Captain Thomas James is facing his long overdue death in battle as the United States devolves into the ordeal known as the Civil War. Outgoing President James Buchanan, Old Buck, confers one last favor upon his favorite a million dollars in federal contracts to deliver arms and munitions to the South's army garrisons and navy depots. Our Tom smells war; profitable war if only he can get his hands upon a letter of marquis and reprisal. Anybody's letter will Confederate, Texas, Louisiana, Georgia, or South Carolina. He's not too proud to kiss some governor's hind end. Hell, if it would get him out to sea he'd kiss a plow mule's flanks and thank his lucky stars. Of course, Our Tom won't prize just any old Yankee merchantman. He'll concentrate upon his enemies. First, he'll take Aspinwall and Howland's Panama packets filled with California gold. Second, he'll seize Martin Van Buren Butler's tea clippers incoming from Shanghai. Third, he'll lie to off the Battery to snatch up every last puke out of New York. Of course, all his enemies will connive to provide Cap'n James with three death by land or by sea is their chieftest wish followed by sinking all his privateers; and last but not least, flinging his midshipman sons into Fort Warren Prison which squats smack-dab in the middle of Boston Harbor. Massachusetts Governor Andrew already gloats about how much gold he can blackmail out of Tom merely by threatening to hang all these James family "Misters of blisters and masters of disasters."
But all these enemies fail to take into account the womenfolk who truly love their Mormon Tom. Yes, dear reader, Our Tom's headcount of wives has arisen to eight. This doesn't count his concubines, mistresses, and dalliances; not-to-mention all his slave girls from the Orient. Since Americans only have a fleeting acquaintance with harems owned by sultans and caliphs, they must turn to an example of polygamy they see every day upon the streets of their Mormons with more than the one wife God granted Adam in the Garden of Eden. In Boston the Abolitionist she-dragons of Beacon Hill will snub him in public, whilst in private their husbands sneak through his backdoor to beg for a handout. In the South, the haughty belles of planter society would dearly love to ostracize Captain James; except for the fact that he's rich as Croesus and makes such an outré centerpiece for their soirées.