Page 77 of The Salamander

Silas puffed once, slow and thoughtful. “Captain, this is the bravest course you’ve set yet. And the right one. Congratulations.”

Eunice blushed. Jon took one of her hands in his own, meeting the gaze of the old seaman.

“It gladdens me to have your blessing,” he said.

“You’ve had it all along,” Silas replied gruffly. “We were just waitin’ for you to find your tongue.”

Martha chuckled, rising to stir the fire. “Now sit yourselves down and take a cup. There’s a weddin’ to think of, even if we must wait until the sea gives the captain back to us again.”

Jon glanced at Eunice, her smile lit by the firelight, and thought there was no sea storm fierce enough to drive him from this course now.

Salem, 10 November 1780

THE HARADEN HOUSE stood quiet in the gray dawn, frost silvering the windows, as Jon watched Silas loading Jon’s sea chest on the cart. Soon after, they set off for the Derby Wharf, Mrs. Mason and the girls accompanying them.

Once there, his men relieved Silas of the chest, and Jon turned to his daughters, their sad faces lifted to him. He kissed Hannah and Polly, then bent to whisper in their ears, promises of something from the Indies and of his safe return.

Eunice Mason stood a pace apart, her hands folded in front of her. When at last he came to her, he held her gaze as though to fix it in his memory. He touched her hands briefly, all he dared with many watching, and said low, “Keep me in your prayers and may the Good Lord bring me back to you, my bride to be.”

She smiled then. “I will be waiting, Captain.”

“Godspeed, sir,” said Silas with a salute.

Around Jon, the air was sharp with cold. Merchants and seamen bustled about the Pickering, canvas straining as the ship readied for sea. Jon waved to his family and Silas, then strode aboard and took his place on the quarterdeck with Lieutenant Thorndike. He saluted Derby and Williams who had come to see him and the ship off.

Bobby hurried up with a steaming cup. “All is ready in your cabin, sir.”

“Thank you, Lad.”

The wind freshened, snapping the rigging. Jon looked aloft, the call of the open sea stirring in his chest. “West Indies, Mr. Thorndike.”

“Aye, Captain,” Thorndike turned to the deck and lifted his voice. “Hands to the capstan! Heave away! Loose the topsails aloft!”

The deep thrum of voices rose in chorus as the men bent to the capstan bars. Wood groaned, iron clinked, yards rose, and sails unfurled with a crack swelling white against the pale sky. Lines were cast off, and the Pickering eased into the channel.

From the wharf rose a cheer, wives and sweethearts waving. Hannah’s and Polly’s small hands fluttered like birds. Eunice Mason drew her dark green cloak close, her hand lifted, her face turned to him. That single glimpse would have to sustain him through the long months ahead.

The harbor bells tolled farewell as the ship slid seaward, carrying him once more into war.

Two weeks later, as they sailed south, the Pickering fell in with a humble Yankee trading schooner that had been to the West Indies with lumber and was sailing home with the beggarly proceeds of the voyage. As the schooner approached, her captain signaled Jon and put out a boat to come to the ship.

“Whatever he wants,” said Thorndike, “he’s one of our own.”

“Aye, he is,” said Thorndike, “and given the poor state of his schooner, her rigging in tatters and her sails ripped, we will do all we can to help him.”

The schooner’s captain came aboard, hollow-eyed and his clothing bedraggled. Bowing his head to Jon, he introduced himself. “Captain Kendrick of the schooner Marianne out of Harwich, Massachusetts on Cape Cod. I’m in desperate need of your help, sir.”

Jon offered his hand. “I am Captain Jonathan Haraden of Salem, and this is my First Lieutenant, Israel Thorndike. What happened?”

“There is much to tell,” said Kendrick.

“Come,” said Jon, “let us retire to my cabin where you can tell us what plight you have suffered.” Turning to his Second Lieutenant, Jon said, “Lieutenant Carnes, you have the deck.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Carnes before ascending to the quarterdeck.

Once seated at Jon’s table, Bobby offered Kendrick a cup of steaming coffee, which he gratefully accepted. At first, his words were halting, and then they rushed out like a fountain. “We were overhauled by a British letter of marque schooner, and ill-equipped to resist her many guns. They boarded us and robbed me of my quadrant and compass and our provisions, then stripped the Marianne of much of her rigging. With a curse and a kick from her captain, they left us to drift and starve.”

Jon’s jaw tightened as he shared a look of disdain with Thorndike whose face bore a scowl. “To treat a sailor so,” said Jon, “’tis piracy, not war. Worry not, Captain. You have fallen in with honorable Patriots. We will see your schooner re-rigged, your cabin and forecastle provisioned, and I will personally loan you instruments with which to work your passage home.”