LAUNCHING OF THE BERINTHIA BRANDON

The pigs had been fattening through the winter, and it was quite time to send them to market.

“You did so well with the cheese, you may see what you can do with the shoats,” said Mr. Walden to Robert.  “It is good sleighing.  You can harness the colt and Jenny, and go with the pung.  I want you to take Rachel along.  You can stay a couple of weeks and have a good visit.”

There was a glow upon Rachel’s face.  It would be her first journey.  She would see new things, and make new acquaintances.  During the evenings she had been knitting a hood and mittens of the finest wool, and would present them to Miss Newville.

It was a resplendent morning, with the eastern sky like molten gold in the light of the rising sun, and the hoar-frost upon the twigs of the leafless trees changing to glittering diamonds.  The colt, sleek and plump, was champing his bit and shaking his head in his impatience to be off.  Jenny was staid and sober, but when Robert said, “Now, lad and lady,” the colt pranced a few steps, then settled to a steady trot, learning a lesson from Jenny.

An hour before lunch-time they whirled up to Captain Stark’s tavern in Derryfield, and before sunset came to a halt in the dooryard of a relative in Andover.  Before noon the next day Rachel was looking with wondering eyes upon the gleaming spires of the meetinghouses and the crooked streets of Boston.

“You have come just at the right time,” said Berinthia, welcoming her with a kiss, “for I am to be launched day after to-morrow.”

Seeing by the look of wonder on Rachel’s face that she was not understood, Berinthia explained that the ship her father was building was to bear her name, and that everything was ready for the launching.

“Oh, it will be so delightful to have you here!” she added.  “We will be on the deck, ever so many of us,-­my friends, papa’s and mamma’s and Tom’s.  Ruth Newville will be here; and Tom’s classmate in Harvard College, Roger Stanley, who lives out beyond Lexington, is coming.  He’s a real nice young man, and I am sure you will like him.  Tom’s girl will be here, Mary Shrimpton; she is out in the kitchen now.  She has been helping us make crumpets, crullers, gingerbread, and cake.  Father and mother intend to make it a grand affair, and have invited half of the town,-­doctors, lawyers, ministers, and their wives; everybody that is anybody.  Tom has invited his friends, and I mine, because the ship is to bear my name.”

Rachel said she was glad she had come to see and enjoy it all.

“We will have a jolly time while you are here; it is vacation at college, and I shan’t have to study,” said Tom.

A young lady with a pleasant face, light blue eyes, and soft brown hair, entered the room and was introduced as Miss Shrimpton.

“She has been helping us get ready, and has rolled out a bushel of crullers,” said Tom.

“Not quite so many,” said Miss Shrimpton, smiling.

Robert thought her very attractive and pleasing.

“I think I will go home now; father and mother will be expecting me, but I will be round to-morrow,” said Miss Shrimpton.

Tom put on his hat and escorted her.  When he returned, and he and Robert were by themselves, he said that she was the best girl in Boston.

“Her father,” he went on, “is a red-hot Tory.  He lives in a fine house, owns thousands of acres of land out in the country, thinks King George a saint, ordained of God to rule us; that Sam Adams and Doctor Warren are tricksters fooling the people for their own benefit.  But Mary is just the nicest girl you ever saw.  She has no mother, runs the house for her father, keeps everything as neat as a pin, and by and by, after I get through at Harvard and am in possession of my sheepskin with A. B. on it, she will be Mrs. Tom Brandon.”

Robert congratulated Tom upon his engagement.

The next morning saw Robert in the market disposing of what he had to sell, while Berinthia with Rachel called upon Miss Newville.

“It was very kind of you to send such a basket of fruit to me, a stranger; will you please accept a little gift in return?  It is not much, but it will let you know that I appreciate your goodness,” said Rachel, placing a bundle in Miss Newville’s hands.  When it was opened Ruth beheld a close-fitting hood of the softest lamb’s wool, made beautiful with pink ribbons; there was also a pair of mittens.

“Oh, Miss Walden!  How good you are!  How soft and nice!  And they are of your own carding, spinning, and knitting?  And you have done it for me, whom you never had seen, and of whom you never heard except through your brother.  And is he well?” Miss Newville asked.

“Quite well.  You will see him to-morrow at the launching.”

“Isn’t it delightful that they have come in the nick of time?” said Berinthia.

“How fortunate!  And you are to have such a nice party.  I will wear the hood and be the envy of everybody,” said Miss Newville, putting it on, praising its beauty, and calling in her mother to make Rachel’s acquaintance and admire the gift.

The launching of the ship was to be at flood-tide, eleven o’clock in the forenoon.  Though in midwinter, the air was mild, as if a warm breath had been wafted landward from the Gulf Stream.  There was a fever of excitement and preparation in the Brandon home.  Dinah in the kitchen was taking pots of baked beans and loaves of brown bread smoking hot from the oven, filling baskets with crumpets and crullers.  Mark Antony was taking them to the shipyard.  Mrs. Brandon, Berinthia, Rachel, and Mary Shrimpton were preparing the cakes and pies.  Tom and Robert on board the ship were arranging for the collation.

Never before had Rachel beheld anything so enchanting as the scene in the shipyard,-­the ship with its tall and tapering masts, its spars and yard-arms; the multitudes of ropes like the threads of a spider’s web; flags, streamers, red, white, green, blue, yellow, with devices of lions, unicorns, dragons, eagles, fluttering from bowsprit to fore-royal mast, from taffrail to mizzen.  Beneath the bowsprit was the bust of Berinthia, the heart and soul of the man who carved it in every feature, for to Abraham Duncan there was no face on earth so beautiful as that of the shipmaster’s daughter.

The guests were assembling on the deck:  the commissioner of imposts, Theodore Newville, Mrs. Newville, and their daughter, Ruth; his majesty’s receiver-general, Nathaniel Coffin, and his two sons, Isaac and John; Reverend Doctor Samuel Cooper, minister of the church in Brattle Street; Doctor Warren, physician to the family of the shipmaster; Lieutenant-Colonel Dalrymple, commanding the king’s troops,-­for Mr. Brandon, though deprecating the presence of the troops in Boston, determined to be courteous to the representatives of his majesty; Admiral Montague, who came in his gig rowed by six sailors from his flagship, Romney; William Molineux and John Rowe, merchants; Richard Dana and Edmund Quincy, magistrates; John Adams, a young lawyer; honored citizens and their wives; Master Lovell; and Tom’s classmate, Roger Stanley, who had walked from Lexington in the early morning.  Among the many ladies, most attractive was Ruth Newville, wearing a close-fitting hood of soft lamb’s wool, trimmed with bright ribbon, all her friends admiring it.

Berinthia introduced Rachel and Robert to Mrs. Adams.  They found her a very charming lady; she had brought her little boy, John Quincy, to see the launching of the ship.

Picturesque the scene:  gentlemen wearing white wigs, blue, crimson, and scarlet cloaks, carrying gold-headed canes, taking pinches of snuff from silver-mounted boxes; young gentlemen with handsome figures and manly faces; ladies with tippets and muffs; girls in hoods,-­all congratulating Berinthia, admiring the beauty and tidiness of the ship, and the lovely figure of herself.  All praised Abraham Duncan, who blushed like a schoolboy.

They could hear the clattering of mallets and axes beneath them, and knew the carpenters were knocking away the props.  The ways had been slushed with grease.  The tide was at the flood.  Ruth Newville was to break the bottle of wine.  She had shaken hands with Robert Walden, and given expression of her pleasure at meeting him once more.  Her eyes had followed him; even when not looking towards him she had seen him.  Once more she thanked Rachel for her gift.  Her mates were asking her where she had found a hood so beautiful and becoming.  They stood upon the quarter-deck, Berinthia the queen of the hour, Ruth, radiant and lovely, by her side.  They heard the bell striking the hour of eleven.  A great crowd had assembled to see the launching.  Men, women, boys, and girls were in the yard, flocking the street, gazing from doors and windows of neighboring houses.

“Are you ready there?”

It was the builder of the ship, Mr. Brandon, shouting over the taffrail to those beneath.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Then knock it away.”

They heard a blow from an axe.  The stately ship quivered a moment, then glided with increasing speed down the ways.

Mr. Brandon raised his hand, and a ball of bunting at the topmast fluttered out into the Cross of St. George.  Ruth lifted the bottle of wine, broke it upon the rail, and poured the contents into the river.  A huzza rose from the quarter-deck.  Handkerchiefs fluttered in the air.  The people tossed up their hats.  From street, doorway, and window came an answering shout.

Out from the shore drifted the Berinthia till the anchor dropped from her bow, and she lay a thing of beauty, swinging with the ebbing tide.

In the cabin the guests were partaking of the bountiful and appetizing repast.

“I remember, Miss Newville, that you once graciously served me at an afternoon tea; shall I have the pleasure of waiting upon you?” Robert asked.

“I shall be pleased to be served by you.  The fresh air has sharpened my appetite, and I will begin with a plate of beans, if you please.”

He brought what she desired, served himself, and took a chair by her side.  They talked of the successful launching, of the beauty of the ship, sitting as gracefully as a swan upon the water, of the almost perfect likeness of the figurehead to Berinthia.

“Possibly it is so beautiful because the engraver’s heart has gone into it,” she said with a smile.

Their eyes met.  He thought hers very beautiful at the moment.

Roger Stanley found equal pleasure in serving Rachel, and in listening to what she had to say about the launching, her visit to Boston, and of things in Rumford.

Robert talked with Isaac Coffin, who said he expected to have a commission in his majesty’s navy.  Admiral Montague was very kind, and was using his influence to secure an appointment.  His younger brother, John, liked the army better.  Robert came to the conclusion that they were not Sons of Liberty, but were inclined to take sides with the ministry, which was very natural, as their father was holding a very important office under the crown.

There was a merry chattering of voices, a rattling of knives and forks, and changing of plates.  Mark Antony was master of ceremonies at the table, giving directions to Cæsar and Pompey.

Although society was divided politically, neighbors still were friends, accepting and giving hospitality, and when meeting socially avoiding all allusion to the proposed bill for taxing the Colonies.  All hoped that nothing would be done by Parliament to interrupt friendly relations between the Colonies and the mother country.  Doctor Warren made himself agreeable to bluff Admiral Montague.  William Molineux cracked jokes with Colonel Dalrymple.  Richard Dana and Nathaniel Coffin were friendly neighbors.  Mr. Dana could look out from his front windows near Frog Lane, and see the spacious grounds of his neighbor Coffin’s “Fields,” as the boys who played ball called it.  There was no reason why they should be at odds socially, just because Lord North and the king proposed to levy a tax of three pence a pound on tea.

With story and jest the company enjoyed the banquet and then were rowed to the shore, all shaking hands with Berinthia and congratulating her upon the successful launching of the vessel bearing her name.

“What can we do to round out the day for you, dear?”

It was Miss Newville addressing Berinthia.

“I don’t know; what can we?” was the reply.

“How would you like a sleigh-ride?” Robert asked.

“Delightful!” exclaimed Miss Newville.

“Jenny and the colt are rested, and if you don’t mind riding in a pung, I shall be pleased to take a little spin out of town.”

“Oh, it will be so charming!  I would rather go in a pung than in a sleigh; it is more romantic,” Miss Newville said.

It was quickly arranged.  Robert went to the Green Dragon, put new straw in the pung, and was soon back with the team.  They were eight in number and quickly seated themselves.  It was natural that Berinthia and Abraham Duncan, who had put his heart into his work while carving her features, should sit side by side, and that Tom Brandon and Mary Shrimpton should desire to be tucked under the same bearskin.  It was a pleasure to Roger Stanley to ask Miss Walden to keep him company.

“They have decided, Mr. Walden, that we shall sit together,” Miss Newville said as she stepped into the pung.

“I shall regard it an honor to have your company,” was the reply.

When all were ready, the horses set the sleigh-bells jingling.  Farmers plodding home from the market gave them the road, and smiled as they listened to the merry laughter.  They went at a brisk trot over the Neck leading to Roxbury, and turned to the left, taking the Dorchester road.  At times the horses came to a walk, but at a chirrup from Robert quickened their pace, the colt throwing snowballs into Miss Newville’s face.

“You must excuse him, Miss Newville; he is young, and has not learned to be polite,” Robert said, apologizing for the animal.

They gained the highlands of Dorchester, from whence they could overlook the harbor and its islands, and see the lighthouse rising from its rocky foundation, with the white surf breaking around it.  A ship which had left Charles River with the ebbing tide had reached Nantasket Roads, and was spreading its sails for a voyage across the sea.

“So the Berinthia will soon be sailing,” said Miss Newville, “and we shall all want to keep track of her; and whenever we read of her coming and going we shall all recall this delightful day, made so enjoyable for us this morning by Berinthia and so charming this afternoon by your kindness.”

She turned her face towards Robert.  The afternoon sun was illumining her countenance.  He had seen in Mr. Henchman’s bookstall a beautiful picture of a Madonna.  Mr. Knox told him it was a steel engraving from a picture painted by the great artist Raphael, and Robert wondered if the countenance was any more lovely than that which looked up to him at the moment.

They were riding towards the Milton Hills.  The woodman’s axe had left untouched the oaks, elms, maples, and birches; they were leafless in midwinter, but the pines and hemlocks were green and beautiful upon its rocky sides.  The purple sky, changing into gold along the western horizon, the white robe of winter upon hill and dale, the windows of farmhouses reflecting the setting sun, made the view and landscape of marvelous beauty.  Descending the hill, they came to the winding Neponset River, and rode along its banks beneath overhanging elms.  The bending limbs, though leafless, were beautiful in their outlines against the sky.  Turning westward, they reached the great road leading from Boston to Providence.

“We might go to Dedham, but I think we had better turn back towards Roxbury, let the horses rest a bit at the Greyhound Tavern, and have supper," said Tom, who was well acquainted with the road.

The sun had gone down when they whirled up to the tavern, whose swinging sign was ornamented with a rude picture of a greyhound.  A bright fire was blazing in the parlor.  They laid aside their outer garments and warmed themselves by its ruddy glow.  The keen, fresh air had sharpened their appetites for supper.  Chloe and Samson, cook and table-waiter, served them with beefsteak hot from the gridiron, swimming in butter; potatoes roasted in the ashes; shortcake steaming hot from the Dutch oven.

“Shall I brew Bohea, Hyson, or Hyperion tea,” the landlady asked, beginning with Miss Newville and glancing at each in turn.

“I will take Hyperion,” Miss Newville replied, with a tact and grace that made her dearer than ever to Berinthia, and to them all, knowing as they did that Bohea and Hyson were still served in her own home.

Supper over, they returned to the parlor, where the bright flame on the hearth was setting their shadows to dancing on the walls.  The feet of Mary Shrimpton were keeping time to the ticking of the clock.

“Why can’t we have a dance?” she asked.

“Why not?” all responded.

“I’ll see if we can find Uncle Brutus,” said Tom.

Uncle Brutus was the white-haired old negro who did chores about the tavern.

“Yes, massa, I can play a jig, quickstep, minuet, and reel.  De ladies and genmen say I can play de fiddle right smart,” Brutus responded, rolling his eyes and showing his well-preserved white teeth.

“If de ladies and genmen will wait a little till old Brutus can make himself ’spectable, he’ll make de fiddle sing.”

While the old negro was getting ready to entertain them with his violin, they proposed conundrums and riddles and narrated stories.

There came at length a gentle rap on the door, and Brutus, with high standing collar, wearing a cast-off coat given him by his master, his round-bowed spectacles on the tip of his nose, entered the room, bowing very low.  He took his stand in one corner and tuned his violin.  The chairs and light-stand were removed to the hall.

“De ladies and genmen will please choose pardners for de minuet,” said Brutus.

The choosing had been already done; the partners were as they had been.  After the minuet came the reel and quickstep, danced with grace and due decorum.

The hour quickly flew.  The horses had finished their provender and were rested.  Once more they were on the road, not riding directly homeward, but turning into cross-roads to Jamaica Pond, where the boys were gliding over the gleaming ice on their skates.  They had kindled fires which lighted up the surrounding objects, the dark foliage of pines and hemlocks, and the branches of the leafless elms and maples growing on the banks of the pond.

The full moon was shining in their faces as they rode homeward.  The evening air was crisp, but the hot supper and the merry dance had warmed their blood.  The jingling of the sleigh-bells and their joyous laughter made the air resonant with music.

At times the horses lagged to a walk, and Robert could let the reins lie loose and turn his face toward Miss Newville.  Her eyes at times looked up to his.  He could feel her arm against his own.  The violet hood leaned towards him as if to find a resting-place.  To Robert Walden and to Ruth Newville alike never had there been such a night, so full of beauty, so delightful.

The horses came to a standstill at last by the entrance to the Newville mansion.

“This has been the most enjoyable day of my life,” Miss Newville said, as Robert gave her his hand to assist her from the pung.

“Good-night, all.  Thank you, Mr. Walden, for all your kindness,” her parting words.