Dorian Lasseter

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.

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.

Wardroom of the Lucy The Captain looked at the newly appointed Sergeant-at-Arms, and also at the Master-at-Arms. Looking to Preston as well, who shrugged at Dorian, who then turned his eyes back to the pair standing. “I have nothing more to say, except congratulations… And you may both take yer leave, we’ll soon be at Saint Pierre, have your men ready…” “Aye-aye, Sah!” Both men knuckled brow and responded as one. Nathaniel turned and reached the door first, holding it open for Bill. The Captain, Master and Steward were left in the Wardroom, and Dorian spent little time in contemplation of his new officer. He stood and retrieved one of the ships ledgers and handed it to Mister Whitingford and sat at the desk himself, drawing out some parchment and readying a pen and ink. “Go on and put Mister Brocke on th’ books… We still need a Bos’un’s mate… You mentioned a lad for that position?” “Aye cap’n, that’d be Charlie Goddon…” “Charlie Goddon… Aye… Tell me what you know of the lad…” Dorian had begun to write out a letter to those who held power in Saint Pierre while Preston spoke. “Aye, about Mister Goddon… there were a situation that occurred while you ‘n Cap’n Brand were ashore. One o’ th’ lads he was a crewed with on ‘nother ship was givin’ some guff to another. Mister Goddon hauled off n’ knocked ‘im t’ th’ deck, stone cold.” Preston was about to continue but Dorian stopped him with a hand held up. “And wot was done ta Mister Goddon fer this? And why was I not told o’ this til now? I won’t stand fer a lack o’ discipline on th’ Lucy… “ He placed his hand on the desk, drummed his fingers and waited for the Ships’ master to answer. Preston wrinkled his brow a moment and was slightly indignant. “As Master I decided ta not confine ‘im, I did ‘ave words wi’ th’ man an’ he proved a good man, not one prone ta such unwarranted fisticuffs. Only reason ‘e gave fer boxin’ th’ man’s ears was ‘e knew ‘im, and that would stop things from goin’ farther. Goddon weren’t angered when he did such an’ showed fine temperament.” Dorian sat back and looked at Preston for a long while. He thought over what he had said about Goddon and what little he knew of the new men aboard. His Ships’ Master started to look uncomfortable being looked at by the Captain. Dorian slowly nodded. “Alright… We’ll make Goddon the Mate… However… I’ll hold you responsible fer his actions if he proves unworthy o’ th’ position.” Preston smiled and almost sighed in relief. “Aye, Dorian… I c’n ‘andle tha’… no worries.” Dorian nodded, satisfied for the moment, and turned back to writing. Soon they would hear the word that the port was on the bow and he wanted his dispatch to be headed for shore as soon as humanly possible.

Wardroom of the Heron Moments later Nathaniel Brocke knocked and entered the Wardroom. He stood at attention and remained Silent, not daring to even look at the officers before him. Captain Lasseter looked him over. He was of medium build and reasonably tall for his seventeen years. Finally, Dorian spoke. “Mister Brocke… Seems th’ Master-ta-Arms has taken notice of you… Tells me you’ve got th’ makin’s of a fine marine… or better.” Brocke’s brow wrinkled for a moment and looked as if he was going to speak, but his face cleared and he remained silent. “Go on Mister Flint… Tell ‘im…” Mister Flint stood and walked around Mister Brocke, looked to the Captain and Master who both nodded. He put a critical look on his face and an attitude to match.

Hmm... Soup... Sandwich... and... Stout!!! A fine triple S...

Wardroom of the Lucy Dorian Let the Master-at-Arms have his say and nodded. “Very much what I had in mind Mister Flint… But a brace of pistols per man, and all at once. Firstly, I’ll be seekin’ out the local governor and military. We may be under the flag of France, but I don’t want this ta be misconstrued. And I don’t want ta spent til nightfall with this search. I’ll give til the end o’ th’ Afternoon Watch, then I want everyone back aboard. By then I hope ta see The “Dog come inta port here.” Preston and Bill nodded at what the Captain said. Dorian took a drink and settled back some before turning to another matter. So Mister Flint… Ye’ve taken a liking ta have Mister Broke as th’ Sergeant-ta-Arms, aye?” “Aye Sah, I find him likeable and up to the task.” Dorian turned to Preston. “Have you any complaints ta voice about Mister Brocke, Master Whittin’ford?” Preston thought a moment and cocked his head to the side as he thought, then slowly nodded. “Seems ta be a right fine lad… I got no objections…” Captain Lasseter nodded. “Very well… Mister Flint, you may tell Mister Brocke of his appointment ta Sergeant. I believe he’s on th’ same watch as you, meanin’ he’ll have ta shift ta th’ opposite watch, and you need ta find a new marine ta replace him. I’ll leave you to that.” Bill stood and knuckled his forehead. “Aye Sah! Thank You Sah! I’ll inform Brocke right away!” “Mister Flint, take your ease… Pass word for Mister Brocke! Have him report to the Ward Room!” 4 August 1704, Six Bells of the ForeNoon Watch Larboard Watch on Duty

William... Be so kind as to reach under th' bar, take hold o' that dust covered bottle and bring it into th' daylight... I need a shot 'r three o' "The Goode Stuff"...

I feel repressed... I read things here and find the the whole world of being 'PC' is getting under my skin... again... Talking about events and reenactments where we can't do certain things because of the potential psychological impact it may have on the children. I remember an F&I reenactment I participated in that we weren't allowed to die during the battles because it was too violent! We're reenacting a bloody war!!! Yes, it'll be violent! if some of the lads had their way we'd do blood squibs! Can't set up the scaffold for a hanging because it might scar the kiddies minds... Maybe that's a good thing! Show folks that there is consequences to doing bad things! Back in the day, that's what parents did! Take the wee ones to see a hanging to show them what will happen if they do misdeeds. (and get caught ) Show the public reality!!! I feel better now...

The order to put on all sail was carried out with energy from the men and soon the Lucy heeled over with the pressure of the wind. It was a grand feeling having the deck tilted just so, that and the feel of the hull slicing through the water beneath their feet. The logline tossed again yielded a speed of eight knots. This put quite a smile on many a face, including the Captains’. The Lucy had made good time and had come about, now heading North-West up the coast of Martinique. The Larboard Watch was still on duty, and those of the Starboard had gone below to get some rest before they would come on. Dorian had thought to keep all hands on, but nothing was of such import to do so. He stood at the fore of the quarterdeck and began to think of what would need to be done this day. Once in the port of St. Pierre, he would have the marines at the ready. First things first, he would send word to the local governor and military, stating his intentions and all other necessary information. Once the seal of approval was given, he would send detachments to seek out Den Oven, if he was to be found. He wished he had more knowledge of the port and town. Taking a look around and hearing of no sails on the horizon from Mister Smyth, He turned the deck over to Mister Brisbane so he and Preston might have a discussion over a very late breakfast.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AzpByR3MvI Have a care, you'll find a couple more versions of this around...

One of my co workers gives me peeps every year as a practical joke. I will partake in them, but only when truly desperate for something to eat. I've had friends take them camping and roast them over a fire, kind of like marshmellows for s'mores... Or even use them for s'mores... Let them burn til the eyes fall off...

The men had released the mooring lines and were quickly coiling them out of the way as others slid the sweeps into place, and yet others dropped canvas. The breeze was not nearly enough to maneuver with, the sails filled lazily. Orders were given and the sweeps were bent to their task. Soon the Lucy was being propelled well enough by the sweeps, Mister Tucker calling out the timing. “Pull! Annnnd, Pull! Aaaaannnd, Pull!” Captain Lasseter had made his way to the quarterdeck and gave Mister Brisbane direction, taking heed of the calls from the lookout as well to insure safe passage out of the bay. The deck was a scene of activity, men pulling the sweeps, others tending rigging trying to get the sails to gather the wind so the crew might have a break from the heavy work. As the ship got further out and more into the open sea, the breeze freshened and canvas snapped and held taut. A cheer went up when the order to ‘Rack the Sweeps’ was passed from the Quarterdeck. During this time Mister Whitingford had gone around with a small ledger and counted heads. He spoke to some of the men while doing so, making sure he counted the right men. Returning to the break of the deck he looked up at Dorian who focused his gaze on the Master a moment, gave the order to remain on course until well away from land before changing course to North West. He turned back to Preston. “Wot news Mister Whitingford?” “Aye, Cap’n seems we got th’ count o’ six men left b’hind, n’ are as follows; Coipman, Black, Howard, Aretinson, Millet, n’ Leigh…” Dorian looked slightly annoyed, but the shrugged it off, knowing that it was bound to happen. He only hoped that none of them actually jumped ship. “Very Well… they’ll just hafta take temporary berths on the Watch Dog til we rejoin with ‘er.” “Aye Sah.”

Wishing a Happy Natal Day to my BriarRose Kildare... And many more to come!!! Slainte!!!

Dorian raised an eyebrow at Mister Flint. A smile crept onto one corner of his mouth. “Ah, I expect we’ll want him mostly undamaged, he and his accomplice if possible. We’ll deliver them back to the prison I would hope. Much ta do Mister Flint… much ta do…”

"Aye Mister Flint… mayhaps wi’ all the happenings you hadn’t heard. We’re off ta St. Pierre up th’ coast, mayhaps we’ll catch wind o’ den Oven, or th’ missing crew of th’ Watch Dog. I’ll need you and th’ marines ready incase we do find trouble. "