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Captain coming aboard.
    “Boat approaching,” declared a sentry.
    “Very well,” acknowledged the First Lieutenant.
    “Boat ahoy!”
    “ Drakkar !”
    The challenge had been given and the boatman’s response left no doubt that the man coming aboard would be second only to God in controlling their lives in the foreseeable future.
    Anthony removed his boat cloak and tossed it to his cox’n, Bart. No need getting tangled and tossing one’s own self, arsehole over elbows in front of the entire crew. Anthony timed the swell just right, and it was little more than a step from the little cutter to Drakkar ’s gunwale and through the entry port. No sooner had his head appeared above the entry port than honors began. The sudden noise from the pipers and the slap of muskets from marines presenting arms were almost deafening as all cadences blended together to announce the arrival of their captain. Anthony paused momentarily as he cleared the entry port and stepped on deck. Just a moment to fully enjoy the honors he was being rendered. In that brief period, he glanced about the ship. The tall tapering mast. Every rope, block and tackle. The polished brass and furled sails. The assembled crew and guns. She was a frigate all right. A damned big frigate to be sure, but a frigate all the same. Anthony could smell the tar, the faint odor of gun oil and the sea. Yes, Drakkar was ready, and God help him, so was he. Anthony felt like he was home.
    “Ah, Mr. Buck!” Anthony said as the First Lieutenant greeted him. “You’ve done a fine job as usual.”
    “Thank you, sir. Bart and Silas are seeing that your things get stowed below. You’ve much more room than on the Recourse,” Buck told Anthony.
    “As have you, I hope,” answered Anthony with a smile. “Now if you will be so kind as to muster the crew aft.”
    “Aye, sir.” Buck turned to the bosun and repeated the order,
    Reaching into his pocket for his orders, Anthony felt his father’s old pipe. A chill went through him. He could feel his father’s presence. He then pulled out his orders and with a firm voice read them to the ship’s company.
    “By the Commissioner for executing the office of Lord High Admiral…To Captain Lord Gilbert Anthony…His Frigate Drakkar…willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the charge and command of captain…”
    After his reading in, Anthony turned to his First Lieutenant. “Dismiss the crew then come to my cabin, Mr. Buck.”
    “I’ll be there directly, Cap’n.”
    ***
    Bart and Silas were unpacking their captain’s belongings when Anthony entered the cabin. Bart and Anthony had been together since Bart was a seaman and Anthony a young lieutenant. Silas? Silas was many things—servant, secretary and coffee maker extraordinaire. Silas’s coffee was legendary. It was rare when a visitor that had the pleasure of a cup of Silas’s coffee didn’t request more on a subsequent visit.
    While no place on a crowded ship could be considered private, the captain’s quarters were as close as it came. Anthony gazed at the stern windows. They crossed the entire length of his quarters. He looked closely at the handy work of the craftsman where timbers had been fitted after the ship had been razed. They had done a remarkable job.
    Drakkar was considered a fifth rate forty-four gun frigate. However, she was originally launched as a French sixty-four, a third rate. She had been taken by Hawke’s squadron as they defeated the French Fleet at Quibron Bay in 1759. She was one of King George’s largest frigates, still carrying the twenty-four pounders that were her main armament when she was a sixty-four. A broadside from Drakkar would be devastating.
    It was getting dark and as the sun went down so did the temperature. The cabin would be damp and cold in Portsmouth harbor. However, a week in the tropics should help not only the cold but also the ache in Anthony’s bones. He looked at the two ornamental