The Reaper tfa-1

by Michael Aye

  He was right. They were confidants.

  “Anyway,” Deborah continued again, “Greta tells me you’re getting Drakkar and those little ships ready and will be sailing soon.”

  Anthony nodded. He suddenly felt depressed at the thought of leaving Deborah so soon after he’d found her.

  Sensing his mood, Deborah left the bed and came to him. He hugged her close, feeling her bosom and stomach drawn tightly against him. Their kiss was long and loving.

  Deborah could feel the roughness of his uniform against her body. She could make out the faint odor of tar mixed with salt. These were odors of her sailor, her love.

  “Don’t worry, my darling,” she said, “I’ll always be here waiting when you return.”

  Chapter Eight

  The wind had backed to the Southwest. Drakkar had every inch of canvas spread and was laid close to the centerline, yet she clawed for every yard. The two schooners appeared to be making a better time of it. This is what they were rigged for. They were built for speed, like greyhounds on the ocean. However, their light, fragile hulls made them more vulnerable to gunfire if they couldn’t escape to windward. A schooner had two masts with two equal sized mainsails, gaff-rigged and extended by booms. The topsails were square rigged with a square mainsail. Anthony had heard the master commenting to young Davy about what a sight they made under full canvas.

  “Fine sight ‘eh lad? I’ll give it to the Colonials. They knows how to make a fine ship.”

  “Colonials made those ships?” Davy asked.

  “Aye, lad. Schooners are a product of North America. Just as a cutter was made for the coast off Kent and Sussex.”

  Looking at the schooners, Anthony thought of Gabe. He could imagine how he and Lieutenant Earl were enjoying their freedom, being out from under the “commodore.”

  “Deck there,” called down the masthead lookout. “LeFoxxe is signaling.”

  “Ship, nay two ships, off the larboard bow.”

  Anthony turned and saw Buck with a glass to his eye.

  “Acknowledge,” Anthony said. “Have them investigate but not engage if it’s a superior force.”

  “Mr. Davy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take a glass and go aloft. Let me know as soon as we are in sight of the two vessels.”

  “Aye, sir.” Then up the ratlines the youth went, his energy and desire to please not lost on Anthony. A few minutes later Davy shouted down, “Two ships lying to, sir.”

  Buck rolled his eyes and muttered, “Gawd have mercy!”

  “Can you be more definitive, Mr. Davy?” Anthony called up, trying not to laugh at Buck’s frustrated comment. He knew the regular lookout, a seasoned sailor, could have called down the sighting, but Anthony wanted Mr. Davy to get the experience.

  “Deck there,” Davy shouted again. “One is a merchant ship, sir. The other appears to be a schooner. She’s square rigged and is much like LeFoxxe. The schooner must have seen Lefoxxe, sir. She’s getting underway.”

  “Deck there.” This time it was the regular lookout. “She be a pirate, sir. She’s fired on LeFoxxe.”

  Anthony turned to Buck, “Beat to quarters.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The masthead lookout called down again. “The schooner looks like she’s trying to run to starboard, but the merchant ship is still lying hove to. LeFoxxe ‘as fired ‘er broadside and scored several hits. I saw several bits and pieces flying before the smoke blocked me view. She’s coming outta the smoke now, sir. Looks like she’s a couple more points to starboard.”

  Anthony and Buck looked at each other upon hearing this. “Trapped like the rat she is,” exclaimed Buck.

  Anthony nodded and ordered, “Signal LeCroix to engage the enemy.”

  “LeCroix has acknowledged,” Davy called down, still at the masthead.

  “Think she’ll fight or run?” asked Peckham.

  “What would you do?” Anthony answered the master. Anthony called to a bosun’s mate, “Give Mr. Pitts my compliments and tell him I’d like to see him as soon as he can turn over his duties to the gunner.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  When Pitts arrived he was breathless. He was obviously anticipating Anthony’s summons by the speed at which he arrived.

  “Damme, Mr. Pitts,” exclaimed Anthony. “I’ve not seen one so eager to knock on St. Peter’s door.”

  Smiling, Pitts responded, “No guts, no glory, sir.”

  “Well have a care, sir. The men with you might not be so anxious. Now, if you can control yourself, muster a boarding party forward with the bosun. My compliments to lieutenant Dunn. Have him loan you a group of marines to go with your boarding party. Then ask him to attend me, please.”

  “Aye, sir.” Then Pitts was off. There was now no more than a mile between the converging ships. From above, the lookout called down again, “The chase ‘as tacked, sir.”

  “Thinks he’ll make for some inlet and lose us’ns,” the master opined.

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Dunn said, announcing his arrival.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Dunn,” Anthony said. “I would appreciate it, sir, if you would post your best sharpshooters in the rigging as soon as you think proper.”

  “Directly, sir,” then Dunn was gone.

  The three ships, Drakkar, LeFoxxe, and LeCroix now formed a triangle with the chase in the middle with nowhere to go. “The rogue’s let loose a broadside,” Buck

  volunteered.

  “Pop guns,” snorted the master.

  Anthony had his glass to his eye, but replied to the master’s comment. “Pop guns they may be, but damnable accurate.” He had seen through his glass jagged, gaping holes along LeFoxxe’s bulwark where she had been hit.

  LeFoxxe and LeCroix were both returning fire and their accuracy was not without merit. “They’ve hit her good,” Buck exclaimed. “There goes her main mast.”

  “I bet that took the wind outer her,” said the master, chuckling at this pun. LeFoxxe and LeCroix were now grappling with the schooner, one larboard and the other starboard.

  Anthony turned to the master, “Bring her up a couple points and put us across her stern so we can board aft.”

  “Aye,” the master replied and barked his orders to the quartermaster. The distance was now less than a cable.

  Lieutenant Pitts called to his men, “Boarders make ready.” The bosun was there checking each man’s weapons. Some had cutlasses and pikes while others had tomahawks. Some were even armed with service pistols.

  Bart looked at Anthony and casually commented, “I ‘ope that pistol don’t go off accidental like. Way it’s pointing it’d change yer love life substantial like, I’m thinking.”

  Anthony looked down. Bart had helped buckle on his sword, but handed him his pistol. When he’d stuck the pistol in his waistband he’d inadvertently cocked the pistol. Now he had a loaded, cocked pistol pointed toward his manhood.

  “You vulgar dog,” Anthony said, quickly easing the hammer down to the half-cock.

  “Nay cap’n,” Bart said, still calling Anthony cap’n and not commodore. “Just looking out for the lady’s interest.”

  Anthony then remembered Davy was still aloft. “Mr. Davy, bring yourself down if you please and take station by the master.”

  “Aye, sir,” Davy replied. Then he came sliding down the backstay with such speed it startled Anthony. Gone was the timid boy who reported on board a few months ago. Davy was now a seasoned midshipman.

  Drakkar groaned as she touched with the schooner. “Boarders away, boarders away.” Mr. Pitts and his group poured over onto the smaller ship, cutting down all resistance as they went, Lieutenant Dunn’s marine sharpshooters were making their presence felt as well.

  A torrent of curses and groans, some English and some in French came from every quarter. Musket and pistol shots filled the air, the smoke from the shots leaving a pungent odor that burnt the eyes and nostrils. Clang-clang metal on metal as cutlass encountered cutlass, bright metal turning dark fr
om blood and gore.

  “To me,” Buck screamed as he deflected a boarding pike, then with a quick maneuver slashed at the man attacking him. The slash opened up the man’s belly spilling his innards onto the deck. Mercifully, one of Drakkar’s marines shot the man, ending his agony.

  As Anthony stepped over a body a man jumped up from one of the cannons and with a savage laugh attacked him. The attack was over before it began as Mr. Pitts quickly shot the man with his pistol.

  He then calmly volunteered, “Sounded like a bloody maniac, captain.”

  Drakkar’s crew continued to surge forward against the pirates. However, they’d not given up yet.

  Gabe and Earl found themselves back to back, fending off two attackers. One of the rogues struck a heavy blow that felled Earl, leaving Gabe to protect his friend and fend for himself. At that moment Dagan came into view. Seeing Gabe’s predicament created a sense of urgency in Dagan. He attacked the foe before him with such savagery Anthony almost felt sorrow for the fellow. The brute lunged at Dagan, whom deflected the other’s cutlass. Then with a ferocious blow, completely beheaded the man. Dispatching this opponent brought Dagan to Gabe’s side, who was still fending off the two attackers at once. Dagan’s blade was a large broadsword. His next swing caused the heavy blade to completely sever his opponent’s arm. It fell to the deck lifeless, its fingers still clutching the hilt of its blade. The wounded fellow was in shock, looking at the stump that a moment ago had been his arm. As blood spurted from severed arteries, the man turned white then collapsed, dead before he hit the deck.

  The overwhelming numbers from Drakkar and her consorts soon overran all resistance. One of the survivors was a man in a filthy uniform coat of a French naval lieutenant. He had laid down his weapons and cried for mercy. Gabe pointed at the red flag still flying aloft and shouted, “You dare beg for mercy while flying the red flag?” He spat in disgust and turned his attention to Lieutenant Earl. Anthony walked up just as Gabe helped Earl to his feet.

  Earl reached up and touched the side of his head. Blood had started to congeal, but when he touched his head it started to ooze again. Wincing as he touched the nasty cut, Earl pulled his bloody hand away.

  Gabe snickered at the sight. “Damme Stephen. The rogue has lopped off the top of your ear. I hope your hat still fits.”

  Earl looked at Gabe and said, “Aye, but for you he’d have had my whole damn head.”

  Dunn’s marines, along with a few of the hands from the boarding party, had rounded up the last of the surviving pirates. The dead ones were unceremoniously tossed over the side. “Give the sharks a bellyache,” Bart had said. Anthony also noticed, but chose to ignore that the dead pirates were being relieved of anything of value prior to becoming shark bait.

  A thorough search was made of the ship, resulting in Mr. Markham’s find. “Sir, we’ve found some very official looking papers. They’re written in French. There’s also a small chest with specie and one with a few gems and the like, such as a lady would wear.”

  Anthony followed Markham down to the pirate captain’s cabin and was surprised but glad to see the midshipman had taken the initiative to put a marine guard at the door. There were several letters as Markham had mentioned. Anthony could only make out a few words here and there as the letters were soiled with food and drink; however, one letter appeared to be talking about a fifty-gun frigate. It also contained a page that was better cared for than the rest and it was filled with dates in one column and numbers in another column.

  Markham volunteered, “It appears like code, sir, for a rendezvous on certain dates-but where? I think the number represents a location.” Anthony agreed with Markham ’s assessment.

  “Look here, sir,” Markham had picked up another paper. At the top was the word “Reaper.” Then under one column was 27-28 June and across from it in another column the single digit “six.” A very valuable clue and a very simple code, but without more information it would be impossible to break.

  Anthony turned to a bosun’s mate close by. “My compliments to Lieutenant Dunn. Ask him to have that French speaking prisoner in the navy coat brought up on deck and held by Drakkar’s main mast.”

  “Aye, sir,” then the sailor was gone.

  “Do you speak French, Mr. Markham?” Anthony asked.

  “Only a little, sir.”

  “It will have to do. I don’t want the prisoner to know that I do, so you will act as my interpreter.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Once Anthony and his accompanying officers got back on Drakkar he found Lieutenant Dunn had the pirate trussed up and under guard.

  “Mr. Buck.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “Assemble the crew to witness punishment.”

  Buck looked at Anthony somewhat bewildered. “Punishment, sir?”

  “Yes, Mr. Buck, a hanging,” Anthony replied, certain that the French pirate understood more English than he let on. Well, he could think on that.

  “A hanging, sir?” Buck questioned.

  “Yes, dammit, a hanging,” Anthony snapped. “Here or Antigua makes no difference. His fate was sealed when they attacked the merchantman. Lieutenant Mainard!”

  “Yes, sir,” Mainard replied. He was pondering the pirate’s hanging when his name was called suddenly.

  “Loosen your grapnels and go check on the vessel the rogues were having at and take the surgeon with you.”

  “Aye, sir.” Then Mainard left to do his bidding, somewhat relieved that he was being sent on an errand and wouldn’t have to witness the hanging.

  Anthony then turned back to Buck. “Carry on with the business at hand.”

  “Yes, sir,” was all Buck could manage. The order was given and the drums started to roll. A rope was thrown over the yardarm, a hangman’s noose already fashioned at the end of it.

  The pirate collapsed into a heap on the deck. Two of Dunn’s marines were trying to lift the whimpering man but he refused to stand. Anthony nodded and the marines let go. The prisoner hit the deck with a thud. “S’il-vous-plait, monsieur!” the pathetic man begged, reaching out with his arm to Anthony. Tears streamed down his face causing streaks in the grime from the recent battle.

  “Donnez moi une chance,” he cried. The man’s actions were disgusting to the hardened sailors who had seen the red flag flying from the pirate’s mast, not to mention the torn and mutilated bodies the pirates had left in their wake. The cries for mercy fell on deaf ears.

  “Gawd ‘e makes me sick to me stomach,” a voice in the crowd spoke as the pirate whimpered and crawled in a semi circle.

  “Hang the bugger, cap’n,” another voice in the crowd said.

  “Silence!” Buck ordered.

  Anthony, Buck, Gabe, and Lieutenant Dunn all stood before the man. The marines continued to hold him up as Anthony spoke to him. “Do you understand English?”

  “Oui, monsieur.”

  “Are you a French officer?”

  “Non, monsieur.”

  “Then why are you wearing a French naval officer’s coat?”

  “It was, how do you say…plunder.” He muttered some more comments, which couldn’t be understood.

  Markham volunteered, “I think he’s trying to tell us he took it from someone’s things after the man had been killed.”

  Still not letting on he could understand the man’s pleas Anthony spoke to Markham, “Well, tell him I think he’s a lying son of a cur dog and that I’m holding him responsible for that ship over there.” He pointed to the ship that had been the pirate’s prey.

  “Tell him he’s been caught in the act of piracy. There’s no doubt of his guilt and the penalty is death.”

  The Frenchman understood enough of what was said such that he’d started his begging and pleading even before Markham could translate.

  Disgusted, Anthony ordered, “String him up!”

  Lieutenant Dunn nodded to his sergeant who stepped forward, placed the noose around the pirate’s neck, and tightened it. Once the sergeant was
satisfied, he stepped back and looked at Lieutenant Dunn, who in turn looked to Anthony.

  Anthony nodded and lieutenant Dunn ordered, “Haul him up.” A group of marines started pulling on the rope. The French pirate’s cries were cut off as the rope bit into the flesh, cutting off the man’s air. As he was lifted off the deck, his feet started kicking the air and his body started to sway. The onlookers were stoic. Most had never witnessed a hanging and were aghast.

  “Avast hauling, let him down,” Anthony ordered. The rope was turned loose and the pirate thudded as he hit the deck, gasping for air. The marine sergeant loosened the noose and the pirate started to breathe. Anthony looked at Markham, “Tell him that was my only warning. Next time he’ll hang till the gulls have pecked his eyes out.” Markham repeated Anthony’s comments.

  “Now ask him who commanded his vessel.”

  The pirate answered quickly, “Capitaine Allemand.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Dead. He was shot as your men boarded.”

  “Is the Reaper a French ship-a frigate?”

  “She is big but not as big as some. She is similar to this ship and she has fifty cannons. Her capitaine is French like I am.”

  “But is the ship French?” The pirate shrugged and stated, “She flies no flag. The men answer only to Capitaine Jabot.”

  “When were you to rendezvous with the Reaper?”

  The pirate looked frightened and could only shrug. Angered, Anthony ordered, “Haul him up.”

  “Please,” the man begged before the noose could tighten. “Only Capitaine Allemand knew. He kept his papers locked up and no one else knew what they contained. Please, Monsieur.”

  After further questioning, Anthony found out the man had signed on at Martinique a few months back. However no more useful information could be gained.

  His was a damned difficult job. From Falmouth to Barbados was forty-two hundred miles and near ‘bout that many from Jamaica to Falmouth. A lot of ocean to cover. However, it seemed that all the attacks were taking place within a day’s sailing from islands of the West Indies. What did this mean? They would need bases to supply themselves and to trade their ill-gotten goods. The key had to be the rendezvous areas.