by Michael Aye
“Aye, Cap’n,” Buck said and left the cabin. He couldn’t ever recall the captain calling him old friend. A sign of weakness? No. No one could ever call the captain weak. Friendship, he was the captain’s friend. Buck felt very privileged to be considered Anthony’s friend, especially when the captain was at his wit’s end.
Buck had sent Paul, the master-at-arms, to find Witz and inform him of the captain’s summons. Then he was to go to the cockpit for Mr. Anthony
“Allow Witz plenty of time with the cap’n before you bring Mr. Anthony aft,” Buck had whispered to Paul.
The salty old sea dog looked at the first lieutenant, “give ‘em time ta feel the heat for awhile, is ‘at what we’s after, sir?” Buck only nodded as Paul ambled of, amazed at how the old sailor always seemed to have a quid of “baccy” causing his tight cheek to bulge to gigantic proportions. A permanent brown stain seemed to fill the crease at the cornet of Paul’s mouth. Yet Buck could not remember ever having seen the man spit. Recalling his own youthful experiment with “chaw-baccy” Buck could only imagine what was happening to Paul’s innards.
Silas had poured Anthony another of his coffee brandy concoctions. “Ta steel yourself, sir,” he said by way of explanation. “His kind ain’t worth loosen ya temper over.”
“The first lieutenant, sir,” the marine had barely gotten the announcement past his lips when the cry from above was heard.
“Man overboard! Man overboard!” Lt. Earl was already turning the ship by the time Anthony and Buck hurried on deck.
***
“Well, at least that’s a chapter that’s closed,” Buck said, “And I for one am glad.” The man overboard had been Lt. Witzenfeld. Every effort had been made to recover the man but to no avail. The bosun had said, “He musta headed straight ‘fer Davy Jones locker from the onset. No ‘bobbin or cries like you’d expect from a man trying to stay afloat.”
The quartermaster, who had been at the wheel when the incident happened, tried to explain what he saw. “‘E ‘ad a fit ‘e did, sir, went berserk. He was acting like a madman, just a slobbering like and flinging his arms about, like ‘e was swatting at bees, sir. Screaming ‘is bloody head off saying the devil was on him. ‘E was touched sir, so ‘e was, just plain touched. It put a scare in me, cap’n. I ain’t shamed to say it. No sir, it was frightful.”
When things on deck had settled down, Anthony and Buck had the opportunity to talk with Peckham who had also seen the incident. “Witz was headed aft to report to you,” the master explained. “Dagan was standing close to the hatch, outta the wind so he could light his pipe. As Witz approached the companionway, he appeared startled and upset to find Dagan standing there. He gave Dagan an angry scowl. Dagan looked up from lighting his pipe and said, “Careful where thy step sir. Accidents happen, a misstep could haunt you a lifetime.”
“Well, sir, Witz turned ghost white pale. He let go a scream to make yer blood curdle. It ‘twere like the banshee was after him. Then, like the quartermaster said, it was over the side he went. You know the rest.”
Anthony had let the master tell his story without interruption. Then he asked, “Tell me, Mr. Peckham, would you consider Dagan’s words a threat to Lt. Witzenfeld?”
“Nay Cap’n. More like a friendly reminder I’d say.”
Long after everyone had gone, Anthony was lying in his cot looking at the deck beams overhead. He found himself taking in all the sounds a ship at sea will make. The water sluicing down the hull as the bow plunged through another wave. The gentle groan of timbers as they were being flexed as the ship cut through a trough only to have its bow lifted by a swell. The sound of the watch on deck, all familiar but distant. In the stillness, Anthony’s body gave a sudden shiver and once again he could hear his father’s old servant whisper, “He’s a soothsayer, sir. A sorcerer.”
Chapter Five
Anthony woke with the foul taste of cheap wine and bad cigars. His head felt worse than his mouth tasted. He had been a guest of the wardroom last evening, and this morning he was paying for the merriment. Since the incident with Witzenfeld, the ship had seemed different. The crew seemed happier and more content. Anthony had heard some go so far as to say “can’t say’s I’m sorry he’s gone.” Well, to be honest, neither was he. Gabe was now acting fourth lieutenant and so far all seemed well. Gabe and Earl had performed for the wardroom last evening. Some of their renditions were lewd and provocative. The wardroom officers laughed at each attempt as Gabe and Earl set to music some profane rhyme, one trying to outdo the other. The surgeon was the judge and proclaimed neither winner nor loser, but a draw.
Silas entered with coffee, and hot water for Anthony’s shave. “The Master says if his calculations are on, we’ll likely see land by the end of the first dog watch. It’s a good thing too, sir. With Mr. Buck dropping in as ‘e does, we’ve just about run outta coffee.”
Anthony grunted, “You and Bart don’t tip a cup now and then do you?”
“Occasionally we does,” answered the servant. “Iffen you’ve ‘ad yer fill and they’s a swallow left in the pot, we’s don’t like to see it go to waste.”
“I’m sure,” Anthony said.
Bart had entered the cabin. “Dawn’s almost on us, sir. It’s sweltering already and the master says we’re shaping up for a squall. Mr. Pitts got the watch, sir. He’s dancing around like a whore in church. He’s got one eye on the horizon and the other watching aft for you.”
This brought a smile to Anthony. Someone else undoubtedly was feeling the worse from last evening’s merriment. After far too many glasses of wine, Mr. Pitts had stood to make a toast before ending the evening’s festivities. He was too much in his cups, and when the ship was hit by a large swell, the roll of the ship threw Pitts off balance and he sprawled head long onto the wardroom table. The surgeon had pronounced him “drunk for the evening.” Anthony could only imagine how embarrassed the young officer felt. If he’d been in his place, he’d certainly keep a weather eye out for the captain until he saw how he fared after last night’s actions.
The master was in conversation with Pitts when Anthony came on deck. The wind was picking up. Dawn was breaking all right. Anthony could already make out faces of the men working forward. One of the seaman commented to no one in particular, “Was that a lightning flash off the larboard bow?” Markham, the now senior midshipman, volunteered, “I thought I heard thunder too.”
Anthony turned quickly. Anger was in his eyes as he addressed Pitts. “Thunder be damned. That’s cannon fire! Are the lookouts asleep, sir?”
Pitts called up to the masthead lookout who said, “I ‘ears it now sir, and seed a flash but thought it was lightning. Nothing more’s visable yet.” Pitts turned to his captain. “Clear for action, sir?”
“No, not yet,” Anthony replied. “Send for the first lieutenant.”
“Here I am, Cap’n.”
Turning, Anthony saw Buck. “Well good morning, Mr. Buck. I hate your rest was disturbed after such a hearty evening, but I fear the day promises to be an active one. We’ll go ahead and have the crew fed an early breakfast.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” the officers on the quarterdeck answered in unison.
Bart was there with Anthony’s sword and pistols. “Let’s go finish our coffee, Bart. There will be time for them directly,” Anthony said, speaking of his weapons. Halfway down the companionway Anthony called back to Buck, “After breakfast send Dagan to the masthead with a glass. Let’s see if his peepers are as good as my father claimed them to be.”
***
An air of excitement and expectation seemed to hover on deck as Anthony returned from breaking his fast. It was much lighter and all the lieutenants and young gentlemen seemed to be about. The crew moved with just a little bounce in its step. Someone must have mentioned the possibility of prize money, Anthony thought.
Dagan had proved his worth. With Anthony’s return on deck, Buck reported to him, “Looks like a pair of topsail schooners, bearing down on a barque. They
don’t appear to be friendly.”
“They don’t appear to be friendly?” Anthony asked.
“No sir. They’re flying the red flag-mercy, no quarter. One schooner’s to leeward, and the other to windward. It’s like one was laying in wait and chased the barque toward the open arms of the other.”
“Have they seen us yet?” Anthony asked.
“They’ve shown no sign they have, Cap’n. The sun is behind us so we would be hard to see, especially when they’re so engrossed with the prospect of plunder.”
“Well, let’s see if we can give them something else to chew on,” Anthony said. “Beat to quarters if you will, Mr. Buck.”
“The barque’s in range so why ain’t they firing on her?” Mr. Davy asked. Both Anthony and Buck turned to the young middy. Since Witz had cast his lot to the depths, the once introverted boy seemed to have blossomed. However, butting in when his betters were in discussion would see him “kissing the gunner’s daughter.” Bart intervened before things went too far.
“Begging the captain’s pardon, but I believe the young gentlemen is needed forward, sir.”
Anthony knew an old sea dog like Bart would educate the boy on when it was proper to speak and when not. He’d also explain that pirates would rather take a ship with as little damage to the spoils as possible.
Dagan cried down from the masthead, “One of the schooners has come together with the barque and appears to be grappling, sir. The other’s closing in fast.”
“Very well. Mr. Earl?”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Soon as you think proper, fire a ranging shot and see if we can give the buggers something else to think on.”
“Aye, sir,” Earl answered, and then went forward.
“Do you want Dagan down, sir?”
“No, Mr. Buck, not yet.”
The air was tense and everyone seemed to be holding their collective breath. This would be their first action under a new captain. The gun captain assigned to the cannon nearest to where Anthony was standing bent over to peer out the gun port. As he did so, he loosened a thunderous round of flatulence.
Anthony, taken aback by the man’s “outburst,” cried out, “Damme sir, but I don’t recall having given the order to fire!”
The crew roared with laughter.
“Silence,” Buck ordered, but even he couldn’t keep a straight face.
The offender sheepishly said, “I beg the captain’s pardon, sir.’’
The long nine rebounded against its lashing.
“A hit,” Dagan called down.
“Damn if Mr. Earl doesn’t know his business,” Anthony said to Buck.
“Aye sir. That’ll get the whoresons’ attention all right.”
“Another hit,” Dagan called down again. “They know we’re about now, sir.” No sooner had Dagan spoken than the windward schooner returned fire.
“That was damn quick,” said Peckham, wiping spray from his face. The schooner’s first ball had been just short of its target.
“A bit too accurate for my liking too,” said the quartermaster at the wheel. Anthony called to Mr. Earl, “Let them taste a complete broadside if you please.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Earl said. Then, turning to the gun crew he said, “Let’s give ‘em what for lads. On the uproll now fire, fire as you bear.”
An entire broadside was unleashed as Drakkar’s cannons breathed fire. Earl had fired on the up roll to try and prevent as much collateral damage as possible to the barque. Still, the shots fell like a raining hell, and several balls found their mark. Great pieces of bulwark were seen flying through the air. Anthony knew the schooners were fragile and could not take such an onslaught much longer.
The wind had veered to directly astern. It carried the smoke from Drakkar’s broadside with it, making visibility difficult.
“Hands to braces, Mr. Buck. We’ll close with them now”
“Aye, sir. Bosun-hands to braces!”
Drakkar swung around and was now on a converging tack with the three ships. Dagan, still at the masthead, called down, “One of the schooners has loosened her grapnels and is casting off but she’s dragging her bowsprit.”
Anthony had a sudden notion. “Mr. Buck, have a couple of boats made ready with a sizable boarding party. We’ll drop them off as we pass by the schooner that’s still grappled to the barque. Have the boats lowered on the larboard side. Now put the best gunners on the starboard side and have them load with grape. I want to cut down on the blackguards we pass to make it easier for our boarding party. Tell the gunners to fire as they bear! Then we’ll beat down to the other cutthroat.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Buck said and turned to organize the boarding party.
“Oh, Mr. Buck.”
“Yes sir!”
“Have Dagan come down. I’m sure we have a better use for him at this point.”
Buck couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t see Gabe getting into a boat for a boarding party without Dagan.
The fleeing schooner fired again. They were closing the gap quicker than Anthony realized. Drakkar’s fore topgallant mast came tumbling down. Part of the jib ripped and flapped in the breeze with a loud pop.
“Damned feist,” cried Peekham.
“That feist’s still got teeth,” Anthony responded.
Drakkar made her own response with another broadside. The schooner seemed to shudder as Drakkar’s 24 pounders struck home. The main mast was carried away and acted like a great sea anchor almost stopping the schooner in her wake. The remaining sails were full of shot holes. The fo’c’s’le and bulwark had great gaps thanks to Drakkar’s gunners.
“Give the bastards a taste of grape, Mr. Buck. Then we’ll board and see if there’s any life left in them.” Anthony had to give the pirates credit for their bravery. He knew the loss of life on board the schooner had to be great…but better them than his crew. They had already condemned themselves.
The range was now less than two cables. One by one the guns discharged their load of steel death as they came to bear. When the guns were silent, Anthony realized he’d been holding his hands over his ears to protect them from the deafening sound of cannon fire.
The schooner was now along side. Anthony could see tiny splinters leap up from the deck as musket balls were being fired from the pirates’ rigging. One of the gun captains cried out, and then clenched his teeth as a ball tore into his shoulder. His mate was not so lucky. A ball tore into his face and plucked out one eyeball and part of his skull.
“Sharpshooter. Has the damnable fellow got sharpshooters, Mr. Buck?”
“I don’t know ‘iffen there are sharpshooters, Cap’n, but the foretops is full of them. Whatever they be.”
“By the volley fire!” Lt. Dunn’s marines were responding. He was pointing to the foretops with his sword. The pirates fell from the marines’ accuracy. Dunn, in his Scottish accent, could be heard directing his marines to their next target. Because the schooner alongside was a smaller ship, Drakkar’s marines were having a heyday firing down onto the pirates below them. The last volley cleared a mob of pirates that had gathered in the waist.
“Boarders, away!” Anthony had his sword out, as did Buck. Bart had armed himself with a tomahawk and his cutlass. The freshly sharpened blade glinted in the sunlight. Grapnels had locked the ships togetheer and Drakkar’s boarders half-slid, half-jumped down on the schooner’s deck.
Anthony landed with a grunt. He slipped and, peering down, saw he’d landed on a dead pirate’s innards. A huge pirate took his mind off the gore by screaming obscenities and attacking him with a boarding pike. Bart dispatched the pirate with his tomahawk, but no sooner was the man down than Anthony found himself facing two more pirates. One was a foul-smelling, hawkish man. Anthony shot him at point blank range with his pistol. As the man’s face turned to a bloody pulp, his mate was upon Anthony with a boarding pike and cutlass. The man was strong, but slow. He reeked of rum, perspiration and death. Fighting the brute, Anthony found himself in th
e center of a melee. He was being bumped, prodded and lashed from a number of directions. A wounded pirate fell from the rigging and slammed into Anthony, causing him to fall to one knee. As he did, he raised his blade to deflect a blow from another pirate’s cutlass. The shock numbed his shoulder. However, swinging with such force threw the big oaf off-balance, opening his guard. Anthony thrust upward, driving his sword through the man’s neck. A fountain of blood gushed out, spraying Anthony. Shouts, groans that turned into screams, the thud as a boarding pike crushed a skull, gunshots, and metal against metal as men fought with blades. Desperate men fighting to live.
Drakkar’s boarders now had the upper hand. They had pushed the remaining pirates to the alt rail. Lt. Dunn’s marines held them at bay with muskets and bayonets. The defeated pirates finally threw down their weapons in surrender.
***
The two schooners were LeFoxxe and LeCroix. Both were French-named, but crewed by a motley group of various descriptions. Some wore jackboots while others were barefooted. A few sported colorful sashes tied about their waist while others were naked from the waist up. All appeared to be vicious brutes, now doomed for the hangman’s knot. The barque was a private ship, The Royal Chatham, bound for Barbados. Her captain, officers and many of the crew and passengers were dead. Anthony could still recall the look of dismay on their faces as Gabe and Earl described the scene they’d encountered as they boarded the ship.
The deck was soaked in blood. The pirates were in a frenzy and had not only killed but had mutilated the bodies. The ship owner’s wife, “Lady Deborah McKean,” had been forced to watch as her husband and servant girl were murdered. The servant girl had been stripped, repeatedly raped, then had her breasts cut off. Two pirates had joked as they fondled the breasts, remarking on what fine “purses” they’d make.
Anthony had inquired, “Is the lady well?”
“Aye,” replied Earl. “As good as she can be after that.”