IV

       AN EVENING WITH SAM ADAMS

       Table of Contents

      “How beautiful!” Robert exclaimed, as he beheld the harbor, the town, and the surrounding country from the top of the house the following morning. Berinthia pointed out the localities. At their feet was Copp’s Hill burial ground with its rows of headstones and grass-grown mounds. Across the river, northward, was Charlestown village nestling at the foot of Bunker Hill. Ferryboats were crossing the stream. Farther away beyond fields, pastures, and marsh lands were the rocky bluffs of Malden, the wood-crowned heights russet and crimson with the first tinges of autumn. Eastward was the harbor with its wave-washed islands, and the blue ocean sparkling in the sunlight. White sails were fading and vanishing on the far distant horizon. Ships were riding at anchor between the town and castle. Southward were dwellings, stores, shops, and the spires of meetinghouses. Beyond the town were the Roxbury, Dorchester, and Milton hills — fields, pastures, orchards, and farmhouses. Westward rose Beacon Hill, its sunny slopes dotted with houses and gardens; farther away, across Charles River, he could see the steeple of Cambridge meetinghouse and the roof of the college.

       Copp’s Hill Burial Ground.

      “This is Christ Church,” said Berinthia, pointing to the nearest steeple. “That beyond is the Old North Meetinghouse where Cotton Mather preached.18 Of course you have heard of him.”

      Robert replied that the name seemed familiar.

      “He was one of the ministers first settled,” said Berinthia, “and wrote a curious book, the ‘Magnalia.’ When he was a boy he picked up Latin so quickly that when twelve years old he was able to enter college, graduating four years later. That stately mansion near the meetinghouse was the home of Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson. A mob smashed the windows in connection with the attempt to enforce the Stamp Act; and it was that which induced the king to send the two regiments of soldiers to Boston. The house adjoining is the home of Lady Agnes Frankland.”

      She told the romantic story of Lady Frankland’s life; how Sir Henry, when a young man, came from England to be the king’s collector of customs. One day he went to Marblehead, and while at the tavern saw a girl scrubbing the floor. She was barefooted, but had a beautiful face. He thought that so pretty a girl ought not to go barefooted, and gave her money to buy a pair of shoes. A few weeks passed, and again he saw her barefooted, still scrubbing the floor. She had purchased the shoes, but was keeping them for Sunday. Sir Henry was so pleased with her that he offered to give her an education. A good minister took her into his family and she learned very rapidly. She in return gave him her love, and after leaving school went to live with him. He not only owned the house in town, but a great estate in the country. He kept horses and hounds, and had good wines. After a while he took Agnes to England with him, and from thence to Portugal. He was in Lisbon in 1755, at the time of the great earthquake, and was riding in his carriage when suddenly the earth began to heave and tremble, and houses, churches, all came tumbling down, burying thirty thousand people. Sir Henry’s horses and himself and carriage were beneath the bricks and mortar. Agnes was not with him at the moment, but showed her love by running as fast as she could and digging away the bricks with her own hands, finding him badly mangled but alive. He thought he was going to die, and made a vow that if his life was spared Agnes should be his lawfully wedded wife. His wounds healed and he kept his word, making her Lady Frankland. They came once more to Boston, bought the house next to Chief Justice Hutchinson, and lived very happily.

      “We will go down to father’s shipyard,” said Tom, “and you can see the carpenters at work building a ship.”

      They descended the hill and entered the yard. Robert hardly knew what to think as he listened to the clattering of axes and mallets. Some of the workmen were hewing timber and putting up the ribs of the vessel; others were bolting planks to the ribs. The size of the ship amazed him; it was larger than his father’s barn. In a few weeks the hull would be finished, the masts put in, the rigging rove, and then the ship would be launched.

      “Father is going to name her for me, and I am to be the figurehead; come to the carver’s shop and see me,” said Berinthia with sparkling eyes and merry laugh.

      They went into a little shop where a good-looking young man, with chisels, gouges, and mallet, was fashioning the bust of a woman. Tom introduced him as Abraham Duncan. Robert noticed a lighting up of Mr. Duncan’s eyes as he greeted Berinthia.

      “Mr. Duncan is one of us. As for that matter, every man in the yard is a Son of Liberty,” Tom said.

      “That is me,” said Berinthia, pointing to the figurehead. “I am to be perched beneath the bowsprit to look out upon the ocean and see which way the ship ought to go. The waves will wet my hair, and the tears will run down my cheeks when the storms are on. My eyes will behold strange things. I shall see the whales spout and the porpoises play, and poke my nose into foreign parts,” she said playfully.

       In the Shipyard.

      Robert saw that the carver had fashioned the face to look like her. She had been down to the shop several times, that he might study her features. On Saturday evenings after work for the week was over he put on his best coat and called at the Brandon house to look at her as she sat by the fireside with the light from the hearth illumining her face. Although Mr. Duncan usually went to hear Reverend Mr. Checkley preach, he sometimes strayed away to Reverend Doctor Cooper’s meetinghouse in Brattle Street, and took a seat where he could see Berinthia’s features in repose, as she listened to the sermon. Although the minister was very eloquent, Mr. Duncan was more interested in looking at her than hearing what was said in the pulpit. Robert noticed that she seemed to enjoy talking with the carver, and when he went to the other side of the building to get a portfolio of drawings to show her how the cabin was to be ornamented her eyes followed him.

      “Father says Mr. Duncan is a very talented young man, and one of the best artists in town,” she said, as they walked back to the house.

      After dinner, Robert went to the Green Dragon, obtained a chaise, harnessed Jenny, took in Berinthia, and crossed the ferry to Charlestown, for a ride in the country. They drove along a wide street at the foot of Bunker Hill, and came to a narrow neck of land between Charles River on the south and Mystic River on the north. The tide was flowing in and covering the marsh lands. They gained the summit of Winter Hill, gazed upon the beautiful landscape, then turned southward toward Cambridge. Reaching the college, they entered the library and the room containing the philosophical instruments. Robert rubbed his knife on a magnet so he could pick up a needle by touching it with the blade. They had little time to spare, for they were to take