other essentials for the voyage.”
Nettleton still looked doubtful. “We are too far removed from Boston for the commandant’s paper to carry much weight. It will require gold, or they will not unlock their stores, you mark my words.”
Nicole was still sitting in the wagon, too far to hear much of the exchange. She could not have said why the man who appeared on deck now caught her attention. His unkempt beard fell almost to his chest, his sailor’s pigtail was untarred and ragged, and his features were roughened, no doubt by sun and salt and hard wear. His clothes hung in tatters on his thin frame, and one ankle was marked by old scars—the signs of a jail rat’s heavy iron fetters. But there was something about the way he stood and stared at her, something about the set of those once-massive shoulders, that drew her from her seat and down the side steps.
“The commandant has given me what gold he could. …” she heard Gordon say. But then he turned to ask her as she moved up the gangplank, “Nicole, what is it?”
“Lady Harrow!” the disheveled figure called.
She halted at the midpoint on the gangplank. Her hand on the railing, she peered at him in disbelief. “Samuel?”
The man’s voice trembled. “I feared I was dreaming.”
The last time they had seen Gordon’s second mate was the day they had left by longboat for the shoreline down from Boston Harbor—the previous summer, when they had set off for the Harrow holdings. “Samuel, it is you, isn’t it?”
Gordon was behind her in an instant. “Samuel, indeed,” he exclaimed.
“Sir, never in all my born days did I ever think to set eyes upon you again,” the man said.
“But what have they done to you?” Nicole asked.
Gordon turned on the officer in charge standing at dockside. The officer instantly said, “It was none of my doing, Captain.”
Samuel spoke up. “He’s right, sir. All about here have treated us fair and square.”
“Then who—?”
“Our very own officers, sir. When they seized the ship, they demoted us all to common sailors. They set all of us before the mast and kept us on punishment watch.”
“For how long?” Gordon’s anger was clear.
“ ’Til the Yanks attacked.” He used his rag of a sleeve to wipe his brow. “It’s been a terrible long winter, sir.” He looked around at his shipmates, many in worse condition than he.
The harbormaster climbed the gangplank to stand alongside Gordon. “They’re some of the finest workers I’ve ever set my eyes on, I’ll give you that.”
“But look at the state of them!”
“We’ve fed them as we could from our supplies, I assure you. They haven’t been here long enough for that to show. But as for clothes—” Nettleton shrugged—“I told you. The army’s paper carries no weight here.”
“He’s right, sir,” Samuel nodded. “We’ve been treated fair. And left to berth here on board like proper jack-tars.”
“Two of these men were injured in the attack,” the officer explained. “They’re in the squadron’s sickbay and coming around well. When these men heard you’d been given the vessel’s commission, they begged to remain on board. Every one of them. Such loyalty is to be commended, sir.”
Gordon asked, “How many are left?”
“All but Williams, sir. He caught a bad chest and went down hard.”
“God rest his soul.” He raised his voice. “You all need to know I’ve changed sides, lads. Carter and the others you see dockside are with me. We’re off on a mission for the Yanks. Any who want to hold to the new course are welcome. Those who prefer shore duty will have your papers and my best wishes to see them off. You men take a moment to talk among yourselves.”
“We don’t need a moment, sir.” Samuel’s words raised the motley group to stand at attention. “We’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond.”
Four days of almost constant effort yielded few supplies. There were two distinct faces shown
Nettleton still looked doubtful. “We are too far removed from Boston for the commandant’s paper to carry much weight. It will require gold, or they will not unlock their stores, you mark my words.”
Nicole was still sitting in the wagon, too far to hear much of the exchange. She could not have said why the man who appeared on deck now caught her attention. His unkempt beard fell almost to his chest, his sailor’s pigtail was untarred and ragged, and his features were roughened, no doubt by sun and salt and hard wear. His clothes hung in tatters on his thin frame, and one ankle was marked by old scars—the signs of a jail rat’s heavy iron fetters. But there was something about the way he stood and stared at her, something about the set of those once-massive shoulders, that drew her from her seat and down the side steps.
“The commandant has given me what gold he could. …” she heard Gordon say. But then he turned to ask her as she moved up the gangplank, “Nicole, what is it?”
“Lady Harrow!” the disheveled figure called.
She halted at the midpoint on the gangplank. Her hand on the railing, she peered at him in disbelief. “Samuel?”
The man’s voice trembled. “I feared I was dreaming.”
The last time they had seen Gordon’s second mate was the day they had left by longboat for the shoreline down from Boston Harbor—the previous summer, when they had set off for the Harrow holdings. “Samuel, it is you, isn’t it?”
Gordon was behind her in an instant. “Samuel, indeed,” he exclaimed.
“Sir, never in all my born days did I ever think to set eyes upon you again,” the man said.
“But what have they done to you?” Nicole asked.
Gordon turned on the officer in charge standing at dockside. The officer instantly said, “It was none of my doing, Captain.”
Samuel spoke up. “He’s right, sir. All about here have treated us fair and square.”
“Then who—?”
“Our very own officers, sir. When they seized the ship, they demoted us all to common sailors. They set all of us before the mast and kept us on punishment watch.”
“For how long?” Gordon’s anger was clear.
“ ’Til the Yanks attacked.” He used his rag of a sleeve to wipe his brow. “It’s been a terrible long winter, sir.” He looked around at his shipmates, many in worse condition than he.
The harbormaster climbed the gangplank to stand alongside Gordon. “They’re some of the finest workers I’ve ever set my eyes on, I’ll give you that.”
“But look at the state of them!”
“We’ve fed them as we could from our supplies, I assure you. They haven’t been here long enough for that to show. But as for clothes—” Nettleton shrugged—“I told you. The army’s paper carries no weight here.”
“He’s right, sir,” Samuel nodded. “We’ve been treated fair. And left to berth here on board like proper jack-tars.”
“Two of these men were injured in the attack,” the officer explained. “They’re in the squadron’s sickbay and coming around well. When these men heard you’d been given the vessel’s commission, they begged to remain on board. Every one of them. Such loyalty is to be commended, sir.”
Gordon asked, “How many are left?”
“All but Williams, sir. He caught a bad chest and went down hard.”
“God rest his soul.” He raised his voice. “You all need to know I’ve changed sides, lads. Carter and the others you see dockside are with me. We’re off on a mission for the Yanks. Any who want to hold to the new course are welcome. Those who prefer shore duty will have your papers and my best wishes to see them off. You men take a moment to talk among yourselves.”
“We don’t need a moment, sir.” Samuel’s words raised the motley group to stand at attention. “We’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond.”
Four days of almost constant effort yielded few supplies. There were two distinct faces shown
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