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“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.

A
s
Drakkar
made her way through the Channel she was rocked by a blustering gale. Waves swept over the bow and sluiced down the scuppers, carrying anybody and anything not secured with it. Sails filled with wind one moment would go slack, and then with a thunderous pop fill again from winds so perverse the master would shake his head in disbelief. The burly bosun McMorgan’s voice could constantly be heard as he coaxed the men to their duties by either blistering them with his tongue or a thrash from his rope starter.

While life for the crew was hell, it was not much better for those in the midshipman’s berth. For Davy and Gabe it was worse. Davy had unfortunately wound up in Lieutenant Witzenfield’s division.

Witzenfield was clever enough to make life so miserable that young Davy confided in Gabe that death seemed more attractive than life.

All the guns had new lashings. With the constant roll of the ship from the gale a strain was placed on the ropes and they stretched. Seeing loose lashings, Witz ordered Davy to take up the slack on all the twenty-four pounders in his section. A bruised, beaten and silent Davy made his way to his mess after completing his task.

“Damme sir, but what has happened to your face?” Markham asked.

Davy had slipped and butted his face against on one of the big cannons. His lips were battered and bloody. Tasting the wine Markham offered made him wince but soon Davy felt warm and the pain seemed to lessen.

Miller, the normally foul-tempered ex-topman who
now served the midshipman showed a gentle side as he
used a wet rag to wipe away the blood from the young gentleman’s face and lips. “Ought t’ see th’ surgeon to my way ‘o thinking. You could get festers if ye lips ain’t treated proper like.”

At that time, Gabe entered the mess. He was wet, cold and tired after standing his watch. However seeing Davy’s face and hearing the story behind it caused him to grow angry. “That son of a bitch. Given half a chance I’d run him through.”

“Aye,” Markham agreed. “Maybe we should request to speak to Mr. Buck about it.”

Calming down some, Gabe replied, “No, officially we’ve got no complaint. People get injured going about ship’s work all the time.”

“Who’s injured?”

As the three turned it was a smirking Lieutenant Witzenfield who stood before them. “Who’s injured, I asked?”

“Mr. Davy,” Markham answered, not wanting Gabe to say something he’d he sorry for.

Taking another step into the berth Witzenfield ducked his head to avoid an overhead beam. “Come here boy. Do you need to see the surgeon?”

“No, sir,” Davy answered.

“I see. Are you fit for duty?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you recall my orders to secure the lashings on my cannons?”

“Yes sir. I was securing them when I fell against one injuring my face,” Davy muttered through his battered lips.

“Huh! Aren’t you the King’s hard bargain? I’ve just checked and every one of the lashings was loose as a fiddler’s bitch. I think an hour or two at the masthead
should make you more conscientious when you next carry out a task.”

Unable to remain quiet any longer Gabe spoke out, “But sir, the ropes are new they’ll stretch again in a couple of hours if this gale keeps up.”

“Ahum? You may very well be right, Mr. Anthony. I should have thought of that. However, never to steal one’s thunder, you can wake Mr. Davy every two hours so that he can make sure the lashings are secure.”

“Damn you!” Davy blurted as Witz was
leaving the berth.

Wheeling around, Witz glared. “What was that?”

Gabe and Markham were too shocked to reply. Miller, the old salt, used his savvy in responding to the officer, “The young sir said thank you. Only ‘is lips are so busted it be hard to understand. ‘E can barely speak as yer ownself can see.” All the time Miller was patting Davy on the head and shoulders. “It’s a bad time ‘e be avin of it sir.”

Realizing he’d get nowhere with pursuing it, Witz snarled, “One day you’ll make a mistake and I’ll be there. Mark my word, one day.”

As soon as he’d dressed and shaved, Kramer, the surgeon, made his way to the wardroom for breakfast. Settling into his usual spot he spied Lieutenant Witzenfield.

Seeing Witz reminded him of young Davy whose blisters became sores, sores that became scabs only to be torn off and became sores again. His injured lips so battered it was days before he could eat anything but gruel. In his third day of being awakened every two hours to check gun lashings he now had a croup. But the torture was not only directed at Davy but at Mr. Anthony as well. How many times had he been mastheaded? He’d been given three lots of extra duty in
three days. How many times had he been sent aloft to check the splices where something had been repaired? These tasks usually given after dark or during a gale. All this time the captain stayed silent. Kramer could only guess at his patience. How much longer would it be before Davy or Gabe broke? Kramer had seen Gabe in a quiet but heated conversation with Dagan. Was Witz so stupid he couldn’t sense the stares he was getting from the man? How long before Dagan threw caution to the wind and took justice into his own hands? Gabe couldn’t control him forever, not with Witz treating Gabe so cruelly. Kramer couldn’t help but think a lot of Davy’s abuse by Witz was to get at Gabe, to make him cross that line.

With as sharp a look as he could muster, Kramer tried to demonstrate all the resentment he felt as he spoke to the wardroom as a whole.

“It appears our esteemed Fourth Lieutenant has singlehandedly taken upon himself all these duties normally carried out by the bosun, the master-at-arms, the First Lieutenant and at times even almighty God himself!”

Peckham, the master, Marine Lieutenant Dunn, Lieutenant Earl and Lieutenant Pitts all looked astonished as the surgeon spoke.

“Tell me, sir,” Kramer was again speaking, this time directly to Witz, “Do you have a grievance against Mr. Anthony and Mr. Davy?”

Shocked that he was being addressed so, Witz replied, “Why would I have a grievance?”

“Your actions, sir. Anybody not totally blind can see you have an agenda.”

“I resent your accusations,” Witz replied, his anger starting to show, “I’m merely doing my duty to make good officers of them, unlike some lickspittles.”

Standing, Lieutenant Earl spoke, “To whom are you addressing as a lickspittle?”

Witz knew he was now in jeopardy as both lieutenants were his senior. He also knew while he outranked the surgeon and the master he’d best trod lightly with both. “Oh, not officers,” he replied. “I just want to do my part to make better seaman and officers out of them as I stated.”

***

“Huh!” Peckham snorted. “You’d do well to have Mr. Anthony help you, with you’re navigation.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my navigation,” Witz hurled back.

“Nothing wrong…Well, damme, my boy but where’s the black ivory?”

“Black ivory?”

“Why yes, by your noon readings yesterday,
Drakkar
should be
slap dab in the middle of ‘Affrica’ by God!” This caused a howl from the rest of the officers.

Scowling at the Master, Witz almost screamed, “You lie, dammit, tell them now, you lie.”

“Careful sir,” Lieutenant Dunn addressed Witz.

“He can’t talk to me that way,” Witz cried.

“What you gonna do
boy, masthead me?” Peckham responded.

Trying to allay the situation, Pitts spoke quietly, “Let’s all calm down.” Being next to Witz, he placed his hand on his shoulder and continued, “It wasn’t long ago I felt I had to prove myself. Now I realize I already have. I made lieutenant. And with good luck I’ll make captain and then admiral.”

This created another howl as Pitts knew it would but at least the situation had been diffused. Later when Witz
relieved Pitts on watch, Pitts offered more advice. “I don’t know what you have against Mr. Anthony and it’s none of my business. But just because the cap’n hasn’t said anything don’t mean he isn’t watching and so’s Mr. Buck. I’d not cross Mr. Buck if I was you. He’s got a mean streak for those he doesn’t like.’’

“I’m not concerned about Buck or the Cap’n,” Witz snorted. “Captain or not he has to do his duty regardless of family.”

“It’s your career,” Pitts answered, then turned to go down to his cabin. As he turned he saw Dagan. He had to have heard the conversation. Well, Witz had been warned by all, now his actions were his worry. Pitts was ready for a glass of wine and three hours of sleep.

***

It had been fifteen days since they had slipped moorings at Portsmouth. Anthony had not spoken to Witz since that first day underway. On the surface, everything appeared fine. Appeared, he thought to himself. He wasn’t blind; he’d been mindful of Witzenfeld’s actions and treatment of Gabe and Davy. How many times had he seen Buck looking at him, just a nod and Buck would have made Witz’s life hell? How many times had Bart said something? Even Silas, the silent one, said, “Mr. Anthony’s bound to break sooner or later, sir.”

Anthony glanced down at his log. It was full of entries, but how could a few lines describe all that went on? A sailor would know, but never a landsman. Fifteen days—but it seemed longer. They had dealt with heavy seas, gales, and strong head winds. Then for a whole day they lay becalmed.

It was all hands to shorten sails, then set more sails, and then reef down. It seemed every evolution was carried out a hundred times. But it all served a purpose. The ship was coming together. All except Witz. Command was a solemn duty at times. Anthony could recall the longing for command he’d experienced as a lieutenant. But as Lord Sandwich had warned, “Command was doing one’s duty, not what one wished to do.” He knew he had to address the Witz situation soon.

Thinking of Buck, Anthony had to give him credit for a fine job with the crew. He was not completely satisfied with gun drill, but even that was improving.

“Cleared for action in ten minutes and fifteen seconds,” Buck had said, snapping his watch shut.

Yes, that was far better than the fourteen minutes plus on their first drill—but not good enough. Fire drill was still dismal. That had to improve. Anthony also sensed camaraderie building among the officers. He commented on his observations to Buck one evening.

“Yes, sir,” Buck agreed. “Did you know young Gabe can sing, sir?”

Anthony didn’t.

“He and Mr. Earl, the second lieutenant, will get together after their watch—weather permitting—and put on a fair show. The crew seems to enjoy it. Mr. Earl has a flute, and Gabe has some sort of little stringed instrument. When they get to going on a real sassy tune, sir, half the damn crew will dance up a jig. You should come hear it, sir.”

“Maybe, I will,” replied Anthony.

“By the bye, sir, Mr. Gabe has
the makings of a fine officer. He’ll do you proud, sir. I’m certain.”

“Well, thank you Rupert. I’m glad to hear it. Your evaluation means a great deal to me.”

***

Hearing the music and merriment through the open skylight, Anthony strolled on deck. He saw the master’s mate nudge the officer of the watch.

Mr. Pitts turned and greeted his captain. “Evening sir. We’re sou’sou’west and about to take in another reef. The master promises a hot night and hotter morrow.”

“Mr. Peckham is usually right. Are you enjoying the festivities?” Anthony asked his third lieutenant.

“Yes, sir. I don’t have an ear for music like some, but it makes the watch go quicker to have something going on. I’ve stressed to the look-outs to keep close vigil.”

Anthony was glad to hear Pitts say this. He was also mad with himself for not thinking the activities on the fo’c’s’le could possibly distract the lookouts from their duties. This was something to consider.

Lt. Pitts had returned to the wheel and made a show of checking the compass. Anthony knew this was to give him his space on the quarterdeck. As Anthony turned, he spied Dagan lounging against the bulwark amidships, puffing on his pipe. Anthony approached the man, wanting to get to know “Gabe’s uncle and protector” better.

“I say, Dagan, I didn’t know you smoked a pipe.”

“Aye, sir, mostly at night when I have the time to fill the bowl and enjoy it full. I can’t abide lighting up, having it go out, and then fetching another match.”

“I see,” said Anthony. “I have my father’s old pipe and I intend to see if I like it better than cigars.”

“I have some fine tobacco,” Dagan volunteered. “Blended for your father by his tobacconist. He always got me a tin when he ordered his.”

“Why thank you,” Anthony said. Not wanting to end his conversation, Anthony volunteered, “The master assures us it’ll be a hot day tomorrow.”

Dagan took his pipe from his mouth and looked at Anthony with cold hard eyes. “Storm on the horizon.”

“Storms!” rebuked Anthony. “The master’s rarely wrong about the weather, Dagan.”

“More ‘n one kind of storm, Cap’n. You’ve been told.” Then he was gone like a ghost. Anthony felt like a midshipman who’d just been dismissed by his betters. Storms!