How Dark the Night (9 page)

“Can you make her out, sir?” Walsh asked cautiously. Richard continued to study the oncoming vessel. “She's a warship, sure enough,” he said to himself rather than Walsh. “A frigate, I'd wager. In these waters and with those lines, she has to be British.”

“That's exactly what I thought, sir,” Walsh said, in an ingratiating tone. “Is she likely to give chase, do you think?” Whether the anxiety in his voice was due to guilt or trepidation, Richard could not determine.
An incident off the coast of Bermuda four years earlier came to mind. The British frigate
Temptress
had intercepted his schooner
Barbara D
on her northward cruise from Barbados to Boston and had forced her to lie to. Royal Marines had come on deck and dragged off a newly signed-on seaman named Cooper who claimed to be an American but had lost his papers.

Richard lowered the long glass and examined the oncoming man-of-war with his naked eye, pondering Walsh's question. “Who can tell,” he said, unable to hide his anger. “We'll just have to wait and see, won't we, Walsh.”

T
HIRTY MINUTES
before Seaman Walsh reported the approach of an unknown ship, a lookout high in the foremast of that ship had shouted down a sighting to the midshipman stationed on the starboard gangway near the point where the mast disappeared below into the partially open gun deck and beyond to its step on the keelson.

“Can you identify her, Sawyer?” the tall, lean, ruddy-complexioned midshipman called up.

Sawyer shouted down what details he could.

“Very well. I shall inform the captain.”

The midshipman strode purposefully aft and down the companionway ladder located between the mainmast and the rise of the quarterdeck from the weather deck. At the base of the companionway, on the gun deck, he turned aft and returned the crisp salute of the Royal Marine posted on sentry duty before the captain's cabin holding a gleaming, bronze-butted musket horizontally at his side. Two chevrons on the lower sleeve of his flawless red uniform jacket indicated his rank of corporal.

“Message for Captain Humphreys,” the midshipman announced.

The Marine pivoted and rapped gently on the shuttered door. When a gruff voice answered on the other side, the Marine cracked open the door and announced the visitor, then opened the door wide, nodded to the midshipman to enter, and closed the door after him.

“Yes? What is it?” the British captain inquired of the midshipman after he had removed his bicorne hat, tucked it under his arm, and saluted. Although the young man had served five years as a midshipman in His Britannic Majesty's Navy, and had spent much of his childhood before that at sea, he remained awestruck, as did even seasoned veterans, by the magnificence of a post captain's after cabin. And this captain clearly possessed the financial wherewithal to adorn his living space with lavish and elegant accoutrements, from the oil paintings hanging all around
him to the thick Persian carpet underfoot. The cabin's opulence made a mockery of the midshipman's damp and dreary quarters down on the orlop.

The midshipman stiffened. “Seaman Sawyer's duty, Captain Humphreys, and he has sighted a schooner northeast of us following a southerly course. She's flying the American ensign. Sawyer believes she's a clipper.”

“Indeed. How very interesting . . . and how very tempting.”

Salusbury Pryce Humphreys pondered that piece of information while the midshipman stood by awaiting orders, his eyes glued to the front of the desk at which the captain was sitting.

“No,” Humphreys ruled at length. “If she's a clipper, and I trust Sawyer's judgment on that, we would be hard-put to catch her. Besides, if there were British sailors on board the schooner, she would more likely be heading north than south. No, we shall maintain present course. Once we're on station we shall have ample opportunities to snatch and hang deserters. Is that understood?”

“It is, sir. Very good, sir.” The midshipman saluted and made to leave.

“Incidentally . . .”

The midshipman turned back. “Aye, sir?”

Humphreys settled back in his chair, folded his arms, and studied the young midshipman intently. “I am hearing rather encouraging reports about you from my officers, including Mr. Bryant,” referring to his first lieutenant, the man most responsible for the proper disposition of the ship's officers and crew. “Clearly you come from good stock and know your way around a ship. More important to me, you apparently run a
taut
ship.” He smiled at his turn of phrase. “The men in your division clearly respect you, because it has one of the highest ratings of any division. I am a stickler for such things, as every jackanapes on this ship is painfully aware, so I must commend you for your achievements. How long have you been going to sea?”

“Eight years, sir,” the midshipman replied, “since I was twelve. I joined the Navy when I was fifteen. My father was opposed at first but has since come around.”

“Not an uncommon state of affairs. Have you considered taking your lieutenant's exam?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I've been studying for it at every opportunity.”

“Good. Very good. When the time comes, I shall be delighted to put in a good word on your behalf.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” the midshipman said, blushing with pride and
embarrassment. Captain Humphreys was not normally one to offer compliments. “That is most generous of you.”

“I did not mean to be generous,” Humphreys stated gruffly. “I offer only what you have earned.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

Humphreys began rummaging in the papers he had been sifting through when the midshipman entered his cabin. “Ah, here we are,” he said with satisfaction. Then he glanced up, as if surprised to find the midshipman still standing at attention. “That is all, Mr. Cutler. Please carry on.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Midshipman Seth Cutler saluted stiffly and left the cabin.

Four

Barbados, Windward Islands

Spring 1806

C
ARLISLE
B
AY
was just as Katherine remembered it. Although nearly a quarter century had elapsed since she and Richard and baby Will had departed Bridgetown for Boston in the Cutler & Sons brig
Eagle
, precious little seemed to have changed. The harbor was still alive with seagoing vessels and crews. On the eastern side of the vast crescent-shaped bay, brigs, brigantines, and other merchant rigs flying the flags of many nations were moored fast to the finger-like quays jutting out along Front Street. On the western side, beneath Government House perched high above the fray and surrounded by royal palms and a riot of multicolored flora, lay at anchor the frigates, schooners, and sloops of war that comprised the Windward Squadron of the Royal Navy's West Indian Station.

Richard noted, not to his surprise, that there were considerably fewer ships in that squadron than he had counted on previous visits to the island. Everywhere, nonetheless, was the hustle and bustle of empire, from the lighters and hoys supplying ships of the squadron with fresh water and provisions to the commercial on-loading and off-loading at quayside orchestrated by bare-chested dockers toiling in the hot sun as cultured gentlemen and gentlewomen in the latest European fashions strolled arm-in-arm nearby. The contrast between the rich white planters and the poorly clad dark-skinned workers was striking. The former were in town for the day from the sugar plantations that formed the basis of the island's economy and enriched those who gained handsomely from what
those plantations produced—the sugar, molasses, and rum whose vast profits lined the pockets of English planters, of shippers who conveyed their “white gold” to markets worldwide, of tax collectors in service to the British Exchequer, and of a host of intermediaries and beneficiaries clogging the routes from the cane fields to the banks.

“Do you think John or Robin is here in Bridgetown?” Katherine inquired of her husband as she took in the splendor of what seemed at this distance a tropical paradise blooming with the blissful memories of young love. They were standing near the bow to make room for sailors preparing to douse the foresail. Each wore a straw hat and a long-sleeved cotton shirt as protection from the searing sun.

Richard shook his head. “I doubt it. If either of them were here it would be pure luck. We'll likely need to hire a coach to take us to the plantation. But first we'll need to hail a wherryman to take us ashore.” He gave her an amused look. “Let's hope he commands a stout boat.
Dove
's little boat would sink under the weight of all you brought with you. Indeed, I'm amazed
Dove
herself remains afloat.”

She smiled. “A woman needs her comforts, my dear,” she said. “And don't forget, we're carrying gifts for everyone.” Then she sighed quietly as Captain Bennett brought the helm alee and
Dove
nosed her bow into the wind; her canvas went slack and her anchor plunged into the turquoise depths. The outbound cruise was over, and despite the anticipation of what lay ahead, that realization saddened her.

“I suppose I should go below and make certain those comforts are all packed,” she said as the anchor line chuntered out through the hawsehole. They lingered a moment to watch a large black bird with a bright scarlet throat pouch swoop down on a hapless tern, seize hold of it, and shake it until it disgorged its last meal, which the predator snatched up and swallowed before releasing the tern and flying off.

“Not very neighborly of the bugger, was it?” Richard observed.

“It's called it a man-of-war bird, isn't it?” Katherine remarked. “I remember them being quite common when we were here before. Hugh once told me it's also called a pirate bird,” she added.

“We just saw why.”

Below, involved in last-minute packing in the comfortable after cabin that had been their home for nearly three weeks, they heard a hail from nearby and an answering call from Bob Jordan, the mate. Richard gave it scant attention until he heard the thump of a boat against the larboard side of the schooner and then a stamp of boots walking on the deck above
him. A glance through an open porthole revealed a flash of scarlet ascending from a ship's cutter in which a coxswain and two oarsmen stood by. Several minutes later there came a rap on the cabin door.

Richard glanced toward it. “Enter.”

Robert Jordan opened the door and peeked in. “Sorry to disturb, Captain,” he said, “but we have visitors. It's the British, sir. Captain Bennett asked me to bid you topsides.”

“I'll be right up, Jordan.”

“Very good, sir.”

Katherine arched her eyebrows. “What is this about, Richard?”

“I'll soon find out. Perhaps the natives have sent a welcoming committee, just as they do on Tahiti and other South Sea islands.” His smirk suggested the desirability of such a scenario. “However, in my experience,” he added, “welcoming committees do not wear British military uniforms and carry weapons. In fact, as best I recall, they wear very little at all.”

On deck, Richard found that four visitors had come on board through the larboard entry port. The one dressed in a blue-and-white uniform jacket, spotless white breeches, and a gilt-lined bicorn hat was clearly a Royal Navy officer. The other three wore the scarlet uniform coat with white cross-belts of the Royal Marines. Two of them wielded sea-service muskets. The fourth man was a Marine noncom, a sergeant or a corporal. Richard walked over to where the Royal Navy officer was engaged in animated conversation with Frank Bennett. Their conversation ended as he drew near.

After nodding at the visitors he addressed the ship's captain. “What do we have, Frank?”

“Good morning, Captain,” Bennett said. He indicated the British naval officer. “The lieutenant here has requested permission to search our vessel and examine our manifest. He also wishes to review our crew's papers.”

Richard shifted his gaze to the lieutenant. “On what authority do you make such a request?”

The officer ignored the question. He removed his hat and bowed from the waist. “Neil Dunbar, first lieutenant of His Majesty's frigate
Redoubtable
, at your service,” he offered politely. “May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing?”

“My name is Richard Cutler,” Richard replied curtly. “I hold the rank of captain in the United States Navy. I therefore outrank you, Lieutenant. So, again I ask: On what authority do you make such a request on an American merchant vessel?”

The British officer stiffened. “On the authority of a recent order in council of His Britannic Majesty's government. And it is not a request, sir. Your Captain Bennett was incorrect on that point. Duty compels me to insist upon such an inspection, your rank notwithstanding. We will not detain you longer than is necessary.”

“Your order in council be damned,” Richard spat. “Your government issues a new one of those every week. It's impossible for those of us engaged in honest trade to keep up with such orders, let alone understand them. I doubt
you
understand them.”

“I understand them well enough, thank you, Captain Cutler. Now if you will please allow me to go about my business.”

Richard forced down his anger, realizing that this officer was simply doing what he had been ordered to do. A lieutenant did not formulate policy; he implemented it. “Lieutenant,” he tried again, “every sailor on this schooner has been in the employ of my family's company, Cutler & Sons, for many years. They are all American citizens. On that you have my word as an officer. As to our cargo, we carry none beyond provisions for our cruise and barrel staves. You have my word on that as well. I am here in Barbados to confer with my English cousins, John and Robin Cutler. Perhaps you have heard of them? Or perhaps you have met them. They can certainly vouch for me and my crew.”