The Power and the Glory (3 page)

Members of the schooner's crew working in the rigging had by now assumed distinct form, as had the passengers lining her larboard railing. The former hostages stood listening to the bells and watching the goings-on ashore as if in a trance, as though unable to accept the blessed gift of homecoming after enduring so much for so long in a wretched Arab prison. Many let tears stream unabashedly down their cheeks.

As dockers cranked
Falcon
in the last few feet, the crowd stepped back in deference to the Cutler brothers—Richard on the dock and Caleb, his younger brother, standing amidships near
Falcon'
s entry port. The two brothers locked eyes as onlookers cheered, waved their hats in the air, and beckoned joyously to loved ones now just a few feet away and drawing closer. As
Falcon
bumped against the massive stone-and-wood structure, Caleb formed a fist with his right hand and brought it over his heart, in the same gesture of the Roman general Fabius Maximus with which he had said good-bye to Richard in the dey's prison those many years ago. Richard returned the gesture and then allowed his gaze to wander over the cluster of men around Caleb, who were becoming more animated as they recognized family and friends on the dock. He looked aft to the helm, to the tall, muscular, tawny-haired ship's master standing by the tiller. When their eyes met, Agreen Crabtree snapped a salute, a gesture familiar from their days as midshipmen in the Continental
warship
Ranger
and then as acting lieutenants in
Bonhomme Richard
, both ships under the command of John Paul Jones.

Dockers on board the merchantmen eased the strain on the giant winches as sailors on the schooner cast mooring lines to dockers on the quay, who secured them to bollards with a series of clove hitches.
Falcon
was home.

The larboard entry port opened and a gangway was pushed down to the dock. First off, by protocol, was James Dickerson,
Eagle‘
s master. During his mission to North Africa in 1787, Richard had met with Dickerson and Caleb in a prison chamber and had learned from his brother just how crucial Captain Dickerson's role had been in keeping his men alive and safe while catering to the whims of his captors. So impressed was the dey of Algiers with Dickerson that he had allowed extra provisions and medical attention to be brought into the prison when Dickerson requested them. Most noteworthy, not a single member of
Eagle'
s crew had been sold into the flesh markets of Tunis and Tripoli, a fate suffered by the one hundred other American prisoners in Barbary and countless others enslaved while sailing under a flag of Christendom.

Dickerson's reply to Richard Cutler's emotional expression of gratitude as he met him by the gangway was the same this day as it had been back then. “My duty, Mr. Cutler,” he said. He grasped Richard's hand in both of his and bowed before taking his leave. As he made his way through the throng, citizens of Boston clapped him on the back, albeit gently, for all could see that he was raw-boned and weary.

Then Caleb limped down the gangway and a great cheer went up as the two brothers embraced, the grip of one hard upon that of the other.

“You look well,” Richard managed after he had eased his grip sufficiently to give his brother a quick once-over. He could feel Caleb's ribs through his shirt and jacket. “Far better than I expected.”

Caleb was equally beset by emotions. “You sent enough food to feed an army,” he said. “And Agreen brought fresh provisions from Gibraltar. My shipmates and I had naught to do on the entire voyage home but eat and sleep.”

“Well, Edna's in charge of you now,” Richard grinned, referring to the tried-and-true Cutler housekeeper of many years. “So you'd best get used to that lifestyle. Here, let's move back a ways, shall we, and let others through.” With Will and Jamie in tow, they edged against the flow of a closely packed crowd surging forward to greet those disembarking
one by one from
Falcon
. Conditions were less frenetic at the entrance of Cutler & Sons.

“A swift passage, eh, Caleb?” Richard asked to make conversation. He could not take his eyes off the brother he had been forced to abandon.

“Fair winds all the way. Agreen told us he had never seen the like on an Atlantic crossing.”

“I imagine
any
wind would have seemed fair to you on this voyage.”

“There is that,” Caleb confessed.

Richard motioned to his sons. “Will, Jamie, you remember your uncle, don't you?”

“I remember him,” Will chimed in. “But Jamie doesn't. He was just a baby when you sailed for Algiers, Uncle Caleb.”

“I do so remember him!” Jamie's defiant look swung from his brother to his uncle. “And I was not a baby. I was three years old,” he said, as though therein lay the proof of the pudding.

“Well, we have a lot of catching up to do in any case,” Caleb said. “Captain Crabtree tells me your father is planning a short cruise just for us four so that we can get to know one other again. Are you willing?”

Both boys nodded eagerly.

“Good. It's a pity Diana won't be joining us.”

Will shrugged. “She wouldn't want to come. She's too little, and besides, she'd rather go riding with mother every day.”

“Well, if your sister looks anything like I remember your mother, she must be one lovely young lady.”

Will shrugged again. “She looks fine, I guess.”

As former hostages mingled happily with family and friends, Boston Harbor came alive with small craft commissioned by the Cutler family to transport them to their homes on the South Shore. The Cutlers had their own coastal packet awaiting them at the far end of the wharf, but they would not depart for Hingham until Richard had personally welcomed home every member of
Eagle‘
s crew. That took some doing, because each crewman had much to say to him. Last up was Addison Percy, a Harvard-educated physician from Cohasset who had served as ship's surgeon on
Falcon'
s cruise to Algiers and home.

“Truth be told, Mr. Cutler,” he reported, “I am pleased with what I've seen. I had expected much worse.” Not a seasoned sailor, he was having trouble finding his balance ashore after weeks on a rolling deck. “Several cases require further scrutiny, and I am concerned about Captain
Dickerson. But no lives appear to be in danger. I am finishing up a report that I will give to you and your father tomorrow morning, if that is convenient for you.”

“It is, Doctor. Shall we say ten o'clock?”

Agreen Crabtree remained on board while George Hunt paid off
Falcon'
s crew. Only when he was certain that everything above and belowdecks was stowed in Bristol fashion did he excuse the last of the crew and step ashore to join the Cutlers.

“Welcome home, Agee,” Richard said. He offered his hand to Agreen's tough, leathery grip. “Thank you for bringing the men home safely.”

“That's what you pay me for,” Agreen said dismissively. Feeling awkward in the face of the powerful emotions of the day, he made a funny face at the two boys that made them giggle. “How long you reckon they'll keep up these bells? Damn, they're beautiful. It means a lot t' the men. Many of 'em broke down like babies as we came in.”

A brief silence ensued, as if to honor that simple observation. Then Richard motioned up the quay. “Shall we? Anne and Lavinia are waiting for you at home, Caleb. Frederick and Stephen will join us as soon as we send word to them. Two weeks from now we have a grand reception planned for you and your shipmates. In the meantime, we'll take that cruise I promised you, and you can eat and sleep to your heart's content.” His gaze swung over to Agreen. “Speaking of things beautiful, Agee, your wife has some news for you.”

“Is she all right?” Agreen demanded, his tone turning instantly serious.

“She's fine, just fine. Katherine's with her every day, and Dr. Prescott looks in on her regularly. The baby's kicking up a fuss, is what I meant.”

“God be praised,” Agreen muttered reverently. He set off with the others toward the single-masted packet bobbing at her mooring at the far end of the wharf.

 

ONCE
Falcon
had made her sweep through the wind toward Boston Harbor and her identity was confirmed, a swift vessel had set sail for Hingham to alert the village and the Cutler family. Such a courtesy, it turned out, was hardly necessary. Bells chiming in unison from North Church and South Church and every church in between were picked up and echoed by churches in Dorchester and Milton and Weymouth. Their joyful peals were clearly audible on board the Cutler packet as she
skimmed across the sheltered waters of Hingham Bay. By the time the packet had nosed her way through the flotilla of small craft swarming around her and had Otis Hill in sight, the bells of First Parish Church, Second Parish Church, and the Old Meetinghouse were in full swing.

Richard knew that Katherine would not be on the wharf to greet them. By prearrangement, she was waiting up on Otis Hill in the company of Elizabeth Cutler Crabtree, Richard's first cousin and Katherine's closest friend since their childhood in England. Up there, removed from the high-spirited crowd jostling and jockeying below on Broad Cove Lane and in the broad stretch of land adjacent to the Hingham docks, they were out of harm's way. Lizzy was seven months pregnant, and if safely delivered, this baby would be her first. At age thirty-six, she was almost a year younger than Katherine, who nine years ago had borne her third child. In consideration of Lizzy's age, the Cutler family doctor had warned her not to do anything that might physically upset her—or worse, upend her. Given the miscarriage she had suffered two years earlier, Dr. Prescott had reminded her, it was a miracle that she had conceived at all.

Thomas Cutler was on the quay, however. He stood as far out on the main wharf as he could get, at the location where the incoming packet was to be moored. The patriarch of the Cutler family in America, he had sailed with his bride to Boston a half-century earlier, seeking new opportunities in the new land. His older brother, William, had remained behind in England to manage the British end of their shipping business, which had grown sufficiently over the years to embrace the high risks and high rewards of West Indian sugar and rum production.

As he stood on the Hingham quay and watched the packet's bow inch in toward dockside, it was all he could do to keep his emotions in check. Before the packet was secured to the dock, Caleb swung a leg over her side and jumped down onto the wharf, dropping to a knee from the pain in his left leg. His father gently drew him up and embraced him as those standing nearby looked on in respectful silence.

“How I wish your mother were here today to see this,” Thomas said, choking on the words. Elizabeth Cutler had succumbed two years earlier to the crippling effects of ill health suffered over many years. Caleb had read about his mother's death in a letter his father had sent him through the British consul in Algiers. “Her last wish was to see you safely home.”

“She knows, Father,” Caleb said, his own voice unsteady. “I'm sure she knows I'm home with you today.”

Richard and Agreen remained on the packet until father and son had turned to walk down the quay together. Then they jumped off, followed by Will and Jamie.

“I'll get Katherine, Father,” Richard called out when they were on dry land. He squeezed Caleb's arm in passing and smiled at Anne and Lavinia, his sisters, who had rushed to dockside with the first peal of church bells. Lavinia, the youngest Cutler sibling at age thirty, wept openly as she took Caleb in her arms.

“Stay here with your uncle,” Richard shouted to his sons. It was difficult to make himself heard over the chime of bells in the distance and the excited jabber of people close by.

On their way up Otis Hill, Richard had to hoof it to keep pace with Agreen. Katherine and Lizzy had spotted them and were waving. Standing beside her mother was Diana Cutler, a lass who had inherited so many of her mother's physical attributes that even at the tender age of nine she was showing all the signs of someday becoming a very comely woman. Behind them, puffing contentedly on a long-stemmed white clay pipe, stood Benjamin Lincoln, the owner of the blue-shuttered gray clapboard house where the women were waiting. As General Washington's second in command at Yorktown and the senior officer who had accepted Lord Cornwallis' sword of surrender, Lincoln was Hingham's most distinguished war hero.

When the men reached the crest of the hill, Katherine stepped close to her husband. “How is Caleb?” she asked anxiously. “And the rest of the crew?”

“Better than we expected,” Richard assured her. “You'll be amazed at how well Caleb looks.”

Diana tugged on her mother's sleeve. “Can we go down to the docks, Mommy? Can we, please?” She looked beseechingly up at her father, her white cotton dress billowing in the soft autumn breeze. “Oh
please
can we?”

Richard smiled at his wife. Diana Cutler was clearly Katherine's daughter, and not just in physical appearance. Like her mother—like most attractive females of his acquaintance—Diana had seemed to grasp from an early age just how beguiling and irresistible the feminine mystique can be. He stooped down and placed his right hand on the side of her face, pushing back the silky chestnut curls tumbling down across her shoulders.

“So you're anxious to meet your Uncle Caleb, are you, Poppet?”

She nodded.

“Well, I have it on good authority that he's just as anxious to meet you.” He stood up. “Your mother will take you to the docks. I'll be along after a word with the general.” He brushed his lips against Katherine's cheek in a token show of affection, their custom when in public or in the company of their children.