The Shark returned to English Harbour five days after she’d weighed anchor. Anthony felt an uneasiness lift when the lookout reported Shark’s sighting. Pope and Gabe would be coming aboard soon with their scouting report, so there was no need to signal “repair on board.” For that matter, there was no need for Gabe or Pope to realize how anxious he was to get this rendezvous matter settled.
“Silas!”
“Aye, sir.”
“See if you can get a little chill on some of that hock Commodore Gardner gave me. “There might be an occasion to broach a bottle.”
“They’s a couple bottles in the bilges now, sir. I’m sure they’d be just right for drinkin. I’ll go fetch ‘em meself, I will.” Silas didn’t need to be told what the “occasion” was. He’d heard of Shark’s sighting like everyone else.
Bart had it right enough when he said, “Cap’n’s quite taken with young Mister Anthony.” Silas had only seen Admiral Anthony on one occasion, but the young Mister Anthony looked much like him. Could this be the reason for his master’s feelings? Bart had also made the comment when Anthony had raised his broad pendant: “Us’ll have another Admiral or two in the family, Silas. You just mark me words.”
Dagan had agreed saying, “It’s so written.”
Therefore, as far as Silas was concerned, it was gospel. The only thing that remained was for the correct time to come. Silas never thought to question Dagan about where it was written.
It was a bright day. The predawn overcast had eased, then was swept inshore by a “goodly breeze.” Looking over at Shark through his glass, Anthony could make out Nathan Lavery. The midshipman had been spread out among the various ships like everyone else. He was no doubt dreaming of glory and promotion to lieutenant.
“Ready to weigh anchor, sir.”
“Very well, Mr. Buck. Get us underway.”
As Drakkar and her little flotilla beat out of English Harhour, several coastal luggers and the mail packet met them. Anthony was pacing up and down the quarterdeck, deep in thought. No one invaded his private space when he paced. He’d seen the mail packet as did everyone else, but his mind was on the upcoming battle. Would his fate be that of fortune, or would he become infamous? Buck walked to the edge of Anthony’s space and waited to be recognized. He would not break lord Anthony’s reverie.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Buck?”
“I was wondering sir, do you think they’ll have mail for us when we return?”
Speaking more harshly than he meant to, Anthony snapped, “Maybe Mr. Buck, for those of us lucky enough to return in one piece.”
Buck could see the somber look on Anthony’s face, and knew he was worried. He was worried more for those he was going to put in harm’s way than for himself. However, he was at a loss for words. Bart had been standing close and heard the exchange between Anthony and Buck. He knew Buck wanted to say something, but was hesitant, so he volunteered, “Don’t ye be worrying Cap’n. Lady luck is with us. Why it’s in the scriptures. Dagan done said so.”
“In the scriptures!” Anthony snapped. “Pray tell what chapter and verse, as well as what book would I find this passage?”
“Well, sir, iffen Dagan weren’t yonder with Mister Gabe, I’d ask him for you. I surely would. ‘Course iffen yew’s that curious, we could signal and have him come aboard.”
“Curious?”
“Aye, sir.’’
“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.”
Buck, hearing Anthony, turned and replied, “Aye, that it does, sir. But if you get a belly full of lead its an agonizing death, I’m told.”
“Well, thank you very much for your insight, Lieutenant,” Anthony replied. “Just what I wanted to hear!”
“It’s light enough now, sir,” Buck continued, ignoring Anthony’s sarcasm. “The lookouts have made out two different ships.”
“Two?” Anthony said, alarmed.
“Aye, sir. One is definitely the Reaper, and the other is a smaller ship, possibly a brig. Maybe a captured vessel.”
“We’ve not been sighted?” Anthony questioned.
“There’s been no sign we have sir. But without expecting us and with the way you’ve got us camouflaged, we’d be hard to spot.”
Anthony nodded. Drakkar would he hard to spot. But if she were, she’d be like a sitting duck for awhile. However, wiith the sun rising and the islands lying behind them, the ship was hidden as well as a ship could be. But two ships! They were expecting the Reaper-not the Reaper and another ship. No plans were made to take on two pirates. There had been many questions left unanswered, and one wouldn’t have to look far to find flaws in this plan. He should have considered Reaper might well have been rendezvousing with more than one ship. “Damme,” he said out loud. It would be a hellish job taking on Reaper by herself, but now the odds looked insurmountable.
Buck volunteered again, seeing the concern on Anthony’s face. “The brig’s not flying a flag, sir, so she may be a ‘took’ ship.”
“Took or not, Mr. Buck, she’s crewed by a band of cutthroats that’ll know how to use her better than the crew she sailed with most likely.”
Reaper was at that moment passing to windward of where Drakkar lay in wait. Anthony felt a queasy sensation in his stomach. He felt almost naked watching as Reaper passed. A lookout called down in a voice just loud enough to he heard: “She got a vice admiral’s flag flying, sir.”
“Damned cheekish if you ask me,” Buck declared, looking through a ship’s glass. Anthony took his own glass and peered. Sure enough, a vice admiral’s flag flew at the foremast.
“Bloody ass,” Peckham chimed in. “It’s no small wonder ‘e ain’t flying an admiral of the fleet’s flag.”
“Impertinent, he may be,” Anthony said. “But he’d already partially succeeded in his goal for flying that rag.”
Buck and Peckham gave Anthony a questioning look. “He’s already got your British blood boiling. You’re stirred up and angry.”
“Angry men rush in where wise ones would tread softly, gentlemen. We are outmanned and outgunned. To see this day through we must keep our wits about us.”
Turning back toward Reaper, Anthony couldn’t help but admire her. Foe she may be, but she presented a proud sight. Proud and deadly. Anthony could still envision her swift attack on Rascal. He would never forget Merle Pitts’ words, “I wanted you to be proud.” Reaper remained close-hauled on her present tack.
“She taking in her main course, sir,” Peckham said. “Looks like top gallant’s already brailed up.”
“Think they’ve already sighted Scythe, sir?” Buck asked.
“If not, they’re blind or drunk,” Anthony replied. Anthony had not misjudged his timing, but how long would it be before that son-o-Satan realized something was amiss? Anchored as she was, Scythe was a sitting duck. Anthony could only imagine what a state of nerves Pope and Scythe’s crew must be under. Most would remember what happened to Rascal.
“Cast off our disguise if you will Mr. Buck, and prepare to get underway. I don’t want to be late for this engagement.”
“Aye, sir. Mr. McMorgan, if you’d be so kind as to get these laggards busy I’d appreciate it. It’s time to show that snail eating sodomite that Drakkar’s a warship and not a fucking jungle!”
McMorgan smiled to himself as he got the men busy with the help of some of his mates. Mr. Buck was getting his dander up.
Anthony found himself pacing the quarterdeck. Buck didn’t need him interfering with getting the ship underway.
Pope, on board the Scythe, was to let loose a broadside into the Reaper at the most opportune time. But when exactly was that? He was confident Pope would judge it right. He had commanded a brig before becoming First Lieutenant in a first rate flag ship. He had the experience, but that didn’t curtail Anthony’s anxiety.
If they fired too soon Reaper would stand off and let loose her own devastating broadside that would end the show before it began. If they waited too late then they’d be overrun before Drakkar and the schooners could assist.
The big question right now was the brig. How was she armed and how many men did she have on board? Were there any prisoners on board that could be freed and help in the fight? Anthony gazed about him. Mr. Davy stood by the main mast laying a hand to discarding Drakkar’s camouflage. He still looked youthful, but different than the snit that had faced Witzenfeld with such tenacity. Seasoned. That was the difference. He was now a seasoned veteran who had seen more action than some sitting behind a desk at Whitehall. Would he still look youthful tomorrow? Would he even he alive tomorrow? Anthony couldn’t help but feel the burden as he placed young Davy and all the others in his flotilla in harm’s way. Duty! Damme if that wasn’t a fine word at White Hall. But most of these men could care less than a fiddler’s fart about duty. It was their mates and the ship, and to hell with the rest of it.
“We’re ready to get underway, sir. The anchors hove short.”
“Very well, Mr. Buck. Proceed, but do it quietly. I feel the trap is already set, but let us not tip our hand till Pope has had his say.”
“Aye, sir,” Buck replied, grinning at Anthony’s word. “Pope will let his cannons do his talking, and by gawd I hope he kills that Frenchman with his first words.”
Anthony could feel Drakkar come alive and make headway. Picking up a breeze, her sails filled and grew taut.
“Mr. Peckham!”
“Aye, sir!”
“Lay us alongside that French bastard yonder, and let’s hope Scythe has left a piece of dessert for our troubles.”
“Aye, sir. Dessert we’ll have if I’m any judge.”
“Deck there. Looks like Reaper’s dropping her anchor, sir.” No sooner had the lookout hailed down when the sound of thunder filled the air. Scythe had let loose her broadside. Each cannon was loaded with grape on top of ball.
“Cut it close he did,” Peckham remarked.
“Well ‘hit, don’t matter much now iffen ‘e sees us do it cap’n, the sods bound to know sumthin’s amiss.”
“Well, Bart,” Anthony said. “Where did you come from? I’d begun to wonder if you’d taken leg bail.’“
“Leg bail, why no sirree. Iffen I was to do that, who’d see to getting my betters outta the trouble they’s always getting into?”
Bart was right. However, rushing down under full sail only a blind man would miss Drakkar with her dragon figurehead looking defiant and warning all.
Pope had let loose another broadside. Mr. Davy had climbed up on the bulwark for a better view.
“Caught him flat-footed, sir. That damned pirate ain’t even fired a musket in return yet.”
“Taken to cussin a wee bit, have we, young sir?” Bart asked Davy.
“Er-sorry sir. I was just caught up in the excitement.”
“Apology accepted, Mr. Davy,” Anthony replied, trying to hide his smile.
“Deck there!” hailed the masthead lookout. The brig is tacking and opening her gun ports, sir.” Scythe’s broadside had created so much smoke the brig’s actions were obscured from Drakkar’s quarterdeck.
“Does that answer your questions about the brig, Mr. Buck?”
“Aye, it does, sir. I bet the frog thinks he’s outta deep shat now but he’s in error, I’m thinking.”
The wind had cleared most of the smoke, and the brig was visible again. “She’s shakin out her topsails,” Peckham said. “Looks like she intends to cross Scythe’s stern and lay a broadside up her arse end.”
Anthony could only clench and unclench his fists. The lookout called down again, “Shark and Rascal’s beating down on the brig, sir.”
“Damme, if I don’t feel like climbing up there with him. He’s got the best view,” Anthony said.
“Careful now, sir,” Bart replied. “Yew ain’t as used to them heights as yew used to be. Better to let the yonkers like Mr. Davy do the skylarkin’.”
“Damn you, Bart,” Anthony replied. “You go too far at times.”
“Mr. Buck!”
“Aye, sir!”
“I’d be obliged if after we’re finished with this frog you’d be kind enough to explain proper etiquette to Bart before you keelhaul him. Then find me a suitable cox’n-one that will mind his betters and his manners.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll take care of it directly.” Buck had been with Anthony long enough to know the banter between him and the cox’n was to keep the men’s mind on them and off the impending battle. It would do no good for the men to get a case of nerves at this point in the game.
The lookout was calling down again, “The brig done gave Scythe an arse full sir, but Shark has fired and took down the brig’s top gallant.”
“Maybe that will slow them down some,” Buck said.
Smoke again had obscured all vision of the fighting ships. When the wind had finally cleared the smoke it did little to help Anthony’s apprehension. Reaper had cut her cable and drifted into Scythe. Anthony couldn’t help but wonder who had hemmed who in. Scythe was certainly in a hellish way. Thunder again filled the air as the brig and Reaper fired their cannons into Scythe.
“Mr. Buck!”
“Aye, sir.”
“I know we’re at extreme range, but I want a broadside poured into that ship. Have Williams lay each gun himself if need be and fire at will. I want our presence felt now! I’ll not see Pope sacrificed like Pitts without firing a shot.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll tend to it directly.”
Drakkar’s heavy cannons filled the air with a deafening thunder. Williams must have been waiting, anticipating Anthony’s order. “That’ll waken the frog eating son-o-bitches,” Williams remarked to his gun crews. “Let ‘em chew on them balls awhile.”
Drakkar’s weight rained down on the pirates. Not every ball struck, but those that did left a path of destruction not unlike a hurricane-ripping through sail, severing riggings and cordage, tearing chunks out of the mast, ripping up planking, and creating great gashes in the bulwark as the balls plowed into the deck. The pirates had not met a foe of Drakkar’s mettle that could reek so much havoc with a single broadside.
“Another if you please, Mr. Williams. That was music to my ears.”
“Aye, sir. On its way,” the big gunner replied. “Come on lads. Let’s give ‘em another taste with ‘is Lordship’s blessings. And iffen they’s still not satisfied, we’ll give ‘em an encore.”
Anthony turned to Buck, “After the next broadside shorten all sail.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Mr. Peckham. Be so kind as to lay us alongside there if you please,” Anthony said, using his sword as a pointer.
“Aye, sir. Alongside she’ll be.”
Even though every jack tar was expecting it, men jumped as another of Drakkar’s broadsides were loosened. Double shotted and filled with grape for extra measure. The heavy loads caused Drakkar to shudder as she spit forth her authority. The distance was much closer now and Drakkar’s path of destruction was obvious.
Anthony called for Lieutenant Dunn. “Here, sir!” Dunn reported, his uniform bright and shiny as if he were about to go on parade.
“I’d be obliged if you’d get your sharpshooters stationed where they’d do the most good. I want you to direct their fire toward anyone manning a gun, then any apparent officer, then any target of choice.”
“Aye, sir,” Dunn responded. We’ll make their life hell on earth before they reach Hades.”
“Mr. McMorgan!”
“Aye,” the boson hurried over.
“Rig your nets. I don’t expect boarders cause I intend to board Reaper. But we’d better be prepared anyway. Anthony then took time to look about him.
After Drakhar’s broadsides, the Reaper did look grim all right, but he could see a few cannon barrels poking out of gunports.
“Mr. Buck!” Anthony shouted “Everyone down!”
Reaper let loose the few guns she had left serviceable. The guns fired unevenly, yet many of the balls found their marks. Men were down everywhere. A gun captain was thrashing violently as blood spurted from an open artery where his leg bad been. Part of the wheel was shot away. A master’s mate had a huge splinter sticking through his neck and blood gurgled as he coughed. Another seaman ran screaming, his hand holding a face that was now a bloody mask. More thuds were felt as some of Reaper’s balls were hitting between wind and water. Still Williams and Lieutenant Markham had Drakkar’s gunners working feverishly.
“Stop your vents! Sponge out! That’s it men. Now load! Now be patient and wait for the officers command to fire, me lads! On the up roll. Fire!” The gun crews were tiring, but their work here was almost done.
“Lieutenant Markham! One more broadside, then you and Mr. Williams split the men into two different boarding parties. You take your men aft, and Williams take his forward. Arm them and await my signal.”
“Aye, sir. One more for luck, then we’ll divide up.”
“All right lads,” Williams called. “You heard ‘is Lordship. One more dose then we’ll run through ‘em.”
The crews were yelling and cursing, but ready. Drakkar’s next broadside was loosened at point blank range. Williams took time to peer through a gun port and admire the handiwork of his beauties. A goodly portion of Reaper’s side was destroyed. Not one of her guns was left intact on the larboard side.
“All right now, lads. Our work here is done. Let’s go be helping out our mates,” Williams yelled. “Half of you go with Lieutenant Markham and t’other half with me.”
Lieutenant Markham was not sure he liked the gunner throwing orders about, but he wasn’t about to argue with him at this moment.
After Drakkar’s last salvo the two ships drifted together, the hulls making a grinding noise. Anthony heard the lookout calling down again, “Shark and Rascal ‘as boarded the brig, sir.”
“Buck!”
“Here, sir,” he answered, hearing Anthony’s call above the increasing din of battle.
“Have Lieutenant Dunn and his marines join Lieutenant Markham’s party aft and board Reaper by the stern. Gabe and Earl have boarded the brig, and the sight of your party on Reaper’s stern may help turn the tide.”
“Aye, aye, sir. We’ll handle the bastards.”
“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.
It was then that Dagan raised his head toward the sky and cried out, “Corbeau attaque Le Diable!” No sooner had Dagan given his command than a blur of black wings flew down from above, screeching as it did so. The screeching caused the pirate to look up. His doing so provided the attacking bird with a perfect target. The pirate’s screams were intermingled with the great bird’s flapping wings and screeching. The bird’s claws and beak tore chunks of flesh from the pirate’s face. The pirate tried to protect his face and eyes with one hand, and fend off the demon bird with the other. But it was no use. The fierce attack had already reduced the pirate’s face to a mass of gore, making it hard to recognize as being human.
Anthony was forgotten as the knife was dropped to the deck. The pirate had one eye torn from its socket and was screaming in pain. His arms were thrashing as he tried to combat his tormentor. Back he went. Back as the men moved out of his way, watching in awe at the spectacle that was taking place before them. The bird momentarily ceased his attack as the now blinded Frenchman had backed all the way to the aft rail. The raven’s beak and claws had turned red with dripping blood. The bird appeared to hover in the air above the pirate, flapping its wings in an accelerating fashion. Then the bird dove at the man’s face with such force he toppled over the rail. The pirate had at last grabbed hold of his tormentor, and together they hit the water. The warm Caribbean choked off the anguished screams and screeching. Once again everything was silent. Slowly the clouds moved, and the sun again shone bright.