of New England’ for nothing.”

  Richard stared down at the table, aware of the eyes watching him, his mind churning. Only when his daughter came over to remove his plate and to kiss him on the cheek did he emerge from his brief reverie. “Thank you, Diana,” he said.

  “You’re welcome, Father. It’s wonderful having you home with us.”

  “It’s wonderful to be home,” he said to her with feeling. He looked around the table and raised his glass. “To my brother’s happiness and to my children’s dreams. And to all of you for making this such a remarkable homecoming.”

  “Here, here!” they replied in unison.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, as Richard and Katherine were preparing for bed in the fluttering light of three candles, Katherine said, “That was a lot to spring on you. But think on it: if we had started out with reports of the war, the evening would have gone a lot differently. Caleb was so looking forward to sharing his news with you. And Jamie has been wild to tell you. And now I have one more item of interest to relay.”

  He was sitting on the edge of the bed watching her undress, a sight that never failed to stir him. She was down to her sheer white linen underclothing, an apparition of the night that inevitably cast away the demons of the day. “Oh? What might that be?” His voice was distant, his thoughts conflicted by the prospect of war and the allure of his wife.

  She walked over and tilted his chin upward so that his eyes met hers. “The Endicotts want to meet with us as soon as possible to discuss plans for the wedding. Anne-Marie reminded me that June is not far away, and she was right. Are you willing to meet with them? Jack promised that he will not discuss business with you, at least until later.”

  “That’ll be the day. But of course I’m willing. Are you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “So, you and Anne-Marie have become bosom friends during my absence?” His eyes dropped again to admire the form silhouetted against the candlelight.

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that way.” She gazed down at him and tugged on an unruly lock of his blond hair. “I have the sense that you are not paying strict attention to what I’m telling you. What exactly is on your mind, my dear husband?”

  “You want to know, exactly?”

  “Yes, indeed. Exactly.”

  He placed his hands on her hips and looked deep into her hazel eyes. “I’m wondering,” he confessed quite sincerely, “how I came to be blessed with a wife who is even more beautiful and desirable today than on the day I married her twenty-two years ago.”

  She tickled his neck with one finger. “You are quite the flatterer, Richard Cutler, a quality I have come to admire in you whenever such flattery relates to me. However,” she added, “since you have been away at sea for three months, I suspect that at this moment you would find a female lobster desirable.”

  “I’m serious, Katherine. Tell me: am I as desirable to you now as I was . . . back then?”

  Katherine folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head, as though sizing him up. “You’ll do,” she pronounced at length, “for tonight. But I have in mind several young men in town whom I have come to fancy. In my experience, younger men have more passion, and more stamina.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s a young stallion you desire tonight.” He pulled her in close and squeezed the firm flesh of her buttocks.

  “Mmm. Think you’re up to it, sailor?”

  “We’ll soon determine exactly who is up for what.” He stood and finished undressing her. “If I were you, my lady, I wouldn’t count on getting much sleep tonight.”

  She backed away to sweep him a deep curtsey. “My lord,” she said in coy sixteenth-century fashion. From that low vantage point she looked up at him and smiled. Then she set about undoing the buttons of his trousers.

  And the fires of the night blazed on.

  Three

  Hingham, Boston, and Portland, November 1801—May 1802

  A GREEN WAS CORRECT. Dispatches from across the Atlantic were slow to come in. Once they arrived, however, the national press feasted on them with bold headlines and overblown stories. America’s appetite for updates about this sudden and bizarre clash of arms seemed insatiable. American honor had been impugned once too often by the Barbary States, and if European governments were too timid or corrupt to stand up to the pirates, then by God the United States would show the world that at least one country would.

  “This plays right into President Jefferson’s hands,” Richard commented as he sat in the kitchen of Agreen’s modest but well-appointed home on Pleasant Street, nodding at the latest issue of the Boston Traveler spread out on the table.

  “How so?” Agreen inquired.

  “In a good way, I mean. I’m as surprised as anyone by the president’s strong stand on this war, particularly on why he believes it justifies a strong Navy. Listen to this.” Richard read from the article he had been reading. “‘The only way to repel force is with force.’” His finger slid down the page. “And here: ‘Force is the only antidote to terror.’ Think on it, Agee. Is this the same president who not so long ago signed the Peace Establishment Act and seemed poised to abolish the Navy?”

  He was referring to an act of legislation that President Adams had initiated and his successor, President Jefferson, had executed soon after the Convention of Mortefontaine ended the war with France. That act had reduced the number of ships in the U.S. Navy to the six original superfrigates and a handful of smaller vessels, and the officer corps to 9 captains, 36 lieutenants, and 150 midshipmen—and most of them had been furloughed. Even those who survived the cuts regarded this legislation as the beginning of the end of the Navy.

  “Hell yes, I remember,” Agreen groused. “It delayed your promotion and booted me right out of the Navy.”

  “Only temporarily, it seems. And we have our friend the bashaw to thank for that. His declaration of war has forced the Navy to recall former officers. I’m told that Portsmouth should be ready for sea trials come spring, and I have every reason to believe that my request for your promotion will be accepted. A ship’s captain has wide latitude in selecting his senior officers. As Captain Truxtun once put it to me, his life may depend on the quality of the officers he selects. So start packing your seabag.”

  Agreen smiled. “I’ll do that, Richard. And I’m mighty grateful t’ you.”

  “Nonsense, Agee. I need the best man for the job, and you’re that man, friend or no.”

  “It’s a shame Jamie can’t serve with you,” Lizzy interjected. She had come into the kitchen a few moments earlier with four-year-old Zeke Crabtree, a rowdy lad with the face of a cherub and a shock of yellow hair, who gave his father a gap-toothed smile. He squealed with glee when his father scooped him up onto his lap and started tickling him.

  “Don’t get him riled up, Agee,” Lizzy admonished. “He needs to settle down for his nap.”

  “I’ll just keep him here a short spell,” Agreen assured her. He jabbed a finger close to Zeke’s face and then drew it away in a game of catch-me-if-you-can. The next time around, Zeke grabbed the finger in his little hands, put it in his mouth, and bit down hard. His father howled in protest, a piece of play-acting Richard had witnessed man
y times before. Zeke shrieked with joy.

  “That’s the man you want for your first lieutenant?” Lizzy asked her cousin.

  “I’m having second thoughts,” Richard said as he watched the scene repeat itself, Agreen protesting ever more loudly and Zeke screeching ever more vociferously. The game went on until Lizzy cast her husband a withering look, at which point it ceased.

  “As I was saying,” she said when her son’s shrieks had subsided to giggles, “it’s a shame that Jamie can’t serve with you, Richard. You do think he’ll receive that midshipman’s warrant, don’t you?”

  “I do. But I wouldn’t want him serving with me, Liz. A father-son relationship on a warship is not encouraged and rarely approved. I can think of only one example in the last war: Oliver Hazard Perry served as midshipman for his father, Captain Christopher Raymond Perry, aboard General Greene. But Jamie will receive the warrant regardless of how many qualified applicants there may be. He’s the right age; he’s well educated; he has experience at sea; he has excellent sponsors; and, most important, he has the support of his future captain, a man of no small influence. And he’s from New England. Most midshipmen hail from the middle Atlantic states, and the Navy desires equal geographical representation of its officer corps, to the extent possible.”

  “You forgot to mention that he comes from a good family,” Lizzy commented.