The Reaper

“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.”