The Reaper

“Besides,” she continued, “it must be kept discreet from all, save Greta.”

“Who is Greta?” interrupted Anthony.

“The commodore’s wife,” Deborah explained.

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.