For Love of Country (10 page)

A knock on the door of the after cabin brought him back to the present. “Enter,” Richard called out.

The door opened to admit a stocky, black-haired sailor. Like the other twenty-four members of
Falcon
's crew, he had served his young country in the Revolutionary War. After his father died and left the family
farm to his oldest brother, Abel Whiton had returned to the sea to make a living. Aboard
Falcon
he served triple duty as foremast topman, ship's cook, and coxswain of the captain's gig.

“Will ye be having supper aboard, Captain?” he asked.

“Yes, Whiton,” Richard replied, stifling a yawn. The previous day and night had strained his resources to the limit. “I'll go ashore in the morning. Please wake me at six bells and have the gig called out.”

“Aye, Captain. And as ye'll be eating aboard, I'll be serving up a flounder Tom Gardner brought in not an hour ago. She's a plump fish, sir. As plump a flounder as ever I've seen. He and the men want ye to have it.”

“Please thank Gardner for me,” Richard said, with feeling. It was no big matter, a fish. The sea was full of fish. Yet Richard was keenly aware of how unusual it was for common sailors to offer any sort of gift to their captain, especially a captain who had just put them through hell.

“I'll do that, Captain. And sir? It'll take me an hour to prepare your supper, so in the meantime, might ye snatch some shut-eye? If I may, sir, you've hardly slept a wink since we left Boston. The men are concerned.”

“Thank you, Whiton,” Richard said, smiling despite himself. A part of his mind wondered how John Paul Jones would have reacted to such a suggestion by a member of his crew. British sea captains held a somewhat different perspective on shipboard protocol than their American counterparts. “I think I'll do that.”

“Very good, sir.”

As Whiton made his way forward to the galley he was surprised to see a stranger approaching, someone who had apparently made his own way below.

“May I help ye?” Whiton said, his senses alert. He did not recognize the tall, sinewy man, although he recognized a fellow sailor by the deep, leathery tan. The stranger's shock of reddish-blond hair was streaked white in places and was tied back at his nape with a simple piece of cod-line. He was dressed in baggy white trousers and a blue cotton shirt that was rolled up to his elbows and open at the neck. When he brought a finger up to his clean-shaven chin, the muscles in his forearm rippled.

“It's all right,” he assured Whiton in a deep voice. “I'm an old friend of your captain's. I received permission t' go below from that gray-haired fellow up there on anchor watch.”

“Mr. Tremaine? Well, if Mr. Tremaine gave you his permission . . . Mr. Cutler is aft, in his cabin. I should warn ye, sir, he's done in. He may already be asleep.”

“I'll take care not t' scare him,” the visitor promised.

He walked softly aft and listened at the door of the cabin a few moments before cracking it open and peering inside. Richard was seated at his desk, but he had turned his chair around and was facing aft with his feet up on the narrow, crimson-cushioned settee running athwartship afore the stern window. That window was open, and Richard appeared to be looking out to southwestward, toward the town of Cape Elizabeth, where a massive structure clearly defined as the base of a lighthouse stood on a far-off promontory known locally as “the Neck.”

The visitor cleared his throat. No response. He cleared it again, this time with more authority. Still no response.

He walked over to the settee and sat down opposite Richard, who, as Whiton had foretold, was fast asleep. For several moments the man sat quietly, gazing across at his friend as the manuscript pages of their history together unfolded before him in oft-read passages. They had last seen each other when Agreen Crabtree had unexpectedly dropped anchor off Hingham two years ago. Two years; yet here, today, that span of time seemed little more than the blink of an eye. So profound were his feelings that he was for a moment unable to speak. He managed to summon enough of himself to shout out, with all the outrage of a captain on his quarterdeck, “Good
God
! And t' think I once thought t' join up with this sorry outfit, where the captain sleeps all day while his crew fishes!” The result was gratifying.

Richard's eyes flew open. He blinked once, twice, as if in the confusion of collecting his wits he was unable to comprehend either the rude manner in which he had been awakened or the apparition sitting before him with a silly grin on his face. Then his eyes focused and both men were on their feet, each first gripping the arms of the other, then throwing that aside and embracing with hard slaps on the back.

“Dam
na
tion, Agee, are you ever a sight for sore eyes!” Richard held his friend at arm's length and inspected him. “How long have you been in Falmouth?”

“We call it Portland now, Richard,” Agreen replied with an enormous grin. “A couple o' days, t' answer your question. I was aboard my brigantine, workin' away, bein' the good servant that I am, when I noticed this fancy topmast schooner prancin' about the harbor. As
I'm watching her I'm thinkin' her crew hasn't a clue how t' handle her proper; she's bound to smash up there on the lee shore. So who else could be her captain if not my long-lost friend, Richard Cutler? And who else in his right mind would have the gall t' paint such a beautiful hull
yellow
? So I rowed over.”

“What you mean is, you got my letter.”

“Well, that too,” Agreen chuckled. “So what brings you up here, my friend? To offer me a king's ransom t' quit my employ and join yours, so I can fish up there on deck with your crew?”

“Nothing quite so glamorous, Agee.” Richard motioned to the settee. “Have a seat. We have some catching up to do.”

The time invested in catching up was brief. After a few minutes, Richard said, “We can talk more about this over supper. You can stay aboard?” Agreen nodded. “Excellent. Now, Agee, here's the situation.
Falcon
was launched a month ago. This is her shakedown cruise, as you know from my letter. For a destination I chose Falmouth—excuse me, Portland—for reasons you understand and also because there was the outside chance I might find you here.”

“So this here's a social call?”

“Far from it.”

“What, then?”

“I have a business proposition for you. I can't pay you a king's ransom, but I can pay you a fair wage if you'll agree to join me on
Falcon
's maiden voyage.”

“Where to?”

“Algiers. With a stopover on the way at Gibraltar.”

Agreen whistled softly. “Algiers. Jesus, Richard. You're takin' her right into the lion's den.”

“I am. That's why she's painted yellow. Ben Hallowell recommended it. Dark paint absorbs heat and cracks a ship's planking.”

Agreen nodded, his face grave. “I assume this has to do with
Eagle
? Everywhere I go, people still talk about it. And they're still mad as hell.”

“As well they should be. It's why the states acted as boldly as they did in Philadelphia. America is tired of being pushed around, Agee. I'm going to Algiers to get Caleb and his shipmates out of there. This
will
cost my family a king's ransom, but it's worth every piece of eight we have to pay.”

“An' you're asking me t' join you on this cruise?” Agreen asked rhetorically.

“Yes. As
Falcon
's sailing master. With the understanding that should you choose to remain in the employ of Cutler and Sons after we return home, you'll be awarded a vessel of your own, most likely this very schooner. We'll have with us a crew of twenty-five men, the same men you saw up on deck. Each is skilled at more than catching fish, I assure you. And we'll be going armed into the lion's den, Agee. Do you remember meeting General Lincoln when you were in Hingham? He's requisitioning six 6-pounders for us through our mutual friend Richard Dale,” referring to a fellow prisoner-of-war in England and
Bonhomme Richard
's first lieutenant. Dale was one of the few former Continental Navy officers who retained meaningful connections with what remained of America's military.

“Carriage guns, Richard? On a merchant vessel?”

“Yes. And swivel guns. And not just on
Falcon
. Mr. Jay is calling on all American merchant captains to arm their vessels because we have no navy to protect them. There aren't enough guns to go around, so we had to act quickly to get them.”

Agreen reflected on that. “That's the reason for the reinforced planking I noticed on deck.”

“Yes. She couldn't take the recoil without it. I'm certainly not going into the Mediterranean looking for a fight, but I'll be goddamned if I'm going in there unarmed. We won't have much, but at least we'll have something.
Falcon
will be outfitted as close to a naval vessel as our country has today. And I intend to command her like a naval vessel. With your help, I pray. So what do you say, Lieutenant Crabtree?” Richard forced his voice to sound casual and bright. “Are we shipmates again?”

Agreen scratched the nape of his neck, his brow furrowed in concentration. He stared beyond Richard, out the window to the few lights visible ashore. When his eyes flicked back, Richard saw sadness and disappointment in them.

“God is my witness, Richard, I want to do this. I'd sell my soul t' help you and your kin, you know that. But I'm not my own man the way you are. I work for Mr. Sloane, and he has me bound t' him like a prisoner to a stake. He won't take kindly t' my leavin' his employ. And he'd make things right nasty for me around here if I jumped ship.”

“Is Mr. Sloane here in Portland?

“He is.”

“I'll pay him a visit in the morning.”

“For what purpose?”

“To buy out your contract.”

Agreen shook his head. “He's a nice enough man, Richard, all else bein' equal. But when it comes t' money, all else ain't equal. Not with him; not by a long shot. Things tend t' get a mite sticky if he finds himself at the wrong end of a bargain. He pays good wages, I'll give 'im that. So it'd cost you plenty even if he were inclined t' release me.”

“It's worth plenty to me and my family, Agee, to have you in our employ. Do we have a deal?”

Agreen snorted. “Not so fast, my friend,” he cautioned. “Not so fast. We're makin' progress, but we're not there yet. We've got some serious negotiatin' still t' do. Since you're askin' me t' quit my position, I have t' consider my own interests, t' do what's right by me. For starters, there are three conditions that must be met before I could even consider signin' up with your outfit.”

“Name them.”

Agreen held up a finger. “First, I want t' stay a spell with you and your family before we sail for Algiers.” He held up another finger. “Second, I want t' get t' know your sons better.” He held up a third. “Here's the clincher, matey, the deal-breaker: I want time alone in your kitchen, without you stickin' your nose in where it ain't wanted, t' sit an' ogle your wife.”

Richard maintained a poker face as he pretended to weigh the pros and cons. Then, with a heavy sigh: “Damn your sorry eyes, Agee, you have me in a corner. It goes beyond my better judgment, but I see I have no choice. I accept your terms.” He stood up and offered his hand.

Agreen stood up and shook it solemnly. Then they both burst out laughing.

 

 

RICHARD HAD MUCH to relate to his family on his first evening home. That Agreen Crabtree would be joining
Falcon
on her cruise to Algiers was the most heartening news. The fact that he would be stopping off in Hingham on his return voyage from North Carolina sometime in October added to the family's pleasure. To Richard's surprise, given what Agreen had told him about his employer, Peter Sloane had readily agreed to release Agreen from his contract on the condition that he completed two final runs to Baltimore and Wilmington. There was no need to buy out the contract, Sloane had informed Richard once he understood the facts.
Eagle
's fate, he declared, could be the fate of any American merchant vessel—his own included.

The timing seemed ideal, for it would take another two to three months to prepare
Falcon
for sea and tie up the remaining loose ends. Several of those loose ends had been tied up during his absence, Richard discovered. His father informed him that they had received the letters of credence confirming Richard as an American emissary that John Jay had promised, and William Cutler announced that his family's share of the ransom money would soon be on its way to Gibraltar, where it would remain in the custody of Captain Jeremy Hardcastle pending
Falcon
's arrival there.

The family discussion then shifted to another topic, one equally pleasing to those present, especially Richard, who had learned to his joy that very afternoon that while William Cutler would be departing on schedule for England, his daughter would remain behind. Elizabeth Cutler would continue to occupy the spare room in Richard and Katherine's home on South Street where she had stayed all summer.

“Isn't it wonderful, Lizzy staying with us?” Katherine purred several hours later to her husband. He was lying on his back in bed with two goose-down pillows propping him up. The house was quiet; on either side of the bed the amber glow of candles flickered. When Katherine dropped her nightgown and slipped between the thin sheets, the heady tropical scent of frangipani filled Richard's senses.

“Yes,” he agreed, welcoming her into his arms. “And it's wonderful to see my uncle so pleased.”