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 an extreme hurry. Either way, he was thankful for the furnishings.
The marine sentry announced Buck’s arrival. “First Lieutenant, zur.” Buck entered and nodded his greeting to Bart and Silas.
“Well, Rupert, what do you think of her?” Anthony asked.
“To tell you the truth, sir, I’m in love. She’s a big ‘un all right, nigh onto 1,300 tons but she’ll sail as well as any keel-laid 38. I figure she’ll out-sail anything she can’t out gun.”
“What about the crew?” Anthony asked.
“We got two-hundred ninety-six aboard now. That’s twenty-four short, but the port admiral said he’d have us another two dozen before we sail. Probably clear out the prison hulks and such. However, we’re fortunate in our warrants. True professionals they are. Even with the purser. He can count, knows his weights, and seems more honest than most of his kind. Ole Peckham, the master off of Recourse, has reported. I know you asked for him. The bosun is big, burly, and Irish, God help us. He is a little too free with his starter to suit me, but he’ll learn my ways before too long. As for the young gentlemen, we got a full load. Most are ripe and bursting at the seams to make captain.”
This brought a chuckle from Anthony.
“Gabe, your brother, is senior,” Buck continued. “He seems to have settled in well enough already. We got an Admiral’s nephew on board. His name is Frances Markham. He and Gabe seem to have hit it off well enough.”
Buck then took a breath and expelled a sigh. “Your brother-in-law, however, has sent us a little shit that could pass for a drowned rat along with a letter. I, ah, took the liberty of reading it since it wasn’t sealed or addressed to you privately.”
Anthony nodded.
“Seems the little fellow’s father was killed sudden-like. So as to help the boy’s mother out, the local squire used his influence with Hugh to help the young gentleman get a berth. Probably to get him outta the way, so to speak. All buxoms and smiles, I’m told!”
Anthony glared at Buck and exclaimed, “The young gentleman?”
“Ere, uh, no sir, Cap’n. The lad’s mother, the one the squire is bent on helping out.”
“Cap’n? It’s time, Cap’n. Here’s ye a cup of coffee jes like ye like it. Silas is getting some hot water for your shave.”
Anthony raised himself and grunted his thanks to Bart. The coffee was scalding hot. He took a careful sip. This helped to wash away some of the leftover taste of cigars and brandy. It had been a tradition with Anthony since his first command to invite all the officers, warrants, and midshipmen to dine their first night underway. It was a good way to learn a bit about each. It was amazing what a captain could elicit from his officers after a good meal and a glass or two of wine. Often, the captain would discover strengths and weaknesses that might otherwise take weeks to discern. One frequently spied the petty tyrants, the snobs, etc. It was a trick his father had passed on to him. A second sip of coffee and Anthony realized Bart was in mid-sentence and he hadn’t heard the first of it.
“What’s that?” he asked Bart.
The cox’n eyed his captain. “More-n-usual with the spirits, Cap’n?”
“Hush! Damn your ugly eyes,” Anthony snarled.
“Huh!” snorted Bart. “I were telling ye the master, Mr. Peckham, said it was to be unseasonable warm today and we’s headed in the right general direction with a fair wind.”
Anthony couldn’t help but laugh even though it caused his head to hurt. “Right general direction.” That sounded like old Peckham, but God help the man who didn’t steer the course the master set.
Silas entered. “It’ll be light soon, Cap’n. Here’s yer breakfast and Mr. Buck would like to see ye soon as convenient, sir.”
“Very well. Have the sentry pass the word for Mr. Buck to lay to my cabin, and we’ll have a cup of coffee together.”
“Aye, sir,” Silas replied then departed.
Anthony could tell something was amiss as soon as Buck entered the cabin. “Sit you down, sir. You look ready to explode.”
‘Aye, Cap’n. It’s the fourth lieutenant, Mr. Witzenfeld, sir. He’s already placed a petty officer on report for disrespect.”
“How so?” Anthony questioned.
“Mr. Witz, that’s what they call Witzenfeld, sir, well, we had just called all hands to shorten sail, and Mr. Witz tells a new hand, a landsman, to lend a hand and clew up the sails. Well, sir, the poor sod was dumbfounded and just stood there gawkish like. That set Mr. Witz off. He started cussing and screaming at the man telling him to obey his orders or feel the cat. Avery, one of the bosun’s mates, attempted to explain what was wrong but then Witz jumped on him, berating him as the son of a worthless whore. He said, “When I give an order, it’s to be carried out by the person I gave it to.” By that time, most of the crew had gathered. Avery had had enough of Witz’s name calling and said to Witz, ‘E’s a bloody landsman, sir, can’t ye tell? ‘E ain’t got no fooking idea what crew up means. Mr. Witz then promised Avery a dozen lashes for his disrespect and insolence.”
Anthony shook his head upon hearing Buck’s tale. “A bad beginning.”
“Aye, cap’n, a bad one alright.”
Suddenly, a shrill scream broke the momentary silence. It was more like that of a child than a man. In a bound, Anthony and Buck were through the cabin door and up on deck. Dagan had a hold of Mr. Davy, the young midshipman the squire had made arrangements for. The lad was twisting, thrashing, and trying his best to get to the Fourth Lieutenant, Mr. Witzenfeld. However, it was Gabe who stood in front of the young boy, face to face with Witzenfeld. Dagan was speaking in a soothing fashion to calm and quiet the angry lad. Mr. Witzenfeld was touching a bloody lip. As he withdrew his hand from his mouth it went to the hilt of his sword, and he took a threatening step forward toward the young midshipman. Gabe was there, but it was Dagan who, releasing Mr. Davy, took a sudden step forward. His cold black eyes seemed to penetrate, and Witz’s body gave a sudden involuntary shudder. Mr. Witz stopped dead in his tracks, his skin turning pale as moisture broke out across his freckled forehead.
“Mr. Witzenfeld! To your cabin, sir,” Anthony ordered. He then turned to Gabe. “Mr. Anthony, see that Mr. Davy gets cleaned up and brought to my cabin forthwith.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Gabe answered.
“Bart!”
“Here, Cap’n.”
“Follow me.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Mr. Buck, you have the ship.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
In the privacy of his quarters, Anthony turned to Bart. “Go talk with Dagan and maybe the master, Mr. Peckham. I saw him on deck. Talk with them in private, but get me their side of what just happened on deck.”
Ban nodded. As he was leaving, Anthony said, “Damme but this is a bad beginning,” Bart paused just inside the cabin door. He looked at Anthony and said, “Aye, cap’n, but sometimes it’s best to get rid of a bad apple afore it spoils the whole barrel.”
“Bad apple!” Anthony exclaimed. “Damn your eyes, you’re talking about a King’s officer.”
Bart replied, “Bad apples come in all forms, sir!” Then he was out the door. “Damn him,’’ Anthony thought. In ten years, the cox’n always seemed to get the last word.
At that time, the marine sentry announced, “Mr. Anthony, zur.’’
When Gabe entered, Anthony asked, “Where’s Mr. Davy?”
“With the surgeon, sir.”
“Was he hurt?”
“Not outwardly, sir”
Anthony shook his head. “By outwardly you mean he’s hurting inside, as in his heart?”
“And his pride,” Gabe replied.
“I see,” said Anthony to his brother, suddenly wondering if his insight may have come from experience.
“I thought,” Gabe began, “that if we could talk maybe we wouldn’t have to put Mr. Davy through that ordeal again.” It was then Anthony realized that Gabe was still standing at attention.
“Relax, Gabe. There’s no one here but us. Have a seat and tell me what happened.”
“Well, sir, you know the lad’s father was killed just recently. A hunting accident, I’m told. Mistaken for a deer by the squire’s overseer.”
This caused Anthony to raise his eyebrows. “I hadn’t heard that. Only that he’d died suddenly of an accident.”
“Well,” Gabe continued, “Since the ah-accident, the squire’s been paying particular interest to the lad’s mother.”
“A very handsome lass, I’m told,” Anthony said, recalling Buck’s description. “All buxom and smiles.”
“Yes sir, I’ve been told the same,” Gabe replied as he continued his story. “The boy was sent off to sea, quick as you please. Anyway, Witz knew about the ah…arrangement. He’s a cruel person, sir. He asked Mr. Davy in a smirking manner if he was warm enough last night. He went on to say he shouldn’t worry any about his mother cause he was sure the squire had her all tucked in nice and warm. Well, it dawned on Mr. Davy what Witz was talking about. He then told Witz he had a vulgar mouth, and he’d better shut his mouth, or he’d call him out.’’
“He’s got nerve, the lad has,” Anthony put in.
“Aye, sir,” replied Gabe. “Well, Witz then called him a snot-nosed little shit who didn’t know his arsehole from a hawse-hole. He told Davy he should be damn glad the squire considered his mother a nice enough piece of mutton that he’d go to the trouble of packing her brat off so’s he could enjoy her pleasures. Witz then told Davy if he didn’t mind his betters, he’d personally see his arse put on the beach, and his mother would be turned out and have to peddle her wares with all the other common trollops.” Gabe gave a deep sigh. “The little bugger was fighting mad, he was, and set to have it out then and there. He told Witz he was a filthy-minded person who was so obscene he didn’t deserve to wear the King’s coat. He then told Witz if he ever spoke so rudely about his mother again, he’d kill him, so he would. Witz then laughed at the boy and shoved him. When he did, Davy retaliated by slapping Witz in the face and bloodying his lip.”
Anthony told Gabe he appreciated what he had done for Mr. Davy, standing up for the young boy as he had. He then sent Gabe to fetch the First Lieutenant.
On his way out, Gabe turned back to Anthony and stated, “By the bye, sir, I knew Witz from the Revenue Cutter Raven. We were both mids then.”
“Well, there it be, Cap’n-as bad an apple as ye can have!” Bart had returned with much the same story from Dagan as the master as had been told by Gabe.
When Buck arrived, Anthony retold the story, leaving out little.
“Same as I hear from gunner Williams,” Buck related. “Do you want me to talk to Witz, cap’n?”
“No, I’ll do it. But for this last incident involving Mr. Davy, I thought I’d do something trivial to show support for my officer without hurting a good man. But now, the crew has to know they can trust me, and that I’ll not allow them to be abused by a petty tyrant. While we’re talking Rupert, it’s also important for the officers to know that just because Gabe’s my brother he’s not to he given special treatment. He’s to be treated as any other midshipman. I don’t think he expects or wishes any special treatment. If anything, I will be harder because of father’s expectations,” Anthony said as he recalled his father’s words-I taught you well enough, I’d like you to teach him.
Buck could feel the burden his captain was carrying. “Young Gabe will be fine sir, but to tell the truth, I don’t trust Lieutenant Witzenfeld. I’d as soon cast the whoreson adrift in a lifeboat with a loaded pistol and a pint of water.”
Anthony couldn’t help but laugh at Buck’s recommendation.
“No. Put a good master’s mate on watch with him with specific instructions on calling you should the need arise. Now, if you will, send Witz down to see me.”
As Buck left, Hart said, “Ain’t a bad idea he had, sir.”
Just then the marine announced, “Fourth Lieutenant, zur”
Anthony had Witzenfeld relate his side of the story for both incidents, first involving Avery, then Mr. Davy.
When the man had finished, Anthony began. “First, let’s discuss your error in handling Avery and the landsman. As an officer, I expect you to know the abilities of each man in your watch. We’ve tried to spread out the landsmen so no watch would have more that its fair share. Since we are all new to each other, I’d expect you to trust your petty officers. When you see one trying to step in or teach a man, you should back off and let the petty officer do his job. By doing so, you’ll find the men appreciate you more and will strive harder to please you. Now, as I’ve said, we are all new to each other; therefore, we’ll chalk it up to one big misunderstanding. We’ll have a new beginning. We’ll hold Avery’s rum ration. Therefore, it will be seen as I’m supporting you.”
Before Anthony could finish his sentence, Lt. Witzenfeld seemed to go into a fit. He shouted, “Hold his rum ration! Sir, I ordered him flogged-a dozen at least.”
Witz’s outburst turned Anthony livid. He had been sitting, but now he stood abruptly, and slammed his fist on his desk, knocking over a half-filled cup of coffee. “Who the hell do you think you are to order anything? My God! Have you forgotten that I command this ship? Damme sir, have you not heard a word I’ve said?” Anthony paused to gain control of his emotions.
“Another thing, sir. Don’t ever let me hear of you making disparaging comments to anyone as you have done to Mr. Davy. If he were older, I’m sure he would have called you out. Furthermore, I’m not so sure I would have intervened.”
“Why should you, sir?” commented Witz with somewhat of a smirk on his face. “I’d enjoy the exercise.”
“Damn you to hell, man!” said Anthony in a fit of rage. “You go too far, sir. You try me. Do you not have a heart? No compassion? Damn you and your insolence! How would you care to taste the cat?”
Witz must have realized he’d gone too far. He was visibly shaken at the threat of the cat. “But sir, I’m an officer.”
“Then act like one! Now get out of my quarters.”
Witz fairly ran out of the cabin.
“Here, Cap’n.” Anthony turned to see Silas standing there with a fresh cup of coffee. “A splash ‘o something to settle yer humors, sir.”
Anthony took a drink of the warm, dark liquid and almost choked, A splash indeed! Silas had given him a warm cup of coffee-flavored brandy.