Historical Fiction
Date Published: 10-25-2024
Publisher: Counterpoint Press
As the drumbeat of the American Revolution grows ever closer, Scotsman-turned-American-patriot Duncan McCallum must navigate treacherous cultural and political waters if he’s to secure a fighting chance for the fledgling nation in this gripping installment of the acclaimed Bone Rattler series.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Late February 1770 Marblehead, Massachusetts Colony
“Dear Lord no, not the grinders!” yelled the elegantly dressed man at Duncan McCallum’s side. “Veer away, for the love of God, or all is lost!” Duncan could not recall if he had ever heard his companion so frantic, but the blood was rising among all the spectators of the race, and John Hancock’s desperate cries could be forgiven. It was his cherished personal yacht that was about to lose its keel to the notorious bed of submerged rocks and sandbars at the edge of Marblehead Harbor. “Too close, I say! Too close!”
Duncan, not sharing Hancock’s anxiety, watched through his pocket tele- scope as the women on board scurried on the deck and in the rigging, tightening one line, loosening another, while Sarah Ramsey kept her steady hand on the wheel of the sloop. Sailing had become a passion for Sarah ever since the day Hancock had taken them for an afternoon cruise months earlier. Duncan had commanded Hancock’s commercial ships on short runs to Bermuda and Newfoundland, and as their friendship blossomed the Boston merchant had generously offered the yacht with its crewmen for Duncan and Sarah to use on their own rare days of leisure. Knowing his fiancée’s questing ways, Duncan had not been surprised when she had asked if she might take the helm on their first such day, then asked him to name for her the sails and each element of the rigging. “A fair return,” she had quipped, reminding him of how she had once taught him the Iroquois words of her youth. Since that day she had become an adept sailor, and on the last harbor cruise with Hancock she had astounded Boston’s merchant prince by taking the yacht’s helm to thread a course through the outer islands.
No one, however, had expected Sarah to speak up days later at a dinner at Hancock’s regal Beacon Hill home to challenge the commander of the local revenue cutter to a competition. Duncan had often revisited that conversation, trying to navigate its many subcurrents. Sarah had no love for the British navy, especially the patrol vessels that enforced Britain’s onerous trade laws. Until that point she had adroitly guided the discussion among Hancock’s guests, avoiding the traps that seemed inevitable in Boston when the dinner company included both officers of the occupation troops and leaders of the Sons of Liberty.
Duncan did not recollect how, but the discussion had veered from the weather to the advantages of American-built ships in being able to sail closer to the wind than those from British shipyards. When the officers, at first surprised, then amused, that a woman could hold her own in such a conversation, had good-naturedly defended their shipwrights, Sarah had offered to prove her point.
“We must have a competition!” she ebulliently declared. “A match between boats of similar burden. Say the navy’s fast revenue cutter and one of the sloops crafted in Marblehead, ending of course in Marblehead Harbor.” The officers and Hancock had laughed but then leaned forward as she persisted. Sarah had turned to the youngest officer, who was well known and largely reviled in Marblehead. “Why, come to think of it, Lieutenant Oakes, isn’t that vessel under your command? Named for some archaic god, I recollect.” She knew perfectly well the name of the boat.
The lieutenant’s cool smile was close to a sneer. “I indeed have the honor to command the king’s revenue cutter Neptune. Bristol-built, and she can outsail any vessel she meets. But surely no captain of a comparable vessel would meet me, Miss Ramsey, since my nimble Neptune has already overtaken so many of them as they sought to evade the king’s customs duties.”
Duncan had suspected that Sarah had some hidden motive in openly taunting the arrogant Oakes, and her next words had removed all doubt. “Why, doesn’t Mr. Hancock have just such a Marblehead boat? Suppose we Americans give you an advantage. I will take the helm of the Hancock yacht myself and crew her with the doddering females of Marblehead. Shall we say Sunday, a week?” She fixed Hancock with a pointed gaze, and then the merchant’s face lit with understanding. Sarah wasn’t taunting the navy; she was trying to calm troubled waters. The tension be- tween the occupation troops and civilians was near the breaking point, and they desperately needed to find common ground, if only for an afternoon’s distraction.
Several of the officers had been aghast, but when Hancock had vigorously exclaimed “Brava! Brava!” and raised his glass to Sarah, they had joined in his gleeful toast, their vigor growing when he proposed to host one of his famous teas at the race’s end.
Captain Lawford, commodore of the navy’s inshore fleet, likewise embraced Sarah’s apparent intentions. “Why, that would be capital!” he exclaimed. “What say you, Oakes? I’ve no doubt we can arrange to have your cutter in those waters for a Sunday frolic with our American friends. What better way to celebrate the approach of spring!”
Sarah had shot a victorious glance at Duncan before raising her own glass. The women, he knew, would be from what she called her Nightingale Club, all from Marblehead sailing families. They would have cut their teeth on backstays, and all were secretly dedicated to Sarah’s increasingly bold efforts in support of the nonimportation cause, aimed at cutting off trade with Britain.
“But sir,” Oakes had protested, “we’ve had fresh intelligence that somewhere in the bay the traitor is at last going to—”
“Lieutenant! Have a care!” Lawford interrupted, then put on a more genteel expression. “Of course we shall defend the honor of His Majesty’s navy.” The commander of the inshore fleet raised his glass. “And fear not, Lieutenant. Surely you know the navy relies on the Heart of Oakes, eh?” he added, laughing at his word- play with the familiar maritime fighting song.
Now, as Sarah guided Hancock’s boat through the maze of rocky shoals and sandbars, Duncan began to worry not about her motive but whether her rash decision was going to destroy Hancock’s elegant vessel.
“Thank God!” Hancock shouted with glee a moment later. “She’s cleared it!” Oakes’s Neptune was close behind, the lieutenant having decided to preempt Sarah’s advantage by following her into the narrow passage between rocks and shore for the final sprint to the end of the harbor.
“It is not over, sir!” Lawford crowed. “My man has decided that two can play at this game! I shall soon have your guinea in my pocket, John!”
“Damnation, Duncan,” Hancock quietly muttered. “He’s right. Look at how the cutter’s sails fill with the breeze. That foolhardy Oakes has laid on extra canvas.” “But the Neptune’s keel—” Duncan began. He had no need to finish his sentence as groans shot through the group of gathered officers. The sound of shuddering masts echoed across the harbor. The yard of the added topsail Oakes had hoisted snapped, tumbling to the deck in a tangle of lines. The cutter had cleared the rocks only to have one of the sandbars seize her keel. She lost all headway, and the furious shouts of her commander could be heard above the chaos. For a moment Duncan thought she would move no more until the tide came in; then, long seconds later she inched forward. But as she finally cleared the bar, the signal gun at the finish line fired. A cheer broke farther down the harbor, where townspeople had gathered in dinghies and on the town wharf. Sarah was victorious. With a gleeful laugh Hancock extended his palm toward the captain. Lawford good-naturedly dropped a heavy coin into it and looked over the assembly of officers. “Our redcoat has missed all the fun,” he added, referring to Lieutenant Hicks, head of the small army contingent temporarily stationed in Marblehead. “I fear I owe him as well, for the scoundrel had the nerve to wager against the navy.”
About the Author
ELIOT PATTISON is the author of the Inspector Shan series, which includes The Skull Mantra, winner of an Edgar Award and finalist for the Gold Dagger. Pattison’s Bone Rattler series follows Scotsman Duncan McCallum on the road to revolution as he fights to protect the cause of freedom. Pattison resides in rural Pennsylvania.
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