Chapter 6
Boston
THE DRAPERIES WERE drawn in the library of Blackwell House.
Xavier Blackwell stood by the green marble mantel, his expression impossible to read. The room was dark, left in shadow. Yet outside, he knew, it was a glorious spring day. Yet Xavier hardly felt the effects of the sunshine and birdsong. He was preoccupied.
What did Markham Blackwell want? A quiet, terse argument was taking place in the room. Xavier did not participate, although he heard every word being exchanged by his father and his uncle. He sensed the possibilities. Sensed that the time for revenge had come.
“We lost three ships in as many years,” Markham Blackwell thundered, using the persuasive charisma he was famous for. “Losing both the Fern and the Abby were not so bad; thank the Lord our crews escaped. But last year we lost the Sarah.”
Xavier’s heart constricted. He looked at his father, who had turned gray.
“You do not have to remind me of the loss of the Sarah,” William said heavily.
Xavier looked away. The Sarah had been a six-ton merchantman bound from Marseilles for the West Indies.
The ship had been seized in a bloody four-hour battle, which had cost the crew five lives.
The rest of the crew had recently been ransomed from the bashaw of Tripoli, along, with the nearly irreparably damaged ship, for the exorbitant sum of fifty-five thousand dollars.
To make matters even worse, the greedy regent had also demanded that Blackwell Shipping build him a ten-gun schooner—and deliver it when it was ready.
Xavier had objected, but William still ran the company and he had agreed to build and deliver the schooner.
“Vittault has lost two ships this year alone,” Markham continued, referring to one of their competitors. “He has forty-five sailors in captivity in Algiers, for godsakes! Braddock has also lost a vessel this season. Where does this all end, William?”
William Blackwell, the older of the two brothers, was grave.
“I am well aware of the rape of American shipping by the Barbary pirates, Markham, just as I am fully aware of our own personal losses. But we have only just sent a naval squadron there. Let the damn navy do what they’ve been sent to the Mediterranean for! ”
Markham, the United States senator from Massachusetts, sighed.
“But don’t you understand? They want to make Jefferson look like a fool!
They are convinced that Hamilton will win the next election.
Three quarters of the navy is Federalist!
They will not succeed, they do not dare, while Thomas is president.
God forbid they should make Thomas look good. ”
“I refuse to believe that every single naval officer is a Federalist and politically motivated,” William said stubbornly. “Surely there exists some patriotism in our navy?”
Markham sighed. “You are not thinking clearly. You are allowing your personal feelings to stand in the way of the only decision left for you to make. It is not just the future of Blackwell Shipping that is at stake. It is not just the future of your son, and one day, your son’s sons.
It is the future of American shipping!” Markham cried in a deep, resonant voice.
It was the same powerful voice that had won him the last election.
“It is the future of America, and at issue is freedom of the seas.”
William turned away, grim. His glance met Xavier’s.
Xavier sipped the brandy he was holding, regarding his father carefully. He would not allow his own feelings to show. God knew, he hid them often enough from even himself.
Markham continued. “Shall we forever be at the mercy of a thief? The bashaw is nothing more than that. Why do we owe him tribute? So we shall not be plundered when we sail the free seas? We have to bribe him with gold and guns in order to carry on our commerce? And look how happy this makes the French and British! They can afford to pay those pirates exorbitant sums, they can afford to lavish incredible gifts upon them, year after year, and they are thrilled that we bear the brunt of their rapacious plundering because we do not hold to blackmail and bribery! William, surely you understand that France and England wish for us to fight the corsairs? Because they fear our new and growing wealth, our new prosperity—the potential of this mighty country.”
“You are not lobbying for reelection. Markham,” William said softly.
Xavier wanted to add, Hear, hear, but he remained silent. Markham was lobbying, however.
“This situation is untenable!” Markham cried. He faced Xavier. “Do you not agree?” he demanded.
Xavier regarded his uncle for a moment before replying. “Yes, I do agree.” he finally said.
Markham waited, his hands on his hips. He wore a bold red frock coat, and white lace cuffs cascaded over his fists. “Is that all you have to say?”
“You have fine words. But actions are far more efficacious,” Xavier said.
Markham smiled. “Yes, actions do speak louder than words, and we all know that you are a man of action, not a man of letters.” He glanced across the room at the closed teakwood library door. “Which is why I am here.”
“There are no spies in my own home,” William said forcefully. “If that is what you are thinking.”
Markham ignored the comment, opening the door and stepping into the hallway.
Satisfied that no one was eavesdropping, he returned to the center of the room.
“My dear nephew.” He smiled. It was a warm, encouraging smile that reached his dark, bold eyes.
“The president asked me to deliver this to you personally by my very own hand.”
Xavier stared at the envelope extended toward him. He was not surprised. He had been expecting this, and Markham was both the friend and confidant of Thomas Jefferson.
Xavier accepted the envelope, his hand shaking slightly. As much as he avoided thinking of the past, it had come to confront him now. Briefly he allowed himself to feel the grief and sorrow he had become so adept at burying deep inside himself. And with it, he felt the guilt.
“I have an idea why Markham is here and I am against this,” William said tersely. He turned a pleading gaze on his son. “You fought bravely for your country in the war against France, Xavier. You do not need to do more.”
Xavier regarded his father, who had aged considerably this past year.
Once he had been a leonine man, tall and broad shouldered.
His body had shrunken so suddenly, almost overnight.
And as if feeling constant defeat, William’s posture had become hunched, his face lined and jowled.
He was only ten years older than Markham.
Yet he appeared seventy to Markham’s fifty.
“It will be all right,” Xavier said quietly.
“I don’t want you to do this,” William returned. Markham, sensing victory, smiled and laid his hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “Do you know what we are asking of you?” he asked. “Do you know what the president is asking of you?”
Xavier nodded. His heartbeat quickened. He thought of going to sea again, but not to ply trade. To seek revenge. “I can imagine.” Xavier broke the seal. The missive began, “My dear sir.”
Xavier read.
Your reputation precedes you as the finest captain to sail the seas in this generation and perhaps in any other.
Your retirement from the navy was taken as a grave blow by us all.
Your determination, courage, and sheer heroism in the recent war with France have decided me, however; you are the man for the job.
And far more than political reasons compel me now—the welfare of our citizens is at stake—the pride of our country is at slake.
No longer can we turn the other cheek in expectation of fair play.
The Barbary pirates do not understand the concepts that this country is founded upon—life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
Therefore, I turn to you. The time has come for decisive action against the Barbary thieves who terrorize men, women, and children from all over the world, who hold the greatest nations in the world hostage to their petty, insufferable demands, who still, to this day, violate God’s laws and those of humanity by imprisoning men, women, and children against their will and keeping them in the cruelest forms of captivity.I beg you to accept the position now being offered to you.
There is no one else whom I can or will turn to with such complete faith and confidence as I turn to you.
I am sure you will do what has to be done, and swiftly, for the sake of all involved.
The lives of many the world over shall depend upon you.
Peace, after all, shall be our triumph and our victory.
God bless and Godspeed.
Xavier’s hand trembled more visibly now. He glanced at the boldly scripted signature. “Thomas Jefferson, President of the United States of America.”
“Can you refuse such a request?” Markham asked softly in Xavier’s ear.
Xavier did not answer. He moved to the mantel and struck a match. He held the letter and watched it burn. Jefferson’s words were engraved upon his mind, and would remain that way, forever.
Most Bostonians were furious with the government, and that included the president, for their ineffective stand against the Barbary powers.
Massachusetts was suffering from the depredations of the pirates.
The seas no longer seemed to be free, and with that being the case, the very lifeblood of Massachusetts and her sister states was being drained away.