Page 20 of The Salamander

“We fight not to enslave, but to set a country free, and to make room upon the earth for honest men to live in.”

– Thomas Paine 1777

CHAPTER 5

Becket’s Yard, Salem, late October 1776

THE AUTUMN WIND off the harbor carried the smell of salt as Jon strode the length of Becket’s Yard. Autumn leaves skittered orange and gold across the ground. All around him, shipwrights called to one another, their mallets thudding, saws rasping, the rhythm of labor woven with the creak of timbers.

Before him, the Tyrannicide stood proud in her berth, her new rig rising against the October sky. What had once been a swift sloop now bristled with the taller masts of a brigantine, her rigging taut, sails neatly furled. She looked like a creature transformed, lean and purposeful, waiting only for the sea.

Captain Fisk approached, wiping pitch from his hands with a rag. “She’ll run steadier now,” he said with a nod toward the ship. “More sail to set in fair weather, and better balance when the winds turn foul. She’ll hold her course, none of that constant coaxing at the helm to keep her steady.”

Jon studied her a long moment, pride stirring. “A fine change, Captain.” And then with a grin, he added, “I don’t suppose my cabin has somehow grown larger in the process.”

Fisk’s mouth twitched in the barest ghost of a smile. “Cabin’s as snug as ever, Lieutenant. But she’ll serve you well enough.”

Jon chuckled, the sound more frequent of late. “A brigantine it is, then, with the same officer cabins, but with more canvas, more fight. Let the redcoats beware.”

Fisk reached in his coat and drew out a folded broadside, the Essex Gazette, its creases worn and ink blurred. “Speaking of redcoats, have you seen this news just in from New York?” He handed Jon the paper. “Washington’s been driven from the Heights. Fort Washington’s lost with men deserting. Yet he still keeps them marching.”

Jon scanned the sheet, the clamor of the yard dulling as he read. His jaw set hard. “Then we’ll play our part at sea. If the land war falters, with God leading us the sea will answer.”

“We’re needed more now, since most of General Benedict Arnold’s fleet was captured or destroyed by General Carleton at Valcour Bay between the New York mainland and Valcour Island.”

Jon shook his head at the additional news. “So, we are losing both on land and on water.” Yet even so, the sight of the Tyrannicide, re-rigged and ready, lent him a surge of resolve.

In a week’s time, she would put out to sea, bound for the West Indies. The thought steadied Jon. Yet it also caused him a pang of regret, for it meant leaving his daughters behind, and for how long he could not say.

Haraden house, Salem, late October 1776

CANDLELIGHT GLOWED WARM against the cream-colored walls as the household gathered for supper, and Mr. Haraden prayed over the meal. Eunice admired his faith and shared his desire for his daughters to grow to be women of God.

The prayer ended, and Eunice breathed in the fragrance of stew thick with turnips and carrots, and the fresh-baked loaf Martha set down with a flourish. Polly, in her high chair, banged a wooden spoon against the tray, laughing with delight as if she ruled the table.

“She’s a year old now and a clever child,” Martha declared, spooning a bit of gruel into a small bowl. “She takes to her porridge like a sailor to rum.”

Hannah giggled, reaching to help feed her sister, her hair ribbon slipping to her shoulder. Martha quickly shooed her hand away. “Mind your ribbon, Child, or it’ll end up in the gruel.”

Hannah sat back, smoothing the blue ribbon back into place with exaggerated care. “I only wanted to help.”

“Martha,” said Eunice, “I think it’s fine if Hannah helps Polly. It is what her mother would have wanted, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, very well,” said Martha.

Hannah smiled at Eunice. They were beginning to form a bond, one Eunice hoped would heal a hurting child.

Mr. Haraden’s gaze was fixed on his two daughters, their golden heads so alike. “You are correct, Mrs. Mason. Their mother would have approved. She told Hannah to care for her sister and she is doing so.” Then turning to Hannah, he said, “You are helping, sweetheart. Polly will always know her sister is watching over her.”

Eunice glanced across the table, her gaze approving as Hannah resumed helping to feed Polly. “The girls thrive, Mr. Haraden,” she said softly. “That’s no small blessing.”

As Martha set the rest of the bowls on the table, Silas limped in from the harbor, his coat still smelling of the wharves, his expression grave. He leaned his hands on a chair back and said, “News is grim. General Washington’s men are in retreat. Some say the cause is near lost.”

A silence fell over the table. Hannah’s hand crept to her locket as if to shield her heart.

“Lost, is it?” said Martha. “Well, someone best tell the redcoats, because they don’t seem to know they’ve won. And I’ll not waste good flour bakin’ bread for quitters.”

Jon set his spoon down. “The cause isn’t lost. General Washington has taken losses to be sure, but he will find his ground again, and we’ll do our part at sea.”