Chapter 8 #2
Jon lifted his glass, sighting the two-masted snow Sally driving hard before the wind. “She’s no fishing craft,” he said to his first lieutenant. “Deep laden, bound westward.” The Massachusetts held close company off their quarter, Fisk already lifting his spyglass to his eye.
As the brigantines bore down, the snow broke out her colors, the red ensign snapping bright against the gloom. Jon’s mouth, set in a hard line. “British, and trying for Quebec if I judge her course.”
“Orders, Captain?” Thorndike asked.
“Run out the guns.”
The two American ships fanned to either side, hemming the stranger in.
Faced with a double broadside, the snow fired one defiant shot, the ball skipping wide.
The reply from the Tyrannicide and Massachusetts was thunder and iron.
Splinters flew from the snow’s bulwarks.
Within minutes her red ensign fluttered down.
Jon lowered his glass, satisfaction burning in his chest. “Mr. Moses, stand ready to board her.”
When the prize crew returned with her manifest, the truth of their catch stirred a cheer from stem to stern.
Three to four thousand blankets, bales of cloth, and other goods bound for the British army in Quebec would now provide comfort for Patriot soldiers.
Benjamin Moses himself brought the papers to Jon, his grin boyish despite the powder stains on his coat.
“Blankets, Captain. Enough to warm half of Washington’s camp.”
Jon’s eyes narrowed on the bundled cargo. “Then we’ve struck a true blow. No man fights well when he freezes. See that she’s secured, Mr. Thorndike, and let Master Benjamin Lovett lead the prize crew taking her into Boston.”
Three days later, on the last day of April, fortune smiled again. East of Cape Clear, Jon’s lookout sighted another sail wallowing heavy with cargo. This one hoisted no flag until the Americans pressed close. Then the red ensign flew stubbornly from her peak.
Jon gave a sharp nod. “Another Briton. Let’s take her.”
The Massachusetts led the chase, her bow churning white foam. The Tyrannicide pressed hard to starboard. The ship was the brig Trespassy, and she could not outpace them. A shot across her bows brought her up sharp.
She yielded with scarcely a fight, and when boarded, proved to be 160 tons, her hold packed deep with salt, flour and goods for Newfoundland. A poor prize compared to the Sally, but a prize nonetheless.
Fisk’s booming voice carried across the sea as the vessels hove to. “Another safe for Boston, Haraden! The Board of War will be pleased!”
Jon permitted himself a rare smile. Two stout prizes in a week, and the Atlantic still wide before them. The men cheered, dreaming already of shares and silver.
But Jon’s gaze turned eastward, where the horizon loomed uncertain. He knew well enough the British would not long leave such depredations unanswered.
Haraden house, late April 1777
WHILE CAPTAIN HARADEN was far away at sea, Eunice anticipated visitors, for the Gloucester Haradens had sent word they were on their way.
One morning, as she was busy in the parlor with Hannah’s lessons, the clatter of wheels on the cobbled street and the high chatter of girls’ voices broke the still air.
Hannah raced to the windows. “Cousins!”
Eunice went to the door and opened it to see the Haraden cousins from Gloucester stepping down from the chaise.
Andrew Haraden, tall and broad-shouldered, with brown hair queued at his neck, offered his hand to his wife, Lydia, a handsome woman with dark hair, while around them clustered their daughters, six in all, a flock of dark-haired sparrows eager to scatter into the dooryard.
“Mercy on us,” Martha exclaimed, drying her hands on her apron as she came to the door. “The Haraden girls have grown like weeds! And don’t tell me they eat like weeds, too, or I’ll be in my grave by Michaelmas.”
“Line up, girls,” said Lydia Haraden briskly, “so that I may properly present you.” At once the six Haraden children formed a line, beginning with the tallest.
Eunice stepped forward. “Good day and welcome! I am Mrs. Mason, the girls’ governess.”
From behind his wife, Andrew lifted a toddler from the chaise.
“Jonathan explained all in his letter, Mrs. Mason. We were glad of his invitation, and gladder still to hear how you’re tending Hannah and Polly.
We’ve two by those names ourselves, though our Hannah is called Joanna most days.
” He nodded toward Martha. “’Lo, Martha, how are you? ”
“Fine now,” said Martha with a sniff. “We’ll see how fine when I’ve eight young ones underfoot and a table to stretch to fit them all.”
Andrew chuckled and began the introductions. “This is Joanna. She’s nineteen. Then,” he said gesturing, “come Lydia and Betsey, who are fourteen and twelve. Peggy is ten, Jane four, and this squirming creature is our Polly.”
Little Polly wriggled, reaching for the ground. Martha stepped forward to take her. “Here, I’ll see to her. She can keep our Polly company. Silas is mindin her in the parlor.” With that, Martha disappeared inside with the child.
The house filled at once with the stir of kin: cloaks hung on pegs, chatter at the hearth, Martha bustling to set extra places for the meal with the help of the older Haraden girls.
In the parlor, Silas chuckled at the din as Eunice invited Andrew and Lydia to sit. She gathered the younger girls close to help shed their wrappings, feeling the air brighten with family warmth despite the spring chill.
Andrew clasped Silas’ hand firmly. “It seemed the right time to come.” And handing him an envelope, he said, “Give this to Martha. It’s for expenses, increased for our coming.”
Silas nodded. “Will do, sir.”
Lydia’s glance found Eunice. “We shall pray for Jonathan together,” she said gently.
Martha bustled in again, never one to hold her tongue. “Prayers, aye, but there’s news already in town. They say the captain’s taken a bark called the Lonsdale, a snow Sally, brimmin’ with blankets, and another ship stuffed with Hessians who’ll never trouble our shores.”
The words set the room astir at once. Hannah’s eyes went wide, and she clutched Eunice’s hand. “Is it true, Mrs. Mason? Has Papa truly taken ships?”
Eunice’s heart swelled at the eagerness in the girl’s face. “So the newsmen say,” she answered steadily. “Your papa is doing his duty, and God has blessed his hands.”
Silas gave a grunt. “Aye. If half the talk is true, the Crown will rue the day they let Captain Haraden slip out of Salem Harbor.”
Martha returned with glasses of wine for the travelers and watered cider and cracknels for the girls, which were gratefully accepted.
“Jonathan told us in his letter you are the daughter of Reverend Diman,” said Andrew.
“I am,” Eunice replied, watching the two Pollys on the carpet side by side, as alike in mischief as in name.
“How fortunate he was to find you,” Lydia said. “A virtuous young widow for his daughters.”
“Aye,” Martha added. “God was smilin’ on the captain.”
The chatter rose, cousins darting, the two other women speaking of children, war, and needed prayer.
Eunice stood amidst it all, for a moment feeling the house alive as it had been not since the funeral a year ago.
Yet the laughter, so bright, only sharpened her longing.
She prayed silently that Captain Haraden might live to walk again among such noise and warmth, and that his daughters might keep his memory alive until he returned.
When the din in the parlor eased, Eunice said, “Martha will need more of everything with such a merry garrison. If the older girls will come with me, we can fetch what’s wanted from the market.”
“Bless you,” Martha replied, her relief plain. “Bring a sack of good flour, two cheeses, clams for chowder, onions, a side of salt pork if the price is fair, some nice cod, and winter apples if any keep yet, and whatever greens you can find. Oh, and molasses if the merchant’s cask hasn’t run dry.”
Andrew, shrugging into his coat, tipped his hat. “I’ll step to the London Coffeehouse and see who’s in from sea. Might have more news of Cousin Jonathan.”
“Go,” Lydia told him, smiling. “We’ll be quite well here.”
Eunice gathered Hannah, the older Joanna from Gloucester, Lydia, and Betsey, leaving Peggy to mind the little ones, as they set off down the street, bonnets bobbing in a row. Silas went with them, his stride steady at the rear, a quiet guardian.
When Joanna hoisted the flour sack to her hip, Silas gave a grunt of approval and plucked it from her arms, slinging it over his shoulder as though it weighed no more than kindling.
At the fishmonger’s stall he eyed the cod and muttered, “Robbery, but better robbed than hungry,” which made the girls laugh.
The market square smelled of salt and smoke: fishmongers calling haddock and cod, a farmer’s cart with tired cabbages, and a woman selling eggs dearer than last week.
The girls made a game of Martha’s list: Lydia haggling shrewdly for cheese, Betsey testing onions for soundness, Joanna lifting baskets with a practiced arm.
Now and again a townsman touched his hat to them. “You’ve added to your charges, Mrs. Mason,” one said.
“I have,” she replied. “Cousins from Gloucester.”
He stopped to add, “News says the Tyrannicide and Massachusetts have captured a snow, the Sally, with 4,000 blankets aboard!”
Hannah looked up at Eunice. “Is that the ship Papa captured?”
“Yes,” said Eunice. “One that carried blankets much needed for General Washington’s army. I think your father is exactly where Providence means him to be, capturing every enemy ship that comes across his path.”
Hannah stayed close to Eunice’s skirts, shy among the taller cousins, until the eldest of the Gloucester brood, Joanna, bent to her with an easy smile. “We share a name, little cousin, though they call me Joanna most days. That makes us a pair.”
Salem’s Hannah brightened. “And you’ve a Polly, too!”
Betsey laughed and linked arms with her sister, Lydia. “Two Pollys. Martha will have to label their cups.”
“One has dark hair and one fair, but they may be better known by their mischief,” said Lydia, eyes dancing.
Back at the house, the older girls lugged sacks to the pantry and then joined Eunice in the parlor.
Silas had already returned by another way and now sat in his accustomed chair by the hearth, pipe in hand and a block of pine in his lap.
His knife moved in slow, easy strokes, whittling shavings that curled to a bowl on the floor while the younger girls played at his feet.
“This house hasn’t seen such a muster of skirts in years,” he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched.
“If the captain were here, he’d think he’d walked into a regiment. ”
THE LAUGHTER THAT followed carried into the kitchen, where Martha set the dough to kneading with Mrs. Haraden. She had known the Gloucester Haradens since the early days of the captain’s marriage to Hannah Deadman and always enjoyed their company.
“You keep a fine kitchen,” Lydia said, working the dough with a sure, rhythmic push as she gazed around at the neat cupboards and pots and pans.
“I keep it movin’,” Martha said, though pride warmed her tone. “And with eight girls under one roof, I’ll keep it marchin’. ’Twas good I baked pies this mornin’.”
Lydia chuckled. “The girls love pies.”
For a time they worked in companionable noise, the thud of kneading, the hiss from the kettle, the two young Pollys babbling in the next room as Mrs. Mason warned them away from the fireplace tools.
Lydia glanced toward the parlor where Eunice’s voice rose gentle and sure, organizing all into order, as she offered to read the girls a story.
“She has a way,” Lydia said softly. “Mrs. Mason. The children look to her and grow calmer. A pretty woman, too, handsome in the best sense.”
Martha’s mouth twitched. “Aye. Pretty won’t count if there’s no backbone behind it. But our Mrs. Mason has both.”
“I do not mean to play the matchmaker,” Lydia went on, eyes on the dough she was kneading, “Jonathan’s path is mostly at sea now, and the girls are young. But a house can’t stand long without a mistress who loves it. Might Providence have such a thing in mind, do you think?”
Martha dusted the loaf with flour and set it to rise.
Looking off into the distance, she said, “If Providence means to knit such things, He’ll do it in His time.
Till then, the captain and the governess seem ignorant of how well suited they are.
The captain’s girls have all they need: a governess with sense, a father who is doing his part for the cause, a kitchen that feeds them, a church to worship in, and kin close by. ”
Lydia smiled. “Then we shall be content with that.”
“Content, and busy,” Martha said, reaching for a pie tin. “Hand me those apples, Lydia. With a dozen to feed, I’d best make another pie.”