The Reaper

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 face 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