Page 78 of The Salamander

The man’s relief was clear on his face. “I thank God for you, Captain Haraden. You are an answer to our prayers.”

At once, Jon ordered Thorndike to send men over and see all he had promised accomplished. “Gladly, sir,” said Thorndike.

Back on deck, Jon watched with the schooner’s captain as provisions and instruments were rowed to his ship and his rigging came back to life. Kendrick’s eyes brimmed as he clasped Jon’s hand. “You’ve given me back my life, Captain.”

Jon’s reply was curt but kind. “You’ll reach your home port safe. I will go in search of the British miscreant who did this thing and I welcome you to accompany me. With Providence guiding us, the British ship will soon face Yankee justice.”

“I will gladly go with you,” said Kendrick.

The next day fortune favored them, as the Pickering fell in with the very letter of marque that had robbed the Yankee trader. Under threat of burning his ship to the water, the British captain struck his colors.

Jon dressed himself in his best and, to add dignity to the occasion, summoned the arrogant, erring British captain to his cabin where Thorndike and Captain Kendrick waited. With his hands clasped behind his back, Jon told the man coldly, “You have dishonored your profession.”

The British captain, who Jon judged to be of an age with him, blustered, attempting to defend his actions. “This is war!”

“Even in war, there is honor,” replied Jon. “A sailor does not rob a brother sailor of the means to live. And, for doing so, you will face American justice. On behalf of the Marianne, my men will take their reprisal, as is their right. They will leave you afloat, but marked with shame enough to remind you what honor demands of a sailor.”

Turning to Thorndike, he said, “Whatever pleases their fancy,” said Jon, his eyes never leaving the British captain, “see it done, including kicking and cuffing the offending seamen the length of their deck.”

Thorndike smiled. “Aye, Captain. The men will be glad of it.”

Jon added, “Tell them to take what you deem fit, but leave her hull afloat. She’s not worth sinking.”

Thorndike shook his head, grinning. “A hard hand in battle, a steady hand in justice. There’s the measure of you, Captain. The Salamander in action.”

The British captain stared at Jon. “The Salamander? The one who stood against the Achilles at Bilbao?”

“The very same,” said Thorndike, a gleam in his eyes.

Jon said nothing, only held the British man’s gaze. In his heart he knew that honor was the only ballast to keep a sailor steady in war, and he would carry that weight so long as the sea called him.

When at last the Marianne stood ready, Kendrick clasped Jon’s hand once more. “You’ve given me back my ship, my honor, and my hope.”

Jon’s reply was simple. “Then take them home, Captain. And remember, a Yankee never sails alone.”

Leeward Islands, the Caribbean, January 1781

THE SEAS JUST north of the Leeward Islands heaved under a blazing sun, spray flying as the Pickering closed the distance to a king’s mail packet, stout-hulled and homeward bound from the Indies. The two ships squared off, and the contest began in earnest.

For four hours they battered each other, broadside for broadside. Thunder rolled across the water, smoke boiled skyward, and the air reeked of brimstone and salt. The Pickering’s rigging was torn in half in a dozen places, braces shot away, her decks littered with splinters and shattered blocks. Men staggered under the recoil of the guns, sweat streaming down their powder-blackened faces.

Bobby clung to the mizzen shrouds on the quarterdeck, eyes wide at the carnage. “Captain, sir, shall I fetch water for the men?”

“Stand fast, Lad,” Jon said sharply, though his tone softened after. “This is no place for you.” He nodded to Thorndike. “See him below. The surgeon may find use for his hands.”

“Aye, Captain,” Thorndike said, waving the boy toward the companionway.

At last, Jon gave the order to sheer off, his eyes stinging from smoke.

Thorndike frowned. “Sir?”

Jon strode the quarterdeck, calm despite the chaos. “Only a pause. Make fast repairs! Double-shot the guns. This ends today.”

Thorndike’s voice cracked like a whip. “Boarders, stand ready! Topmen, patch those braces!”

Catching the drift of their captain’s intention, the men fell to it with a will. Canvas was hastily stitched, jury braces spliced, the decks cleared. Within the hour the Pickering came about once more, her scars showing but her spirit undimmed.

Jon cupped his hands and bellowed across the narrow gap between the Pickering and the mail packet, his voice carrying clear above the groaning timbers, “You have five minutes to strike your colors, or I’ll send you to the bottom!”