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D
ampness seemed to fill the coach. Anthony pulled his boat cloak more tightly about him, yet he was unable to prevent a shudder as a gust of wind penetrated the confines of the coach, sending a chill right through him. The sun had all but set, and with its setting, the air would grow much colder. Anthony knew they still had a long journey before they reached London and was going to be most uncomfortable. Gabe sat across from Anthony. Slumped in his seat, Gabe appeared to be dozing. The two had talked little since the funeral. Anthony detected an air of anger about the boy and was not sure of its origin. Was it due to the fact that his birth had not benefited from a proper wedding? He had his mother’s good looks, her darkness and her eyes, but everything else was his father’s. His laughs were quick, but Gil was betting his temper was quicker. He was quiet, but seemed to have wit. He also seemed very suspicious, but under the circumstances, who wouldn’t be? How many times had he been called the Admiral’s bastard behind his back? How many times had he heard? Could this be why he seemed so guarded and quick to anger?

Anthony had given his word to his dying father to take Gabe under his wing and make him a sea officer. This was a promise he didn’t take lightly. However, he wondered how the relationship would play out, and would he be able to accept Gabe, not only as a midshipman but also as his brother. How would Gabe accept him?

Anthony hoped the summons from the Admiralty would be to receive orders, hopefully command of another ship, something to get him away; he needed the sea. While some men detested life aboard ship he found comfort in its confines. Lord Anthony, Gil’s father, had discussed this love for the sea with him many times.

“Gil, ye were born with salt water in ye veins,” Father had joked. Thinking of his father made Gil think of the messenger who had carried the urgent news of Lord Anthony’s ill health.

The messenger, Dagan, was a mystery. He was Maria’s younger brother and Gabe’s uncle. Anthony had guessed him to be in his mid to late twenties, but he seemed much older for some reason. At Lord Anthony’s funeral, Dagan was always close to Gabe like a protective angel or bodyguard. Yet he was at Maria’s hand whenever she needed him. The girl servants all seemed moonstruck when he was around. A few even looked upon him in a mischievous, tempting manner.

“He puts a spell on ‘em he does,” Anthony’s father, Lord Anthony had said half jokingly before his death.

The male servants were all polite but distant, seeming overly cautious when Dagan was about. In a hurried whisper one of Lord Anthony’s long time personal servants, a seaman who’d sailed with the old Admiral, had warned Anthony: “Be careful like, zur, ‘e see’s the future, ‘e does. ‘E talks to the ravens aye, zur. Seen ‘em at it, I have.” Fearing he’d be overheard, the old servant was so close Anthony could feel the man’s hot breath on his ear as he whispered in a barely audible voice. “‘E’s a soothsayer, zur, maybe ‘e’s even a sorcerer.”

“Huh,” snorted Anthony. His father had proclaimed Dagan a “damn’d fine seaman.”

“We’ll have to see about him being a sorcerer.”

Anthony had also been told of “The Vow.” Maria’s father would normally have been Gabe’s protector and confidant.

However, since the death of Maria’s and Dagan’s father, Dagan had taken his place by completing some ritual, and now he was Gabe’s protector. Therefore, wherever goeth Gabe, goeth Dagan, as long as he lived. Anthony had no doubt that Dagan would fill his vow of protection.

Anthony was sure this vow was behind their father’s desire for Gabe to be under his command.

“You’re getting a bargain,” Lord James Anthony had said just before he died. “Besides being a fine topman, Dagan’s got the best peepers I’ve ever seen.”

***

The coach rattled along toward Whitehall. Even at such an early hour the street was no longer deserted and appeared to be coming alive before Anthony and Gabe’s eyes. The coach’s driver let loose a stream of curses aimed at a pie-man who hadn’t moved his cart out of the coach’s way quick enough to suit the driver.

“Too fat and slow ‘e is, like as not ‘e’s been eating ‘is own wares I’d say, damn ‘em.”

A mob of ragged street urchins was making a peddler’s life hell as he tried to coax his old swayback nag on down the street amid other weary and sleepy-eyed beggars, clerks and shopkeepers. All were starting out a new day. Gabe looked up anxiously as the coach made a sharp turn and passed under the archway into the Admiralty courtyard. Gabe’s knuckles turned white grasping at the window handle as the coach’s wheels slipped on the dew-wet cobblestones and then came to a sudden halt in front of the Admiralty’s main entrance.

Anthony smiled at Gabe’s obvious fright, wondering what he was thinking as he visited The Admiralty for the first time.

A doorman opened the coach as soon as it stopped. He looked puzzled when his gaze first fell upon a midshipman. With the arrival of a crested private coach, the man was expecting more than a mere boy. He looked somewhat relieved when he looked further and saw Captain Anthony.

“This way my Lord,” the doorman said.

Anthony still hadn’t gotten used to the title. “Lord Anthony” had always meant his father. As the two followed the messenger up the steps and into the spacious entrance hall, Anthony could see Gabe was overcome with awe.

His first visit,
Anthony thought again.
If luck serve Gabe well, there would be many visits, all pleasant.

Out of nowhere a clerk appeared. “If you would be so kind as to wait in here, my Lord. His Lordship knows you’re here. He’s tying up a complicated matter and assures me he will be with you directly.”

The messenger turned to leave, and then paused in his stride, saying, “I’m sorry to hear about your father, my Lord. He was a good man, a good leader. If circumstances had been different, many believe he would have been First Lord.”

Gil nodded. “It’s good of you to remember.”

As the messenger left the small room, Anthony approached the small fireplace to warm his stiff and aching bones. As they waited, it dawned on Anthony that he and Gabe were waiting in one of the small private anterooms, not in one of the larger rooms that would he filled with unemployed half-pay captains, commanders and lieutenants, all looking for a berth or a command.

Anthony turned to Gabe who had thus far said nothing. Gabe was staring out the one window The cold February wind whipped against the windowpanes, and Gabe spoke.

“Wind’s picking up, temperature’s dropping, and it’s cloudy. It’ll probably snow tonight. Father would say ‘a night not fit for neither man nor beast and certainly not fit for a sailor.’”

Anthony and Gabe smiled, thinking of their father’s words. At that time, the messenger returned, “The First Lord will see you now, Lord Anthony.”

He hesitated, not wanting to offend Anthony, then found the right words. “Perhaps the young gentleman would like to take a turn through the halls, sir.” It was the messenger’s polite way of saying the room was needed for someone more important than a midshipman.

“I’ll wait outside with Dagan,” Gabe volunteered.

Anthony had forgotten Dagan, who had been sitting atop the coach with the driver. No doubt they had found a warm spot.

***

Lord Sandwich was staring out the window as Anthony entered.

“Gil—Lord Anthony, I should say—how are you?”

The two shook hands as old friends. Anthony had played cards with the First Lord on many occasions. He had also dined with him and his mistress here at the Admiralty. For a while Anthony had been a member, along with the First Lord, at the infamous Hellfire Club. Anthony knew without Sandwich’s influence, the Navy would be in worse shape than it was. Many blamed
Sandwich, but in fact the Prime Minister, Lord North, was responsible for most of the Navy’s shortcomings.

Leaving off the title, Sandwich said, “Ah Gil, Parliament is in love with you, my boy. Having saved the Honest John Convoy from those cutthroats has made you England’s darling for the time. Front page of the Gazette, no less. But the truth be known, the reason for such a display of admiration as you received is because you saved a good many from financial ruin. That includes several members of Parliament, not the least of which is your brother-in-law. It was through his insistence that you were knighted so quickly, not only to honor you, but also something to make your father proud in his last days. By the bye, the Prince sends his regrets about your being herded through his Majesty’s court so fast. He would like some time to visit with you once our business is complete. Speaking of business, have you taken care of your father’s affairs?”

“Yes,” Anthony answered.

“You’ve met your brother?” inquired the First Lord. Anthony nodded. “He has the makings of a fine officer,” continued Lord Sandwich. “But watch out for him. Some will try, and may even succeed, in using him against you.”

Taken aback, Anthony, somewhat roused, asked, “In what way?”

“In many ways! Wherever there’s envy or jealously, wherever there is insult, real or imagined, people will try to hurt you through any means possible. Just be on guard, Lord Anthony. Be on guard.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Now for the business at hand. For several years now, grievances by the colonies have mounted. Most feel it’s only a time before verbal conflicts turn into open hostilities and war. There is growing concern in the
House of Commons as to whether the Navy can maintain control of the seas if war does break out. It is most certain France and maybe even Spain will enter along with the colonies. You know how thin we are stretched now. This could be devastating. Right now privateers, who many in Parliament feel are in cahoots with the Colonials, are reeking havoc on our merchant ships.

“This is not to mention the damned blackguards who have allegiance to no country. These damned pirates are a menace. They prey upon the trade lanes in the Caribbean and off the American coast with seeming impunity.

“Your recent success has made you the ideal person to deal with this problem. Yours will be an independent 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.”

B
efore 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.