Michael Aye
The Reaper
“I must go down to the sea
To the lonely sea and the sky
And all I ask is a tall ship
And a star to steer her by.”
…John Masefield
“Fire, fire as you bear.”
“Damme Sir, but this is hot work!”
“Not too hot for your taste is it, Mr. Buck?”
The First Lieutenant turned to his Captain. “Nay Cap’n, but it’s close.”
A hugh splinter cut through the air, making a whooshing sound as it barely missed Buck’s head. Involuntarily, he ducked. “Aye, Cap’n, it’s close!”
“Mr. Trent’s respects, Sir!”
“Yes, Mr. Dean!”
“There’s two pirates approaching aft, Sir, as if they intend to grapple and board.”
“Two pirates, Mr. Dean?
“Ere, two galleys o’ pirates, Sir.”
“Very well!” Captain Gilbert Anthony answered. “Mr. Buck, reinforce aft if you please!”
“Aye, Cap’n, we’ll attend the whoresons. Come along now, Mr. Dean, and do be careful. Your father’d never forgive me if I was to send you home in halves.”
“Yes, sir,” the midshipman answered with the hint of a smile on his face.
Chapter One
The carriage lurched and seemed to twist as it hit yet another pothole. The sudden jolt broke Anthony’s train of thought and felt like it damned near broke his aching bones. Was it only four, no six, weeks ago he had brought HMS Recourse, a thirty-two gun frigate, limping into Portsmouth Harbor? They had repaired as much damage as possible, but the scars of battle were still obvious to all. “Damme, what a fight that had been,” Anthony thought.
The Recourse had been headed home to England when Peckham, the keen old master, commented to those officers around him on the quarterdeck, “I hear cannon fire.”
No sooner were the words out of Peckham’s mouth than the lookout called down, “Deck there! Looks like several galleys attacking a convoy, sir!”