Page 65 of The Salamander

On the planks, clerks with tally books checked off kegs of powder, casks of beef, and bundles of canvas as they were swung aboard. Barrels of shot clinked as they rolled, muskets in their racks clattered on sailors’ shoulders, and a stack of boarding pikes gleamed like a hedge of iron. Sailors tramped past with sea chests and their own pistols and cutlasses belted on, voices raised in rough shanties that mingled with the creak of tackle and the slap of waves against the piles.

Jon stood with Thorndike at the foot of the gangway beside Elias Derby and George Williams. He and his first officer wore their officers’ dress, dark blue coats with brass buttons, buff breeches, and buckled shoes, their hair queued beneath cocked hats. The two merchants were sober in brown, their white stockings neat.

“As you see, gentlemen, the Pickering carries a full load,” Jon said, a smile coming to his lips. “Your sugar.”

“Your ship is both sword and plowshare, Captain,” Derby replied, his cane tapping the planks. “I’ve every confidence you will see she serves us well.”

Williams clapped Jon’s shoulder with quiet warmth. “And see she brings you home again. Salem has had glory enough from your last cruise, but your daughters will settle for nothing less than your safe return.”

Jon inclined his head gravely. “If that is to be, gentlemen, then I ask your prayers.”

Down the wharf, Martha stood with Silas and the girls, Hannah’s hand clasped tight in her governess’, Polly bouncing in Mrs. Mason’s other hand. Hannah waved furiously, calling, “Papa!” Polly echoed her in a piping voice.

Jon excused himself and strode to them, kneeling to gather both daughters into his arms. “Mind your letters, Polly,” he said gently, “and you, Hannah, keep to your sewing and your cooking.” His smile masked the ache beneath. His daughters did not ask when he might return. Raised in a ship captain’s house, they knew he could not promise a date. He could not even promise he would return at all.

Jon kissed each girl, then rose. Martha tugged her shawl close. “Don’t forget, Captain, thanks to your provision, there’s food enough in the pantry for when you return, and mind, the girls will want you at the table again.”

Silas raised his hat, his weathered face steady. “The Lord guard you, Captain. We’ll keep the hearth warm and your family safe till you’re home again.”

Jon’s throat tightened. He looked to Mrs. Mason then, her eyes warm as she held fast to his daughters. In that moment he knew she was very much a part of his family now. For an instant, the noise of the wharf dimmed.

As Jon rose, a tug at his sleeve made him turn. Bobby Grover stood there, cap in hand, his brown locks blowing in the wind, his grin wide. “Captain, all’s ready in your cabin, your sea chest’s stowed and your logbook set out. I’m ready to serve you again, running every errand quick as a shot.”

Jon ruffled the boy’s hair, pride in his tone. “You’ve already proved yourself, Bobby. Stand fast, and you’ll do more than errands before long. While you’re here, meet my daughters. Turning to his girls he said, “Hannah will be twelve this year—your age—and Polly will be five.”

Bobby doffed his hat to Hannah and smiled at Polly, who looked up at the boy in wonder.

From the Pickering’s deck came Thorndike’s sharp call: “Hands aboard! Loose the lines!”

The gangway thudded as men hurried up, Bobby among them, quick as a sprite. Jon lingered only a moment longer, lifting his hat to Mrs. Mason, the girls, and to Martha and Silas, then he followed.

Lines were cast off, sails sheeted home with a snap of canvas, and slowly, heavily, the Pickering eased from the wharf. The crowd that had come to see them off raised a cheer, hats waving, voices carrying across the water.

Jon took his place on the quarterdeck, the familiar roll beneath his boots, and watched Salem’s rooftops fall astern. The cheer of the crowd faded, gulls shrieked above and the sharpness of tar gave way to the clean salt of open sea. Home, hearth, and harbor slipped away. Ahead lay the wide Atlantic and whatever trials God set before them.