Page 67 of The Salamander

Jon lowered the glass. “Aye. That’s the Golden Eagle. She thinks she’s the hawk, and we’re the pigeon. We’ll see.”

As the sky darkened, he ordered lanterns doused and the Pickering’s sails trimmed just enough to feign weariness. From the enemy’s deck, the Pickering would appear a fat merchantman, ripe for the taking. When the Golden Eagle bore close, Jon snapped his order. “Wear ship. Bring us under her bow—now!”

The Pickering swung sudden as a cat on the prowl, canvas cracking in the night wind. In the moon’s pale wash, she loomed broadside on, gunports yawning wide. Jon raised his speaking trumpet, his voice carrying like iron across the water. “Surrender or be sunk!”

A hush seemed to fall between the ships, the sea itself holding its breath. The Golden Eagle, expecting an easy prize, had not reckoned on such sudden menace. And, in the dark, her master did not know the real size of the Pickering. He peered through the gloom at the Pickering’s bristling guns, her bold posture. He faltered. Moments later, her colors came down.

A roar of triumph burst from the Pickering’s men. Bobby Grover, powder-stained from the earlier skirmish, danced on the deck. “We’ve got her, Captain! We’ve taken her without a shot!”

Jon stayed composed. “Thorndike, take men over. Secure her decks. Lieutenant Carnes will command her as prize.”

Thorndike, already gathering men, beckoned Lieutenant Carnes. “Take charge, Mr. Carnes, and see her safe into Bilbao.”

Bobby edged forward, cap clutched in his hands. His eyes shone with a mix of nerves and excitement. “Captain, sir, might I go with Mr. Carnes? Just this once? It’s a short run to Bilbao, and Joshua Trask can serve you in my stead while I’m on the Eagle. He’s near as quick as I am.”

Jon studied the boy, reading both his eagerness and his pride. To serve on a prize crew was no small honor for a cabin boy. “You’re certain of it, Bobby?”

“Aye, sir,” he said, his voice firm despite the flush in his cheeks. “I’d like to say I helped bring her in.”

Jon’s gaze flicked to Thorndike, who gave a slight shrug, then back to the boy. After a pause, he nodded. “Very well. Go, and mind Lieutenant Carnes. But remember, you carry the Pickering’s honor with you.”

Bobby’s grin broke wide as he dashed to join the boat, calling over his shoulder, “Aye, Captain!”

When the British captain, Robert Scott, was brought aboard the Pickering under guard, his face was thunderous. He had submitted to a phantom armament, and the truth of his folly stood plain for him to see. The Pickering was smaller, lower, and not half so fierce as she’d seemed in the shadows.

“You tricked me,” he spat, his voice thick with humiliation. “By God, I thought you a ship of the line!”

Jon met his fury with calm. “A captain takes his chances at sea, sir. Tonight, chance was mine. If it’s any consolation, I will allow you your freedom on parole for return to London, so long as you give your word not to fight again until exchanged for an American.”

Scott’s face flushed a deeper red, the muscle in his jaw jumping. For a moment he seemed about to lash out again. But the weight of defeat and the offer of parole left him caught between pride and gratitude. His voice came low and bitter. “You shame me twice, sir, once with your trick, and again with your courtesy. I’ll give my word, though it galls me.”

Thorndike returned from the Golden Eagle, reporting briskly. “Her stores are sound, sir, her guns heavier than ours. She makes a fine prize.”

Jon gave a single nod. “Then we set course for Bilbao. Two ships now, not one.”

The day darkened early, low clouds scudding in from the Atlantic, a heavy stillness before the night. The Pickering and her prize pressed south toward Bilbao and the Spanish coast, a shadow on the horizon.

Near dusk the lookout’s hail split the wind. “Sail astern! Large, and gaining fast!”

Jon raised his night glass. Out of the gray loomed a vast hull, rig crowded with canvas, her deck overflowing with guns. Even before Thorndike spoke, Jon knew her. “God help us. That’s the Achilles.”

A murmur spread across the deck as men caught sight of her towering spars, the largest lugger ever fitted. Though a privateer, she looked more like a ship of war. Jon’s jaw tightened. Forty-odd cannon against his sixteen, and ten of his best men, including Bobby, were away on the Eagle.

“Steady,” Jon called, his voice level, though his stomach turned like the sea. “She’ll show her hand soon enough.”

They did not have long to wait. The Achilles bore straight for the Pickering’s prize, her bow wave foaming white. Jon stood helpless at the rail, watching as the giant lugger closed on the Golden Eagle. The Stars and Stripes snapped in defiance above the deck, and a few shots rang out. But the Achilles came swarming, red coats spilling over the rail. In minutes, the American colors were hauled down, the British flag up in their place.

Beside him, Thorndike swore under his breath. “They’ve taken her back and with our own men aboard.”

Jon lowered the glass. His throat tightened. Bobby was there, quick, eager Bobby, who had begged to serve on the Eagle. The boy’s grin, so bright with pride, flashed in his mind, and now he was in enemy hands. The sight cut deep: his prize gone, his men taken, his cabin boy snatched from him. He felt every eye on him, waiting for orders he could not give. To rush the Achilles now was madness. The sugar in his hold, Salem’s fortune, weighed like a stone in his chest.

He clenched his jaw, his voice carrying across the deck. “We’ll not waste men in the dark. She has the Eagle tonight, but come the morning, she’ll reckon with the Pickering. Mark me, we’ll stand and fight.”

“Aye, Captain,” came the reply from the main deck.

A heavy overcast draped the bay as the sun slid down. The Achilles held her distance, looming like a predator biding its hour. Jon turned the deck over to Thorndike and went below.

In his cabin the lantern swung with the swell, casting long shadows over his table. Jon shed his coat and sat, opening his Bible, the pages worn from salt and handling. His eyes fell on Galatians: “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free.”