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Anthony then turned back to Buck. “Carry on with the business at hand.”

“Yes
,
sir,” was all Buck could manage. The order was given and the drums started to roll. A rope was thrown over the yardarm, a hangman’s noose already fashioned at the end of it.

The pirate collapsed into a heap on the deck. Two of Dunn’s marines were trying to lift the whimpering man but he refused to stand. Anthony nodded and the marines let go. The prisoner hit the deck with a thud.
“S’il-vous-plait, monsieur!”
the pathetic man begged, reaching out with his arm to Anthony. Tears streamed down his face causing streaks in the grime from the recent battle.

“Donnez moi une chance,
” he cried. The man’s actions were disgusting to the hardened sailors who had seen the red flag flying from the pirate’s mast, not to mention the torn and mutilated bodies the pirates had left in their wake. The cries for mercy fell on deaf ears.

“Gawd ‘e makes me sick to me stomach,” a voice in the crowd spoke as the pirate whimpered and crawled in a semi circle.

“Hang the bugger, cap’n,” another voice in the crowd said.

“Silence!” Buck ordered.

Anthony, Buck, Gabe, and Lieutenant Dunn all stood before the man. The marines continued to hold him up as Anthony spoke to him. “Do you understand English?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Are you a French officer?”

“Non, monsieur.”

“Then why are you wearing a French naval officer’s coat?”

“It was, how do you say…plunder.” He muttered some more comments, which couldn’t be understood.

Markham volunteered, “I think he’s trying to tell us he took it from someone’s things after the man had been killed.”

Still not letting on he could understand the man’s pleas Anthony spoke to Markham, “Well, tell him I think he’s a lying son of a cur dog and that I’m holding him responsible for that ship over there.” He pointed to the ship that had been the pirate’s prey.

“Tell him he’s been caught in the act of piracy. There’s no doubt of his guilt and the penalty is death.”

The Frenchman understood enough of what was said such that he’d started his begging and pleading even before Markham could translate.

Disgusted, Anthony ordered, “String him up!”

Lieutenant Dunn nodded to his sergeant who stepped forward, placed the noose around the pirate’s neck, and tightened it. Once the sergeant was satisfied, he stepped back and looked at Lieutenant Dunn, who in turn looked to Anthony.

Anthony nodded and lieutenant Dunn ordered, “Haul him up.” A group of marines started pulling on the rope. The French pirate’s cries were cut off as the rope bit into the flesh, cutting off the man’s air. As he was lifted off the deck, his feet started kicking the air and his body started to sway. The onlookers were stoic. Most had never witnessed a hanging and were aghast.

“Avast hauling, let him down,” Anthony ordered. The rope was turned loose and the pirate thudded as he hit the deck, gasping for air. The marine sergeant loosened the noose and the pirate started to breathe. Anthony looked at Markham, “Tell him that was my
only warning. Next time he’ll hang till the gulls have pecked his eyes out.” Markham repeated Anthony’s comments.

“Now ask him who commanded his vessel.”

The pirate answered quickly, “Capitaine Allemand.”

“Where is he now?”

“Dead. He was shot as your men boarded.”

“Is the
Reaper
a French ship—a frigate
?”

“She is big but not as big as some. She is similar to this ship and she has fifty cannons. Her capitaine is French like I am.”

“But is the ship French?” The pirate shrugged and stated, “She flies no flag. The men answer only to Capitaine Jabot.”

“When were you to rendezvous with the
Reaper
?”

The pirate looked frightened and could only shrug. Angered, Anthony ordered, “Haul him up.”

“Please,” the man begged before the noose could tighten. “Only Capitaine Allemand knew. He kept his papers locked up and no one else knew what they contained. Please, Monsieur.”

After further questioning, Anthony found out the man had signed on at Martinique a few months back. However no more useful information could be gained.

His was a damned difficult job. From Falmouth to Barbados was forty-two hundred miles and near ‘bout that many from Jamaica to Falmouth. A lot of ocean to cover. However, it seemed that all the attacks were taking place within a day’s sailing from islands of the West Indies. What did this mean? They would need bases to supply themselves and to trade their ill-gotten goods. The key had to be the rendezvous areas.

***

LeCroix
had closed with the merchant vessel. She was a small snow with a crew of mostly islanders. The pirates had turned everything upside down. Most of the officers and crew had been killed and tossed overboard by the pirates. Sharks were in frenzy around the helpless ship. The surgeon reported to Anthony, “Nothing much for me to do. Work for a chaplain maybe, but not for me.”

Lieutenant Mainard reported aboard
Drakkar
. “Papers say she’s outta St. Lucia, sir. With a name cross her stern like “New Haven” I would assume she belongs to a colonial.”

“I agree,” Anthony said. “Is she ready to sail?”

“Aye, sir. The pirates were out for blood, not for destroying the ship.”

“We’ll leave her surviving crew on board. They’ll be more comfortable there than on
Drakkar.
Mr. Buck!”

“Aye, sir.”

“Put Gabe with a good master’s mate on board the snow and supplement its crew with a few of our men. He can take her hack to English Harbor.”

“Aye, sir,” Buck said, then hesitated. “I ‘ere, I thought I’d put Lieutenant Pitts on the
Rascal.”

Anthony frowned,
“Rascal!”

“Aye, sir. That’s
the name of the schooner, the pirate’s vessel.”

“Oh yes,” Anthony answered, aggravated at his dullness. Trying to cover he said, “It’ll make Pitts’ dreams come true. You’ve likely doomed us all, Mr. Buck.”

Buck look puzzled, “How so, sir?”

Anthony smiled and replied, “Now that he’s got a taste of command, there’ll be no stopping Pitts. I’m sure he’ll make admiral before we do, as the master once predicted.”

Laughing, Buck said, “Could be, sir, could be.”

The return trip to Antigua was uneventful. One coastal vessel had been spotted but before Buck could call “hands to braces” it had scattered to a nearby island. Approaching English Harbour, Anthony could only guess at the impression the group would make as they headed toward their anchorage.

Drakkar
had departed with the two schooners. Now instead of the three ships returning, Anthony rejoined with five. This would surely cause a stir. Breaking his reverie, the master called out to no one in particular, “Flagship has gone.”

Commodore Gardner was now the senior naval officer on station and Anthony was second. What a difference a few days made, Anthony thought. But his mind kept drifting to a little cottage on a hill and Lady Deborah.

Clearing his mind from thoughts of his mistress, Anthony realized several ships were at anchor that had not been present when
Drakkar
had sailed. A sloop of war, a brig, and the mail packet were all lying at anchor. Their captains, no doubt, were taking the time to enjoy the simple pleasures of the island, causing a pang of jealously in Anthony that he found surprising.

F
or the next several months things were quiet. Anthony was able to keep the schooner
Rascal
after she was “bought in,” but the snow was sent to England. Pitts was left in command, but he knew it was only temporary. Anthony was able to sign on most of the snow’s surviving hands. He was a little concerned about how the crew would react to the islanders. He’d never had a Negro on board his ship before. However, his concerns were for naught. The crew accepted the blacks well enough. They had been divided into two groups—the larger on board
Rascal,
and the other smaller group on
LeCroix
.

Anthony had also divided his squadron of “terriers,” as the master was so fond of calling them, into two groups.
LeFoxxe
and
LeCroix
went out in pairs. That was, Pitts being less experienced, would be under
Drakkar
’s watchful eye. By dividing his command into pairs, he could maintain a degree of safety and still patrol a greater area than would be possible if
Drakkar
was a lone ship. The pickings had been slim, however. Anthony enjoyed his forays ashore with Lady Deborah, but felt a growing need to be at sea. Out there he could possibly meet up with the
Reaper
, and put an end to the devil’s reign of terror. During one patrol, Pitt’s crew had picked up a poor man who had survived by clinging to a hatch cover after his ship was destroyed. The fellow was about done in from thirst, and half cooked by the sun. In his delirium, the man spoke of a great black ship with matching stygian sails. The ship just came out of the dawn, he said. The poor soul cried when he described how the ship was looted. To make for a more sinister situation, the pirates carried two screaming lady
passengers away. He explained that after taking everything of value, the devil ship cast off, and then fired a whole broadside, completely destroying the little merchant ship.

Commodore Gardner had told Anthony that messages continued to trickle in of lost or missing ships. The schooners had picked up a couple of smaller coastal vessels for piracy. Pitts, on the schooner
Rascal
, had made the last capture. But all in all their work was futile, creating a greater sense of urgency and frustration for Anthony.

“The season is upon us,” explained Commodore Gardner. “Nobody wants to be caught in a hurricane, be he merchant or rogue. Therefore, there should be a break in the devilment.”

Anthony’s little flotilla found out first hand what the commodore had meant in late August. They had just rendezvoused off the windward island of St. Vincent on the Caribbean side when the storm began. Suddenly, the sea had become a deadly foe, as much an enemy as the pirates they were trying to apprehend. The master cursed as he was summoned from the wardroom by a concerned watch. However, the curse died on his lips as the storm had turned into a full gale. A master’s mate was already lashing down one of the helmsmen so he wouldn’t be washed overboard.

The master hurried to help lash down the other helmsman. “Four men—we need four men at the wheel to keep control,” Peckham ordered his mate.

The wind whipped the waves as they came crashing down over the bow, sending rivers of water surging down the deck, tearing at everything in its path. No sooner had one watch been dismissed before all hands were called to shorten sail or take down torn canvas. Anthony remained on deck during the entire ordeal. He
had on his oilskins but was drenched, and due to the wind, somewhat chilled. He couldn’t help but worry not only about
Drakkar
, but also of Gabe and the others on the more fragile schooners.

Buck had been helping to free a blocked tackle when he lost his footing and was knocked into the scuppers as the raging water sluiced down the larboard side. He found himself being hauled unceremoniously to his feet as huge hands grabbed the neck of his slicker and jerked him from the cascading torrent, setting him upright on deck.

McMorgan, the burly bosun, had been his rescuer. “Got ‘ya trained now, sir, so I don’t want to lose ‘ya and have to train another,” the big man had explained, smiling as he did so. Buck, bruised and half drowned, muttered, “Glad to hear you feel so, bosun. Glad I am to hear it.’

Anthony grew more concerned about the schooner. The seas were getting big and he was fearful of a rogue wave catching one of the fragile ships on one quarter and broaching her. The wind continued to increase and instead of coming from directly astern as it had been, it seemed to come from all directions.

“Can you see the schooners?” Peckham asked. The old master was unshaven and hollow-eyed. Even with his rotund belly he looked gaunt. Peering aft beyond the turbulent waves one of the schooners could he seen. But which one?

“She’s taken in everything but the foresail,” Buck yelled to make himself heard above the wind.

“Aye,” Peckham agreed. “And she looks like she may over reach us under bare sticks.”

The avalanche of water continued to crash against
Drakkar
’s bow, making the ship shudder and creating terror in the crew. They responded when called but
fighting the storm sapped a man’s strength, making each maneuver a life or death struggle.

McMorgan could barely see, the wind stinging his eyes, as he reported to Anthony. “One of the forward cannons has tried to break away from its lashings, cap’n, but we’s doubled up on ‘em so’s she’s not likely to come adrift. There’s two feet or more ‘o water in the well but I got crews on the pumps and the water don’t appear to be gaining. I’ve taken me mates and checked below the waterline and so far we’s not sprung a plank!”

The news was good but they were not out of trouble yet. On and on until it seemed like forever. Waves grew bigger and bigger.

“Looks to me like a mountain,” Bart had sworn, “I never seed such a storm.”

“It’s a hurricane,” Peckham exclaimed. “This ain’t no gale, it’s a hurricane.”

They had run all the way to Jamaica before the hurricane had veered northerly toward Cuba. The black sky began to turn gray then clear even more. The sharp rain that had pelted the watch like tiny daggers slowed then stopped. The surging sea that had tossed
Drakkar
around like a twig grew less angry and was now only fast rolling swells. Anxious men were now sterner, having survived more than they thought they could. They had been lucky, very lucky. Sails were torn. Rigging was damaged and cordage was everywhere. One of the ship’s boats had been smashed. All this was superficial.
Drakkar
was afloat. They had survived.

Bart had summed up Anthony’s feelings exactly in a comment he made to Silas. “Glad I am that’s over. I ain’t yet ready to cast me lot with old King Neptune. Not yet I ain’t.”