Page 59 of The Salamander

From the dining room came a burst of girlish laughter, followed by Martha’s scolding tone as she herded them toward the parlor. “Best move to the hearth fire before you wear Silas out with your chatter.”

Hannah and Polly tumbled in, cheeks flushed, their energy spilling into the room like sunlight through a window.

The captain set down his glass, his gaze softening as he looked at his daughters. “That’s home,” he said softly.

For Eunice, it was more than home. It was the continuation of a beginning.

The London Coffeehouse, Salem, winter 1779

THE LONDON COFFEEHOUSE stood close to the harbor. So, as Jon entered with Thorndike, he expected to see merchants, sailors, and ship captains. He was not disappointed. Every table in the large common room was occupied, the air thick with tobacco smoke and the smell of coffee and rum punch. The scrape of chairs and clatter of tankards blended into a babble of men hungry for news. Steam rose from cups of coffee, mingling with the haze from pipes.

As Jon stepped inside, the noise swelled into cheers. Men rose to clap him on the back, tankards lifted, voices calling his new name. “The Salamander! Here’s the Salamander!”

At his side, Thorndike grinned broadly, brushing snow from his cloak as he clapped Jon’s shoulder. “Aye, cheer him, lads. I stood at his side when three British wolves thought to bring us down, and never once did he flinch. His crew has named him the Salamander, and ’tis a name well earned.”

George Williams waved them over with Fisk and Derby already on their feet. “Captain Haraden,” Derby said, his sharp eyes alight as he offered his hand. “Five prizes in four months, and boldest of all, three at once. All Salem is celebrating.”

Jon shook their hands. “You know Lieutenant Thorndike, of course.”

The men nodded and invited them to sit.

Williams added with a grin, “The ships came in heavy with goods, and the town is already counting the profit.”

“And the bullion,” Derby put in, tapping his cane. The others nodded gravely. “General Washington will be glad to see the gold.”

Jon inclined his head, his voice measured. “Providence favored us, and much credit belongs to the men. They fought like lions.”

Thorndike leaned forward, his tone quieter now, less for the crowd than for Jon. “Aye, I’ll agree with you about Providence. But as for the men, it was your hand at the helm, sir. Courage alone doesn’t win a fight. You made them believe, and that’s what carried them through.”

Jon met his first officer’s gaze briefly, saying nothing, though the corner of his mouth tightened with something near to gratitude.

“Aye,” said Fisk, “and the sea itself will remember. Even John Paul Jones, with his Bonhomme Richard, could ask for no greater.”

At that, the talk shifted to the battle at Flamborough Head, the tale already flying across the Atlantic of John Paul Jones’ courage under fire. “It occurred just after you sailed,” Fisk said. “Jones’ battered ship locked to the Serapis, refusing to strike though his decks were awash in blood.”

“Finally, with both ships in tatters,” said Fisk, his eyes gleaming, “and the Bonhomme Richard about to sink, the British captain yielded.”

“’Twas a good thing,” said Derby. “Jones had to order his crew to move to his prize.”

“Tenacity like that,” declared Williams, “reminds me of the stories going around about you, Haraden. You and Jones are cut from the same cloth.”

Jon said nothing, only let the hot coffee steady him, but he was honored by the comparison. Jones had fought beneath England’s gaze and won great notoriety, but both of them fought for America—and for liberty. “I’ll not claim Jones’ fame, but we share the same sea, the same enemy, and the same duty.”

Fisk leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Yet not all news of the war is so bright. Count d’Estaing failed to recover Savannah. The south remains in the king’s grip.”

“And Washington?” Jon asked.

Williams’ face sobered. “Camped at Morristown. Worse than Valley Forge, they say. Snow deeper than a man’s waist, scarcely food or clothing enough. A third of his men are unfit for duty. While we count our prizes, they freeze.”

The cheer dulled at that truth. For a moment, only the scrape of chairs and the muffled cough of a sailor carried.

Fisk broke the silence. “Washington had his soldiers build a log house city for shelter. The location between New York and Philadelphia provides a good supply of water and wood.”

Williams nodded. “’Tis said he is inoculating the army to combat the threat of smallpox.”

“A wise thing to do,” said Jon.

“There is some brighter news,” said Derby. “Lafayette has returned to France to plead our cause. He promises he will not rest until more ships and soldiers are sent. If his voice carries in Versailles, as we believe it does, France may yet turn the tide.”