Dorian Lasseter

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.

Hehehe.. cute. I'd offer a kitten, but he's black and don't want a black cat onboard ship.

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

Yeah, I saw that Guardian thing.

I'm talking about real, honest, historical evidence. Primary sources.

There are plenty of "common knowledge" items that aren't so accurate...

As I said, I did a really quick 'net search...

I'd like to find/have good proper sources too...

That begs a question. . . .

Why '2, 6, Heave'?

Why not 1, 2, Heave?

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…”

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.

Aye Patrick!

How's that go? Hope yer day was filled with Wine, Women, and Song...

Wait, make that Rum, Women, and.... (use yer imagination)

Slainte!

Aye!

Happiest o' Natal Days to ya Lass!!!

And many a pyratin' more...

The Lucy

Saint Pierre, Martinique

The Lucy was piloted into the harbour of Saint Pierre and well within the reaches of Fort Pierre’s great guns, just as Captain Lasseter had guessed. Jean Doublet had relayed the commands quite well from the French sailor, who was also Jean, Jean-Baptiste Romand to be precise. The pilot was at first quite tense, being among so many English speaking sailors, but Doublet made some small talk in between course and sail adjustments, not that there were many, so the two Jeans spoke of simple things at first. Dorian caught much of the small talk, but acted unawares, letting the Frenchmen have some form of privacy. Slowly Jean Doublet had worked in other seemingly harmless questions; how strong was the military presence in Saint Pierre, what was the feeling given towards privately owned and armed ships, how had the people been fairing with the war. He gleaned much information from the pilot, Jean-Baptiste asked his lot of questions as well; How did the Lucy come to call in Saint Pierre, why is it that if this is a French privateer most on her are English, and so on. Dorian almost chuckled aloud with how Jean Doublet skillfully skirted Jean-Baptiste’s questions for the most part, he answered the question about all the English aboard by saying that only a handful were English, many were Irish, some colonials and all had no allegiance to the English. This seemed to satisfy the pilot, as he did not further his questions. He may had had more, but the Lucy arrived where they were to drop anchor. Orders shouted, the best bower catted, and sails brought in. The anchor plunged into the bay and the hawser ran out and soon went slack. The cable secured and the Lucy slowly swung around on her anchor. Captain Lasseter had the seamen secure the ship, left his marines as they stood under the Master-at-Arms and Sergeant-at-Arms command, and stood on the Quarterdeck in a calm stance, speaking to know one but himself.

“Now we wait an’ see what becomes of us…”

He looked about and saw a mix of calm, boredom, uneasy, and defiant men. Some were his own and others the Marines of Fort Pierre. He hoped the wait would not be a long one.

Saint Pierre, Martinique

Aboard the Lucy

Captain Lasseter approached the gathered French marines and noted Lieutenant Martin sipping his glass of wine. He held the glass by the stem with the tips of his forefinger and thumb, just enough to gain purchase on the crystal. One would think he did not wish to touch the glass. Dorian came up to the man and smiled. The Lieutenant gestured to the glass with his free hand.

“Votre goût en vin est excellent, capitaine.”

This much Dorian understood and did not turn to Jean.

“Merci, Lieutenant… Merci beaucoup…”

Another round of shallow bows and Captain Lasseter got back to business. He held out the papers to the Frenchman.

“Here are the letters to be given to those necessary. My thanks for being the bearer of such. I also ask where we might drop anchor in the harbour to await an answer?”

Jean turned and translated what was said. Lieutenant Martin bowed his head as he took the letters from the Captain, read the names and titles written on the outside as he finished his glass of wine. He set the glass on the tray held by the Steward and turned back to Dorian.

“Ce serait mon honneur pour soutenir ces derniers pour vous. Je laisserai mes hommes à bord de votre bateau pour attendre mon retour avec les réponses que vous demandez, avec un pilote de vous guider à un ancrage sûr. Si vous me pardonnerez, je m'occuperai de ces sujets.”

Jean quickly translated for Captain Lasseter, but Dorian already got the jist of what was said, with a pleasant smile on the Lieutenant’s face.

“The Lieutenant, he say He would be honoured to deliver the letters, but will leave his men aboard until he return with answers. And a pilot to guide us to a safe anchorage. He begs your leave to attend to the delivery of the letters…”

Dorian took in a steadying breath. He slowly bowed to the Lieutenant who bowed back and upon straightening gave a fine salute, which the Captain returned. Turning away, the French officer spoke to his men already aboard, one being a sergeant shouted down into the guard boat and nine more marines clamored onto the Lucy, along with one sailor. The Lieutenant made his way over the side and gave a brief wave as he dropped into the boat. The French Marines spread out onto the deck of the Lucy and remained at formal attention as the Sergeant addressed Captain Lasseter, at his side stood the lone sailor, the pilot.

“Capitaine Lasseter, je suis Sergent Micheal Leveque, ce marin vous guidera à un ancrage sûr et là nous attendrons mon lieutenant pour retourner. Oui ?”

Jean was about to speak when Dorian waved him off.

“Oui Sergeant…

Jean, accompany this Sailor to the tiller, so we may be able to drop anchor, give your commands to Mister Tucker.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Jean Spoke to the pilot and took him aft as the Captain gave orders to make sail. He approached the Ships Master and Master-at-Arms.

“Gentlemen… We should hope ta have an answer within th’ hour… Mister Flint, have th’ marines at ease for th’ moment, but not too at ease…”

Bill gave a quick nod of understanding. Dorian then addressed Preston.

“Go and have th’ larboard watch off th’ deck Misters Marsh and Cuylemburch should have the noon meal ready… cold, but ready…”

Preston set his jaw and nodded. Before either could add a word, the Captain clapped a hand their shoulders.

“Take a bit of ease… we are not under attack, we are not bein’ overrun… That Lieutenant, he’s a tricky one… smart… wiley… He’s got his men aboard incase we might bear false papers, and will have us drop anchor well within the range of the forts great guns. Just for insurance. I was afraid we’d be facing an upstart, newly appointed officer with a thought ta prove himself. He seems a bit of a dandy, a fop. But a fop wi’ brains. My first trip inta Saint Pierre will most likely be ta th’ commandant’s office, or the Admiralty Judge’s house. I fear my original time for th’ search will be delayed, but not ta worry. Now go see to our men.”

The three officers exchanged nods and were off to their duties. Bill to the marines, Preston to the sailors, and Dorian to the quarterdeck, watching where the pilot was taking them.

Starboard Watch on Duty

Saint Pierre, Martinique

4 August, 1704

The Cutter, Lucy

As the guard boat came closer, Dorian made sure Jean Doublet was at his side. The Captain had some French, but not enough for this occasion he feared. Orders were given to haul wind, slowing the Lucy while the small cutter got to within two cable lengths. The men on the Lucy were lining the sides and the marines were lined at the waist, awaiting the time when they would be boarded by the officer of Marines in the guard boat. Captain Lasseter looked through the glass again, hoping to be able to spot said officer. There, that had to be him. One marine, a Lieutenant by the looks of it, stood in the sternsheets in such a statuesque pose. He had the whitest of uniform coats and every button flashed in the sun. Dorian lowered the glass and gave a ‘hmmph’, to which Jean quickly looked to Dorian.

“Looks like th’ officer’s newly appointed… nice bright clean uniform… you c’n see ‘im there… the snowy white lad.”

Jean looked at the approaching boat and chuckled.

“Oui Capitaine, I see ‘im.”

“Lets hope he got nothin’ ta prove, or thinks he needs ta prove.”

“Aye Capitaine.”

The boat closed quickly and Captain Lasseter turned to the waist. He set the glass in it’s place and headed to the spot at the end of the two lines of marines. Master Whitingford stood at the rail just at the top of the boarding steps. Soon the small cutters’ sail slid past the bow of the Lucy, the man on the tiller let her run past and just as they reached the stern of the ship pushed it over and came around, sidling right up to the side of the Lucy and bumped the side gently. A sailor in the bow hooked to the main chains and soon a feathered tricorn came even with the gunnel. Nigel split the air with his bo’sun call and piped the man aboard. As his feet met the deck, Master Whitingford step closer and Mister Flint had the marines stand at attention.

“Welcome aboard the Lucy, Captained by Dorian Lasseter. I am Ships Master Whitingford, Sah!”

The Lieutenant regarded Preston a moment and saluted him.

“Lieutenant Louis Martin, à votre commande…”

Before Preston could say another word or move, the Lieutenant took hold of his shoulders and swiftly leaned in and kissed the Ships Master, once on each cheek. He released the stunned Ships Master and marched purposefully to where Dorian stood. Four of his marines followed him aboard and stood behind him in formation.

“Capitaine Lasseter, à quoi devons-nous l'honneur de votre présence en Saint Pierre?”

Though Dorian caught most of what the lieutenant said, he turned to Mister Doublet to translate.

“The Lieutenant asks, to what do we owe the honour of the Lucy’s presence in Saint Pierre?”

Dorian smiled at Lieutenant Louis Martin, who in turn smiled back and bowed his head slightly. The Captain spoke at the Lieutenant, knowing Jean would translate.

“I welcome you aboard the Bateau privé de guerre, Lucy. We are here to seek out an escaped prisoner of His Most Christian Majesties prison at Fort Royal. To whom would I send my letters?”

As Dorian spoke, Lieutenant Martin had his eyes dancing over every inch of the ship and the men around him, he seemed drawn to whatever reflected light, so he had much to admire on the Lucy. Jean translated and the Frenchman brought his eyes back to those of the Captain.

“Comandante Gabriel Depaul et Juge D'Amirauté Arnaud Richet… Je serai honoré pour leur livrer vos papiers moi-même, capitaine.”

Dorian again looked to Doublet.

“Lieutenant Martin would be honoured to deliver your papers to these men.”

Dorian turned back to the French officer and gave a shallow bow, which was returned just as politely.

“I would be honoured… I shall bring them post haste. Would you have some wine while I prepare them?”

Again Jean translated, and again a bow from the Lieutenant.

“Oui”

Dorian bowed and turned away, walking purposefully to the wardroom and to his desk. As he took up the papers, he shook his head. Without looking up he addressed Miss Ashcombe.

“Miss Ashcombe, would you select a bottle of wine and a glass, take it to the men on deck, some refreshment for the Lieutenant there, ya can’t miss him, th’ whiteness o’ his coat hurts the eyes. I’ll be back soon as I finish this.”

He took a small knife from the desk and began scraping the words he had written off the one folded parchment until it was clean, blew it off and readied pen and ink. It took him a moment to remember the names given. He wrote on the freshly scraped area, ‘Juge D'Amirauté Arnaud Richet’, and while that dried he turned to the other and filled in the commandants’ name there. While they dried he though that this was too easy, there had to be something the Lieutenant was keeping to himself. Was he really going to just deliver these to those in power and let the Lucy sail right in to the port? The ink dry, he had no time to think on it further, Captain Lasseter took the papers and walked back out onto the deck.

Contact William Red Wake or Dorian Lasseter via PM or Email...

or

in the Ward Room

http://www.the-watchdog.com/Chat

bump

Aboard the Lucy

In a fine turn of events, just as Dorian and Preston came on deck, the bells sounded the change of watch, as well as the change from morning to afternoon. A small cutter was spotted heading for the Lucy, Andrew Smyth was just about to climb down when he sang out. Captain Lasseter made his way to the quarterdeck and took up the glass. Sure enough, he spotted French marines aboard, the glint of sunlight off their firelocks made him smile.

“Looks like we’ll be given an armed escort… Mister Whitin’ferd, All hands on duty if you please, line th’ gunn’ls, arm th’ marines, an form a side party…”

As Dorian lowered his glass Preston gave a quick nod and knuckled his brow before shouting the orders to the officers, who in turn echoed it across the small deck. Dorian continued to watch the approaching boat and glanced up at the white pennant fluttering off the mast. As long as the officer here was not another Turcotte, things should proceed with ease.

Change of the watch, Larboard off duty, Starboard on duty

All those whom wish to inquire, please PM Myself or William Red Wake...

No need ta clutter up this 'ere thread...

Happiest o' Natal Days to Ya Lad!!!

Hoist a pint 'r four and celebrate!

Many more ta come, Aye!!!

Slainte!!!!

Wardroom of the Lucy, within sight of St. Pierre, Martinique

Captain Lasseter paused for a moment longer as Preston left the Wardroom. He was concerned for his officer and friend, afraid that he was doing too much too soon and possibly damaging his health. The Master was a stubborn lad, pushing himself even when his recent illness reared its ugly head. Looking back to the parchment, he set back to writing, hoping his wording would suffice, and that those men in power understood his needs and wishes. Having penned the final words and signing the documents, Dorian gently blew on the ink to speed its drying time, folded the parchment and readied wax and seal. Once the wax was set he turned over the parchments and addressed them, one to the governor and the other to the garrison command. He left some space, hoping he might learn the names of whom he was to send these documents. They would not just sail into this port unheeded, he was sure a patrol boat or a pilot would be sent out to find out their business, then he would hope to gain that information.

A knock on the door pulled Dorian out of his thoughts there and as he looked up, Miss Ashcombe was already at the door. She opened it and seeing a line of the ships’ officers bid them enter. Soon the small room was filled with these men, Mister Whitingford being the last to enter.

“Cap’n, th’ mates have the Lucy in good order so we might be here as requested.”

“Thank you Master Whitingford… You men… If you haven’t already heard, we’re here in Saint Pierre on a man hunt. Capitain den Oven was set free from the prison in Fort Royal… We’re hoping ta find him an’ his accomplices here, if he is still here. Th’ Watch Dog will be joinin’ us by nightfall as well. I’ll be sendin’ word to those in power here be fore we set foot on shore, and only the Marines and a select few will be headed off th’ Lucy. I expect the crew ta be ready fer action at a moments notice, be it broad sides ‘r boardin’ action. Do I make myself clear?”

Every man stood an inch taller and knuckled brows with a firm ‘Aye’. Dorian gave a slow nod.

“That’ll be all lads… I’ll be on deck momentarily…”

Feet shuffled and the officers began shuffling out. Preston had on odd grin plastered on his face, which caused Dorian to give him yet another inquisitive look. Preston chuckled.

“Seems th’ short trip here has caused some unease among the new recruits. There be a couple heads hangin’ over the leeward gunn’ls… “

Dorian smiled and slowly shook his head.

“I wondered if some o' th' new lads might be a bit lubberly, lets hope they’ll be better afore we truly take to the sea… They have my pity… “

Again Preston chuckled as both men readied themselves to head on deck.