The Reaper

“Good. Now before you board, make sure the bosun has us grappled together tight. I don’t want us drifting apart and the bastard escaping somehow.”

“Nay, sir. He’ll not get away!”

“Rupert!”

“Sir!”

“It’s fight to the finish I’m afraid. There will he no quarter.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, sir.” Then Buck was gone.

“Mister Peckham!”

‘Aye, sir!”

“I don’t feel we’ll need you at the wheel for awhile. If you’ll get your mates together along with the extra men, we’ll board amidships.”

“Aye, sir. Let’s go men. There’s bloody work to be done this day I’m thinking,” the old master shouted to his mates.

Dunn’s sharpshooters were doing their part well but damned if the pirates hadn’t gotten men into the rigging. They were marking down men in Anthony’s party. As the ocean’s swell ground the two hulls together, the yardarms and riggings became tangled. Half blinded by residual smoke from Drakkar’s last broadside, Anthony gave the signal. Williams’s party boarded forward, Buck’s party aft and Anthony’s amidships. The pirate captain was momentarily visible to Anthony, but quickly disappeared into a group of fighting men. The sight on board Reaper was indeed gruesome. Anthony had never seen such havoc as had been rent by Drakkar’s gunnery. Guns were upended, carriages lay in splinters, and men lay crushed by the overturned cannons, or torn apart like disposed rubbish.

Many of Drakkar’s balls had plowed a path of destruction from one bulwark clear to the other side. Wounded men were being ignored as their mates were fighting for their lives. Screams and curses filled the air now that the great guns were silent. Pistol and musket shots still rang out. Spent balls thudded into the deck, as more members of Anthony’s party were falling prey to the pirate’s muskets. A mild breeze was now carrying away the smoke that had helped Drakkar by reducing visibility. As they boarded Reaper Anthony heard a loud crack, then a shout of warning. He turned away just in time to avoid being trapped by more damaged rigging and falling spars. Thankfully most of it fell on a group of pirates. More canvas and cordage were hanging like great obstacles, and men had to hack their way through to fight each other. A bosun’s mate with a group of men hurried past Anthony, swinging axes and cutlasses. They shouted insults to the pirates, their arms waving metal blades that shined in the sunlight only to turn dark with blood. Anthony found himself hoarse from shouting encouragement and commands to his men. His earlier apprehensions had given way to a reckless blood lust. Splinters whipped past him, and a few stung his cheek as a pistol ball ricocheted off a downed spar next to him. Anthony turned toward the direction from which the shot had been fired. There was Reaper’s captain again, smoking pistol in hand. A loud cheer distracted Anthony. Turning, he spied Mr. Davy. Anthony could see tears, fighting tears, mad tears. The boy was giving his all. As Davy wiped away the tears, his face was left streaked with smoke, blood, and grime.

“They’ve taken the brig, sir,” he reported. It was then that Anthony realized Davy was holding his side. A large splinter was protruding where it had embedded along the rib cage. Davy’s hand was soaked from blood. Seeing Anthony’s gaze, Davy said, “It hurts too much to pull out, sir. I tried.”

Anthony turned to Bart. “Get him back to the ship so the surgeon can tend to him.”

“But sir, my place is with you.”

Anthony was moved by Bart’s sincerity, but didn’t have time to debate. “Bart!”

“I understands sir. Come along young sir. Let’s get you back to ole Drakky and see if the surgeon might find a wee potion for yer pain.”

Anthony turned his attention back to the fight. The pirates were being beaten. Slowly and at a great price-but they were being beaten. The ship was a crazed den of slaughter. A petty officer that was firing a swivel gun suddenly grasped his face and fell head long between the two ships. A huge pirate swung a blade as big as a claymore and beheaded a seaman only to have the man’s mate skewer him through the neck, creating a fountain of blood from a severed artery. Men were hacking, stabbing, and slashing at each other.

Anthony thrust his sword into a pirate who was aiming his pistol at a marine. Out of the corner of his eye, Anthony could see Buck, Gabe, and a number of men making their way through the remaining pirates by Reaper’s stern. Another pirate lunged at Anthony, his eyes glazed, oblivious to his many wounds, but now weakened. Anthony struck him down after a brief parry.

“Damme,” he thought. “It is still a wee bit hot for my taste.” He was tiring fast, the adrenaline rush was gone. A seaman fell beside him. His eyes were suddenly lifeless and staring into space, a large cutlass embedded in his chest. Without thinking, Anthony quickly dispatched the rogue who had just slain the seaman. Then another blade slashed at him, which he quickly fended off. There face to face and blade to blade, Anthony faced the pirate captain.

Their blades clashed and parted. A feint. A parry. The foes circled, each exploring for the other’s weakness warily.

Both men were fatigued and were gasping for breath. Their strength was ebbing, but neither was willing to surrender.

Most of the other fighting had now subsided. Buck and Gabe had both reached the outer part of a circle where Anthony and the pirate were dueling. Bart was almost to the inside of the circle. Sensing a distraction, the pirate lunged, the tip of his sword nicking Anthony’s side. Anthony parried the lunge and opened up the pirate’s arm from the elbow to the armpit. The arm was all but useless, and blood dripped down the man’s sleeve and off the hilt of his sword. Again the pirate lunged. This time Anthony side-stepped and brought his blade down across his opponent’s shoulder and collarbone. However, Anthony’s arm had grown tired, weak from the prolonged battle. The blade did not strike true. The pirate caught more of the flat side of the blade than the edge. Even with the glancing blow, a large gash was made and more blood began to flow.

“Give!” Anthony cried.“Give!” Then something struck Anthony in the head from behind. He felt himself beginning to fall. His eyes wouldn’t focus, and he could feel warm blood running down his neck. He seemed to take forever to fall. Then he felt pain as he hit the deck. He tried to rise but he had fallen in a bloody pool. As he tried pushing himself up, his hands slipped from under him. Then Anthony felt pain again as someone stood over him and viciously grabbed him by his hair, jerked back his head, and placed a sharp menacing blade at his exposed throat. The pain in his head was terrible, but helped Anthony to refocus. A dead pirate lay next to where Anthony had just risen. Bart’s knife was stuck in the fellow’s neck. The rogue had apparently struck Anthony from behind and Bart had quickly dispatched him for his troubles. However, the pirate captain was now holding a blade beneath Anthony’s chin. He was threatening to sever Anthony’s windpipe if he was not given clear passage along with his surviving cohorts.

“No!” Anthony tried to speak out, only to feel a slight burning sensation, then warm blood trickle down on to his chest. The pirate captain meant business.

“Rapidement,” he threatened, “Or monsieur will die.” The silence was eerie as everyone lowered their weapons and absorbed what was happening. A heavy groan emerged as another swell caused the hulls of the wounded ships to rub together. The groan was haunting. A cloud suddenly darkened the ship, creating shadows.

“Tu comprends? You have but a moment, then he dies,” the pirate threatened. Buck cleared his throat and started toward the pirate, but Dagan reached out to still him.

“Diable!” Dagan shouted to get the pirate’s attention. “I am Dagan, the revenger, corbeau.” Now Dagan’s voice was barely audible, not much more than a whisper. However, his words seemed to hypnotize the pirate leader. “Give me the knife. You have no need of such a heavy blade. Enough blood has been spilled today Surely you’ve grown tired. It’s time to cool your blood and cleanse your tormented soul.”

As if in a trance, the pirate captain started to rise, loosening his grip on Anthony as he did so. He appeared to relax as he focused on Dagan. Suddenly the silence was broken as one of the blackguards screamed, “Cut ‘is throat. Kill ‘em, capitaine. Kill ‘em.” The French captain shook his head as if clearing himself from a daze. The spell had been broken. He jerked Anthony’s head back, once again raising his hand with the knife.

“Au revoir,” he said.