How Dark the Night (33 page)

In sum, Hugh Hardcastle had found Jack Endicott to be an agreeable and engaging companion, a pleasure to have on board despite his lubberly ways and preferences. His one shortcoming was his inability to control his frustration born of impatience. The fact that Fate had beamed on them since their first day out of Boston and that they were now considerably ahead of schedule seemed not to matter. Hugh understood that Endicott was an impatient man by nature and accustomed to instant gratification of his every wish and command, and sailing so great a distance was, by definition, a time-consuming endeavor. But there was nothing to be done about it. No sailing vessel could go faster than her hull speed, and besides, arriving too early in Cape Town simply meant that they would have to wait there for Van der Heyden. Hugh Hardcastle, for one, preferred to be out on the familiar sea, under sail, rather than ashore in a strange land, marking time.

“A most pleasant good morning to you, Mr. Endicott,” Hugh said to him, using, as he always did outside the privacy of the after cabin, the formal address.

“Good morning, Captain,” Endicott returned. He walked up to the helm and wheeled around to face forward. “And to you, Mr. Haskins,” he said to the sailing master at the wheel. “Another fine day we have. I understand from Carlson that you have information of interest to pass on to me.”

“I do. We have raised the Canaries.”

“Well, that's fine, fine,” Endicott said, nothing in his voice suggesting a shred of awe or a note of congratulation for what was by anyone's standards a superior feat of seamanship. “I assume that means we are maintaining our favorable pace?”

“It does. We will drop anchor off Tenerife late this afternoon. That will give us the day tomorrow to resupply. I should think you might welcome an opportunity to stretch your legs ashore. As you have heard me say, Santa Cruz is a visitor's delight.”

“I have indeed heard you say it and I am sure I will agree. And I'm sure we all look forward to dining on fresh victuals. Nevertheless, Captain, we depart on Friday morning, as prescribed,” Endicott insisted. “We have one day there, that is all, no matter how enticing the women, no matter how delectable the food. We have no time to dilly-dally.”

Hugh Hardcastle suppressed a smile. “One day will suffice, I should think.”

T
HE AREA
around what was now called Santa Cruz was indeed a visitor's delight, as voyagers from Phoenicia, Greece, Carthage, and Rome had discovered more than two millennia earlier. Formerly a tiny fishing village tucked within the rugged cliffs and black sand–pebble beaches of Tenerife's northeastern coast, the village of Santa Cruz had come into its own after a volcanic eruption in 1706 destroyed Garachico, a town cross-island that in 1700 was the major seaport of the Canaries. Since then, Santa Cruz de Santiago de Tenerife had become, together with Las Palmas, a key port of the Canary Islands—a name derived not from the renowned songbird but from the Latin for an indigenous breed of fierce dogs first encountered by ancient seagoing Romans—and a preferred way station between the Old and New Worlds. It was also a town that held emotional significance for Hugh Hardcastle. It was here, a decade earlier, that his lifelong friend, onetime shipmate, and longtime commanding officer Horatio Nelson had lost his right arm to a cannonball during a failed British attempt to wrest Tenerife from the Spanish, who had themselves wrested the island from aboriginal Berber chieftains in 1495.

Following a day of taking on fresh supplies of water and hogsheads of onions, bananas, tomatoes, grapes, and salted fish and meat,
Falcon
cast free her lines and set sail on a modified course that would now take her into the heart of the great South Atlantic. It was a considerably longer route than sailing straight down the African coast would have been—from Tenerife
Falcon
would sail southwestward for more than a thousand miles before turning eastward toward Cape Town—but Hugh Hardcastle
was convinced that this revised course would prove quicker and more comfortable. Rather than tacking back and forth against strong headwinds and currents,
Falcon
would set out on a beam reach, one of her fastest points of sail, before bringing the wind full on her back for the final eastward push to the southern tip of Africa.

On the first evening out of Santa Cruz, Hugh Hardcastle laid a chart of the South Atlantic on Jack Endicott's desk in the after cabin and explained the logic and logistics behind his decision. He used as a base of reference a large right triangle that he had drawn on the chart. Its apex was at the intersection of the equator and the bulge of West Africa, and its right triangle ran due south from that point to near Cape Town. He slid his forefinger along the hypotenuse, on which they were now sailing. Hugh had contemplated this change in sailing plan while crossing the Atlantic and had settled on it after talking with local mariners and pilots in Santa Cruz. Endicott, Hugh presumed, would be opposed to the plan for the simple reason that it involved considerably more sea miles than the original route. Points of sail and maximizing wind power were concepts foreign to Endicott. To his mind, the quickest and therefore most efficient course for a sailing vessel to follow to get from here to there was along a straight line, other factors being of secondary importance.

They were in the after cabin in what had become a frequent evening ritual of sharing a glass of spirits before Endicott retired for the night and Hugh went back on deck to make sure the schooner was properly tucked down for night sailing. As Hugh had expected, Endicott gave the chart but a cursory glance; he showed more interest in the local wine he had purchased in Santa Cruz than in the information Hugh Hardcastle had laid out before him. He shrugged and said merely, “If you think it's best,” and then returned to his chair. Relieved, Hugh rolled up the chart and sat down in the other stout wingback chair. For a while they sat in comfortable silence, feeling the almost imperceptible sway of the schooner as she approached the equator. It was Hugh who ultimately broke the silence.

“Jack,” he said, “I would like to ask a question that has been long on my mind.”

Endicott glanced up. “Ask it.”

“Thank you.” Hugh crossed his right leg over his left and brushed a speck of dust from the knee of his trousers. “I am wondering what you hope to accomplish in Cape Town. I realize that we have discussed this topic before. But with respect, each time we do I sense we are not addressing the real issues. I rather sense that you are holding something back
from me, that there is something you do not wish to share. If that is so, and if that is your wish, then so be it. It is not my place to intrude.”

“Why, then, intrude?” Endicott inquired. His tone and expression showed no anger. To the contrary, Hugh detected a glint of humor in Endicott's eyes.

“Curiosity, of course. But more than that—I need to know. Since arriving in America, Phoebe and I have grown quite close to the Cutlers. We feel we have become an integral part of their family, and not just because Katherine is my sister. Since those early days in Barbados when Richard and Katherine were newlyweds and I had numerous occasions to get to know Richard, I have come to think of him not as my brother-in-law but as my blood brother. So naturally I have their best interests at heart. I would do anything for either of them. And of course I am very much aware that much of the family's future hinges on the outcome of your discussions with Mr. Van der Heyden, whatever may be the purpose of those discussions.”

Endicott contemplated that. “Your words are admirable, Hugh. And indeed, my own observations tell me that you and your lovely wife have become welcomed additions to the Cutler family. I understand what you are saying, and as always I find you to be a most perceptive and straightforward fellow.” He paused for a moment, then: “What you said is quite true. I have not been as forthcoming about my plans as I might have been, either to you or to any of the Cutler family. Or to my own wife, for that matter.” He held up a hand to ward off interruption. “Now, may I ask you in turn, Hugh, if concern for the welfare of the Cutler family is the
only
reason you raise your question? I grant you, it's reason enough.”

Hugh replied without pausing. “No, it is not the only reason, Jack. During this cruise we have come to know each other quite well. You have shared much about your life, and I am grateful that you have. I greatly respect what you have accomplished. You have also been most kind and forthcoming in sharing your personal views and philosophies of business and of life. As a result, I am learning a lot from you.”

“I am pleased to hear it. And so . . .?”

“And so now I consider you more as a friend than as my employer or business colleague. I am hoping you might consider me in the same light.”

Hugh's words seemed to jolt Endicott. He averted his eyes and gazed aft across his desk to where stern windows were hinged open to the sultry night air. “Thank you for saying that, Hugh,” he murmured at length. He continued to stare aft. “Thank you very much. I appreciate what you just said more than you might suspect. Very few people have been so open
with me. Most of what I hear is something quite different—assuming I hear anything at all. And so it has been as far back as I can remember. I have a talent for making money but none for making friends. In the end I always seem to put people off.” He heaved a sigh as Hugh sat in silence, amazed by Endicott's revelation of personal weakness. Then, in a less apologetic tone, as if pushing sentiment aside and returning to the matter at hand, Endicott continued, “But we are getting off subject, aren't we? You have a question to ask me.”

“I have already asked it,” Hugh replied, “and we are not off subject, Jack. I realize how much pressure you are under. You have staked all of your resources—and much of the Cutlers' as well—on your company, and now your company is at risk. I want you to know that if there is anything I can do to assist you, if there is anything of value in my own experience that can be brought to bear on your behalf, I will do whatever I can for you. Just as I would do for any member of the Cutler family.”

Again Hugh's words seemed to jolt Endicott. He ran his short, stubby fingers through his thinning pewter-gray hair and asked with a wry smile, “So you deem me a man in need of assistance?”

“Every man has that need at some point in his life, Jack. No man is an island unto himself. Lord knows I am no exception. Just ask my wife.”

Endicott's smile turned rueful. “Yes, well, perhaps it's best not to ask
my
wife.” He fell silent, his face grave, as if whatever had seized hold of his thoughts caused him great remorse. Hugh drained his glass and waited. Minutes ticked by. After too many silent moments had elapsed, he gathered his tricorne hat from a side table and was preparing to return topside when Endicott said, in a distant but firm voice, “Don't leave, Hugh. I beg of you, don't leave. Please, sit down. Join me in another round. I have some explaining to do.”

Hugh complied and cast Endicott a questioning look.

“What you are really asking me,” Endicott said to Hugh without looking at him, “is why I chose to travel sixteen thousand miles when Herr Van der Heyden and I could just as easily have discussed world affairs and revised our business strategies in written correspondence, thereby saving both of us time and saving me a considerable amount of specie. Is that a fair summation?”

“I would say so, yes,” Hugh replied carefully. “But Jack, as I said, I have no wish to intrude. If you prefer to leave things as they are, then so be it. I am merely asking as your friend. I have no personal stake in any of this.”

“Ah, but you do,” Endicott said mysteriously. “And since you ask as a friend, I shall answer as a friend.” Endicott settled down into the comfort
of his yellow-on-blue-upholstered chair. “I doubt that what I am about to say is what you are expecting to hear. Or what Caleb or any member of the Cutler family would expect to hear. Quite simply, Hugh, I am sailing to Cape Town to offer to sell C&E Enterprises to Jan Van der Heyden.”

“
Sell your company?
” Hugh exclaimed, aghast. “Why on earth would you do such a thing, Jack? Is it because of the embargo?”

“Yes, but again, perhaps not for the reason you might suspect. So far, C&E has been able to absorb the losses it has suffered as a result of the embargo. Cargoes are routinely lost at sea—to pirates and storms, and to belligerent nations. To a merchant shipper such as I, lost cargoes are part of the normal costs of doing business. But our current state of affairs cannot endure for very much longer. We are suffering far too many of those losses. They are mounting, and soon they will begin eating into our reserves. As no doubt you are aware, when that happens, financial disaster looms. I have walked to the edge of the cliff to see how far down is down, and what I see there does not bode well for our nation's future. What is more, I am convinced that what we have suffered to date is but the tip of the iceberg. I believe that much worse is yet to come. I am, in fact, convinced that if Jefferson's policies are not quickly reversed—and they won't be, the man is much too stubborn to admit to failure—the United States will teeter on the brink of that cliff and will eventually fall into the abyss, taking with it every American who is engaged in overseas trade.

“Do you want to know what I see when I look over the edge of the cliff?” he asked rhetorically. “I see ships rotting in ports. I see cargoes going to ruin in warehouses. I see thousands of out-of-work sailors sitting hungry on the beach and on the docks. And I see vast family fortunes such as my own dwindling to naught. Are you getting the picture?”