The Reaper

command. You will have leeway to deal with this threat as you see fit. You are to assume command of Drakkar 44. She has a new full complement and should be completing all preparations to put to sea. Her former captain has decided to retire rather than face hostilities with the colonies. The Drakkar already has a full slate of officers, but I’m sure you’ll want Lieutenant Buck and a few others. Just leave a list of names with my secretary and he’ll see to it.”

“When do you expect me to sail?” Anthony asked.

“Within a fortnight.”

“And where are we bound, sir?”

“ English Harbour, Antiqua.”

Chapter Three

Before reporting to the Drakkar, Anthony had taken the time to visit Deerfield. He wanted to see his mother before getting underway for another commission. Gabe had been sent on to the ship. Mother would only have to see Gabe and she would know who his father was. That would only cause a stir and Anthony wasn’t ready to deal with that so soon after his father’s passing. The trip had served to depress Anthony more than cheer him. Deerfield was in fine order but mother had been sick the entire time he was home. Mother seemed to be in a fog or a confused state. She constantly repeated things she’d just said, all the while asking Anthony if he knew when his father would return home. She refused to acknowledge that Lord Anthony was dead. These thoughts were still on Anthony’s mind as he hired a little cutter to take him out to Drakkar. His exact time to arrive had not been set and therefore his gig had not been awaiting his arrival. A brisk southwesterly breeze filled the main sail. The dip of the cutter’s bow on choppy waves created a constant salt spray. The old man and his grandson appeared to be oblivious, but the spindrift had Anthony constantly wiping his face. Anthony’s cox’n, Bart, and his servant Silas, had draped a tarpaulin to protect Anthony’s sea chest and to keep them dry and warm. As the boat pushed through the chilly harbor’s water, Anthony glanced at the maimed old sailor at the tiller. His hands were gnarled with rheumatoid. A single

crutch lay beside the tiller, bringing attention to the man’s peg leg.

The old man must have sensed Anthony’s gaze and offered. “Name’s Pilcher, sir, former gunner for Hawke. Lost me timber at Cape Finisterre, I did.”

Anthony nodded and could only guess at how many men had given so much only to be discharged and left to fend for themselves. These veterans were used up, then cast aside like the hulks of old rotting ships. Nobody remembered their sacrifices. Lost in his thoughts, it took Pilcher’s cry, “There she be, Cap’n,” to break his reverie.

Drakkar-Dragon. Would her cannon breathe fire upon England ’s enemies as her mythical namesake had done? Someone had spent great time and care carving the figurehead. No small sum was spent on just the gold leaf. As the wind picked up, Anthony could see Drakkar’s copper as she strained at her cable. He likened her to a racehorse ready to be off. Much to the boatman’s despair, Anthony had him circle the ship-his ship. Like the figurehead, the stern-gallery was done with great care. How long would she remain so ornate, Anthony wondered? Ah, she was the picture of perfection. She’d be even more beautiful with all her sails set and running before the wind.

“Lovely ain’t she, Cap’n? Just as lovely as a virgin on ‘er wedding night,” Bart volunteered.

Closer now, Anthony could hear and make out the activity aboard his new ship. Aft by the entry port Lieutenant Dunn had his marines turned out. The crew was being made ready for his arrival, and God help the man that caused embarrassment to the First Lieutenant, Mr. Buck, with the Captain coming aboard.

“Boat approaching,” declared a sentry.

“Very well,” acknowledged the First Lieutenant.

“Boat ahoy!”

“Drakkar!”

The challenge had been given and the boatman’s response left no doubt that the man coming aboard would be second only to God in controlling their lives in the foreseeable future.

Anthony removed his boat cloak and tossed it to his cox’n, Bart. No need getting tangled and tossing one’s own self, arsehole over elbows in front of the entire crew. Anthony timed the swell just right, and it was little more than a step from the little cutter to Drakkar’s gunwale and through the entry port. No sooner had his head appeared above the entry port than honors began. The sudden noise from the pipers and the slap of muskets from marines presenting arms were almost deafening as all cadences blended together to announce the arrival of their captain. Anthony paused momentarily as he cleared the entry port and stepped on deck. Just a moment to fully enjoy the honors he was being rendered. In that brief period, he glanced about the ship. The tall tapering mast. Every rope, block and tackle. The polished brass and furled sails. The assembled crew and guns. She was a frigate all right. A damned big frigate to be sure, but a frigate all the same. Anthony could smell the tar, the faint odor of gun oil and the sea. Yes, Drakkar was ready, and God help him, so was he. Anthony felt like he was home.

“Ah, Mr. Buck!” Anthony said as the First Lieutenant greeted him. “You’ve done a fine job as usual.”

“Thank you, sir. Bart and Silas are seeing that your things get stowed below. You’ve much more room than on the Recourse,” Buck told Anthony.

“As have you, I hope,” answered Anthony with a smile. “Now if you will be so kind as to muster the crew aft.”

“Aye, sir.” Buck turned to the bosun and repeated the order,

Reaching into his pocket for his orders, Anthony felt his father’s old pipe. A chill went through him. He could feel his father’s presence. He then pulled out his orders and with a firm voice read them to the ship’s company.

“By the Commissioner for executing the office of Lord High Admiral…To Captain Lord Gilbert Anthony…His Frigate Drakkar…willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the charge and command of captain…”

After his reading in, Anthony turned to his First Lieutenant. “Dismiss the crew then come to my cabin, Mr. Buck.”

“I’ll be there directly, Cap’n.”

***

Bart and Silas were unpacking their captain’s belongings when Anthony entered the cabin. Bart and Anthony had been together since Bart was a seaman and Anthony a young lieutenant. Silas? Silas was many things-servant, secretary and coffee maker extraordinaire. Silas’s coffee was legendary. It was rare when a visitor that had the pleasure of a cup of Silas’s coffee didn’t request more on a subsequent visit.

While no place on a crowded ship could be considered private, the captain’s quarters were as close as it came. Anthony gazed at the stern windows. They crossed the entire length of his quarters. He looked closely at the handy work of the craftsman where timbers had been fitted after the ship had been razed. They had done a remarkable job.

Drakkar was considered a fifth rate forty-four gun frigate. However, she was originally launched as a French sixty-four, a third rate. She had been taken by Hawke’s squadron as they defeated the French Fleet at Quibron Bay in 1759. She was one of King George’s largest frigates, still carrying the twenty-four pounders that were her main armament when she was a sixty-four. A broadside from Drakkar would be devastating.

It was getting dark and as the sun went down so did the temperature. The cabin would be damp and cold in Portsmouth harbor. However, a week in the tropics should help not only the cold but also the ache in Anthony’s bones. He looked at the two ornamental partitions left by the previous captain. They hid his sleeping cabin and the chart room. The man had also left his table, chairs, a mahogany wardrobe and desk. All were of good quality and had to have been expensive. Anthony couldn’t help but wonder if his predecessor was extremely wealthy or just in