Page 48 of The Salamander

When Jon and Israel Thorndike stepped through the door, the room fell to a murmur. Jon heard the whispers on every tongue: the captain who had struck blow after blow at British trade had resigned his commission in disgust with Boston’s Board of War.

George Williams rose and waved him over to a table where he sat with John Fisk and Elias Hasket Derby. Jon crossed the room to join them, Thorndike at his side.

Williams clasped Jon’s hand. “Take a seat, Haraden.” Then he waved the server over. “Two more coffees if you will.” When they were seated, Williams said, “Boston may carp over accounts, Haraden, but Salem knows her own. You’ve brought in more prizes than any brig they’ve yet commissioned. If the Board of War will not keep you, then we will.”

Jon introduced the men to Thorndike. “Israel served as my First Officer and did a fine job. I invited him to Salem for the interim.”

Fisk leaned forward to shake Thorndike’s hand. “Haraden and I sailed together for some while,” he said, smiling. Then to Jon, “Privateering is no easy venture, Haraden. But you have the name and the skill to draw a crew. And the returns—well, with the right ship and the right man, they may be beyond reckoning. We believe you are that man.”

Derby leaned forward, his voice carrying over the murmur of voices and scrape of chairs. “The Board tied you down with quills and complaints. Salem’s merchants will free your hands. Now that France has entered the war on the side of America, we’ve an ally we can count on and many investors are building letter of marque ships for privateering.” He tapped the table for emphasis. “There’s a ship nearly fitted here in Salem, the General Pickering, a two-masted brig, one hundred eighty tons, sixteen guns, and berths for at least fifty men. She’s named for Timothy Pickering. You know him, of course. A Salem man, who sat in the General Court and served at Boston. He now rises fast in the Continental Army. A sound name for a sound ship and one to stir pride in Salem.”

Jon inclined his head. “Aye, I know him. Salem will take pride in a ship that carries his name, a name that will make her feared on the sea.”

“Williams and Fisk will stand bond, along with me,” said Derby. “With your name as commander, she’ll not lack for crew nor for backers.”

The two men Derby named nodded.

From the side, Thorndike spoke up, his voice firm. “And she’ll not lack for officers. It will be my honor to stand by the captain, as I did aboard the Tyrannicide.”

Jon smiled at his former first officer. “As would be my desire, Israel.”

A rumble of assent went around the table. Other shipmasters and merchants who sat nearby raised their cups, men eager to see the Pickering under Jon’s command.

Jon looked from face to face, taking in Williams’ open confidence, Fisk’s careful nod, Derby’s sharp conviction, and Thorndike’s loyalty bright in his eyes. He thought of his officers who had left the Tyrannicide with him, refusing to serve another. The leaders of Salem were offering not only a ship, but a fresh beginning, one he was eager to accept.

He lifted his cup. “Then ’tis settled. If Boston will not have me, Salem shall. We can do more than disrupt British trade, we can carry goods to Europe, bringing profit to you. It has long been my thought to do both. With your bonds and God’s favor, the Pickering will sail: for this town, for liberty, and for every prize we can wrest from the king’s commerce.”

The coffeehouse erupted in cheers, cups raised high. Salem had claimed her captain anew.