The Power and the Glory by William C. Hammond Read Free Book Online

a day before the Cutlers were to set sail, the wind strengthened to a full gale, whipping up white foam even within the protected waters of Hingham Bay. Moisture-laden clouds gloomed in from the southwest and stalled over Boston, pummeling its shores and streets with a cold, drenching rain. As the days elapsed and the storm lagged on, concern mounted that the homecoming celebration to honor Eagle’ s crew would also have to be scrapped.
    Providence proved kind, however. Three days before the planned event, the storm blew itself out. Hingham awoke to a soothing, warm October sun, a gentle westerly breeze, and a bright blue sky accentuating the red-gold, brilliant yellow, and tarnished bronze of autumn foliage. Such conditions boded well for what had to be done, and quickly. Scores of men and women converged on the Lincoln farm south of Hingham to prepare for the many hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people who would attend, for it was a well-publicized event open to everyone. Tent tops were erected, tables were brought in, and a makeshift dais was set up for speeches, with chairs set to accommodate the elderly and infirm. Numerous pits were filled with combustibles to slow-cook the beef, venison, and pork that would accompany rounds of beer, wine, and ale. By Saturday morning the broad green pastures surrounding the Lincoln farmstead had been transformed from a serene, pastoral setting into a veritable fairground.
    No one appeared more pleased with the results than the host of the event, Benjamin Lincoln. Dressed in a blue uniform coat with buff
facings and gold buttons—three silver stars on the twin epaulettes signifying the rank of brigadier general—he strode about the grounds armin-arm with his wife, a tall, pewter-haired woman of grace and gentility. Together they greeted those who arrived on foot from nearby farms or by horse and carriage from locations farther away. Adults and children alike came dressed in their Sunday best.
    The Cutlers arrived early, before noon, to help out where they could and to be on hand to greet the members of Eagle’ s crew. Their wagon had hardly ground to a halt before Will and Jamie jumped off and darted ahead to where meats lanced on iron spits sizzled over blazing fires. Richard and Katherine, meanwhile, took Stephen Starbuck, Lavinia’s husband, a shopkeeper from Duxbury, and Frederick Seymour, husband to Anne Cutler and a physician from Cambridge, to greet the general and his wife.
    â€œWelcome,” General Lincoln said, shaking each man’s hand in turn. “Mrs. Lincoln and I are honored that you are able to join us today.”
    â€œYou must travel to Hingham more often,” Mrs. Lincoln admonished. “We miss your wives and we miss seeing you. I remember your sons, Doctor. They are a handsome brood, though from the look of them they must be quite the handful.”
    â€œThat they are,” Anne confirmed.
    As morning melded into afternoon, Richard and Katherine strolled about among the guests, talking to as many people as possible. At one point they saw Caleb in the company of four of his shipmates walking toward the dais where Benjamin Lincoln was preparing to speak. What he had to say was indistinct—Richard and Katherine were too far away—though his intent was clear enough. One by one, each member of Eagle’ s crew was invited up to the platform to stand between the general and his wife and receive the cheers and applause of those gathered around. This day, there would be no talk of war or piracy or an agrarian economy going to seed.
    â€œDarling,” Katherine said, after the crew had received their due, “I see Joan Keating over there. I fancy a word with her. Please excuse me for a moment.”
    Richard smiled to himself. Experience had taught him that a “word” between Katherine Cutler and Joan Keating would likely last a great deal longer than a “moment.” He contented himself by watching the