by Michael Aye
Dagan had agreed saying, “It’s so written.”
Therefore, as far as Silas was concerned, it was gospel. The only thing that remained was for the correct time to come. Silas never thought to question Dagan about where it was written.
***
It was a bright day. The predawn overcast had eased, then was swept inshore by a “goodly breeze.” Looking over at Shark through his glass, Anthony could make out Nathan Lavery. The midshipman had been spread out among the various ships like everyone else. He was no doubt dreaming of glory and promotion to lieutenant.
“Ready to weigh anchor, sir.”
“Very well, Mr. Buck. Get us underway.”
As Drakkar and her little flotilla beat out of English Harhour, several coastal luggers and the mail packet met them. Anthony was pacing up and down the quarterdeck, deep in thought. No one invaded his private space when he paced. He’d seen the mail packet as did everyone else, but his mind was on the upcoming battle. Would his fate be that of fortune, or would he become infamous? Buck walked to the edge of Anthony’s space and waited to be recognized. He would not break lord Anthony’s reverie.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Buck?”
“I was wondering sir, do you think they’ll have mail for us when we return?”
Speaking more harshly than he meant to, Anthony snapped, “Maybe Mr. Buck, for those of us lucky enough to return in one piece.”
Buck could see the somber look on Anthony’s face, and knew he was worried. He was worried more for those he was going to put in harm’s way than for himself. However, he was at a loss for words. Bart had been standing close and heard the exchange between Anthony and Buck. He knew Buck wanted to say something, but was hesitant, so he volunteered, “Don’t ye be worrying Cap’n. Lady luck is with us. Why it’s in the scriptures. Dagan done said so.”
“In the scriptures!” Anthony snapped. “Pray tell what chapter and verse, as well as what book would I find this passage?”
“Well, sir, iffen Dagan weren’t yonder with Mister Gabe, I’d ask him for you. I surely would. ‘Course iffen yew’s that curious, we could signal and have him come aboard.”
“Curious?”
“Aye, sir.’’
“Why you damned old blackguard. I ought to keelhaul you. Curious, huh!”
Bart turned away, mumbling as he headed toward the companionway. “What was that?” Anthony called. Bart turned back and said, “T’wern’t no need trying to hurt me feelings.”
Shocked, Anthony said, “Hurt your feelings?”
“Aye, sir. Yew know’s we’ums be the same age. Ain’t no need calling me old.”
“Why damme, Mr. Buck, we got us a cheeky shellback who knows his age,” Anthony said to the First Lieutenant. Maybe Dagan’s lady luck is with us. Bart headed back down toward the great cabin. Maybe Silas had put a couple of wets back. Hot as it was getting to be, a wet would go good about now. However, even if Silas didn’t have anything put back, he’d feel better knowing he’d broken “the cap’n’s mulligrubs.”
***
“It’s time, sir.” Bart was standing there. “It’s time.”
Before Anthony’s eyes came to focus, he could smell the coffee and knew Bart had a cup for him.
“Master says we’s in for a quick squall, and then it should be fair winds rest of the day.”
Looking out the stern window, Anthony could see it wasn’t dawn yet. Following his gaze, Bart volunteered, “It’s about a hour before daybreak.” Anthony still had his uniform on, and now he ached where his coat had gathered under his back. He’d come down to the cabin to get out of the watch’s way. He didn’t want them to feel his own anxiety and misgivings. He’d sat on the cot, and at some point fell asleep. “Did the men rest?”
“Aye, sir. It was a bit cramped with all the extra men on board, but they rested. That extra tot of rum you ordered was jes the right thing to help ‘em sleep like little babes at their mama’s teats.”
Anthony snorted. Where Bart came up with all his little analogies one could only guess. However, they were usually accurate-frequently profane- but accurate. Anthony had commandeered every available man he could from Antigua. A ship the size of the Reaper would ordinarily carry a crew of three hundred and fifty or so men. However, being a pirate ship, she may well have five hundred aboard.
When Anthony came on deck he could feel the wind. A quick squall, the master had predicted. The wind caused a flapping noise, possibly where a sail wasn’t furled tightly.
“Damme, sir. Take another turn there, would you? Your watch is as loose as a whore’s drawers, Mr. Markham. I expected more of you, sir.”
“Aye, sir,” Markham replied to the first lieutenant. Then he called, “Bosun, brail up there if you will. I trust I don’t have to remind you of your duties sir, experienced old salt that you are.
“Aye, lieutenant. We’ll see to it.’’
“McCarty! You ‘erd the lieutenant!”
Anthony smiled to himself. A game-Buck got on Lieutenant Markham, Lt. Markham got on the bosun, and the bosun on the nearest sod who was probably just waking up. It was also apparent that Buck’s nerves were worn a bit. The Scythe had already anchored off Snake Island. In the distance, a few lights were visible-possibly Snake Island or St. Thomas. Lights on Virgin Gorda, St. John, and Tortola were in sight as well.
Anthony had sent a party ashore under cover of darkness, and had them cut a few branches and tops out of palm trees. He then had the carpenter and his mates attach the tops to planks that could be easily discarded when needed. Until then they were fixed to the mast, yardarms, and along the rail. This would help disguise the ship’s appearance. While it might not stand close scrutiny, Drakkar would be hard to pick out at first glance nestled in a small inlet as she was.
Drakkar had dropped her anchor as close ashore as possible between St. John and Virgin Gorda. “Too close for my liking,” the master had said. If the approaching squall had any force they’d have to get under way, and that would ruin all of Anthony’s plans. Yet he could understand the master’s apprehension. When the wind died down, one could hear the surf. Fortunately the wind was now coming from the north-northeast. While Anthony couldn’t see them, he knew the ketch and schooners would be in place. Now it was a waiting game. Buck, Peckham, the gunner and the bosun were all in conversation when a member of the watch nudged Lieutenant Markham. Still smarting from the first lieutenant’s remarks about a loose watch, Markham greeted Anthony without informing Buck that he was present.
“Good morning, sir. It will be light soon. I’ve kept a watch on the anchors and we’ve not drifted.”
Peeved, Buck turned and greeted Anthony. “Promises to be a warm one by mid morning,” Peckham volunteered.
“Ah, but the question is for whom,” Anthony replied. Then turning to Buck, he said, “Put your best eyes aloft today. I want good men with a glass at the masthead and change them every two hours.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Buck had already taken care of the lookouts, but it didn’t hurt for Anthony to remind him. Another little breeze caused a small flapping noise overhead. The group looked up as one. Anthony’s broad pendant.
Funny, Anthony thought. He hadn’t even thought about that for some time, hadn’t even really considered himself a commodore. Bart had yet to address him as anything other than “Cap’n” or sir. However, there flapping in the wind was his proof. There was the standard that men would follow into battle this day. Some would die; maybe he’d die. “God be with Gabe,” he suddenly prayed.
Buck had followed Anthony’s gaze. “She makes a pretty sight, don’t she, sir?”
“Yes, Mr. Buck. That she does.”
“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, sir, but I think the Admiralty did the right thing giving you the broad pendant. I just wish you could have had a true flag captain.”
Without knowing it, Buck had touched on Anthony’s feelings. If he’d had a flag captain, maybe he would have felt more like a commodore. “Well, Mr. Buck
,” Anthony answered, “Let’s just be thankful for the support they did give us, and let us not be forgetting all the help Commodore Gardner has been.”
“Aye, sir. A great help he’s been too.”
Silas peered above the companionway. “Are you ready for your breakfast, sir?” Seeing Anthony’s look, Silas added, “We’ve got butter and jelly to go on some bread. That’d go good with a fresh cup of coffee ‘iffen ya want something light.”
“Sounds good, Silas. I’ll be down directly. Have the men been fed, Mr. Buck?”
“Aye, sir, and were ready to go to quarters.”
“Then I shall break my fast.”
Then from above came the hoarse cry, “Deck there. Sail to the nor-east.” Even though Anthony had been expecting the sighting to be sooner than later, he was startled at the alarm. He was suddenly apprehensive. He could second-guess all his plans if he wanted, but that wouldn’t change a thing. Today would be a day of reckoning!
“She’s coming down the passage just like Pope predicted,” Buck was saying. “Aye, but a bit early, I’m thinking,” Anthony
replied.
“Better to get it over with,” Peckham chimed in.
“It’ll be a while yet,” Anthony said looking at his watch. “I shall have my breakfast, I think. Bart!”
“Here, sir.”
“Let’s go eat.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
As the commodore and his cox’n disappeared, Peckham asked Davy, “Well young sir, have you ever seen such a cool ‘un?”
“No, sir,” Davy said, still in awe. Standing at the foot of the main mast, the bosun had seen and heard the entire conversation. As he moved forward he recalled his recent conversation with Bart about being part of Anthony’s family. “Reckon the sod is family,” he muttered to himself, “eating breakfast with ‘is lordship and the like.”
***
When Anthony returned back on deck he was patting his stomach. “Nothing gets a man ready for battle like a full belly, Rupert.”
Buck, hearing Anthony, turned and replied, “Aye, that it does, sir. But if you get a belly full of lead its an agonizing death, I’m told.”
“Well, thank you very much for your insight, Lieutenant,” Anthony replied. “Just what I wanted to hear!”
“It’s light enough now, sir,” Buck continued, ignoring Anthony’s sarcasm. “The lookouts have made out two different ships.”
“Two?” Anthony said, alarmed.
“Aye, sir. One is definitely the Reaper, and the other is a smaller ship, possibly a brig. Maybe a captured vessel.”
“We’ve not been sighted?” Anthony questioned.
“There’s been no sign we have sir. But without expecting us and with the way you’ve got us camouflaged, we’d be hard to spot.”
Anthony nodded. Drakkar would he hard to spot. But if she were, she’d be like a sitting duck for awhile. However, wiith the sun rising and the islands lying behind them, the ship was hidden as well as a ship could be. But two ships! They were expecting the Reaper-not the Reaper and another ship. No plans were made to take on two pirates. There had been many questions left unanswered, and one wouldn’t have to look far to find flaws in this plan. He should have considered Reaper might well have been rendezvousing with more than one ship. “Damme,” he said out loud. It would be a hellish job taking on Reaper by herself, but now the odds looked insurmountable.
Buck volunteered again, seeing the concern on Anthony’s face. “The brig’s not flying a flag, sir, so she may be a ‘took’ ship.”
“Took or not, Mr. Buck, she’s crewed by a band of cutthroats that’ll know how to use her better than the crew she sailed with most likely.”
Reaper was at that moment passing to windward of where Drakkar lay in wait. Anthony felt a queasy sensation in his stomach. He felt almost naked watching as Reaper passed. A lookout called down in a voice just loud enough to he heard: “She got a vice admiral’s flag flying, sir.”
“Damned cheekish if you ask me,” Buck declared, looking through a ship’s glass. Anthony took his own glass and peered. Sure enough, a vice admiral’s flag flew at the foremast.
“Bloody ass,” Peckham chimed in. “It’s no small wonder ‘e ain’t flying an admiral of the fleet’s flag.”
“Impertinent, he may be,” Anthony said. “But he’d already partially succeeded in his goal for flying that rag.”
Buck and Peckham gave Anthony a questioning look. “He’s already got your British blood boiling. You’re stirred up and angry.”
“Angry men rush in where wise ones would tread softly, gentlemen. We are outmanned and outgunned. To see this day through we must keep our wits about us.”
Turning back toward Reaper, Anthony couldn’t help but admire her. Foe she may be, but she presented a proud sight. Proud and deadly. Anthony could still envision her swift attack on Rascal. He would never forget Merle Pitts’ words, “I wanted you to be proud.” Reaper remained close-hauled on her present tack.
“She taking in her main course, sir,” Peckham said. “Looks like top gallant’s already brailed up.”
“Think they’ve already sighted Scythe, sir?” Buck asked.
“If not, they’re blind or drunk,” Anthony replied. Anthony had not misjudged his timing, but how long would it be before that son-o-Satan realized something was amiss? Anchored as she was, Scythe was a sitting duck. Anthony could only imagine what a state of nerves Pope and Scythe’s crew must be under. Most would remember what happened to Rascal.
“Cast off our disguise if you will Mr. Buck, and prepare to get underway. I don’t want to be late for this engagement.”
“Aye, sir. Mr. McMorgan, if you’d be so kind as to get these laggards busy I’d appreciate it. It’s time to show that snail eating sodomite that Drakkar’s a warship and not a fucking jungle!”
McMorgan smiled to himself as he got the men busy with the help of some of his mates. Mr. Buck was getting his dander up.
Anthony found himself pacing the quarterdeck. Buck didn’t need him interfering with getting the ship underway.
Pope, on board the Scythe, was to let loose a broadside into the Reaper at the most opportune time. But when exactly was that? He was confident Pope would judge it right. He had commanded a brig before becoming First Lieutenant in a first rate flag ship. He had the experience, but that didn’t curtail Anthony’s anxiety.
If they fired too soon Reaper would stand off and let loose her own devastating broadside that would end the show before it began. If they waited too late then they’d be overrun before Drakkar and the schooners could assist.
The big question right now was the brig. How was she armed and how many men did she have on board? Were there any prisoners on board that could be freed and help in the fight? Anthony gazed about him. Mr. Davy stood by the main mast laying a hand to discarding Drakkar’s camouflage. He still looked youthful, but different than the snit that had faced Witzenfeld with such tenacity. Seasoned. That was the difference. He was now a seasoned veteran who had seen more action than some sitting behind a desk at Whitehall. Would he still look youthful tomorrow? Would he even he alive tomorrow? Anthony couldn’t help but feel the burden as he placed young Davy and all the others in his flotilla in harm’s way. Duty! Damme if that wasn’t a fine word at White Hall. But most of these men could care less than a fiddler’s fart about duty. It was their mates and the ship, and to hell with the rest of it.
“We’re ready to get underway, sir. The anchors hove short.”
“Very well, Mr. Buck. Proceed, but do it quietly. I feel the trap is already set, but let us not tip our hand till Pope has had his say.”
“Aye, sir,” Buck replied, grinning at Anthony’s word. “Pope will let his cannons do his talking, and by gawd I hope he kills that Frenchman with his first words.”
Anthony could feel Drakkar come alive and make headway. Picking up a breeze, her sails filled and grew taut.
“Mr. Peckham!”
“Aye, sir!”
“Aye, sir. Dessert we’ll have if I’m any judge.”
***
“Deck there. Looks like Reaper’s dropping her anchor, sir.” No sooner had the lookout hailed down when the sound of thunder filled the air. Scythe had let loose her broadside. Each cannon was loaded with grape on top of ball.
“Cut it close he did,” Peckham remarked.
“Well ‘hit, don’t matter much now iffen ‘e sees us do it cap’n, the sods bound to know sumthin’s amiss.”
“Well, Bart,” Anthony said. “Where did you come from? I’d begun to wonder if you’d taken leg bail.’“
“Leg bail, why no sirree. Iffen I was to do that, who’d see to getting my betters outta the trouble they’s always getting into?”
Bart was right. However, rushing down under full sail only a blind man would miss Drakkar with her dragon figurehead looking defiant and warning all.
Pope had let loose another broadside. Mr. Davy had climbed up on the bulwark for a better view.
“Caught him flat-footed, sir. That damned pirate ain’t even fired a musket in return yet.”
“Taken to cussin a wee bit, have we, young sir?” Bart asked Davy.
“Er-sorry sir. I was just caught up in the excitement.”
“Apology accepted, Mr. Davy,” Anthony replied, trying to hide his smile.
“Deck there!” hailed the masthead lookout. The brig is tacking and opening her gun ports, sir.” Scythe’s broadside had created so much smoke the brig’s actions were obscured from Drakkar’s quarterdeck.
“Does that answer your questions about the brig, Mr. Buck?”
“Aye, it does, sir. I bet the frog thinks he’s outta deep shat now but he’s in error, I’m thinking.”