A Call to Arms (3 page)

“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 offer 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.”

W
HEN
C
ALEB AND
W
ILL
C
UTLER
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.”

H
E APPROACHED
the open
door cautiously, reluctantly, loath to enter. But he had to go in. He had to come to grips with the harsh reality. His love for his father bade him continue, as much today as it had two weeks ago when he received Katherine's letter at the naval base in Virginia.

His father lay supine on the bed, propped up by pillows, clean white linen sheets pulled up across his chest. He appeared to be asleep, but it was hard to tell, so drawn and ashen was his face. Richard's two sisters, on deathwatch, sat on chairs near the foot of the bed. They were on their feet the instant Richard entered the room.

Anne was first in his arms. “Thank God,” she breathed. “Thank God you have come.
”

Lavinia, the younger and more emotional of the two, burst into tears when her turn came to embrace him. She tried to speak but choked on her words; she could only clutch her brother tighter, her message as clear to him as if it had been preached from a pulpit. He held her close, comforted her, dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief until her sobs subsided.