Dorian Lasseter

http://www.britsattheirbest.com/images/cr_...chairing_MP.jpg Good ol' Hogarth... He even has a pegleg...

Saint Pierre Martinique Two bells of the First Dog Watch The carriage ride to the wharf was mostly quiet, Captain Lasseter taking time to read the Admiralty Judges fine script and making sure what was written was indeed what Monsieur Richet had told him. Further more, it was shown to Lieutenant Martin, who acknowledged it without question. Upon reaching the wharf, the cutter they came to and from the Lucy was waiting, along with the Lucy’s boat. Dorian thought about those men and the woman of the Lucy whom were in the town now fitting themselves out for a dinner this evening that was not to be. He thought to send word but to where? They would have to be met at the Admiralty house and told of the change later. The Lieutenant, Master Flint and Captain Lasseter boarded the cutter and were soon sailing in a stiff breeze out to the Lucy. One of the boats crew about lost his hat as it gusted unexpectedly. Dorian turned to the others. “Looks ta be a fine, wet evenin’ ta be huntin’ men…” Bill gave a gruff laugh and Lieutenant Martin bowed his head in acceptance. With the briskness of the wind they made it to the side of the Lucy quickly. No sooner had the small cutter bumped alongside the ship, the Captain had leapt to the ladder and was on deck, Master Flint on his heals. “Flint, assemble th’ Marines, cutlass, pistol, and musket. I shall return in a moment.” “Aye Sah! Marines to me!” Dorian dove into the wardroom, off came his hat and coat, followed by the baldric carrying his Mortuary sword. He hung it on a peg and stepped to his other weapons. He took up his heavy cutlass, unsheathed it and eyed the blade, tested the balance. He was about to sheath it when he paused. Laying the blade on his sea chest he took up the French officers’ cutlass given him by Master Whitingford. It had no scabbard, but was just about the same dimensions as his heavy cutlass. He tried it in the scabbard and it did fit, not perfectly, but it would do. Over his head went the baldric and he grabbed up his coat and hat, just then noticing the Ships’ Master sitting at the table, watching his Captain. Dorian stopped and nodded. “Preston… Change o’ plan… we hunt fer den Oven now… Our marines paired wi’ those o’ Lieutenant Martin. Arm th’ rest o’ th’ crew – Oh damn me, come along on deck.” Larboard Watch on Duty

Here's an interesting link... http://www.flyingmachines.org/gwhtd.html Real Life Steampunk.... "he made a flight in a steam-powered machine for about a half-mile during April or May of 1899."

Admiralty House Saint Pierre Just as Mister Flint was about to speak, a bell was heard. Both men of the Lucy watched the one servant head back into the office of the Judge and close the door behind him. Moments later he reappeared with a folded and wax sealed letter and hurried off down the hall. They looked at each other and back to the door, wondering what might happen next. Dorian took a wet of his brandy and swirled the rest in the glass. What seemed like minutes passed and Monsieur Richet himself opened the doors of his office quickly, looked about and spied the two men. He smiled a firm smile and briskly walked towards them. He was all business. He held out a freshly penned document. “Capitaine, Monsieur Flint… I give you this authority… You will have Lieutenant Martin and his men at your disposal to find this Dutchman. You have the authority to search – within reason- anywhere in Saint Pierre. Present this to the Lieutenant, who should be just outside, and gather your men. Time is of the essence, I invite you back for supper tomorrow and you may tell me what you have found.” Dorian took the document and glanced it over, noting the seal and ribbon attached at the bottom. He bowed to the Judge who returned the gesture. “Mercy Juge Richet, I appreciate your candor in all this and we shall be honoured to return the next evening.” “Oui, until then I bid you Adieu.” The Judge bowed again and smiled a genuine smile and returned to his office, leaving Captain Lasseter and Master Flint in the hallway alone save for a servant near the parlor. Dorian held up the parchment to Bill. “Time is of th’ essence…” “Aye Sah!” They headed down and through the main doors and just as the Judge said, there stood Lieutenant Louis Martin. As they approached the Lieutenant snapped a salute to Captain Lasseter. “The coach is waiting, and I have already sent a man down to the wharf, we shall have a boat waiting to bring our men ashore, sir.” Dorian stood a moment and blinked twice. “Very good Lieutenant, let us be away.” “Oui, Capitaine.”

Mayhaps we all need to buy a ship? Ye just have ta rely on the wind and water currents... Of course, that only applies to those near water...

Addicted ta Jeeps ya says? Here goes my list... In order of ownership 1. 1987 Jeep Comanche Sportruck (Yes it was spelled that way) 4cyl/4spd/2wd 2. 1983 Jeep J-10 longbed I6/4spd/4wd 3. 1980 Jeep J-10 shortbed Honcho package I6.4spd/4wd 4. 1969 Jeep J-2000 shortbed Buick 350/3spd/4wd (the buick engine was original 5. 1962 Jeep J-300 longbed I6/3spd/4wd (1st model year for the J-series) 6. 1991 Jeep Grand Wagoneer (360 V8/auto/4wd) 7. 1989 Jeep Grand Wagoneer (see above) 8. 2001 Jeep Cherokee Classic I6/auto/4wd 9. 1994 Chevy Blazer V6/auto/4wd Still have the last three... Only have the Blazer because the GW is too expensive to drive now... just to get me to work n' back. Aye... I love the J-series pick ups... Would own another in a heartbeat - if it has the I6 and 4spd in it... Would love a Willy's pick up too...

Saint Pierre, Martinique Upon reaching the shore and walking through the town of Saint Pierre, Mister Tucker, the Boatswain took charge of the group and began searching the town for a shop that would fit their needs. He kept a hand on his pocket where the pouch of specie lay. Monsieur Doublet walked at his side, pointing and telling ‘Lucky Tuck’ the English equivalent of what the signs read. Mister Wenge and Miss Ashcombe walked behind and were hemmed in by Misters Jameson and Whiting. In short time they came to an establishment that catered to what could be described as the ‘gentleman sailor’, the clothing in the window were cut sailor fashion, yet with a finer fit and finish. Doublet translated the signboard that hung above the door; Henri Tayleure, established 1683. Tucker confidently stepped forward and grasped the doorknob and pushed the door open and walked in to the establishment. Four of the six entered, leaving the two marines of the Lucy standing outside the door, looking all the more like sentries to the shop. At the Admiralty House Judge Richet noted the looks on the faces of the privateer captain and his master-at-arms. “A moment, gentlemen… I shall see what might be done.” Dorian gave a shallow bow and he and Mister Flint stepped out of the office. As the servant closed the doors, Captain Lasseter saw the Admiralty Judge writing, his quill fairly vibrating across the page and a determined look upon the man’s face. As they walked towards the parlor, Dorian raised an eyebrow to Bill. “I think there be some folks at loggerheads ‘round here… Judge Richet is more displeased with this Depaul then he let on. I believe I’ll be countin’ on Richet as an ally fer th’ moment…” Bill Gave a noncommittal nod back. As they entered the parlor they both noticed someone missing. Lieutenant LeClerc was not there. The Judges nephew stood as they approached and gave a weak smile. Captain Lasseter entertained the notion and smiled back before speaking. “Monsieur, where is Lieutenant LeClerc, if you know?” Gaston wrinkled his brow and began to shrug his shoulders. “il a été appelé à la garnison…?” Dorian heard a growl start in Master Flint’s throat. He waved Bill off and smiled at Gaston, bowing his head as a thank you before turning away. He walked across the parlor, Bill in tow. Once they were near the door he stopped and turned to his officer. “I wish I had not sent that letter to the Commandant, had I known the reaction he’d have. Now this LeClerc appears ta be involved and I likened him not a wit.” He sighed a heavy sigh and closed his eyes a moment. Looking back at Mister Flint he smiled. “And these be our allies… “

The Admiralty House St. Pierre Martinique Captain Lasseter was not about to start this evening off with a duel. He counted to five in his head before speaking and was glad to see Mister Flint was keeping silent as well, even after the way Monsieur LeClerc had answered him, with just a shrug. “Juge Richet… we have business with you before the rest of my officers arrive. Might we seek your audience alone?” The Judge blinked and a slight smile played on his lips. “Gaston, Lieutenant LeClerc, please find yourselves comfortable in the parlor.” His nephew gave a short bow and did as asked, the Lieutenant stood a short time and looked at the Captain and Master-at-Arms, sizing them up it seemed. “Lieutenant LeClerc, s'il vous plait…” The tone of the Judges voice was not a pleasing one, and LeClerc bowed his head and walked slowly out, never taking his eyes off the two men. “You must forgive the Lieutenant, he… the conflict has effected him.” Dorian remained silent until the servant closed the doors to the office. “These are troubled times Juge Richet, And I understand the effects of war on a man. I’ll take no offence, this time. Now-“ Richet cut off the Captain, his whole demeanor changing from the affable host to the official. “You have come to me with some business, no? I am pleased you come to the point quickly, no prancing around I see.” He had moved to his desk and taken some papers from a pile on his desk and placed them in front of himself as he sat. Captain Lasseter noticed they were the letters he had written for introduction to the Judge. “Aye Monsieur… to th’ point… but first a thank you for receiving us openly.” Dorian took the bottle of wine from his satchel and presented it to Richet who upon reading the label raised his eyebrows. “Excellent vintage Capitaine… Mercy… Mercy Beaucoup…” Dorian bowed at the graciousness of the man. Standing tall he also changed his demeanor. “I come to your port in search of some men, as you already know from my letter of introduction. Understand I am not seeking help, just cooperation. I would think the garrison would take up the cause of finding these men, but I believe if they searched actively they might cause the men to seek deep cover. By no means do I wish to usurp any authority, as in truth, I have none outside the boundaries of my ship. Mister Flint, my Master-ta-Arms and the dozen marines of the Lucy would do a subtler method of finding these men. This will not be likened to a band of Vikings raiding a town, causing mayhem in search of treasure. As a point of fact, if we do not find whom we are searching for by noontime tomorrow, we are to believe they made good an escape from the island, and cannot further remain, poking haystacks with pitchforks. Soon the Frigate to which the Lucy is consort shall arrive and hopefully more knowledge of recent happenings gathered. That is all I ask, some cooperation in capturing these men.” Richet let Dorian talk all the while paying rapt attention. When the Captain had finished, the Judge slowly nodded, looked again at the papers and back to Dorian. “You ask more than you think, Capitaine… You sent a letter to the Commandant also. He will wish to make a show of hunting these… Dutchmen, oui? Commandant Depaul is already requesting that I and the other Juges send for more men and assemble the milice to beat the countryside for these Dutchmen. He will not be happy to turn over that much control to you and your men. I would hold you to your honour and allow it, but it is not all up to me, don’t you see… I will recommend that Lieutenant Martin and his men accompany your marines since they are already engaged with you. I do not know if I can do more.” Dorian looked at Bill, who did not show much emotion weather he liked the proposition or not. While the words rolled around in his head, Dorian took a sip of his brandy. If this was the best he could expect, so be it. “Mercy, Juge Richet… I hope that is what might be accomplished, that kind of cooperation. I am only concerned with the capture of these men, weather by my own or those of the garrison matters not. “ A knock at the door halted their dealings and a young French marine officer was allowed in. He saluted Richet, handed over a parcel, saluted again and marched out. Richet opened it immediately after reading the script on the outer cover. He read quickly and furrowed his brow. “It seems I was right about the Commandant, he has already acted after a fashion. He has turned out his men to search all the shipping in the port, to see if they have any passengers that might be these Dutchmen.” This did not sit well with the Captain, nor with Mister Flint and it showed on their faces.

I'm not an authority on this, but I've been in the hobby for a good many a year... For mundane transport and storage, I use a 50 cal box for the reasons stated above. For on site, during a reenactment in public view, when doin artillery, and this works with everything else. We use a lead lined, wood box with a leather cover on the lid, and a hasp and lock. This may sound extreme, but it isn't. The lead lining keeps out most everything, the wood box might have a crack or something between the planks. The leather top cover in many cases can be dampened with no effect on getting the contents wet. Plus if a spark or some tinder lands on top, it'll be put out, not smolder on the wooden top. Also many of these have a peaked top, so no flat surface to have something lay on.

As Dorian turned the deck over to Preston, he too looked over his officers and men who would accompany him ashore to the ‘dinner party’ with Monsieur Richet, Admiralty Judge. He knew they all had put on their best, yet what a rag-tag bunch they still looked. He and Mister Flint wore new coats, and the rest were in much less. Doublet was the worst off, as he had been sent along off the Watchdog with not more than a ditybag. They had atleast three hours until dinner, until they were expected at the Admiralty House. Captain Lasseter mused this for a moment, before turning back to his officers and speaking in a low tone. “Gentlemen… I much appreciate that you did your best in dressing, however I hope to make a certain impression on those in power here. Mister Flint an’ I will head directly t’ the Admiralty house an’ make our presence known. Th’ lot o’ you will head in ta town and purchase some new finery, nothin’ too gaudy now. Here, take this specie, spread evenly amongst you, for what you’ll need. I only wish I had someone who knew th’ town I could trust so you might find yer way to meet us once your purchases have been made.” The officers smiled and nodded, none took offense to what their Captain had said about their clothes not being up to a certain standard. They were after all, sailors, not courtly hang-abouts, and they knew their Captain took pride in them.

Then let us all 'drink to our masts'

The punishment for inefficiency and ignorance, even though they be excusable or inevitable, never fails in Nature. But at sea it comes remorseless, fierce, and sudden ; for the sea is a hard taskmistress, and teaches her lessons with no sparing hand. -H. WARINGTON SMYTH

Aboard the Lucy Saint Pierre, Martinique The Coxswain, glad to not have to head to the Admiralty House, headed to the quarterdeck, out of the way of the gathering of men. Another reason he did not wish to go was his eye, which had begun to water and pinch again, still not quite right after the sea battle not so many days ago. During his shore leave in the last port he had dulled the pain with drink, but now that he had only the usual shipboard rations, the pain returned. He blinked back some tears, which in some ways made it worse. Taking his neck cloth off he headed back to the waist and dipped it into the fresh water butt and quickly returned to the stern, where he took the wet cloth and held it against his eye, giving some relief. Nigel thought he might talk to Mister Marsh, once the captain had gone ashore, and see if he might do him a kindness and see about an extra gil of rum on the sly.

Contrary to popular (modern and during parts of the dark ages) belief, A black cat aboard ship would be considered good luck... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship's_cat Aye, tis a wiki search, and not always right, but the whole bunch of things here are great... It's amazing how many of the cats pictured are black... And more info... http://www.kinrossfolds.com/cattery/superstition.html

As I said, I did a really quick 'net search... I'd like to find/have good proper sources too...

Here's one possibility, I just did a quick search... 2-6 Heave! comes from each member of the old cannon crews on sailing ships having a number, 2 and 6 being the ones whose assignment it was to haul the gun back into position. Thus, "2,6,Heave" became the universal order to heave on something in unison, since everybody knew what it meant... Further info says that it's right... http://www.guardian.co.uk/notesandqueries/...,-26509,00.html Slainte!

http://reference.aol.com/history/quizzes/pirates Study all you rogues.... should be gettin' a 12 outta 12 on that first one!!! 8 of 8 on this one fer me...

The Lucy Saint Pierre, Martinique Dorian watched his officers head below to ready themselves for heading ashore. He tilted his head to the side and gave a look to Preston. “I saw what ye did ta Nigel… Don’t complain when he finds a way ta get ye back…” Preston looked to his Captain with the best innocent face he could muster, to which Dorian just shook his head. “I’ll be in th’ ward Room for a time, see what all I need ta tidy up an’ look my best. Be so kind as to inform Lieutenant Martin we should be ready within an hours time. Are you going to come along or beg off as well?” He did not wait to hear an answer from the Ships Master, but turned away to conceal a smile and headed aft and through the door to the Ward Room. Miss Ashcombe stood as he entered and he smiled at her. She smiled back somewhat timidly and curtsied. Off came Dorian’s hat and onto the table it went. He took off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair and turned to his small cache of weapons. “Miss Ashcombe, several of the officers and I will be headed ashore to meet with a Monsieur Arnaud Richet, one of the Admiralty Judges here in Saint Pierre… Do you know of this man?” He turned to her as he spoke and waited to see what she might say. “Non… No, I do not know of Monsieur Richet, I have been to Saint Pierre only twice, mainly to watch my uncles’ children…” She felt a slight pang as she spoke of the children, whom she would miss dearly. Dorian nodded and crossed his arms. He touched a finger to his lips in thought and stood silent for a moment before nodding again and turning back to the corner of the Wardroom. He selected the Mortuary sword on its heavy baldric and slung it over his shoulder, adjusting it until it felt right. He pulled the sea service pistol from his belt and checked it, satisfied that it was in proper order he clipped it back on his belt. He turned and made to take up his coat but paused as his eyes stopped on the sideboard with the bottle of wine still sitting on top with the tray. Another small nod of his head and he again looked to Miss Ashcombe. “Miss Ashcombe, would you do me the honour of selectin’ a bottle of wine to present ta Monsieur Richet? It would be most appreciated…”

http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/14915

7/10

Aboard the Lucy The Captain nodded to Mister Wenge. “Aye, go and put on yer best… I’m hopin’ this’ll be a dinner party, not a boardin’ party, if ye get my understandin’... Mister Doublet will also join us, for translation duty, Mister Roche and some of th’ others can handle those needs aboard while we’re off.” Nigel shifted his weight awkwardly and cleared his throat. Dorian looked his way and spread a hand as if to ask what he had to say. “Beggin’ yer pardon Sir… I’ve not got a fine coat ta wear t’such a fancy place as ye says we’re invited to… With yer permission I beg not ta go…” Dorian gave the man a long hard look, but in the end he could not bring himself to force the man to go. He did resolve not to allow others to sidestep their social responsibilities of being an officer. “I’ll allow it this time Mister Brisbane. Once things are established I order you ta find a tailor in this port and have a fine coat made. That goes fer all of you officers… Unless ye’ve drained yer coffers on th’ tarts in Fort Royal, you can well afford it… and if not, see me later an’ we’ll arrange somat. Understood?” All heads nodded, some with reddened faces.

As the Captain and Master stepped away, Dorian muttered under his breath. “Touche`…” Preston gave him a questioning look, to which Dorian shook his head before continuing. “Seems we been ‘invited’ ta th’ Admiralty House… all th’ officers o’ the Lucy… Not sure I like that… I don’t think I would leave th’ ship in just th’ hands o’ th’ mates… I certainly cannot pardon m’self from the ‘invite’, you might though… I’ll take Mister Flint ‘r Brocke, Brisbane an’ Tucker… Mister Wenge… I’d take Johnson, but his mate missed our departure an’ I’ll not take th Master Gunner away an’ leave th’ ship without… What say you?”

Saint Pierre, Martinique 4 August 1704 Aboard the Lucy Four Bells of the Afternoon Watch Dorian was about to head below when Mister Styles sang out “Small boat on approach!” He looked to where the lookout pointed and there was the guard boat on its way out. The Captain let out a sigh, relieved yet anxious for its return. Taking up the glass, though he could already see Lieutenant Martin’s bright white coat, he scanned the small cutter to see who might be aboard. Aside from the small crew and the Officer, it was empty. “That bodes well I hope… Master Whitin’ford! A side party fer Lieutenant Martin if you please!” Preston gave a loud ‘Aye-aye!’ and barked orders to Mister Flint, who then passed it down the line to the Lucy’s marines. As they came to attention, many of the French marines dressed themselves as well, not that they had been at ease, but backs were straightened and eyes stared straight ahead. Sergeant Leveque walked around the deck, eyeing each of his men and rounded back near the now assembled marines of the Lucy. He stood near enough to appear part of the side party, yet removed. Again the small cutter came about and bumped alongside the Lucy. As soon as the Lieutenant’s head cleared the rail, the air was pierced by the bo’sun’s call, but not as clearly as earlier. Mister Tucker wasn’t quite as good with the whistle as Mister Brisbane. Lieutenant Martin walked the deck, eyes flashing this way and that, finally centering on the Captain as he came to the end of the side party. He saluted and bowed, and Dorian returned both. The officer held out a letter before speaking. “Mon commandant vous souhaite la bienvenue au port de Saint Pierre, de même que juge Richet. Vous et vos officiers avez été invité dans les meilleurs délais à la maison d'Amirauté à discuter votre demande.” Jean was at Captain Lasseter’s elbow and without prompt translated. “Lieutenant Martah say his Commandant welcomes you to Saint Pierre, as does Judge Richet. You and the officers of the Lucy have been, ah, invited to the house of the Admiralty as soon as, at your earliest convenience. To discuss our demands.” Dorian raised an eyebrow at Jean. “Demands? I’ve made no demands…” “Perhaps I say it wrong. Maybe requests? No?” “Aye… requests I have made… very well.” Dorian bowed his head to the Lieutenant. “Un moment pour recueillir mes officiers, s'il vous satisfait.” Lieutenant Martin now raised an eyebrow at Dorian’s French. He smiled politely and bowed. “Oui Capitaine, please do so, I shall wait.” Starboard Watch on duty

I think I may turn to pyracy, or some other shady business, just to pay my bills... I mainly say this now because of my vehicle... took it to my mechanic to see about a 'small' problem... fuel related... It needs a new fuel pump... no problem... Well, after taking the tank down, it was discovered it has holes... and the fuel sender is fubar too... So... I now need a new fuel tank, pump, and sender... the lowball price, $500+ just for parts... So... say $600 for the parts plus labor... I need a drink....

Aboard the Lucy Those who were off duty took their midday meal in relative silence. No skylarking and yarn weaving being done, just some murmurs and glances at the French marines on deck. John Kingsman and Samuel Milling were near the bow eating cold stew and drinking their beer when the sound of a stomach growling reached their ears. The complaint came from one of the French marines who stood at attention. The two sailors looked at each other and John smiled. “We musta interrupted der meal when we come into sight. Poor buggers, an’ here we is feasin’ infront of ‘em.” Samuel bit his lip to keep from laughing and turned away, stepping away from where those marines stood. “C’mon John, no need ta torture ‘em now.” Kingsman shrugged and followed Milling over to the starboard cathead and they looked out across the water at the town and fortifications of Saint Pierre while they dined.