Page 39 of The Salamander

“Is the Tyrannicide taken?”

“Speak, sir,” said another, “we’ve heard the worst!”

John lifted a hand for quiet. “Friends,” he said, his voice hoarse but clear, “when last I parted from Captain Haraden, I feared him lost. The British squadron had us both in chase, and when I saw flashes of their guns, I thought him taken.”

A groan rippled through the crowd. Heads bowed, women clutched children tighter. But John’s tone shifted, rising firm above the murmurs.

“Yet before I quitted France, a schooner out of Bilbao brought tidings. Haraden was safe! The Tyrannicide ran the gauntlet, threw her guns and stores overboard to lighten the ship, and so made Bilbao Harbor. He is free and sound, with prizes of his own to boast.”

The wharf erupted, cries of joy, hats flung aloft, neighbors clasping hands in sudden relief. “Alive! Haraden lives!” the call rang, carried into the town.

John’s face eased into a weary smile. “I’ll not tarry. Salem must hear this. Captain Haraden’s children have waited long enough for the truth.”

He stepped into a waiting chaise bound for Salem. The crowd parted with cheers and blessings, following him with their eyes until the road turned inland.

Salem, later that day

EUNICE WAS WITH Hannah in the parlor when the knock came. She rose and opened the door to find John Fisk himself on the step, sunburned and his hair lighter with the sun, but with a spark in his eyes.

“Captain Fisk!” she exclaimed, stepping aside at once. “Come in. Have you news?”

Martha came from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. “I can see from your face what news you carry is not bad.”

Eunice gestured the captain to a chair. “Please sit.”

Hannah stared, wide-eyed, at the familiar seaman. Polly looked up from the hearth rug where she had been playing.

“I’ve come from Marblehead,” Fisk said, lowering himself wearily into the chair, his cocked hat in his hand. “And with news I think you’ll welcome.”

Hannah’s voice burst out before Eunice could hush her. “Is it Papa? Have you seen him?”

“I have not seen him, Child,” Fisk said gently. “But I have word. You may put aside your fears. A schooner out of Spain brought the report to Nantes where I had put in. Captain Haraden made Bilbao safe. He threw his guns and stores overboard to outsail a British squadron, and he’s alive and well.” Then with a chuckle, he added, “Took two prizes since, bold as ever.”

Eunice felt Hannah’s grip tighten on her hand, then loosen in sudden relief. Her own spirit was awash in joy for the news. “He is saved! God be praised, our prayers are answered.”

Martha’s eyes shone as she gave a sharp nod. “Aye, God heard us plain enough.”

Fisk went on, his tone firm. “The Massachusetts is laid up for refit in Marblehead. Captain Haraden, God willing, will follow me home in due time. When he does, he’ll come into Boston, for his brigantine will need more than a patch and a spar. But until then, you may know he lives, and he fights still.”

“You’ll be stayin’ for supper and no questions,” Martha told Captain Fisk as she hurried off to the kitchen. “Wait till Silas hears this!”

In the stillness that followed, Hannah pressed close to Eunice, her eyes bright with hope. Polly clambered to her sister and stood. Eunice, her heart steady for the first time since the fearful news, resolved to write to the Gloucester cousins that very night. They must hear that Captain Haraden lived, and that Salem’s prayers had been answered.

Boston Harbor, 30 August 1777

JOHNNY DEADMAN APPEARED at the cabin door, holding a steaming cup with both hands. “Coffee, Captain. Strong as you like it.”

Jon accepted the mug with a grateful smile, the boy’s eagerness softening the morning’s weight. Outside the stern windows, Boston’s spires had just crept into view, pale against the haze. The Tyrannicide moved stiffly through the anchorage, her sails weathered, her timbers aching for care, but she was home. Fresh cannon gleamed at her ports, gifts of Bilbao, yet the long crossing and endless strain had left her needing more than new guns.

Setting the coffee aside, Jon bent to his writing table, quill scratching across the page:

My dear Mrs. Mason,

By God’s mercy we are safely arrived in Boston this morning. The Tyrannicide is sore spent by our cruising but still afloat, and I long to see Salem again. I thank you for seeing to the welfare of my daughters. Tell Hannah and Polly their father lives and thinks of them each hour. I shall come as soon as the Board of War releases me from my duties here.

Jonathan Haraden.

He sanded and folded the page, sealing it fast. Johnny would carry it ashore to a post rider bound for Salem before the day was out.