Prologue
The small room was already smoke-filled. As if it were their voices which gave meaning to the issues, the men in the chamber talked on. Only in one area was there silence. The seat was occupied by a purposeful young man—his movements revealed this aspect of his nature—but in this cancerous haze, where men’s voices droned, ignoring signs of strain, he was uncertain what was expected of him.
Tanner Frederick Cloud had ceased to be interested in what was being said. He was familiar with all the issues under discussion: the failure of Jefferson’s Embargo Act to hinder British or French forces by halting the flow of supplies from America; the subsequent setback to New England shipping firms; the British blockade extending down the entire coastline of France and making it dangerous to trade with the continent; the threat of secession by New England states if President Madison asked for a declaration of war; and the unreasonable search and seizure practices the Royal Fleet inflicted on American vessels and men.
From his own experiences he was aware of the gravity of the issues, but as a captain in the fledgling United States Navy, he had little to do with the four other men in the room.
“…Alex Danty.”
His wandering attention was captured by the sound of that name. He glanced casually around the room, shifting his lean body slightly to see if anyone had noticed his involuntary tightening. Senator Howe’s sudden decision to open the windows and clear the air let Cloud know that his reaction had been noted and now was being analyzed under the cover of innocuous activity.
It was too late to pretend Alex Danty meant nothing to him, but he chose to remain silent, concentrating on the argument that had erupted shortly after Danty’s name had been introduced.
Bennet Farthington was speaking hurriedly. His fingers brushed through wheat-colored hair in a nervous gesture and his blue eyes were focused on Robert Davidson, the representative from Rhode Island.
“You’re mad, Robert! Absolutely mad! How could Alex Danty help us? What possible use could we make of a pirate?”
Davidson laughed derisively at the young man. “For an aide to the Secretary of War you are singularly uninformed, Bennet. Considering Danty’s been carrying on a private war with the British for eighteen months, I’m surprised Dr. Eustis hasn’t kept you up to date.”
“I read the papers. I know Danty’s sunk eleven fleet ships.”
“Twelve.”
“An even dozen, then. It has nothing to do with us.”
The senator from Massachusetts listened to the exchange with more interest than his casual posture at the window indicated. His gray eyes rested thoughtfully on the young naval officer they had selected for a difficult assignment. Howe was pleased with the captain’s earlier contribution, an outline of tactics that would make it possible to win against Great Britain in the event of war. This young man had a succinct manner of speaking which Howe suspected annoyed the others with its decisiveness. However, it had been the captain’s resolute sense of his own correctness that had convinced Howe they had made the right choice. That trait might frighten the others, but to the senator it was the flaw which made Tanner Frederick Cloud eminently suited to their purpose.
Howe tapped his cigar lightly, allowing the ashes to fall to the carpet, and returned to his chair. It only remained to be discovered what the captain knew of Alex Danty, the renegade who was the focus of their plans.
“What’s Danty’s purpose?” he asked smoothly. “He’s not an American, is he?” Howe looked pointedly at the captain but was disappointed.
Granger, the head of a failing export business in Boston and a competitor with the line owned by Cloud’s family, spoke up. “No one knows. He appeared out of nowhere a year and a half ago and has been keeping the British in a constant state of turmoil. He never takes anything from the ships except supplies and arms. He offers freedom to impressed sailors—British and American alike—then he drops the remainder of the crew on an island or within swimming distance of one and sinks the vessel.
“I’ve read accounts that say he makes a personal search of the crew—as if he were looking for someone. No one even knows what Danty looks like. They say he wears a mask because he was disfigured in battle. The men who were freed by him and chose not to join him have nothing to say—except that they’ll never be able to properly thank him.”
“I don’t give a damn what he looks like or what his purpose is,” said Davidson. “And neither does Madison. Can you imagine what help Danty would be if he were working with our navy? It’s a thought, isn’t it? One privateer putting an end to the Royal Fleet while we can barely muster the funds and forces to back a declaration of war. He must have compiled a lot of information on British movements. We could use him.”
“Could Danty be French?” asked Howe. “They have just as much reason to want his help.”
“French? It’s possible,” Davidson said thoughtfully. “Perhaps he has connections with Lafitte.”
“Good Lord, Robert. How many cutthroats do you want on our side? Danty is one thing. Jean Lafitte is quite another. He has been disrupting merchant ships in the Caribbean for years—and I’m talking about American as well as British vessels.” Bennet lit a cigar and drew on it deeply.
“I disagree. True, Lafitte is no respecter of flags, but New Orleans is a very valuable port. All of our products from the west have to pass through there. Our navy could use someone like Lafitte. He has a selfish interest in keeping that port open, to prevent a British blockade.”
Howe stopped Farthington’s reply by lifting his hand. “It’s immaterial to discuss this further, Bennet. Especially when you have Madison’s orders in your pocket. We have been asked to arrange a meeting with Danty and secure his help. The matter is settled.”
“No, it isn’t.” His voice cracked slightly with the effort it took to speak after remaining quiet for so long. The eyes of every man turned to the officer, giving him the benefit of their surprised, if not respectful, silence.
Tanner Frederick Cloud surveyed their anxious faces and he tightened his smile as he returned their gazes. Did they really have orders that concerned him? His superior had sent him to the meeting telling him only that he was to do whatever they asked of him. Cloud was no longer certain of the merit of that order. Their talk made him uneasy but he could not name the reason for his discontent.
Cloud felt as if the senator,hisstate’s senator, he reminded himself, was orchestrating this meeting. The captain had little doubt he had been maneuvered into making a statement. He had felt Howe’s calculating stare on him more than once, silently demanding he speak out on the subject of Alex Danty. Cloud wondered if his reluctance to do so would cost him his position.
He had been given command only three years ago, in 1809, at the age of twenty-five. He had been offered the commission after having escaped his own impressment into British service, but not before the British had been able to leave the mark of his belligerence on his flesh. The scars from the whip could still be seen on his lean, muscular back; the lines slashed in thin white strips on otherwise bronzed skin.
For three years he had sailed his own ship with a good crew and the fear of being impressed again never left him. Frequent trips to Europe increased the possibility, but he had already decided he would take his own life before he allowed himself to be forced to serve the Union Jack again.
He lowered his heavily lashed lids, momentarily denying the men a view of his disturbing green eyes; eyes that could look at them as well as through them. When he raised his head, running his fingers through dark copper hair, he knew he could not put them off any longer. He pushed his chair away from the table and stretched his long legs in front of him until he could see the tips of his knee-high boots. He placed his hands on either side of the arms of his chair, gripping the wood. He knew without looking that his knuckles were white and that the muscles in his forearms would actually hurt later because of his tension. It was always this way when he thought of Alex Danty. And now these men wanted to know. They wanted to know what he had known since the name of Captain Danty had been mentioned to him eighteen months ago when the first of a dozen British vessels went down.
