The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

July 18, 1704 - Off the Eastern shore of La Blanquilla

Two Bells of the First Dog Watch

Covered pails of hot coffee and simple fare went up again to the lookouts who were sheltered only by their rain gear and a makeshift oiled tarp. Ciaran and McGinty excepted the food and drink gratefully, each soberly passing their thanks as they returned to scanning the shores and water off La Blanquilla. Siren, aloft in the Foremast, was more open with her gratitude and Patrick lingered with her awhile aloft. He was not often allowed in the rigging and he was enjoying the privilege.

Mister Badger was once again given leave to retire and left the deck as drowned as a cat, barefoot and dripping. Mister Warren , who had taken a hand at the wheel only a short while, followed Mister Badger below deck. They both retired to sleep while sleeping could be had.

The Captain and Master-at-Arms stood at the rail along the waist, sometimes watching the longboat and sometimes the shore. Mister Pew recommended that the Captain might like his sword or a pistol, but William just stamped the deck and said, "I am standing on a weapon, Mister Pew."

Mister Pew smiled a little. "Aye, Cap'n"

"I expect no boarders." he said slowly, his mind and eyes on the shoreline.

"Aye, Cap'n. No boarders."

"Though, I would not mind the rescue of twenty, strong and able seamen to replenish some of our numbers."

[Black Syren]

Siren was indeed thankful for the hot coffee and simple fare and even though ravenous ate slowly still looking out and pointing to Patrick the debris. She was sipping at the last of her coffee when she spotted another body and called down an alert..."Body off the starboard..Several barrels about him Sir!" She called down eyes warily scanning for more.

[William Brand]

"Damn." was all that William managed, as Ciaran confirmed the sighting. Given their own recent losses, he was in no mood to find bodies in need of burying.

Meanwhile, Mister Lasseter was altering course to intercept the newly sighted victim. They found a man of maybe some thirty years, bloated past recognition and there were signs that marine life had been at him more than once. His clothing was as discolored as he was and James Whiting had to turn away to keep from spilling his most recent meal. It took an effort for any of them to keep a hold on the body and the empty sockets of his face proved an unpleasant shock to even the strongest constitution. Still, Mister Lasseter rifled through the man's clothing.

The discoveries made from the contents of the pockets revealed much. The coins on his person were entirely of British origin, with some coming from ports found in the Caribbean and others from the British Isles. He was also possessed of a snuff box with the name Edward Parker engraved neatly on the lid.

Mister Lasseter's face was grim. "Bad fortune, Mister Parker."

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

The freshning breeze which crept around portal's closed barrier gave heralding to rain. From familiar chair's perch, the young Frenchman took deep into his lungs such offering and relished its fullness. In near proximity, the cot and the form that filled it swayed gently with the vessel's movement. Under protest, Jacquelyn had finally given into Raphael's insistance of rest and such battle of wills would go down silently in the analogs of tanacity.

The Surgeon had finally met her match, and unlike her brother, this companion of kindred ground would not give in so easily. Chanault's tone had never wavered from its usual manner of cool smooth or soft aura, nor did his reasoning. So, in turn, the lines had been drawn, and after thirty minutes of tedious debate, mostly on her part, the Elder gave in to the Younger, finding relaxed repose soon after.

Voices echoed as unseen phantom's from without; relays of soundings and order's, general compositions of nautical symphony; an ode to life at sea. But the rythems changed, enough so that the pale eyes of jade hue opened from their resting posture and the Sphinx sat a small straighter in chair's boundry. There was an aggitaition that stirred and it was not Nature's wetting that brought it forth.

Raphael stood, stepping lightly to near chamber's door to lend ear to the allegro mounting in ship's song. The quickened trod of footsteps heard from above and the sudden aproach and stop of individual passage, followed by announcement set the mental gears into forward bearing, at the same time bringing the comfort of dreamtime to screeching halt. Raphael turned to gaze at woken companion and as she made to leave cot's comfort, he nodded negation and held up a hand to stop furthering of intent. The emerald pools narrowed slightly to the steady focus of those lighter and once again received nothing more that the subtle nod.

Retrieving the legnth of shrouding coat, hands deftly ensured all was as should be with the unknown looming in the outside relm. The Surgeon found herself watching in silent appreciation, the precise and almost graceful way that the Younger moved and tended to that which was seen and unseen. Their eyes met briefly once more before Chanault left to investigate the latest knot to ply the Sisters' skien.

The outer world proved to give vissage of controled chaos, the wind bringing the pungent scent of death in its dampened manner. Raphael stood to the side with stone set features, giving forth an air of detached manner as he surveyed the carnage displayed. It was little more than whisper that came forth, a statement of irony delivered to unknowing audience as he moved closer to Captain and Second.

"Le beau n'a qu'un type, la laid en a mille..."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

After clearing away the ward room, Tudor made her way topside, searching out the Captain for new orders. The chaos she found on deck assailed her senses. Not only was the turbulent weather itself causing a certain amount of frenzy, but the image of the quatermaster and a recently retrieved corpse was causing a certain amount of exctiment.

She approached the captain over at the rail, eyes taking in every detail around her. "Any orders, sir?" She said, after a perfunctory curtsy, her soggy curls swaying.

[Pew]

::Standing at the rail, the Captain and I watched Mr. Lasseter manuever the craft in and around what flotsam remained on the surface. Several heavy timbers washed by, barely grazing the hull of the Watch Dog, yet loud enough to gain the attention of those crew standing nearby.

Save for the distant echo of the cannon, nary a pin could be heard topside on the Watch Dog. Every few minutes sharp reports of orders could be heard coming from Mr. Lasseter on the cutter. Tens of pairs of eyes were pinned at the railing, each staring to the sea encircling the Watch Dog.

[William Brand]

July 18, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Three Bells of the First Dog Watch

"Miss Smith." was all that William said at first, distracted by the work of the longboat crew. After a time, he turned from the rail and addressed her. "If we should find survivors, I would have you put off all duties touching the Ward Room and assist in the administering of food and clothing to those brought aboard. I would like you to be at the Doctor's beck and call should she require you. You will report to me as often as you can, but the duty to them will be paramount to all other duties for the present."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Of course...if we find none alive, I would like you to see that all those in the longboat have warm fare and warm clothes available upon their return to the ship."

[CaptainCiaran]

(from up in the nest, young John McGuinty was gettin' more than his share o' firsthand experience in the importance of being a lookout. He was constantly -- aye, excitedly -- scanning the waters around the ship now, as two bodies had been sighted amongst the floatin' debris. Beside him, was Ciaran, calm as ever, offerin' pointers and suggestions from his many years of experience. And although he appeared calm, the older lookout's eyes were very busy, searchin' the seas, as the drizzle continued. Although the rain were fallin' gentler now, everyone outside was soaked to the bone.)

(John nudged Ciaran and pointed, looking at the older lookout with a questionin' expression. Ciaran's eyes narrowed on a spot about 50 yards starboard.)

"Aye, lad. It tis. Call it out."

John trembled fer a second and swallowed before speakin', "Body, ano"

Ciaran interrupted, "Louder lad. Speak with authority!"

John shouted, "Body! Another body off the starboard!"

(All hands looked as another lifeless body were seen floatin' out about 50 yards from The Watch Dog.)

[Silkie McDonough]

Once the cleaned keg had been set out to catch fresh water the days rain allowed Murin (MEER-een) the luxury of relaxing. The small cave that they had discovered a few days after washing ashore kept them out of the elements. The afternoon sun had not been kind to the two ladies from so far north; both were still red and hurting in addition to peeling like the numerous lizards of the hot white island.

The rain was slowing. Murin lay there on the palm fronds that they had gathered for bedding making a mental list of what would need to be done today.

Gather some fresh cactus, something she had come to despise. Her hands were already scratched and red from the needles that protected the succulence insides the plant. A particularly bad prick on her left hand where she had fallen onto one of the cacti was hot, red and swollen. She feared that she may have to lance it but the blade they had was no good for the job.

Perhaps they could do some fishing today. She was tiring of the limited fare but it was what was keeping them alive and well. Birds and lizards would be hard to find in the rain but it should clear soon enough …a clap of thunder brought her back from her mental listing.

“Tot i’twas lettin up.” she mused aloud.

An answering blast to the thunder caught her attention. A lighter sound …more of powder than of nature. She sat up listening intently. A shot from a lighter gun …was that a shot?

“Ana, did you hear that?”

She did not wait for a response; she knew the sound of gun and powder well enough. She jumped to her feet grabbed the bright red waist coat; they had removed it, along with boots, breeches, sword belt and sword, from the gentleman who had helped them reach the shore after he died. She ran out into the rain.

“Ana, wake!”

Squinting she could see little through the rain …using her hand to shield her eyes she scanned the water. A ship!

“Ana! Ana! Tis a vessel here! We’re rescued! Ana!”

She ran toward the shore where they woke in the sands seemingly an eternity ago. The ship lay in that direction! Her strides were awkward in the large boots of the dead man. Her swollen left hand held his breeches up as she ran. The choice of drowning from the weight of the fabric of her skirt or loosing it was an easy one …and the kind gentleman’s demise, though a pity, was her good fortune.

“Ana!” She continued to call her new, and unlikely, friend. Not even sure that she could hear her now.

She waved the coat wildly as she ran toward the ship hoping that someone on board would see a flash of the red fabric!

“AHOY! AHOY THERE!” Her shouts swallowed by the rain and the sea. She continued to run until she reached the spot where any wreckage usually washed onto the land. Breathing heavily, still waving the coat she stopped, bent over holding the hitch in her side.

[CaptainCiaran]

(While Mister Lasseter and company rowed the small craft Patricia forward, slowly making their way toward the newest body to've been sighted, Ciaran's eyes caught sight of something on the nearby land. Through the rain and sea mist, it was but a small flash -- yet it was an unnatural flash of red.)

"John, keep a close eye on Mister Lasseter's boat," he said. "I am goin to scan the island more closely." Ciaran pulled out his own spyglass, closed his left eye and looked through the glass with his right one.

"Mother of God," he said. "It be a woman!"

John turned smartly toward Ciaran, but before he could speak, the senior lookout shouted below, "Captain! There be a woman! Yonder, on the island. She be waving a red coat! Use yer glass, Sir. She be too faint to see without it."

Ciaran pointed in the direction of the beach. "There, Captain, by the darker rocks, on the small beach afore them." The Lookout waited until he saw William place his eyepiece to eye, before doing the same again himself.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Thunder.....no, GUNS! Bill woke with a start, spilling from his hammock and for the moment believed himself aboard the Dreadnaught. Fastening his shirt as he roared into the passageway he bellowed so even the dead could hear

"MARINES! TO ARMS! WE BE UNDER ATTACK LADS, GRAB YER MUSKETS AND TO YER PERCHES WIT YE, OFFICERS AND GUNNERS BE THE ORDER OF THE DAY!"

He had nearly made it to the weather deck when he sheepishly realized where he was. Though he burned with shame he realized he had none the less not dreamt the cannon fire and continued on to make himself useful. When he arrived above deck he saw that most of the crew was pressed upon the rails. There seemed to be no cause for all the excitement, certainly not the thrum of battle but yet all hands were murmuring amongst themselves. Bill spied his friend Eric Franklin and sought his knowledge of the present situation.

"What be all the fuss about mate?" Bill said slapping him on the shoulder.

[William Brand]

William raised his glass and found the place described just beyond the line formed between the Watch Dog, the longboat and the woman. Even in the gloom of the rain, it was easy to make out the bright red cloth she waved at intervals. Her voice was faint, but not completely overcome by the elements and the excitement it carried could not be mistaken. William could not keep back the smile that crossed his face.

"Chanault."

The quiet shadow who had stood near at hand in silence since coming on deck stepped forward from his chosen place at the rail.

"Capitaine."

"Please inform the good Doctor that we have survivors."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Mr. Lasseter brought the Longboat alongside the blaoted form of yet another person, he heard a disturbance from the lookouts on the ship. Looking in their direction he saw Ciaran pointing to shore, and faintly heard the words 'god' and 'woman', then the report to the captain that indeed their was a woman ashore, waving a red coat. He swung his head around and looked to shore, sure enough there was a form standing in the sand, waving a red object.

"Right lads! Pull fer all yer worth! We gotta live one on shore! Alan, Claude, 'ave a care, just incase... we know not wot kinda reception might be had... could be a rouse... load up Castor an' Pollux wi' grape..."

"Aye-aye, sir" they replied in unison...

Soon the St. Kitt was speeding through the mild surf, Dorian kept the bow pointed straight in to shore, keeping the woman off to larboard half a cable length.

[Silkie McDonough]

The pain in her side easing, her breathing still labored, waving the red coat in her right hand above her head Murin looked up at the ship. She saw no sign that they had seen her. She couldn't even see people on the ship. She must appear as a speck in the sand! Her shoulder cramped, she could no longer wave the waist coat now heavy from the rain. As her heart sank she dropped to her knees, cradling the protesting limb. If only they had dry wood and could light a fire, but wood was scarce, she had no flint to take to steel. Besides the rain would quickly extinguish anything they might ignite today!

Hope washed away with the tears and rain running down her cheeks. Instinctively she wiped her eyes with her damp sleeve. Crying would not help. She needed to be level headed. She forced herself to calm her breathing. Again she looked toward the ship, trying to think clearly. Something on the water, between the sand where she knelt and the ship, caught her eye. Her focus quickly shifted, searching the water. Not the waves or the familiar debris but the oars of a long boat rowing towards her! She had been seen!

Despair lifted from her giving way to an overwhelming feeling of relief. She wanted to shout out though lungs and lips refused to obey. Her body trembled as she sobbed through her laughter. She lifted her face to the unheeding rain, thanking God for sending these new strangers to this tiny white island.

Special thanks to LongTom for his creative input!

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

William raised his glass and found the place described just beyond the line formed between the Watch Dog, the longboat and the woman.  Even in the gloom of the rain, it was easy to make out the bright red cloth she waved at intervals.  Her voice was faint, but not completely overcome by the elements and the excitement it carried could not be mistaken.  William could not keep back the smile that crossed his face.

"Chanault."

The quiet shadow who had stood near at hand in silence since coming on deck stepped forward from his chosen place at the rail.

"Capitaine."

"Please inform the good Doctor that we have survivors."

"Oui, Capitaine," the Sphinx replied with a slight decline of chin. Turning crisply on heel, Raphael side glanced the near distant shoreline and flash of crimson then continued on to destination. The meticulous processes of mental facauties ticked off the possibles in regard to situation viewed as he gained proximity of private quarters. Pausing at chamber door, he assured himself of being presentable before issueing a soft rap of presence and entering.

The port secured at his departure, was now proped agape, allowing the grey infussed light to raid the inner relm. She stood with attention focused to the beyond, and even the dullness of rain harried lumination did little to mask the rich hue of unbound tress. The Frenchman crossed to her side, saying nothing at first that would disturb her musing. Voices from without echoed hauntingly over liquid surface and the scent of wet wool intemingled with that of his own played to her sense of smell. Such proximity was only granted to a select few and the right was earned over time, but something was different in regard to new aquired companion. Perhaps it was a form of poultice to Armand's departure, perhaps a sense of kindredship that needed no legnth of time to be nurtured.

Jacquelyn turned to face him, her delicate brow knit with the ghosts of contemplation. She queried, he replied, and the soft tone of both parties gave forth a shadow of joined a cappella in French prose. The Surgeon pondered newest hand delt and the Sphinx waited ever patient for her choice of advance. There was no question of Surgical Ward's readiness, the lack of space being the only consideration if the need we to accommodate vast numbers.

Without mention, Raphael obtained twined crystal vessels tinctured with the rouge of liquid entrapped within. She sighed heavily in unspoken gratitued the forethought offering, accepting as well, the legnth of overcoat he laid on near chair.

The goblets filled once more, a faint ring of crystal brims meeting in unsaid salute, lit the air and the contents drained, were placed securely away. The battered hat so often an object of chiding by Armand, was handed over to crown the now bound legnth of auburn. In silence, the Sphinx gave aid with the wool shroud to deflect the elements from her slight form beneath. The chamber door was released from its latch hold, heralding a rush of breeze with barrier removed.

Gaining the stairway Jacquelyn paused, one foot placed on first rise and inwardly with unconscience sway, she thought to herself, Once more into the frey..." Glancing over shoulder, her sights were met steadily by those of paler hue, a silent acknowledgement betwixt those about to enter the square...

[William Brand]

July 18, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Between Three and Four Bells of First Dog Watch

William was much relieved to see signs of life ashore, but prudence dictated caution. The solitary individual standing on the white sand might be a diversion for forces laying in wait. William ordered powder to be brought up under the Fo'c'sle deck, if the need should arise to provide covering fire for the longboat crew. Mister Pew was also vigilant and he kept armed men above the deck with the lookouts for extra eyes and extra firepower.

Since the last sighting, no more bodies had been seen and almost no significant wreckage was sighted. Most of it had been but small stuff, no pieces longer than a man's arm, but there were a few timbers large enough to speak of a boat of at least one mast. Because the people aboard the Watch Dog were not yet apprised of Mister Lasseter's discoveries, and because the waters around La Blanquilla were filled with all manner of fish, a conjecture had sprung up among the crew and officers that it was a fishing vessel sent here to bring back large quantities of fish to La Margarita's shipyards and ports. William hoped it was so. He did not want to return to La Margarita again so soon with ill news of great losses.

[LadyBarbossa]

Murin's voice awoke her from her dreary slumber, opening her eyes slowly to watch Murin storm out of the cave with such excitement.

Sitting up to watch the barely visable image but hearing her nonetheless though the storm that bellowed out side.

All she did was sit there and watch... then sat up upon her legs tucked underneath for a while again.. watching the rain storm... hearing Murin... in a slight daze. How in the devil could there be a ship?

Now standing up.. she moved to the entrance of the cave, leaning against the rock wall.. gazing out, her eyes searching for that faint hint of a ship. For any sound... anything. But saw nothing.

That look of doubt washed over that once beautiful face. Crossing her arms as though to hold herself from harm, those hazel emeralds were glassy and red as just before falling asleep she was crying... silently... to herself. She feared dying here. Longing for civilization and for comfort. This was NOT what she bargained for when heading off to join her betrothed.

Her eyes shifted again towards the direction of Murin's voice-

Then she perked up a little in fear and disbelief... even hope! Was that a boat? A small boat coming to shore? Could it be?!

Taking a couple steps unfolding her arms and placing a hand on the rock wall but she wouldn't leave the comfort and confines of the cave... not to go out into the rain. Her once milky white sikin ached and burned. The cacctus juice was ok for the burned skin, it still burned. She wished for aloe that was best.

Her eyes watched... and waited. She would wait. Not so eager to meet their rescuers. Who knows who they were and if they would be saved or if they were going to fall into the hands of slavers! A horrible fate for her... she a Lady on her way to wed her childhood beloved who was a Colonel in His Majesty's Army.

She would wait. Praying...

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the St'. Kitts bow scrapped on the sand, Whiting, Styles and Tucker leapt out of the boat and pulled her up onto the sand, out of the surf. Mr. Lasseter walked forward and stepped off the bow onto the beach and waited till everyone was ashore.

"Jemmy, you stay 'ere wi' th' St. Kitt... Any trouble an' ye fire one o' th' swivels..."

"Aye Mr. Lasseter..." He said as he coiled the bow line.

"Right... th' rest o' ye, follow me... keep a weather eye, dunno if we might be walkin' into n' ambush..."

The lads looked about, appearing ready for what may come as Dorian checked the pans on all three of his pistols, keeping them out of the weather under his oilskins. He kept his right hand on his sea service as he walked towards where the woman was standing. She was now kneeling in the sand. He couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying, so he slowed his pace, searching the surrounding area with his eyes. Suddenly he stopped and warned off the lads to do the same...

"Look there... appears ta be a cave.... Marchande, you Styles n' Tucker go see what there might be there... Me n' Alan'll see about th'gerl 'ere..."

They nodded and headed carefully towards the cave while Mr. Lasseter and Woodington continued over to where the woman knelt in the sand...

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Jacquelyn walked quietly amongst the obsticles on exposed decks, what little was commented upon was kept in low tones and in mother tongue to shadowing companion. Hesitation in passage was given once in close proximity of the freyed remains of water induced corpse and mental note made of what was to be observed. She gave no consideration to the continued fall of rain, nor the stream that element's gather formed to run off the forward brim of weathered hat at forward tilt of head.

Looking away from ill fated soul's husk, the narrow of sights surveyed what was to be taken in before moving to waist rail and looking beyond. The Surgeon quickly decerned the familiar form of Mister Lasseter as he traversed drenched shoreline to where another gave the vissage of prayer at grainular alter. A tick of discomfort gathered in her stomache's pit at Dorian's open exposure to unknown factors and unconsciencely, she chewed the fullness of lower lip; shifting weight forward.

Close behind and just to the left, Raphael watched what unfolded on beach head terra; calculating the seen and unseen of stone concave and foliage cover. The area was not unknown to him, no thing could be further from fact after serving under Fournier's command. The pale eyes gave no betrayal to the thoughts which lay guarded behind as they scanned the area and paused in certain locals. Companion's stance and shift was taken in and the Frenchman moved half a pace closer, reverse action echo to that of a shoal turning with sychronized chorus within squall stirred depths below.

[Silkie McDonough]

The bark of commands from the boat snapped Murin from her revelries. She gasped …she had been seen! She hadn’t stopped to think! She would rather die on the island living free than be taken back to slave in cane fields of Barbados! Life here was hard but it was free.

With apprehension she gathered her nearly spent resources, forced herself to rise to her feet and turned to the vessel on the shore. They were disembarking. She hadn’t taken time to think out her actions. To allow herself to be approached on this shore with no means of defense! Not knowing if Ana even woke to her shouts. Her impetuous behavior would be the end of her some day. She swallowed hard, what was done could not be undone.

Murin quickly glanced to see if Ana was coming to join her. No movement in that direction. The men were armed. Involuntarily she stepped back. She thought briefly of running, but it was clearly too late for that, where could she possibly run to, on such a tiny islet? The landing party stopped suddenly. Commands were given and they split into two groups. Murin hoped that Ana was awake and arming herself.

Setting her resolve, planting her feet at shoulder width, her arms at her sides, the waist coat still clenched in her fist, Murin stood her ground. One way or another she would be leaving the Island today …hopefully alive and unharmed.

With a keen gaze, Lasseter studied the woman as he drew near. Though the possibility of ambush from the cave still gave him pause, he could detect no apparent threat from the woman. She certainly seemed the genuine article: dirty, wet, and utterly bedraggled; wearing an odd assortment of clothing clearly not her own; and apparently doing her best to master a spirit near unhinged by physical and emotional exhaustion. She appeared to be in her early twenties, reddish-brown tangled curls framed and clung to her face, her hazel eyes gray with the days rain showed trepidation and yet, equally clearly, there was strength behind her eyes: strength and resourcefulness. The woman had managed to survive for several weeks on this God-forsaken spit. Many a hardy crewman might have done worse, given up and laid himself out as a banquet for the crabs. Lasseter wondered if he would find more corpses on land, in a similar state to the floaters. He did not look forward to the burials that would be required. But first, there were the living to attend to.

[Pew]

::Peering through the eyeglass did not improve the viewing. The rain a nd clouds had forbid a further look than would have been possible in perfect weather.

"Mr. Lasseter's ashore . . " I say out loud to no one in particular. "I b'lieve the lads 'ave fund a cave of some sorts . . "

Attention had turned from the deck to those moving about on the beach.

" . . .keep yer eyes peeled lads, we dunnot want ta havta retrieve the Quartermaster and 'is men from certain peril, no. . "

[Dorian Lasseter]

As Mr. Lasseter and Woodington approached the woman, she rose and stood in what might be called a defiant manner. Dorian smiled slightly, thinking if he were in such a situation that he'd be doing something of the same. Once they had walked to within a fathom of her, they stopped.

"Halloo? Bon Jour? Gutten Tag?"

She flinched as he started to speak, as if his words had jolted her out of a trance. After a moment or two she responded.

"I... uh, Halloo?"

"Ah, ye speak Anglish, very goode, very goode... So... been in a shipwreck I see.... You all tha's left? Ye been 'ere long? What ship were it ye was on? Where ye comin' from? Where ye headed?"

The QuarterMaster rattled off several questions then stood and waited for the answers, if they were to come. He also shifted his sights around, keeping sure that there was no ambush eminent. He turned his head and spoke to Woodington.

"Lad, go take a wee look an' see wot be takin th' others so long..."

"Aye, Mr. L---"

His reply was cut short by the QuarterMaster elbowing him in the ribs and his stern look.

"Off ye go lad..."

"Aye..."

Woodington turned and headed in the direction that Marchande and company had gone to investigate the cave...

"Now... shall I ask again?"

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Eric Franklin quickly appraised his friend of the situation. Bill Flint turned and laid one broad paw on Mr. Pew's shoulder.

" Mr. Pew, sar I believe I could be of service if'n I hads a musket, what say ye?"

[Pew]

::Unaware of Mr. Flint's past dealings and how he came to us, let alone his scene on deck with his "mates", I am very uneasy about handing Mr. Flint a loaded musket. But, knowing that Mr. Flint gave us a hand in the armoury, and Eric's trusting nature of Flint, gave me enough reason to provide him with his weapon.

"Very well Mr. Flint. Mr. Franklin, if ye'd be so kind as ta give Mr. Flint yer musket, we may need ya ta 'ead ashore should Mr. Lasseter be duped upon the island. Mr. Flint, ifin ye's be so kind as ta place yerself fer a shot should anyones come up b'hind Mr Woodington and Lasseter."

Eric hands Bill the musket as Bill Flint moves to the railing and kneels behind a barrel. Eric Franklin moves up beside me as we stand at the rail and watch try to discern the happenings onshore.

Eric looks to the top of the mast, and shielding his face from what rain still falls calls out, "MISTER CIARAN, WOT NEWS MATE?"

[LadyBarbossa]

Ana watched carefully the newcomers as they approached Murin... not leaving her spot at the entrance of the cave.

Then noticed a couple gents heading her way. Stiffening as her eyes widened a tad. She stepped back 2 steps a we fearful of them. Fear was wanting to take hold of her. But, she reserved herself to see what these gentlemen wanted. Praying to God to spare them from any horrible Fate - raped, slavery, murdered, etc.

She waited and watched the approaching party and the man that spoke with Murin.