Dorian Lasseter

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

*Hangs another piniata from the overhead *

Alright... who'll have a go...

*Gets grabbed and pulled into the bunnyhop line*

Lordy me! Ha Haaaa!!!

Glad to be in out of the rain and in the warmth of Miss O’Treasaigh’s offices, Dorian listened to what the Doctor had to say about the Master-at-Arms and was gladdened that the man was awake and on the mend. He briefly greeted her friend the Apothocary, Miss Kildare, and was ‘greeted’ by a wee hissing cat in her arms. Dorian bowed out into the other room where Mister PEW was accommodated and greeted the man.

“Mister Pew… it gives me much joy to see you upright and lucid. Miss O’Treasaigh, er, Doctor O’Treasaigh tells me you are recovering well… “

Preston gave Dorian a look and smiled.

“Aye Cap’n I do feel more m’self now, can’t wait ta get back aboard ship.”

Aye…. Soon… Not just yet…. Soon…. And… no… never mind…”

Preston gave Dorian a questioning look and he waved it away. The Master-at-Arms knew Captain Lasseter would indulge him when he was ready. Instead he told the recovering man of the goings on while he was convalesced in the town. They talked of many things and the hours passed, both the women joined them for short visits, and finally the meal time arrived. Dorian made to leave, but was coerced to stay and join them for the evening meal.

Seven Bells of the Afternoon Watch

He walked against the wind for a time and found haven from it every chance he got. Two blocks seemed two miles in this weather, but the Captain made headway against it as best he could and soon arrived at the door of the Surgery. He knocked thrice and waited for an answer, hoping it would be quite soon.

Captain Lasseter walks in with a bag over his shoulder. He looks about the Kate and sees everyone waiting for something. He spies Syren over there and smiles.

"I see I'm not late fer th' party, am I?"

He walks to the bar and orders up a gin for a change of pace.

"Slainte, Syren! All th' best on yer natal day!"

Captain Lasseter had lingered in the ordinary for a time, hoping the weather might lighten so he might get to the Surgeon’s looking not so much a drowned rat. He drank a cordial to warm himself after a fine hot meal of fresh fish and ale. He walked to the door and unlatched it to look out and was near knocked over by the force of wind and rain. Shouldering the door, he shoved it shut and stood a moment before turning away, draining his glass and walking back to his table. He rummaged in his pockets and found his one short pipe and a pouch of tobacco.

“One pipe full and no more, I cannot delay much longer in my visit.”

He packed the bowl and got a taper to light it and slowly puffed away, listening to the storm pound away. He spent the next hour in a haze of tobacco smoke and a haze of thoughts. He wondered how Preston was doing, how the ships were weathering the storm, How William was doing, if he’d gotten to the prison to garner crew, how Mister Alder was doing with his secret project, and other thoughts of people and places. The tobacco was finished and Dorian was resolved to make his way to visit the ailing Master-at-Arms.

He tapped the ash out of his pipe and returned it to his pocket, fixed his hat on his head and braced himself as he opened the door. Wind whipped past him as he crossed the thresh hold and hauled the door shut behind him. He nearly lost his hat to the elements, but deftly grabbed it as it lifted off his head. He clenched his jaw and hunched his shoulders as he was pelted by the large drops of rain. Off he went the last two blocks to the Surgery of Miss Maeve O’Treasaigh.

Four Bells of the Afternoon Watch

Dorian found it to be useless to hurry through the rains. Instead he chose to pick his way slowly by continuing to make short trips between shops. This proved to be both good and bad, as each time he stopped into a shop, he ended up looking about and finding some item he might like to purchase. He restrained himself from purchasing large items, but small wares that might fit into pockets. His progress was very slow, and his stomach protested at the hour. Asking the proprietor of a shop where the closest ordinary was, he made his way there for a meal.

An evening in the chatrooms anyone?

LOL

Aye Patrick, love that!

Mice on a cracker, Mice with asparagus, etc...

Great movie actually...

Here's a song....

"Man! I feel like a ratty!"

[sung to "Man! I feel like a woman!" by Shania Twain]

<A group of gorgeous female ratties stand poised with guitars. Dapper (wearing a top hat) swaggers up to the microphone>

I'm going out tonight -- I'm feelin' alright

Gonna let it all hang out

Wanna make some strife -- perhaps get me a wife

Yeah I wanna squeak and flout

No inhibitions -- make no conditions

Get a little out of line

I aint gonna act tame-pet-edly correct

I only wanna have a good time

The best thing about being a ratty

Is the prerogative to have a little fun

Go totally crazy -- no time to be lazy

Pounce on Fudge, hide under the rug

Woah oh oh oh

Sneak and tease, yeah -- stash all the peas, yeah

Get in Mum's hair -- climb where I dare

Woah oh oh oh

I wanna be free to feel the way I feel...

Man! I feel like a ratty!

<female back-ups> Do do do do do do

<dancing>

The cage needs a break -- tonight we're gonna take

The chance to get out on the town

We need lots to drink -- we're gonna make a stink

We're gonna let our balls hang down

The best thing about being a ratty

Is the prerogative to pee on everything

Leave a proud scent trail -- paint with my own tail

On Dad's shirt, on Mum's skirt

Woah oh oh oh

On the TV remote, yeah -- where others will note, yeah

Pee on the chair -- pee where I dare

Woah oh oh oh

I wanna be free to feel the way I feel...

Man! I feel like a ratty!

<female back-ups> Do do do do do do

<dancing>

<music builds up to the finale>

The best thing about being a ratty

Is the prerogative to have a little chew

Enjoy the great caper -- shred toilet paper

Chew mouse cords, floorboards

Woah oh oh oh

Carpet and blocks, yeah -- feet in their socks, yeah

Gnaw on the chair -- gnaw what I dare

Woah oh oh oh

I wanna be free to feel the way I feel...

Man! I feel like a ratty!

<female back-ups> Do do do do do do

<dancing>

I get totally crazy

Can you feel it

Come and join in the mischief

Man! I feel like a ratty!

Stolen off of; http://www.dapper.com.au/songs.htm

Just before Eight Bells of the Forenoon Watch

Even with the weather pending, Dorian could not make haste to the Surgeon’s residence. Between running into crewmen returning to the docks for the change of watch, and stopping into some shops along the way just to take refuge from the growing winds. He knew he would be too late. He knew he would not make it his destination without getting a soaking. His recent wounded temple throbbed, telling him the storm would be upon the town at any moment. His ache was right. A great bolt of lightening, followed by a thunderclap announced the deluge of rain. The Captain had left the shelter of one shop and was headed diagonally across a street when the downpour fell from above. It actually stopped him in his tracks, it hit so hard, so fast. Grabbing the brim of his hat he stepped lively, trying to avoid the rapidly forming puddles and streams in the streets.

As in right now...

Well...

Welcome aboard...

William RedWake is who you'll need to contact.

As for the group, the Mercury camp will be new this year at PIP, it's still just on paper, never been done as of yet. William is just a grand organizer and everyone else is just grand as well...

Woah!!! DL what location is that pic of you from???

Very sharp building in the back!!!!

Rats

That Image is inside old Fort Niagara. The building is the French Castle.

Awesome reenactment site. My favourite at this time...

In years past we were allowed to stay in the castle, but insurance policies changed, so no more...

You can tour the castle and walls during the day...

https://oldfortniagara.org/