How Dark the Night (34 page)

“Vividly, I'm afraid. But . . .” Hugh's mind whirled. “But what could Van der Heyden do better than what you would do, should he own the company? How could he protect himself any better than you would try to do?”

Endicott shrugged. “Who's to say? Herr Van der Heyden is no man's pawn. He is an excellent man of business, and he has made a great deal of money in his own right. He knows as much or more about shipping and the Orient trade as I do, which is why I was so keen to hire him as director of C&E's Far Eastern operations. Were I he, and I owned C&E, the first thing I would do is convert its merchant fleet to Dutch registry, which of course he
could
do as the owner. It is something I obviously cannot do as an American. Dutch registry would allow him open access to most European ports, assuming his ships are able to evade or outrun—or outgun—the Royal Navy. The point is, whatever he may decide to do with
C&E Enterprises would no longer be my concern. And quite honestly, the burden of that concern is destroying me.”

“Does Van der Heyden understand the realities of the embargo? The effect it is having and the effect it is going to have?”

“He certainly knows about the embargo. I have written him in detail about that, and he has other sources of information as well, of course. But I doubt he fully understands its current or future implications. How could he, being so far removed from Washington?”

Hugh frowned, a question nagging at him. Was Endicott simply proposing to sell C&E to his Far Eastern director? Or was he proposing to sell him out?

“What will you tell Van der Heyden is your reason for selling?”

“I will tell him the truth, that I now wish to invest my available resources in textiles.”

“Textiles? You mean, as in manufacturing?”

“Precisely. There is a significant business opportunity brewing in manufacturing, thanks to the embargo and to recent developments in production, and it comes with much less financial risk. We Americans have always depended on Great Britain for our manufactured goods, especially for our shoes and clothing. And who benefits from that? Not us, by God! America claims to be a sovereign nation, but the English continue to make a pretty penny off what is, essentially, a captive market. It's time for enterprising Americans to claim those profits for themselves. I can produce as functional a shirt, as durable a pair of trousers, or as fashionable a hat as the British can. And I can sell it in America at a considerably lower price than American consumers are now forced to pay. Jefferson will actually
help
me accomplish this. His embargo and Non-importation Act are keeping many British-made goods out of America, and I pray that will continue long enough for me and others like me to establish our roots. Mind you, I am not the only New England shipping merchant to be thinking along these lines. I know from personal conversations with some of Boston's most enterprising families that they are aware of the opportunity and are preparing to act on it.

“If my vision is correct—and I am certain that it is—textile manufacturing will flourish not only in Massachusetts but throughout New England. We have the rivers to power the mills, and we can purchase the cotton, flax, and wool we need from our fellow countrymen. Eli Whitney's cotton gin has already revolutionized the cotton industry. Why ship all that precious cotton to England? Why not ship it to Boston in the hold of a Cutler & Sons vessel? Perhaps in the hold of this very schooner? In
my vision everyone wins—our families, New England, and Americans throughout the nation. And a business principle you must never forget is that when everybody wins, you have the basis of a sound business transaction. With manufacturing thriving in America, and with Americans selling profitably to each other, we will no longer be dependent on Great Britain or on any other country in Europe. We will be dependent on ourselves, and good Christ Almighty that's the way it
should
be! My goal is to be among the first in, and the sale of C&E Enterprises will provide the funds to ensure ultimate success.”

“Fascinating, Jack, but what if Van der Heyden doesn't buy it?” Hugh meant that in both a figurative and a literal sense.

“I am sure that in a face-to-face dialogue we can arrive at a mutually agreeable price. Which answers your question of why meet face-to-face. That sort of negotiation cannot be effectively accomplished by passing letters back and forth halfway around the globe. And the selling price, of course, is the key to everything. We need to sit down together, review the books, have some back and forth, and hammer out the terms. I see no viable alternative.”

“What if you cannot agree on a price?” Hugh persisted.

“That will not be a problem. My position is unassailable. I shall inform Herr Van der Heyden that if he does not buy C&E Enterprises, I shall cut my losses and conserve my capital by closing the business, putting every sailor, every ship's master and mate, and every director out of work. Under that scenario, Herr Van der Heyden would walk away from C&E with nothing in his pocket, and I can assure you that he is much too savvy a businessman to allow
that
to happen. After all, under the right circumstances C&E Enterprises is a company with a bright future, and its future is bright largely
because
of what Jan Van der Heyden has already accomplished. No, he'll come to terms; no doubt about it,” Endicott concluded confidently.

“What of the Cutlers? What of their position in the company? They own half of it, do they not? And yet you have not discussed this plan with Caleb and Richard?”

“The Cutler family owns half of the company's shares. But by my agreement with them I hold the controlling interest in C&E. Because I do, this decision is mine alone to make. Of course, when Jan and I agree on terms, the Cutler family will receive half of the proceeds. Unless, of course, the Cutlers decide not to sell their interest in C&E. In that case, Van der Heyden would pay only half of the negotiated price, to me, and he and the Cutler family would go forward as partners on terms
that
they
agree upon. I strongly suspect, however, that the Cutlers will be only too happy to sell their interest. Caleb is worried sick about finances, as well he should be. His commitment to his sailors and staff is admirable, but in my estimation it is foolish to the extreme. It is not what I would do, as I have just indicated. Caleb, however, is Caleb, and he always makes good on his promises; I will give him that. The proceeds of the sale should provide the necessary reserves for the Cutler family to weather the storm until the embargo is repealed—which it will be because Congress and the American people will eventually come to realize that it is a suicidal piece of legislation. And that is why time is of the essence and why the time elapsing here at sea weighs so heavily on my mind.”

As he listened, Hugh felt a new admiration for Jack Endicott. He seemed to have considered every angle of the proposed transaction, and the odds were better than even, it seemed to Hugh, that at the end of the day everyone involved would indeed benefit from it. And while Hugh was a mariner and not a businessman, he could not deny the opportunity Endicott saw in textiles. He had but one final question, and as if reading his mind, Endicott answered it before he could ask it.

“I haven't told any of this to anyone before this evening, Hugh, because I didn't want anyone second-guessing me. I said nothing even to Anne-Marie, although I did leave a letter with my attorney detailing my intentions. I have instructed him to share that letter with her before the reading of my last will and testament should anything untoward happen to me on this voyage. She is then to share it with Caleb.

“Another business principle I have always adhered to,” Endicott continued, “is that when you are convinced you are right about something, be bold, make the tough decisions, and deal with the consequences later, as they arise. That principle has served me very well over the years.” He stretched out his arms and yawned. “Whether you meant to or not, Hugh—and whether you agree with me or not—you have taken a considerable weight off my shoulders this evening. I believe I will sleep quite well tonight thanks to you.”

P
OSEIDON CONTINUED
to smile, and
Falcon
, a sleek and sturdy vessel, pottered through the frustratingly light winds of the doldrums, making some headway each day and rarely becoming becalmed for more than an hour. Once free of the horse latitudes she sprang free like a bird released from a cage. Her two large fore-and-aft sails, two topsails, and two fore staysails and jib were drum-taut as she raced through the southern seas,
her hull encased in foam as she creamed down one great Atlantic swell after another. By day,
Falcon
sailed under a torrid yellow sun, powder-blue sky, and high scudding clouds. By night, she sailed under a star-spangled dome highlighted by the Southern Cross and the two Magellanic Clouds, dark galaxies in the Southern Hemisphere first noted by ancient Persian astronomers and first recorded in detail by Italian stargazers accompanying Ferdinand Magellan on his sixteenth-century circumnavigation. The exhilarating blend of waves, wind, and sunshine enticed Jack Endicott on deck more frequently. He smiled more often as well now that they were making encouraging progress toward their destination, albeit on an indirect southwesterly course. The distance between
Falcon
and the African coast would continue to expand until she hauled her wind for the final sprint eastward.

It was during the third week out from the Canaries, sometime in the wee hours of June 14, that Hugh awoke with a start in his bunk. He pricked his ears and listened, his body tensed in anticipation. Then he heard it: the sudden hard splatter of rain on the weather deck above him just as the schooner pitched and yawed as if Poseidon's fist had shoved her sideways. He was up and pulling on his oilskins seconds before the after hatch scraped open and a seaman yelled down, “
All hands ahoy!
”

Hugh leapt for the companionway as the off-duty watch lumbered aft from their hammocks in the forecastle. Hugh was first up the ladder. When he emerged through the square opening, the wind hit him with such fury that it tore his oilskin hat from his head and sent it tumbling out to sea.

He pulled himself up through the hole, waited until the six sailors behind him were out, and then secured the hatch cover and worked his way slowly aft, bracing himself against the fierce wind. He kept his head down and held his right hand above his eyes to shield them from the stinging rain. “What do we have, Sturgis?” he fairly shouted at his first mate when he reached the helm.

“We're in for some weather, sir,” Haskins shouted back. He wore no oilskins; there had been no time to don them. His clothes were soaked through and clung to him like a second layer of skin, and his shoulder-length brown hair had blown free of its queue and whipped about his face. “It came up sudden-like, Captain. Our only warning was the glass. I checked it at four bells and again at five bells. It had fallen. Faster than ever I have witnessed. I ordered the watch to prepare for foul weather, and then the squall hit us.”

“Looks to be a bit more than a squall,” Hugh shouted out.

As if to underscore his observation, a cresting wave thumped against
Falcon
's larboard hull and shoved her sideways. Water streamed over the larboard railing, washed across the deck, and flooded out the starboard scuppers.

“Is the forward hatch battened down?”

“Aye, sir. With a tarpaulin.”

“What about the guns?” Hugh yelled.

“Paul saw to them first thing, sir. By God's grace he was on deck at the time. They're bowsed up tight as can be. The Devil himself couldn't budge them, he says.”

“Very well.” Hugh peered up through the rain at the rigging. It was hard to see much in the murk; thick glass lanterns set amidships and near the helm swung eerily back and forth in wide arcs, adding a ghostly element to the wailing wind. He noted with satisfaction the two topsails tightly furled to their yards, standard procedure for night sailing. At least, he thought, no one would have to climb up the ratlines in this mess to reef or take in those sails. Some unlucky soul, however, would have to crawl out on the jib-boom to douse and stuff the jib.

At the foremast, sailors bent over the boom like jackknives clawed in sodden canvas as the halyard was slowly released and the loose folds of the giant fore-and-aft sail were gathered in, thundering and snapping in protest. At the mainmast, Second Mate Shipley directed a crew fighting to shorten sail by taking in a reef at the second reef point above the foot of the sail and lashing the loose canvas to the boom with gaskets. It was a hard task in the best of conditions; these were among the worst of conditions. One sailor, Hugh could not identify him in the darkness, lost his footing, either from the crash of a wave or from the flailing canvas, and slid pell-mell across the slippery deck on his stomach, his cry of anguish when his head whacked against the starboard bulwark quickly drowned out by the howling wind. When he struggled to get back up, his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the deck. He lay still, face up, as seawater swirled around his body. None of his mates came to his aid. No one could; they had all they could do waging war against wind and sea.

“I have the helm!” Hugh cried. “Lend a hand up there and get that sailor below to my cabin. Have him strapped into my bunk. And I'll have the fore stays'l doused. Advise the men to stand by to take in all sail. Got it?”

“Aye, Captain,” Haskins shouted.

“I'm going to bring her off two points, Sturgis,” Hugh added, his mouth close to Haskin's ear. “She's taking too much punishment. We'll take stock at dawn when we can see what's what.”