Page 52 of The Salamander

Williams took a drink of his coffee, and set down his cup. “It would give her presence. A ship-rigged Pickering would be spoken of not only in Salem, but in every port in Europe. That alone is worth the expense.”

Jon’s gaze swept the three men. “Gentlemen, this is not just for Salem’s merchants, though you will see your profits. Every British ship we seize starves their army and feeds ours. Last winter, Washington’s men froze at Valley Forge. This winter, their lot is somewhat improved in New Jersey, but shortages of food, clothing, and gunpowder remain. The Continental Navy is too small to do all America needs done. But we privateers can deliver. Ship-rigged, with the skilled crew she carries, the Pickering will be feared wherever she sails.”

Derby tapped his cane against the floor, thinking. At last, he gave a short nod. “Very well. You have convinced us. We’ll see her altered. But make the cost worth it, Captain. Every pound we spend must come back in prizes.”

Jon inclined his head. “You have my word, gentlemen. The Pickering will earn her keep.”

Haraden house, Salem

WHEN JON RETURNED to Charter Street that evening, his daughters scrambled to meet him, Hannah with her eager questions and news of her day and Polly climbing into his lap, her small voice saying, “Papa.”

Mrs. Mason looked up from her sewing where she sat by the fire, her brown eyes shining as she listened to him speak of the merchants’ agreement.

“They have agreed to rig her as a ship,” Jon told her, pride warming his voice. “Three masts, square-rigged. She will look every inch the hunter she is.”

“I’m so glad you prevailed upon them,” said the governess.

Thorndike, who had walked back with him, bent to stir the fire. “And Salem folks will stare at her as though she were a frigate. A ship for a captain of your renown, sir.” His glance shifted toward the governess, and his smile softened. “Would you not like to see her, Mrs. Mason, when her new mast is stepped?”

She returned the smile politely, smoothing Hannah’s hair where the child leaned against her. “If Captain Haraden permits, Hannah and I would both like to see her.”

“Oh, yes, Papa! I want to see your ship’s new mast.”

Jon caught the exchange between his first officer and the governess, a flicker of something stirring in him, pride in her interest, and a trace of possessiveness at Thorndike’s easy gallantry.

At that moment, Martha came in from the kitchen with a tray of bread and cheese. She set it down with a thump. “So, the merchants will part with their coin after all? About time. A fine ship needs feedin’ same as a family. ’Tis good you include the lieutenant in our suppers, Captain, so I can see if he eats as heartily as he talks.”

Thorndike laughed, bowing slightly in her direction. “I’m honored, Ma’am. You are an excellent cook.”

Jon hid a smile. Martha’s tongue could be sharp, but in her way, she had welcomed his officer into the household.

Salem Waterfront & Derby Wharf, May 1779

THE SPRING AIR smelled of tar and salt, mingled with the sharp bite of oak being sawn for spars. The Pickering stood high in her berth, scaffolding up around her as shipwrights swarmed the deck. The new third mast had just been stepped, its fresh timbers pale against the weathered hull, riggers perched like gulls along the yards. Salem folks lined the wharf, pointing and whispering that Haraden’s brig had become a ship.

Thorndike leaned close as Jon inspected the work. “She’s becoming all you promised, sir. With your leave, I should go to Beverly for a few days. My father has business that needs me. I’ll be back before the drills begin.”

Jon clasped his shoulder. “Go then, Israel. The ship will wait, but she won’t drill herself. Be back in time to teach the new hands their work. We should be at sea by sometime in September.”

Meanwhile, Jon was restless with much to do. There were carpenters and gunners still to be hired, as well as additional seamen. The posters had just gone up around Salem seeking new recruits, and his lieutenants Carnes and Cowan were meeting men at the taverns. But Jon would make the final choices himself. In the midst of this, Jon found time for his family.

A day later, he proposed a walk to the harbor with Hannah and her governess. His eldest daughter clapped her hands in delight. Polly would stay home, but he promised her a trip to see the ship when the work was done. Together the three of them walked down Charter Street toward the wharves, Hannah skipping ahead.

On the wharf, the crew working alongside the shipwrights waved at him. “Good day, Captain! She’s coming along.”

Turning to his companions, Jon said, “I would take you both aboard but, as you can see, the deck’s a bit messy just now. When the work is finished, you can come back to see her from the deck.”

Even the wharf was cluttered with boards and supplies. The governess’ skirts brushed a stack of lumber as she attempted to navigate her way. Jon steadied her arm past coils of rope and casks being rolled aboard. She stood beside him, watching his ship grow into its new form, as much a part of his world as any of his officers.

“The changes suit her,” she said softly, her gaze following the new mast. “She looks stronger, as though she has grown with you, Captain. The two of you seem well matched.”

Jon’s throat tightened, though he only said, “She’ll be ready for the wider seas by summer’s end.”

“What flag will she fly?” Mrs. Mason asked, glancing toward the stern.

“The Stars and Stripes when it suits. But a captain must sometimes borrow another flag—a ruse of war, nothing more.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, a smile coming to her lovely face. “I had forgotten that sometimes it is necessary to sail in disguise.”

Hannah stood wide-eyed next to the gangplank watching as a sail was hoisted. “Papa, will she ever be finished?”

Jon and the governess shared a laugh. “Yes, but not as soon as I might like.”