Page 71 of The Salamander

“It is not in the still calm of life that great characters are formed. The habits of a vigorous mind are formed in contending with difficulties. Great necessities call out great virtues.”

– Abigail Adams 1780

CHAPTER 17

The Haraden house, Salem, late August 1780

THE SOUND OF children’s voices drifted through the open window with the slight breeze. Hannah and Polly were in the garden with Martha, “helping”, or so they said. Eunice sat in the parlor, using the afternoon light to finish her mending, though her thoughts were far out at sea. Every knock at the door quickened her pulse. Where was Captain Haraden now? The question was not without significance. Something had happened between them when he was last at home and her heart was now tethered to his.

The front door opened and Silas Turner stamped dust from his boots as he stepped inside, his face alight with the look of a man bearing tidings. He wore no jacket, the day too hot for that. From his waistcoat he drew a folded newspaper and held it up.

“Letters from Spain have reached Boston,” he said, his voice brimming. “The Independent Chronicle carried the report. Best you hear it here, ‘fore the streets are bawlin’ it loud enough for the gulls to carry across the harbor.”

From the back of the house came Martha’s firm voice: “Girls, take your shoes off in the kitchen, mind you! Then come along.”

A moment later she entered the parlor, wiping her hands on her apron, the girls trailing behind her in their stockings. She gave Silas a pointed look. “What news have you? Is there news of the captain?”

“Not in his own hand, no,” said Silas, “but about him. Shall I read it?”

Martha frowned. “Of course, read it. Don’t dawdle, Silas!”

“It’s about Papa, isn’t it?” asked Hannah, who had been standing in the doorway with Polly.

“It is, Child,” said Martha.

Silas unfolded the sheet and smoothed it against his knee, as his voice took on the careful cadence of printed words. “‘By letters just received from Spain, we are informed that Captain Jonathan Haraden in the ship Pickering, of sixteen six-pounders and forty-eight men and boys, on his passage from Salem to Bilbao fell in with a British cruiser… and after engagin’ her for five glasses obliged her to sheer off, the Pickering sufferin’ great damages.’”

Eunice’s mind focused on the word “damages” as she beckoned the restless Polly to her. Pulling the child into her lap, she whispered, “Let’s listen.”

Silas read on, the tale unfolding of a prize taken, the Golden Eagle. “The Pickering was makin’ the best of her way into Bilboa with the prize when she was pursued by a very large lugger.”

Eunice’s heart stopped.

Martha gasped softly. “Oh, Lord preserve them.”

“What’s a lugger?” asked Hannah. Eunice had gone over the ships they frequently saw in Salem’s harbor but this was a new term for Hannah.

“That name refers to the sail configuration,” said Silas. Looking back at the paper, he added, “This wasn’t just any lugger. ’Twas the Achilles, the largest ever fitted out from Britain, havin’ forty-three guns and one hundred and thirty men. She re-captured the Eagle from Captain Haraden.”

“What happened then?” asked Martha, her voice impatient.

Eunice held her breath.

Silas’ voice carried on, “A most violent contest ensued and continued for nearly three hours. The lugger, larger and stout as she was, should have won the fight, but the Pickering won and the Achilles was glad to leave them.” Silas stopped and smiled. “He sent the brute runnin’!”

“And?” asked Martha.

Silas looked down at the paper. “The Pickering pursued the prize and took her again, in sight of their vanquished enemy, and the two sailed into Bilboa.”

The room was still when he finished, the only sound the ticking of the mantel clock.

Eunice set Polly down and rose, crossing to the window. A tear slipped down her cheek as she gazed out toward the harbor beyond the rooftops. Her heart beat with mingled pride and fear. “He has looked into the very jaws of death,” she murmured, more to herself than to the others. “And yet God preserves him.” Turning to the others, she said, “Our prayers are answered. He lives and triumphs.”

Martha wiped her eyes, her voice trembling. “The Lord surely holds him in His hand.”

Hannah’s voice piped high and clear. “Papa won! When will he be home?”

Eunice gathered her composure with effort. “It may be some months yet, sweetheart. His ship will be needing repairs and his prize must be sold. But we’ll keep praying.”