The Reaper

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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!”

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.

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