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“The first lieutenant, sir,” the marine had barely gotten the announcement past his lips when the cry from above was heard.

“Man overboard! Man overboard!” Lt. Earl was already turning the ship by the time Anthony and Buck hurried on deck.

***

“Well, at least that’s a chapter that’s closed,” Buck said, “And I for one am glad.” The man overboard had been Lt. Witzenfeld. Every effort had been made to recover the man but to no avail. The bosun had said, “He musta headed straight ‘fer Davy Jones locker from the onset. No ‘bobbin or cries like you’d expect from a man trying to stay afloat.”

The quartermaster, who had been at the wheel when the incident happened, tried to explain what he saw. “‘E ‘ad a fit ‘e did, sir, went berserk. He was acting like a madman, just a slobbering like and flinging his arms about, like ‘e was swatting at bees, sir. Screaming ‘is bloody head off saying the devil was on him. ‘E was touched sir, so ‘e was, just plain touched. It put a scare in me, cap’n. I ain’t shamed to say it. No sir, it was frightful.”

When things on deck had settled down, Anthony and Buck had the opportunity to talk with Peckham who had also seen the incident. “Witz was headed aft to report to you,” the master explained. “Dagan was standing close to the hatch, outta the wind so he could light his pipe. As Witz approached the companionway, he appeared startled and upset to find Dagan standing there. He gave Dagan an angry scowl. Dagan looked up from lighting his pipe and said, “Careful where thy step sir. Accidents happen, a misstep could haunt you a lifetime.”

“Well, sir, Witz turned ghost white pale. He let go a scream to make yer blood curdle. It ‘twere like the banshee was after him. Then, like the quartermaster said, it was over the side he went. You know the rest.”

Anthony had let the master tell his story without interruption. Then he asked, “Tell me, Mr. Peckham, would you consider Dagan’s words a threat to Lt. Witzenfeld?”

“Nay Cap’n. More like a friendly reminder I’d say.”

Long after everyone had gone, Anthony was lying in his cot looking at the deck beams overhead. He found himself taking in all the sounds a ship at sea will make. The water sluicing down the hull as the bow plunged through another wave. The gentle groan of timbers as they were being flexed as the ship cut through a trough only to have its bow lifted by a swell. The sound of the watch on deck, all familiar but distant. In the stillness, Anthony’s body gave a sudden shiver and once again he could hear his father’s old servant whisper, “He’s a soothsayer, sir. A sorcerer.”

Chapter Five

Anthony woke with the foul taste of cheap wine and bad cigars. His head felt worse than his mouth tasted. He had been a guest of the wardroom last evening, and this morning he was paying for the merriment. Since the incident with Witzenfeld, the ship had seemed different. The crew seemed happier and more content. Anthony had heard some go so far as to say “can’t say’s I’m sorry he’s gone.” Well, to be honest, neither was he. Gabe was now acting fourth lieutenant and so far all seemed well. Gabe and Earl had performed for the wardroom last evening. Some of their renditions were lewd and provocative. The wardroom officers laughed at each attempt as Gabe and Earl set to music some profane rhyme, one trying to outdo the other. The surgeon was the judge and proclaimed neither winner nor loser, but a draw.

Silas entered with coffee, and hot water for Anthony’s shave. “The Master says if his calculations are on, we’ll likely see land by the end of the first dog watch. It’s a good thing too, sir. With Mr. Buck dropping in as ‘e does, we’ve just about run outta coffee.”

Anthony grunted, “You and Bart don’t tip a cup now and then do you?”

“Occasionally we does,” answered the servant. “Iffen you’ve ‘ad yer fill and they’s a swallow left in the pot, we’s don’t like to see it go to waste.”

“I’m sure,” Anthony said.

Bart had entered the cabin. “Dawn’s almost on us, sir. It’s sweltering already and the master says we’re shaping up for a squall. Mr. Pitts got the watch, sir. He’s dancing around like a whore in church. He’s got one eye on the horizon and the other watching aft for you.”

This brought a smile to Anthony. Someone else undoubtedly was feeling the worse from last evening’s merriment. After far too many glasses of wine, Mr. Pitts had stood to make a toast before ending the evening’s festivities. He was too much in his cups, and when the ship was hit by a large swell, the roll of the ship threw Pitts off balance and he sprawled head long onto the wardroom table. The surgeon had pronounced him “drunk for the evening.” Anthony could only imagine how embarrassed the young officer felt. If he’d been in his place, he’d certainly keep a weather eye out for the captain until he saw how he fared after last night’s actions.

The master was in conversation with Pitts when Anthony came on deck. The wind was picking up. Dawn was breaking all right. Anthony could already make out faces of the men working forward. One of the seaman commented to no one in particular, “Was that a lightning flash off the larboard bow?” Markham, the now senior midshipman, volunteered, “I thought I heard thunder too.”

Anthony turned quickly. Anger was in his eyes as he addressed Pitts. “Thunder be damned. That’s cannon fire! Are the lookouts asleep, sir?”

Pitts called up to the masthead lookout who said, “I ‘ears it now sir, and seed a flash but thought it was lightning. Nothing more’s visable yet.” Pitts turned to his captain. “Clear for action, sir?”

“No, not yet,” Anthony replied. “Send for the first lieutenant.”

“Here I am, Cap’n.”

Turning, Anthony saw Buck. “Well good morning, Mr. Buck. I hate your rest was disturbed after such a hearty evening, but I fear the day promises to be an active one. We’ll go ahead and have the crew fed an early breakfast.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” the officers on the quarterdeck answered in unison.

Bart was there with Anthony’s sword and pistols. “Let’s go finish our coffee, Bart. There will be time for them directly,” Anthony said, speaking of his weapons. Halfway down the companionway Anthony called back to Buck, “After breakfast send Dagan to the masthead with a glass. Let’s see if his peepers are as good as my father claimed them to be.”

***

An air of excitement and expectation seemed to hover on deck as Anthony returned from breaking his fast. It was much lighter and all the lieutenants and young gentlemen seemed to be about. The crew moved with just a little bounce in its step. Someone must have mentioned the possibility of prize money, Anthony thought.

Dagan had proved his worth. With Anthony’s return on deck, Buck reported to him, “Looks like a pair of topsail schooners, bearing down on a barque. They don’t appear to be friendly.”

“They don’t appear to be friendly?” Anthony asked.

“No sir. They’re flying the red flag-mercy, no quarter. One schooner’s to leeward, and the other to windward. It’s like one was laying in wait and chased the barque toward the open arms of the other.”

“Have they seen us yet?” Anthony asked.

“They’ve shown no sign they have, Cap’n. The sun is behind us so we would be hard to see, especially when they’re so engrossed with the prospect of plunder.”

“Well, let’s see if we can give them something else to chew on,” Anthony said. “Beat to quarters if you will, Mr. Buck.”

“The barque’s in range so why ain’t they firing on her?” Mr. Davy asked. Both Anthony and Buck turned to the young middy. Since Witz had cast his lot to the depths, the once introverted boy seemed to have blossomed. However, butting in when his betters were in discussion would see him “kissing the gunner’s daughter.” Bart intervened before things went too far.

“Begging the captain’s pardon, but I believe the young gentlemen is needed forward, sir.”

Anthony knew an old sea dog like Bart would educate the boy on when it was proper to speak and when not. He’d also explain that pirates would rather take a ship with as little damage to the spoils as possible.