Dorian Lasseter

Ahhhhrrrrrr!!! 'Nother pinata, eh? Give it here, I'll hang it just so... Don't ye start yer swingin' til I's clear away!!!

Lovely... What a wonderful spread! Keep th' drinks flowin' an' the food comin' from th' kitchen! We'll keep th' party goin' til William's Natal day!!! Arrrr!!! Slainte!

Aye! Thankee Lass... *Walks over and sits at the head of the grande table in the Kate. * William... I'll have a dram o' yer finest... Aye, th' goode stuff, th' really goode stuff... Come on in, one an' all! Slainte!!!

Taken from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grog It is very widely believed that the name "grog" came from the nickname of Admiral Edward "Old Grog" Vernon, but since the word appears in a book written by Daniel Defoe in 1718, well before Admiral Vernon's West Indian career began, and 22 years before his famous order to dilute the rum ration, this cannot be so. Significantly, it is in the 1718 book (The Family Instructor, Part II) a little former slave boy, Toby, from Barbados, who is the character using the word, stating that "the black mans" in the West Indies "make the sugar, make the grog, much great work, much weary work all day long." Since Defoe had trading interests which gave him connections at the great seaports of the day, it is likely that he had heard the word used by similar visitors to Britain from the West Indies. At any rate, the word seems to definitely have entered English from the West Indies - it may have an African origin. It is likely, therefore, that "Old Grog"'s nickname came from the drink, rather than from his cloak and that his family put about the story about the grogram cloak to cover up this minor shame. However, while the word "grog" referring to rum antedates Vernon's rations, the use of the word to refer to diluted rum may post-date him. So... this was a quick search, I do believe there's more elsewhere, but I'll not be lookin' it up right this minute. Hope it helps...

Captain Lasseter bid Captain Brand farewell for the evening. Once he saw William off he made a round on deck and below, making sure all was well. Returning to the Ward Room, he cleaned up the glasses and bottles, acting as his own Steward. He was pleased at the new crew he would be getting, pleased that there might be more too. He sat at the table and looked at the game box again and smiled, wondering where it came from in William’s travels. He yawned again as he wondered and decided it was time for some sleep. He headed out and told Mister Brisbane, then prepared himself for sleep. Tomorrow he had to accomplish all he hadn’t today, plus what was planned for the morrow as well. Busy was the word for the morrow… very busy. He resigned himself to it as he climbed into his hammock and pulled a light cover over himself. He still wore his knife and laid a pistol across his chest beneath the cover, just because. A little caution never hurt.

business cards

Aboard the Heron The game had been a good one, Dorian knew Will was playing in earnest, especially with the last set of moves. He hid a smile as he jumped the last piece the Captain of the Watch Dog had on the board and sat back. “Ya play a mean game, Will… I look forward to more of ‘em… an’ mayhaps when I c’n remember all th’ rules, we’ll be more inclined for backgammon.” William smiled warmly. “I look forward to that Dorian, truly I do.” Dorian yawned, looking surprised as he did so. “Pardon me… Hmm… Alright… I’ll keep th’ box fer now… next time, winner keeps it an’ so on…” He spoke authoritatively, not as if he were asking for a comment in return. Dorian picked up all the pieces and deposited them into the box, shut it and clicked the clasp in place. He left it in the center of the table, as if a piece for display. Its craftsmanship lent to such a thing. Both men stood, as if reading each others thoughts that it was time to retire. “Well William, on the morrow I will return to shore yet again. The storm prevented me from gathering some items in town, and completing other tasks. I hope to check in on some of the others ashore as well.”

Sorry Lad... it ain't a typo.... You on'y got th' one... try it wi' six someday.... Mind you, they do have ta sleep sometime, and sleep alot...

Dorian stopped placing pieces and looked at William. “An actual cook ye say? I’d happily take him on in that case, long as it won’t cause issue.” He continued placing the pieces while William looked on.

No more takers, aye? Pity... thought their would be livelier lot 'round 'ere... More fun fer us then... Unless.... anyone?

Aboard the Heron Dorian’s brow wrinkled and one side of his mouth curled into a grin as he pulled the object closer. It appeared to be a box, roughly eight inches by four inches by one and a half, maybe two inches. Pulling off the linen covering he revealed a finely inlayed box. He had seen one or two like it, but never one as finely made. It was a game box. “Backgammon and Draughts… This’ exquisite Will… “ He turned it over in his hands, marveling at the intricately inlaid outside, made up for Draughts. The pearl inlay flashed in the candle light and the other squares were quite detailed in black, white, and red. Finding the latch he carefully opened it to reveal the lovingly worn pieces, including several small dice. The interior was even more detailed with the backgammon board. Varied shades of natural wood, greens and black. Dorian touched all the pieces and carefully shut and latched the box. Staring at the box he slowly shook his head. “I can’t accept it Will… tis grande indeed an’ I see you’ve taken much care with it. Much like a part o’ ye.” Dorian placed it on the linen and went to slide it across the table to William, who in turn placed a hand on the opposite edge. “Yes, you can accept it and you will… It is mine to give and I give it to you.” He kept it stationary until Dorian gave up. Again The captain of the Heron shook his head at the captain of the Watch Dog. Taking it up he opened it and carefully emptied the pieces on the table. “A’right then, we’ll have a game fer it… I challenge, you pick th’ game… winner takes all – no… you’d throw th’ match… Winner decides… Aye…” William chuckled and took another drink. Dorian waited for his choice of what game would be played. The two men sat as brothers across the table.

Dorian looked over the list again as he considered William’s last words. He then shook his head abruptly once. “Nay William, keep ‘em til th’ dawn… Better they get a goode look at th’ Heron in full light. And better I get a goode look at ‘em in the daylight as well. So, nine more able seamen wi’ other skills… A goode start indeed. My thanks, Will…” He brought up his glass and touched it to his and drank. Dorian refilled both their glasses, emptying the bottle doing so. He looked to the remaining shares to be given to the crew ashore upon their return. Gesturing at them he spoke. “Lets hope that more don’t find ‘emselves so rich as to quit th’ life at sea just yet, otherwise we’ll be gatherin’ many more ta replace ‘em as well.” He chuckled lightly. “I’m still astonished at the amount ye got fer th’ Maastricht… Been told I were shrewd in gettin’ my monies worth fer somat… but you… I salute you, Captain…” Again he lifted his glass to William and they both drank. "So... wot's on yer agenda fer th' morrow?"

Th' last couple o' posts reminded me of some favourites... "Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote." - Benjamin Franklin 1759 "First we count their guns. If we have more guns than they do, then we are pirates. But if their guns outnumber ours, we are but simple merchants. - Anonymous

I'm here... for a limited time...

The Captain of the Heron had just finished transcribing the last name into the log when he heard another hail and return hail at the gunwale of his ship. He knew the voices well, one was Captain Brand, the other Mister Brisbane on his ship. “Ah… Cap’n Brand come a-callin’…” He smiled and shut the logbook, stood and stretched, and took up the bottle on his table. “Aye… good fer a chill night… clean glasses… need clean glasses.” He took the glasses that the Sergeant-at-Arms and the Russian had used over to the cabinet and fetched up one remaining glass. He looked at it in the light, blew on and into it and brought it to the table. Setting it next to the bottle he stood and waited for the messenger to come, or William himself.

Once Mister Franklin and company had left, Captain Lasseter returned to his copying of names and amounts into the log. He stopped at one point and thought about Mister PEW, or Preston Whitingford, as he now knew him via his father’s letter. He mulled over several things on his mind. Those ashore doing work for him and not. Those whose acquaintance he had made and was not sure what might come to pass, and those ashore who he knew not what their intentions were. He sat with his chin in his hands, contemplating many things of the past and present. Here he was, Captain of his own ship, after being the Quartermaster of a fine Frigate. He had enjoyed every bit of time aboard both of these fine ships and hoped for many years more. His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge on his leg. There was the Pooka, the big ships cat, rubbing against his knee. Reaching down and giving his head a scratch, the feline began to purr loudly. Dorian smiled at the animal and petted him some more, until the Pooka rolled onto his side out of the Captain’s reach. Turning back to his work, Dorian took up the brass nib pen and dipped it in the inkwell. Finding where he had left off, he began transcribing again.

Oh.... Bugger......... Mayhaps someone can find them dating earlier... please? 1850 and up... bugger... hoping fer 1750 or earlier... :angry: I like gin... now I need ta fill'er up wi' gin... one rather large Tangeuray and tonic wi' a lime...

Just had something happen... Those of you with cats... Ever look at them and they looks so wise, then a minute later they have a look as if they're dumb as a post? :angry: One of my cats, the Pooka, silly putter-cat...

Captain Lasseter read the old letter and looked up at Mister Franklin. He said not a word as he placed the parchment back into the log book. Acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, he read the log entries and nodded. "Aye Mister Franklin, th' arms are as per. Very good. As fer th' new recruits, Cap'n Brand sent me a list of those men I'll have aboard, along with th' shares from th' Maastricht. I trust his eye on their worth." Dorian Sat back and took a sip of his drink. "What other news have you? Please, feel free ta talk. You too Mister... Otkupschikov..." Luc smiled slightly as Captain Lasseter did a fine job pronouncing his name.

In the midst of his work, the Captain heard someone hailing his ship. Knowing Mister Brisbane was on deck, he continued his work, until Nigel himself knocked and popped his head in the door. “Mister Franklin and company are over th’ side. Thought ye’d want ta know.” “Thank ye, Nigel… Sent ‘em in when they get aboard.” “Aye cap’n…” Nigel shut the door and was away as Dorian wrote the last name in the log, gently blew on the page and shut the tome. He organized the papers on the table and brought out a bottle from the cabinet. Not knowing how many were in Mister Franklin’s party, he waited to bring out any glasses. Looking about the cabin, he was satisfied it was ready for his unannounced guests.

Dorian ordered the chest be secured in the wardroom and he would soon do as recommended with what was held within. All those within ear shot, and soon everyone else, would be talking of more shares to be had. As if what they had already received wasn’t a fortune already. Grinning faces were seen all around as the Captain asked those in the jollywatt news of the new recruits. They could not say much except that they numbered around thirty able looking men. Dorian nodded and bid them well, as they shoved off. Turning amidships he saw Liam there under the weight of a heavily laden tray of steaming mugs. Smiling at the boy he walked over. “Very good Young Mister Rowan… Nigel, coffee or cocoa?” Nigel stepped over and looked at what was offered. “Coffee fer me, Sar… Thankee.” Dorian handed him a mug of the dark brew and took up one of cocoa, then the other as well. He set one on the peak of the quarter and relieved the tray of the final cup of coffee and set it aside as well. Liam looked confused until Dorian offered him the one mug of cocoa back, knowing the lad was wanting it. The lad smiled and gratefully took the hot mug and carefully took a sip. “Off you go young man… just return the tray to the galley…” “Aye Captain!” He said through a chocolate grin before scampering off. Both Dorian and Nigel chuckled and shook their heads at the boy. Dorian picked up his mug and before Nigel could react tapped it against his. “To fortunes made an’ spent… shall they never end…” Mister Brisbane gave him a sideways look and chuckled again before offering his mug up and drinking. They stood in silence as the weather beat about the bay. In short time he finished his cocoa and set the mug beside the untouched one of coffee. “I’ll be b’low… countin’ out shares… should be int’restin’ with th’ movement o’ th’ ship…” “Aye Sar… interestin’ alright.” “Very well… As always, you ‘ave th’ deck Nigel… Keep me informed o’ any happenin’s...” “Aye-aye, Sar!” Dorian turned and headed below. There in the only open corner of the Ward Room was the chest of shares from the sale of the Maastricht. As Dorian removed his oilskins and hat he looked at the coffer, remembering the amount William had said he let the ship go for. “Almost six thousand… ya dog…” He stepped over and worked the latch, opening the lid to reveal several canvas sacks and a roll of parchment inside. Taking the parchment to the table he unrolled it and read what William had written. He had already divided up the shares on paper for Dorian to distribute, and also informed him the names of those new recruits the Heron would receive, with some notes by each man as to their abilities. The Captain nodded at the list and opened a ledger to copy in the names of the new, yet unseen crewmen.

Dorian took some time to write in the Heron’s logbook and other ledgers. His thoughts wandered on occasion to those on shore, it had been an interesting day. As he was in the midst of recording the heavy weather in the log, noting he didn’t think it would let up til morning, as was often the case, a knock on the door brought his head up. “Enter…” Young Liam Rowan opened the door just enough to slide inside, as if opening the door further would fully interrupt the Captain’s privacy. He crossed the short distance and with a quick movement knuckled his forelock. “Cap’n, Mister Brisbane sends his compliments, says there be movement on th’ Watch Dog, says he thinks a boat from ‘er might be comin’ over to us, ah-th’ Heron, sir.” Dorian could not help but smile at the lad in his oilskins and wet hair. He stood and straightened his jacket. “Thank you Liam, I’ll be on deck presently… send m’compliments ta Mister Brisbane…” As the Lad knuckled his forelock again, Dorian tousled his hair. “Young man… find yerself a hat, gonna get a chill wi’out one… Have some coffee an hot cocoa brought on deck for Nigel an’ myself… Make sure you get some too… “ The boy smiled and nodded vigorously and was off like a flash. The Captain chuckled and stretched, walked to the hook his oilskins were hanging from and dressed in them again. His hat was still quite damp and he almost left it there, but after what he told Liam, he dare not. He turned back to the table and realized he hadn’t his pistol, as it lay on the table. Checking the powder, he hung it on his belt and made sure his oilskins covered it well. With a final stretch he resigned himself and headed back on deck.

Dorian had combed out his hair and dried it as best he could, changed from dripping wet clothes into dry ones. He was slightly chilled in just a shirt and slops, so he again opened his sea chest and pulled out an old friend. The Captain unfolded the sun faded blue sailors jacket he had arrived with when he signed on as the Quartermaster if the Watch Dog, what seemed so long ago. With ease he shrugged it on and adjusted the fit. Pulling his wet hair out from under the collar he held it back while looking for a ribbon to tie it with, then decided to leave it out. He pulled his comb through his hair one more time and laid it on the table top. Feeling much warmer he chanced a look out the stern windows at the weather. He could not see the land but for a handful of bright smudges of light here and there. He wondered where those ashore from the ships were holed up, guarded from the storm. He chuckled some, knowing that every ordinary, alehouse, tavern, etc. was thick with sailors doing their best to enjoy their time off their ships. He himself could have stayed ashore, either in the company of those under Doctor O’Treasaigh’s roof, or even at the Chateau Anse. He was sure there would be a room available for him there. Well, he had made his choice and was back aboard the Heron, not that it was a bad choice. He felt the ocean fall and rise, with the rage of the sea and storm continuing, and intermixed with the sounds of the ship he thought he heard music. It was faint yet familiar, causing him to take up his hat and pull out his oilskin overcoat. His shoes were soaked, not that it mattered, but he chose to remain unshod and headed up on deck where the music was louder. He greeted Mister Brisbane on the quarterdeck. “Lovely weather, eh Nigel?” “Aye Cap’n, if ye says so…” “Heh, aye I do say, but don’t believe it m’self. That music, come from th’ Dog, aye?” “Aye sar, Cap’n Brand brought some three boat loads o’ new men aboard not long after you returned.” “Ahhh…. Very good, very good…. I ‘spect he’s have’n em find a place aboard til all is calmed. I’ll be b’low for a time, hopefully th’ weather will calm enough that we might head o’er an’ see what William fished out o’ the prison.” “Aye Cap’n.” Dorian headed to the rail and peered at the Frigate. He could see movement on deck under their awnings, maybe even some dancing. He wondered why those left on the Heron were not so jovial, so instead of returning to the Wardroom he walked about the deck. Every man on duty wore a smile and some even tapped a foot in time to the music. He did not ask a question of any, but headed below through the fore hatch and into the berth spaces. Those there were either asleep, or content with personal dealings. Those that saw the Captain began to stand and he waved them down. He made his way aft and back onto deck where he again addressed the Coxswain. “Nigel… dare I wonder to know why there is no singing, no music played on the Heron?” Nigel drew in breath and hesitated a moment before answering. “Cap’n I don’t think we got any aboard wot plays music. As fer singin’ Some of th’ men were afore th’ storm got bad.” “Ah, I see… thank you fer bein candid…” “Aye Sar…” Captain Lasseter lingered a moment longer on deck before returning to his quarters. There he shed his oilskins and hat, and paced the deck for a short time, listening to the faint music come from the Watch Dog. He was determined to find a way to remedy the absence of musicians on his ship, even if it meant taking up an instrument himself. He chuckled, thinking that might be disastrous, but one never knew.

Arriving at the wharf, Captain Lasseter ducked into one of the storehouses to find a willing soul to row him out to his ship in the storm. He found one strapping fellow who would do it, for five times the normal rate. Dorian could not get the man to lower his price, which was understandable considering the weather. The Captain finally agreed and they stepped out into the rain and to his awaiting boat. It was quite a ride, but they arrived at the Heron well enough and after payment was made, Dorian climbed aboard and surveyed the deck. All was stowed down and battened, the watch covered in tarred coats and turned away from the wind. Nigel greeted the Captain with a salute and grim smile. Over the wind Dorian told him he would be below and with a nod, he headed into the ward room, out of the weather and shook off the water. He sloughed off his sodden coat and hung it up, along with his hat. He stripped off his weskit which was soaked through as well. He shivered slightly while pulling out dry clothes from his chest and began the process of changing into the dry clothes.

The storm continued to cover Fort Royal with a deluge of water and light up the sky with lightening and deafening thunder. Captain Lasseter sat and supped with the two ladies and Mister PEW, although the Master-at-Arms did not get to enjoy the same fare as the others. He was allowed broth only, and not the brown bread and stew served from the kitchen of the Surgery. To be fair they all drank small beer served from a common pitcher. They spoke of many things, and the conversation was quite lively. Dorian noticed how Miss Kildare seemed to enjoy his company and was genuinely interested in his points of conversation. The Captain occasioned to look out the window when their was a long pause from lightening strikes, hoping the weather had broken. It was not to be just yet. As the time went by, he watched the officer of the Watch Dog, noting how much strength had returned to him, and yet he was still in a weakened state. He wondered how much longer it would take his recovery, and if Dorian should offer Preston what had been on his mind. Again he shook his head and turned his thoughts elsewhere. He decided to talk with William again before making the offer. At one point he glanced at the clock in the corner and noted it was much later than he had expected. "Ladies, Preston... I must away, I should have been back aboard th' Heron an hour ago. My apologies... Seems the gods wish me ta be a drowned rat this day." All was understood by the company and with a promise to return the next day, Miss O'Treasaigh got his hat and coat. He shrugged into it and bowed to the ladies, nodded to PEW and crowned himself with his hat. He stepped out into the storm and looked skyward, squinted his eyes and shook his head before making his way through the streets, heading for the wharf. Two bells of the First Dog Watch