Michael Aye - The Reaper

Antigua was a small island, but was great in regards to the needs of the Royal Navy in the West Indies. As dawn’s light lit the sky the master’s predictions came true. The island seemed to creep up over the horizon until it was in plain view. This made old Peckham strut like a peacock. Anthony never doubted the master’s prediction, and was just as excited as he at having made a perfect landfall. It had been nearly six weeks since they had left England. Not a speed record by any means, but the time had been well used. The crew’s sail handling had been tested in all kinds of weather conditions. They had become proficient with the guns, and now Drakkar was battle tested. Not much of a battle to be sure-but for a first action Anthony was more than pleased. The crew had been seasoned, and had grown together and now was a fighting unit. There had been one flogging, but this was expected. On most ships there would have been many more. Except for Witzenfeld, the passage had been a perfect training exercise.

As the sun rose, the sky became cloudless. The deep blue Caribbean seemed to invite and welcome the frigate into her waters. Sea gulls and all manner of other birds were everywhere-swooping down, gawking and then darting off. At times, they seemed to hover in one spot. Then, flapping their wings, they’d fly away. Anthony sensed someone’s presence. Turning, he stood face to face with Lady McKean. In spite of the warm sun, she gave a shiver. Unpleasant memories of Antigua? Recalling yesterday’s ordeal? Anthony was left to wonder.

His own thoughts had drifted that way. They had lost five crewmembers, “discharged dead” and another five or six had significant, but not life threatening wounds. Not so terrible a price to pay in the overall scheme of things, but while thankful of the few losses his heart went out to those who had lost their lives. The Admiralty would consider the losses negligible compared to the schooners they’d captured. Especially given all the head money and specie they had retrieved.

Lady McKean would find no solace in this, however. “Will we have time to speak after we anchor, Captain?”

“I’m sure, my lady,” Anthony replied. “I have to report to the flag officer, if he’s in port. I’m sure I’ll have to meet with the commissioner at the dockyard. However, after the official visits, I’m sure we’ll have time to visit before Drakkar sails.”

“I would be grateful, Captain,” Lady McKean replied.

“Gil, my lady. Please just call me Gil.”

Pausing, Lady McKean looked at Anthony. “If you insist. I know you have much to attend to without me in the way.” Then she was gone.

“Deck there,” the masthead lookout called down. “Several ships anchored just off the headland, sir. One’s a second-rate, at least.”

“That’ll be the flag ship,” Anthony remarked to the master as he approached. “Make a signal to Buck and the two schooners to standby to fire salute.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“Mt Pitts.”

“Here, sir.”

“Prepare to wear ship.”

“Aye, sir.’’ “Once that’s completed, begin the salute.” “Yes, sir,” Mr. Pits answered, then dashed away to attend his duties.

“‘Bout to bust, he is, with his newfound authority,” Peckham remarked to Anthony as soon as Pitts was out of hearing. “Better watch out Cap’n, or he’ll be admiral before you.”

“I’m sure,” Anthony replied. “I’m going down to change. No doubt the Admiral will signal before the anchor’s let go. Bart?”

“Here, Cap’n, I’m already preparing the gig, sir.”

Antigua was the Royal Navy’s headquarters and main base in the West Indies. As Gabe strode across the quarterdeck of the schooner LeCroix, he thought of his father. He had spent many an evening listening as the admiral had told stories and shared his memories of Antigua and the West Indies with Dagan and him. Hopefully, he’d have some to share when this commission was over.

The West Indies was a chain of islands on the eastern side of the Caribbean. These islands were full of natural harbors and inlets, making for the perfect lair of pirates and privateers. Therefore, opportunities for someone such as he should be abundant. Since Witz’s death, Gabe had been made acting fourth lieutenant. If luck held, he’d make lieutenant before too long. It was not unthinkable that once he made lieutenant he might even be given command of some little prize-like this schooner.

Thinking of “this little prize” made him think of Dagan. How much loot did he confiscate before letting anyone know it had been found? Better yet, where did he hide it? “For use in case of a cloudy day,” was all Dagan said, as he took a small chest and placed it aside before letting anyone know of their “find.” He had handed Gabe a large red ruby that had to be ten carats or more. “For luck,” Dagan had said. Gabe didn’t like keeping this from Anthony, but he didn’t want to say anything to hurt Dagan either.

Gabe fondled the gem in his coat pocket, and thought of the articles of war. He felt a chill run through him. “For luck,” Dagan had said. Well, he damn well hoped good luck was all that ever came of it.

Dagan approached and said, “Drakkar’s signaling.”

Gabe responded without even thinking, “Look alive men. The Admiral’s eyes are upon us. We don’t want him to liking us to a bunch of bum boatsmen.”

The winds had backed to the southeast. Drakkar was leaving a white wake in the blue sea. Even under reduced sail, she appeared a force with which to be reckoned. She glided into harbour, having completed the salute. The anchor had scarcely been loosened when the admiral’s signal “repair on board” had been hoisted. Anthony was proud of how well Bart had the gig’s crew turned out. Of course, he’d expected no different. Even Mr. Davy was turned out smart as a “bullock” on parade day. He had been brought along to carry dispatches. “Bloody worthless little shit ‘iffen you ask,” Bart had said. Anthony knew his comments were a ruse. Bart had taken to the young gentleman and had spent hours “educating” the lad. Even now he was explaining to Davy the age-old tradition of “the captain is last into the boat but first out.” Davy was listening to Bart, but couldn’t help but gawk at the flagship. He had thought Drakkar big, but the flagship was gigantic to the young mid.

Robert Harvey was flag captain of HMS Namur . She was small for a second rate-only ninety guns. However, she could still provide deadly force. Harvey met Anthony as he came on board shaking his hand even before honors had been completed. After pleasantries had been exchanged, the two talked captain to captain. “Sir Lawrence Finylson, rear admiral of the blue is our lord and master. He has tried very hard to deal with this pestilence of pirates and privateers. However, until you arrived, he had only one frigate-a small 28.

It’s a wonder she still floats, her hull is so wormy. We’ve lost a couple of brigs, and a hurricane damaged our one sloop so badly she will have to be completely overhauled. There’s little enough left to justify our admiral’s presence. He’s tried with what little resources we have, but Sir Lawrence is ill and grows tired. Now that you’re here, I expect he’ll haul down his flag so he can go back to England and enjoy what little time he has left.”

When Anthony was ushered into the admiral’s stateroom by the flag lieutenant, he was shocked. The man before him looked very tired and old. Yellow Jack had taken its toll on the old admiral.

“Ah, Gil, how are you? Have a seat.” The admiral then ordered the flag lieutenant to “fetch some ice.” As soon as the man had gone, the admiral jokingly remarked, “Soon as he gets back we’ll have a cool glass of refreshment, that is if he doesn’t get lost and let the ice melt before he returns.” Anthony had to smile. The admiral may be getting up in years, but he still maintained a good sense of humor.