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talk.… Quicker we move the better.”
    â€œCould the others come too?”
    â€œWell, son, I could use some more hands in the shop. No limit to how many guns we can sell in a seaport like Boston … and I’m thinking maybe Mr. Hansen would pay to get his son out of here.…”
    *   *   *
    Spring morning, doves call from the woods. Noah Blake and his father, Bert Hansen, Clinch Todd, Paco, and Sean Brady board a boat with their luggage stacked on deck. The villagers watch from the pier.
    Mrs. Norton sniffs and says in her penetrating voice, “Good riddance to the lot of them.” She glances sideways at her husband.
    â€œI share the same views,” he says hastily.
    Boston: two years later. Mr. Blake has prospered. He works now on contracts from shipowners, and his guns are standard issue. He has remarried. His wife is a quiet refined girl from New York. Her family are well-to-do importers and merchants with political connections. Mr. Blake plans to open a New York branch, and there is talk of army and navy contracts. Noah Blake is studying navigation. He wants to be a ship’s captain, and all five of the boys want to ship out.
    â€œWait till you find the right ship,” Mr. Blake tells them.
    *   *   *
    One winter day, Noah is walking on the waterfront with Bert, Clinch, Sean and Paco. They notice a ship called The Great White. Rather small but very clean and trim. A man leans over the rail. He has a beefy red smiling face and cold blue eyes.
    â€œYou boys looking for a ship?”
    â€œMaybe,” says Noah cautiously.
    â€œWell, come aboard.”
    He meets them at the gangplank. “I’m Mr. Thomas, First Mate.” He extends a hand like callused beef and shakes hands with each boy in turn. He leads the way to the master’s cabin. “This is Captain Jones—master of The Great White. These boys are looking for a ship … maybe…”
    The boys nod politely. Captain Jones looks at them in silence. He is a man of indeterminate age with a gray-green pallor. He speaks at length, in a flat voice, his lips barely moving.
    â€œWell, I could use five deckhands.… You boys had any experience?”
    â€œYes. On the Great Lakes.” Noah indicates Bert Hansen. “His father owned fishing boats.”
    â€œAye,” says Captain Jones, “freshwater sailing. The sea’s another kettle of fish.”
    â€œI’ve studied navigation,” Noah puts in.
    â€œHave you now? And what would be your name, lad?”
    â€œNoah Blake.”
    An almost imperceptible glance passes between the Captain and the first mate.
    â€œAnd your trade, lad?”
    â€œGunsmith.”
    â€œWell, now, you wouldn’t be Noah Blake’s son would you?”
    â€œYes, sir, I would.”
    Once again the glance flickers between the two men. Then Captain Jones leans back in his chair and looks at the boys with his dead, fishy eyes.
    â€œWe’ll be sailing in three days’ time … New York, Charleston, Jamaica, Vera Cruz. Two months down, more or less, and two months back.… I pay ten pounds a month for deckhands.”
    Noah Blake tries to look unimpressed. This is twice as much as any other captain has offered.
    â€œWell, sir, I’ll have to discuss it with my father.”
    â€œTo be sure, lad. You can sign the Articles tomorrow if you’re so minded … all five of you.”
    *   *   *
    Noah can hardly wait to tell his father. “I mean that’s good, isn’t it?”
    â€œAye, son. Perhaps a little too good. Captain Jones’s name is not so white as his ship. He’s known as Opium Jones in the trade. He’ll be carrying opium, guns, powder, shot, and tools. And he’s not too particular who he trades with.…”
    â€œAnything wrong with that, Father?”
    â€œNo. He’s no better and no worse than most of the