by Michael Aye
“What the hell?” Anthony cried as he bounded from his chair, heading topside.
“It sounds like the doctor’s ape,” Gabe said nonchalantly. Anthony nopped dead in his tracks.
“His ape?”
“Aye, sir. A cute little bugger he is too, but somewhat difficult when he’s in his cups.”
“The monkey drinks?”
“It’s an ape, sir. Not a monkey. He’s an ape. But aye, sir, it drinks.”
***
The next morning Anthony was going over last evening’s story and subsequent events with Buck. Buck had been a guest of the first lieutenant from Eagle, and therefore had missed the excitement.
“I hope Lord Howe didn’t hear the damned commotion. Can you imagine his being awakened and training a glass on Drakkar only to see a damned ape being chased through the riggings by the watch?”
Buck couldn’t help but laugh, trying to imagine the sight. Anthony snorted. “Laugh if you will, sir. But when I’m sitting on the beach collecting half pay, I’ll have company-and that’s no error.”
Chapter Sixteen
The aroma of roasted kid filled the air and Anthony heard his stomach growling. Bart strolled up to him and commented, “It were a nice thing you did for the crew, sir. Roast kid will be like a special feast after months of salt pork.”
Anthony had bought six goats for the crew while in Barbados. “Well, Bart, if the damn goat tastes as good as it smells, it’ll be well worth the effort and hassle of getting them on board.”
“Aye, sir. The smell ‘as got me mouth watering and belly rumbling.”
It was a different odor that funneled its way up from the galley. Several of the crew were inching closer to the hatch to make their way down to their mess when dinner was called. Anthony and Bart had both noticed how the men were anticipating the evening meal.
Anthony looked at Bart and again said, “I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
Without thinking, Bart replied, “Oh it do sir, it truly does. Silas done fixed up a shoulder and it’s prime.”
Anthony just shook his head at the cox’n and said, “And you felt no need to wait. You just helped yourself?”
“Nay, sir. I just sorta caught up some of the drippings on a biscuit, as they was going to waste anyway.”
***
While trying to act perturbed, Anthony spotted Caleb’s ape. “Tell me, Bart. How do you suppose ape would taste?”
Bart stared at Anthony for a second before the two started laughing at the question. “I don’t rightly know, sir, but I believes I’d pass on it given the opportunity. I surely would.”
***
“Deck there. Signal from Shark. Sail fine on the starboard quarter.”
Turning back to Bart, Anthony said, “I woke up with a feeling this morning that this day would prove to be eventful. Maybe today will be a turning point.”
“Mr. Davy,” Anthony called to the midshipman. “Aloft with you. Take your glass and remember all you’ve been taught.” Anthony halted the eager boy as he headed up the shrouds. “Don’t be afraid to ask the lookout if you are not sure. He’s experienced. Learn all you can, and don’t be afraid to trust your men.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll do you proud.” Then Davy was on his way up to the masthead. He shunned the lubber’s hole by climbing the futtock shrouds like a seasoned sailor. The lookout was smiling down as he moved over to give Davy room.
As Anthony’s gaze returned to the deck, he saw Buck standing there grinning at him.
“Does something amuse you, Mr. Buck?”
“Nay, sir. Just admiring how you handle the youngster.”
“Well, sir, I’d admire it if you’d demonstrate some of your leadership and get the crew fed and back on deck. Then see if we can clear for action in a dog-watch or less.”
Hearing the friendly banter between Anthony and the first lieutenant, the master couldn’t contain his laughter. “Ho! Ho! Ho! A dog-watch or less. Ho! Ho!
Ho!” Laughing so with his huge belly shaking and his long white hair flowing in the wind, it was hard to picture the jolly old master as a dangerous man. However, more than one had made the mistake of underestimating him by his looks, not realizing the savagery in which he wielded his blade when his fighting blood was up.
***
A sudden squall had given temporary relief from the sultry heat. The reprieve had since succumbed to a blazing sun that was making tar bubble from the seams between the deck planks. Gabe had long since given up on finding a cool spot. Enduring the heat, he focused his thoughts on the strange sail that they were overtaking. Pope had just descended the shrouds where he’d gone up for a “better look.”
“Looks like she may be a slaver, or was.”
“She’s poorly handled if she’s a slaver. They usually fly,” Gabe commented.
“My thoughts as well.” Pope replied. “Either she’s got a lubber for a master-which I doubt-or she wants to be overtaken without being obvious about it.”
“Think she can see Drakkar’s sails?” Gabe asked as he squinted, his eyes peering in Drakkar’s direction.
“I doubt it.”
The men aboard “Shark” were in civilian dress, with a green armband on the left arm to identify them as friend versus foe if hand to hand fighting erupted. The “ketch” had to look the same as any other coastal vessel one would expect to find plying its trade in these waters. Therefore, the crew’s attire had to look the part. Gabe’s thoughts returned to the heat.
“Those marines hiding between decks will likely have their brains roasted to the point of no use if we don’t get them some air soon.”
Pope agreed and called to Dagan, “My compliments to the marine sergeant. Tell him to allow two or three of his men up on deck at a time for about fifteen minutes. Then rotate them. We’ll soon need them ready with their wits about them, I’m thinking.”
It took another turn of the glass for the strange ship to become clearly visible from the Shark’s deck. “She’s been in the trade all right,” Pope volunteered. “Can you smell her, Gabe? It’s a smell you won’t soon forget once you know it.”
“We appear to be overtaking her quickly now,” Gabe said, noticing he could make out specific details on the ship they were bearing down on.
At the same instant, the lookout called down, “Deck there. She’s luffed, sir! Now she’s gone about! She’s gone about!” he cried again frantically. “She’s opening her gunports!”
“Damnation,” Pope exclaimed. “Everybody down. Get down on deck now!” he bellowed his order to the crew. No sooner had Pope’s orders been shouted than a broadside from the pirate’s ship tore into Shark’s rigging and upper deck. Lying flat on the deck, the air above seemed to come alive with the sound of grape, not unlike bees around a hive. Langrage shot was also reeking havoc upon Shark’s rigging. The intent was to stop but not destroy the ship, yet take as much human life as possible. The broadside might have been ragged, but it had been vicious. Riggings and shrouds were shredded. Torn cordage and severed blocks plummeted to the deck, injuring several hands as it fell upon them. Musket halls thudded into the planks as the pirates fired at the dazed crew as if they were fish in a bowl. Then there was return fire from Shark. Dagan had gotten a swivel gun into action, and it had done enough damage to give Shark’s crew a brief reprieve from the musketry. Pope and Gabe were now on their feet giving orders and organizing the men, getting them into action.
“Grapnels! He’s going to grapple,” Pope shouted. “Cut the grapnel lines!”
Gabe nodded, then turned and ordered a master’s mate. “Send up the flares, I just hope it’s not too damn late.”
The pirate’s guns had damaged timbers, planks, and a good section of the bulwark in addition to the destruction aloft. Thank God for Pope’s sudden order to get down or they’d not have enough men left to fight the ship. Musket fire from the pirates had started anew. Shots whined overhead, and the master’s mate Gabe had ordered to send up the flare fell kicking, his fa
ce reduced to a bloody pulp. Shark’s swivel hanged again sharply. Its canister cut down a number of the pirates as they had grouped amidships making ready to board. The screaming herd had been reduced to a writhing mass.
“Boarders! Repel boarders!” Pope was shouting. This was the cue for the marines to come on deck. Their sudden appearance gave life to Shark’s defenders, but still more grapnels were flying through the air to replace those cut or shot away. The marine sharpshooters were doing their best to cut down the enemy as they attempted to hoard Shark, but the numbers were too great.
The distinct sound of the swivel gun filled the air again. Damn, Gabe thought. That had to have been the second shot in under a minute.
Dagan was doing his part. The canister from the swivel gun acted like a great scythe, cutting down another group of boarders as they were attempting to come across. Screams, curses, and cries of pain were intertwined with the ring of metal-on-metal as cutlasses clashed, along with the sounds of gun fire as pistols and muskets went off. Gabe felt a glancing blow to his shoulder as a pirate plummeted to the deck, his eyes glaring, but not seeing, as a handspike had been buried in his skull. Almost out of breath, Gabe’s arm felt like lead. The constant jar upon jar as he fended off one cutthroat after another had caused his arm to go numb. He felt himself giving ground. There were too many. A musket or pistol ball burned the side of his scalp and blood started to flow. Gabe tried to keep his focus on the man in front of him. The pirate sensed victory with the sudden flow of blood down Gabe’s face. Before he could press his advantage, however, a marine shot the man, jamming a musket to his head and pulling the trigger.
Pope’s group was all but surrounded as they made
their stand beneath the mainmast. Gabe and his band
had been backed against the aft rail. They could retreat
no further. One more step and they’d be in the sea.
“Damn it. Where the hell is Drakkar?” Dagan let loose
with another round of canister. Its effect was murderous
as it cut down a swarm of pirates who were engaging
Pope’s group.
Bleeding from his wounds, Gabe now seemed to be
in a fog, not fully aware of, or in control of his body. He
was now acting on instinct alone. He heard the rasp of
steel as he warded off another lunge. He was
surrounded now. He deflected yet another blow, but felt
a sharp, searing pain in his shoulder. Gabe felt himself
sliding in blood. Whether it was his or someone else’s,
he didn’t know. A gunshot exploded next to Gabe, and
a blood spattered pirate crashed into him. The man was
clenched in a death’s grip with one of Shark’s crew,
neither willing to give. From somewhere in Gabe’s
dazed mind he heard someone shouting, “Strike, will you strike?” “Strike be damned,” he muttered in his last conscious thought.
***
“Easy sir. Easy now. We’ums here sir!” Slowly the
fog started to clear, “Have I been dreaming?” Gabe
wondered. A sob escaped his lips as the pain in his
head, his shoulder, and side became very real. His eyes
seemed to fog over again, but in the mist he saw his
brother and he reached out.
“Gil!”
“Easy lad,” muttered the American doctor, Caleb. He was with Anthony. Then Dagan was offering him water. Then everything went black.
For several days, Gabe went in and out of consciousness. Fever racked his body, and delirium twisted his senses. He talked to his father, and called out to his mother. He heard voices.
“Gabe, it’s Gil. I’m here for you.”
In his fog, he saw Dagan come and go. He recalled whispers and hushed voices. And women. He heard women’s voices. He recalled trying to rise up only to be pushed back down. “Easy man. Don’t rush it. You need your rest.” Then it was all black again.
Rain-it sounded like rain outside. Gabe opened his eyes. It was raining outside. He could hear it. But where was he? He didn’t hear the familiar sounds associated with a ship. This was not his cot. He felt the covers, all soft and sweet smelling. He felt a slight pain as he moved. His clothes. Where were his clothes? He was naked beneath the frilly covers.
“Well look who is back from the dead,” Caleb said. He had entered the bedroom and witnessed Gabe’s return to consciousness. Gabe attempted a smile, but felt a twinge and stiffness along his scalp as he did so.
“Ah lad, it’s beat up you are, and somewhat the worse for wear. But you’ll be back to pleasuring the wenches in no time, filling their heads with your blarney heroics.” Gabe could feel the healing furrow along his scalp. “Aye,” Caleb said. “A close run thing.” A bandage was also in place across Gabe’s left shoulder and around his waist. Gabe found himself peering at his bandaged body, then looked beneath the covers. As he did so, Caleb volunteered, “It’s naked as a jay bird, you are!” Gabe started to ask who had undressed him, but wasn’t able to finish his question as Lady Deborah and Gil had entered the room with Dagan behind them.
“Hungry?” Anthony asked.
Realizing he was, Gabe answered, “Ravenous.”
Later that evening, Gabe managed to hobble to a chair on the porch. There was a glint of sunshine still on the horizon. The rain had stopped but the air was still damp. He had closed his eyes, enjoying the peace while the hint of cool breeze blew upon his face. Relaxing so, he sensed another presence. Opening his eyes, Gabe saw Lady Deborah standing there smiling down at him. “It was you who took care of me!” Gabe’s comment was more a statement than a question.
“Along with Caleb, Gil, and Dagan,” she replied.
“But it was you who cared for me somewhere in those lost days. I can remember soft, gentle hands. It was not unlike Mother’s hands when I was a little boy and got hurt.”
“It was the least I could do for my future brother-inlaw,” Deborah replied as she reached down and took Gabe’s offered hand. “Gil loves you so much. He was worried sick about you, and yet at the same time was filled with pride at your gallant stand. He prayed daily for your recovery. He said his life has been much more complete with you in it. He was afraid he’d lose you before the two of you really were able to share time together.”
Gabe tried to hide the moisture growing in his eyes. “I too am glad to have discovered my brother. He is so much like father.”
Lady Deborah’s face creased into a smile. “It’s funny you should say so, because that’s exactly what your brother said of you.”
Minutes later Dagan stood out from the shadows where he’d been standing, watching and listening. He’d seen the Lady standing by Gabe and pulling his head to her body in a loving, caring manner. Now he felt at peace. “I knew it,” he said to himself as he walked down the hill to fetch a wet. It was in the cards. He’d seen it. But watching the Lady with Gabe validated his speculation. “Boy’s got a family and a future, jes like the cards say.”
Chapter Seventeen
Anthony and Commodore Gardner were seated at a table overlooking a bustling English Harbour.
“Damn’d lucky, I’d say,” the Commodore said for the second or third time. They were enjoying a cool glass of lime juice. Anthony watched as the remaining piece of ice was swirled around in the light green liquid. As Gardner drained the glass, he rattled the ice. It was the last of his stores and the commodore seemed to be extracting as much enjoyment as he could before this last sliver was gone. Anthony had found a particle or two of sawdust in his glass but he didn’t comment on it, not wanting to interrupt his host. After pacing back and forth in front of the big window, he stuck his fingers in the glass, retrieving the ice and popping it in his mouth, filling the room with a loud crunch. Noticing that Anthony was watching, the commodore said, “Not long ago I couldn’t chew ice. A good fellow in the colonies fixed me up with a good pair of choppers and now I can eat
what I want. Fellow’s from Virginia and said he’d fixed a set for Colonel George Washington. Now I hear that Washington may lead an army against us.” He paused as he heard a rap on the door.
A midshipman entered. “The carriage is ready, Sir.”
“Very good. Gil, let’s be off to see that damn slaver. He was lucky, I tell you. Gabe was just damn lucky,” the commodore said again, his mind fixed on Gabe’s heroics and wounds.
Lieutenant Pope had been right. The captured vessel had been a slaver in its day. He showed Anthony and Commodore Gardner the ring bolts and chains which
were still in place. “I think Bart might have been right when he said ‘probably left to hold hostages.’” Gardner nodded but replied, “As far as we know, there’s been no request for ransom as yet.”
Anthony agreed but added, “Maybe they’ve not
captured the right person so far. Could be they’re
waiting for some big political capture or even a high
ranking officer.”
“Hopefully someone above commodore rank,”
Gardner added, to which Pope and Anthony had a
good laugh.
The slaver was a nimble vessel. She had proved that
when she had come about quick as you please and
poured a broadside into Shark.
“She’s a barque. With her sleek lines and finely
raked mast I’d say there was a fair amount of American
influence involved in her construction, if not American
built. She was certainly built as a slaver, otherwise her
hull would have been built wider to carry more cargo
like the British barques we’re used to. She’s also got a
fair amount of armament,” Buck said, joining in the
conversation. “Do you think she got those off of