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Special thanks to George Jepson formerly of Tall Ships Books for always leading me to the right research material and for a world of encouragement.

To Charles White, editor and publisher, for taking the time to talk to a “wanna be,” and always challenging me, while never allowing me to get away with mediocrity.

To Tracy Bridges for encouragement and taking the time to critique a very rough manuscript and being honest.

This book is dedicated to a very special lady who spent countless hours poring through hundreds of page of longhand, scratch and strike-outs to put together a manuscript that could be reviewed, then corrected my errors and provided a finished product. Without her labors it would all be still a dream. This book is for her. She made it possible.

“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.

T
he 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 be
en 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!”

Once
Recourse
waded in, the Honorable East India Company’s fat merchant ships showed their heels as they sailed for safer waters.
Recourse
’s entry surprised the pirates who thought they only had to deal with a lone escort, making the convoy easy picking. The escort was a ten-gun sloop of war. She had bared her fangs like a feisty dog but was doomed until
Recourse
showed up with her guns blazing.

Little did Anthony know that one action could set into motion a course of events that would change his life forever. Looking back, things had happened so fast that it seemed a blur…a dream from which he was just awakening.

As he gazed out the carriage window at the dreary countryside, he wondered where the wind and tides
would take him. A messenger had come aboard as soon as
Recourse
had moored in Portsmouth Harbour. Anthony was swiftly escorted to the Admiralty for a quick interview with Lord Sandwich, the First Lord. Then Lord Sandwich took the new hero in tow as they rushed off to a celebration given by the Honorable East India Company in recognition of Anthony’s daring action. One of the directors got up and read the article from “The Gazette,” which was overly lavish in the telling of the bravery and honor demonstrated by
Recourse
’s captain and crew. Much was made of Captain Anthony being the son of Fighting James Anthony, Vice Admiral of the Red. The speaker ended, declaring, “It appears we have another ‘Fighting Anthony.’”

After the speech, the speaker then turned the presentation over to Hugh English, Anthony’s brother
in-law.

“Captain Anthony—Gil, as a token of our esteemed gratitude, I would like to offer you a small reward.” A purse full of gold coins was then handed to Anthony. As soon as Anthony was given the coins, Hugh continued. “I would also like to present you with this ceremonial sword from Wilkinsons.”

As Anthony set down the bag of coins to accept the sword, he couldn’t help but ponder the remark about a small token of their appreciation. The sword was worth at least a hundred guineas and the reward was certainly nice, but there was no thought of rewards when Anthony put
Recourse
into the midst of the fight. However, he couldn’t help but think that their rewards were just a token. One only had to look at what it would cost to replace a ship, not to mention the added cost of the cargo had the pirates had their way. A small token indeed.

Anthony was also sure Hugh had something to do with the celebration and reward. Hugh’s father had been a merchant captain for the Honest John’s, as the Honorable East India Company was commonly called. Now Hugh was one of the company’s directors, a Member of Parliament, as well as a close friend to the Prince Regent.

Anthony was certain his sudden bestowal of knighthood was stimulated by Hugh’s relationship with the Prince. The ceremony happened suddenly, with the First Lord escorting Anthony to his Majesty King George’s chamber. Along the way, he had whispered hurried instructions to Gil so that he would not embarrass the family name or the Navy. The episode was such a blur that Anthony could barely recall the events. He remembered kneeling before the King, who said some words he couldn’t remember, and then he was dubbed “Sir Gilbert, Knight of the Bath.” No sooner had he been dubbed and congratulated than he was whisked away, as more important affairs were in need of his Majesty’s attention.

***

Pleading illness, Anthony’s father had not been present for either Honest John’s celebration or the knighting. He had sent his love.

Then came the summons. A messenger had brought word that Gil’s father was in critical health, the reason for his hurried journey home. The driver cracked his whip and the horses labored to keep up a quickened pace as they fought the howling wind and snow.

Gil’s father, Lord James Anthony, Earl of Deerfield, had been a Vice Admiral of some standing, making a name for himself equal to Anson and Hawke. He had
distinguished himself at Cape Finisterre and Quiberon Bay, earning himself the nickname Fighting James Anthony. However, an ailing marriage and politics had caused Lord Anthony to haul down his flag prematurely.

Gil’s mother lived in Kent on the family estate with her cats and “medicinal” brandy. Becky, his sister, with the help of a good overseer, took care of their mother and Deerfield.

Admiral Lord Anthony had turned his back on it all, saying, “a man should not tarry in a place where never blows a fair wind.” He had kept in touch with his children, and they had visited with their father in secret. They had once told their mother of these visits, and it was then that Gil found the true meaning of “a foul wind.”

Gil had questioned his father as to the reason for the separation with his mother. Lord Anthony’s only remark was that some things were better left alone. The matter was never mentioned again. Lord Anthony had moved to Portsmouth and bought a townhouse where he could peer out the second floor windows or sit on a balcony and see the ships and the harbor. He also acquired a mistress named Maria, a gypsy woman—with eyes and hair as black as the darkest night. She was twenty years younger than Lord Anthony but their life had been happy regardless of their age difference. Maria was seductive without trying. She was elegant and possessed a quiet humor that made liking her easy. Not wanting to be disloyal to his mother, Gil still had to admit his father had been a lucky man to have shared life with Maria.

***

Father had never been sick to Gil’s recollection. However, he was now seventy-eight years old. He had
looked so robust just a year ago, but this was not the case any longer.

Upon entering his father’s home, Gil was shocked at the appearance of the man before him. His decline in health was appalling. Nothing was familiar except the hand-carved meerschaum pipe his father had clinched between his teeth. Through calm seas and cannon balls, that pipe had always been there.

Upon entering his father’s room, Gil could see his father’s eyes light up. The fire was dimmed but not out. His father’s rough Scottish accent was still plain as he spoke, the voice still commanding though not as strong as it once was.

“I’m glad ye made it. I was about to have this lawyer set things down on paper the way I wanted them to be. I still will, so’s there’ll be a record, jus’ in case something should happen to me sudden like. I pray not, but it could.”

Gil nodded his greeting to the barrister. Lord Anthony paused to catch his breath, then started speaking again. “Now I can see ye be ripe and bursting with questions. However, I ask ye to hold ‘em for now, cause my time is short. There are things that have to be said and agreed upon. You can ask questions later iffen I’m still with the living.’’

Gil nodded his willingness to do as his father requested, thinking all the time that he was still acting like an admiral, in command right up to the end. Lord Anthony called Maria into the room. She came in and sat on the arm of the chair next to him. His father resumed his conversation once Maria was settled.

“You know Maria has been my life for twenty years. I would have married her had there been a way. But it was not to be. Your mother’s family had more influence with the church than I did so my petition for a divorce
was never granted. When I’m gone this house is to be hers along with a trust I’ve set aside. You know all this. What you don’t know, Gil, is that you have a brother.”

The barrister had suddenly found an extra burst of energy; his quill flew over the paper as he wrote down this new information.

“Our son has been named after his grandfathers. He’s been entered in my Bible as Gabriel Marcus Anthony. Poor as some may think it, I do want him to share in what little status the name may make in regards to his birthright. I want you, as my eldest son, the son who’ll inherit my title and all of Deerfield, to give me your word that my wishes will be carried out—that Gabe will be accepted as an Anthony. Do I have your word on this, my son?” Lord James Anthony could barely hold back the tears as he asked for his son’s promise.

“Aye, Father, you have my vow,” Gil answered with a quaver in his voice and a renewed sense of compassion and love for the man who sat before him. A deep sigh of relief escaped the old man. Pausing long enough to catch his breath again, Lord Anthony continued, but his voice was weaker. Gil grew concerned, though still refusing to interrupt his father.

“Your brother is a midshipman. He’s spent four years with Captain Suckling on
Raisonnable,
and the last two years he’s been on a revenue cutter. His papers are all in order. I’ve taught him navigation and seamanship. All he needs is another year or so with a good captain—someone to teach him what it really means to command. I taught ye well enough, I’d like to think. Now I want you to teach him. In a year he’ll be ready to sit for the Lieutenant’s exam.”

***

Vice Admiral Lord James Anthony died two days later. Gil was overwhelmed with emotion as his father’s friends and shipmates turned out for the funeral. Despite the icy rain mixed with snow, people braved the cold to pay their last respects. When the chapel had filled, people stood in the freezing slush till the service had ended. Even Lord Sandwich, the First lord of the Admiralty, attended.

Gil’s sister, Becky, and her husband Hugh were there with their little girl, Gretchen. Gil thought her the most spoiled little nit he’d ever seen. Maria was there with Gabe. It was the first time Gil had a chance to meet his brother. Looking at Maria during the eulogy, Gil could see the toll his father’s illness and death had taken on her, and he couldn’t help but feel kindly toward her. She had given herself totally to his father, but to some she would always be just Lord Anthony’s mistress. Gil would never forget the look of relief in her eyes when he embraced her at the gravesite and kissed her hand. He wanted her to know she would always be special to him. The First Lord had given him a flag on behalf of the nation in honor of his father. Gil in turn gave it to Maria. She deserved it much more than he did.

After the funeral Gil approached Becky and Hugh. “I see mother didn’t attend.”

“Did you expect her to?” Becky replied.

“No, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, it was probably better for all present that she didn’t,” Hugh added as he gazed over at Maria and Gabe.