Dorian Lasseter

Dorian smirked.

“Trades less threatenin’ aye? Risk is e’erywhere… I’ll take mine on th’ open waters…”

He walked to the sideboard and opened the cabinet, reviewed all inside and paused. A slight shake of his head and he shut the doors and turned back to William.

“Ah, so be it… to each their own I s’pose…”

Dorian took off his hat and placed it on the table. He sat and wiped his brow with a corner of his neckerchief. Again their was silence between the two men. The Captain of the Heron decided to open a different line of conversation.

“So… I made a decision on this ‘ere vessel… with ‘er new arms an’ all, she needs a new name…”

He waited to see what his brother in arms would say…

Why... Thankee Kindly Mister Flint... I would like ta stretch m'legs...

In the Heron's Wardroom

Both men sat a moment and stared into empty glasses, not wish to be refilled. They basked in the knowledge of the richness of the prize now sold. Captain Lasseter looked to the bulkhead and seemed to be whispering to himself. When his eyes came back down, William was giving him an odd look. Dorian smiled.

“Just trying ta calculate shares in m’head… Tryin’ ta remember who left our company an’ who be left ta enjoy th’ wealth. Also wonder who might leave us, once they receive their share…”

William nodded slowly and looked once again into his glass.

William...

On that account, you can speak for me...

No wearin' o fancy dresses fer me...

Hmm... A man could grow old watin' fer ye ta step up n' make yer mark...

Sinful enough?

Onboard the Heron

Dorian’s jaw had gone slack at the number William had spoken. His eyes opened very wide. A moment later he found his voice. It first came out as a raspy sound. He cleared his throat and began again.

“Mary mudder a God… Sixty… Sixty-seven…. Thousand? William… Why tha’s… How… How did th’ Elephant fetch such a price?”

William just chuckled and walked past Dorian, past him and into the after section of the Cutter to the wardroom. Dorian followed, still with the question on his lips. Once they were in the confines of the aftercabin, Dorian spoke louder.

“Come now, man! I would have expected half that and been happy… Again, you amaze me with a hidden talent… I can imagine you played a fine game a chess with those merchants in wont of such a vessel…”

He walked to the table and picked up the bottle he had placed there earlier. Squeaking out the cork, he poured two cups and set the bottle in its place and handed one cup to William and took up the other.

“Slainte, William… May we ne’er thirst for anythin’… Whate’er we call our wealth…”

Both men drank their cups dry and banged them on the table.

Dorian steadies the inkwell.

"Have a care, Lad..."

He looks the youth over a moment and puts a hand to his chin.

"Have ye a mind fer adventure? If so... Find yer way here;

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

Cap'n Brand n' I would have words with ye..."

He sits back and sees what may come next...

I hope that answers the "Hanger or Banger" question..... Cause I'm not perfectly sure as to what exactly you meant by that...

Michael,

That, is a grande lookin' hilt there... most excellent...

I think, but could be wrong, the 'Hanger or Banger' means is it a wall hanger - or a non-combat piece... just a pretty. Or, is it something that will see action - get banged around... Sound ta me like the latter...

Excellent.........

I'll wait a bit longer for more of you...

Aboard the Heron

Dorian had done all he could think of in preparation of Captain Brands’ visit to his little ship. As he stopped to survey the wardroom, he heard someone giving orders of a sort. Dorian furrowed his brow and set about heading on deck. As he opened the hatch he heard the familiar voice of Mister Flint. He did not exit into the sunlight, but instead watched from his slightly hidden place. Mister Flint had taken it upon himself to further the instruction of hand to hand combat to the Heron’s marines, and other crew. Dorian noted he favored the knife and axe, leaving the cutlass on the wayside. He nodded as he watched the instruction, noted the closeness if the attacks. Yes, Flint’s technique was well suited to shipboard combat. Captain Lasseter made a mental note to seek out Mister Flint later, so that he might learn some of this form himself. It also reminded him that he would need to drill the men with cutlass as well. He thought of all the different kinds of combat one would see on a vessel such as the Watch Dog and Heron; Broadsides from great guns and swivels, volleys of muskets, close range with pistols, clashing of cutlass and ha’pike, and finally this style of the Marine named Flint. He watched a moment longer and returned to the Wardroom and his quarters. He noticed the one bulkhead was quite bare and in need of something. A painting mayhaps? Or a display of arms…

Got many favourites.... here be two....

Morgan's Rum and Walt Disney...

After two hours of running the crew through gun drills, Dorian was satisfied. All learned a lot about how the new armament differed from the old. Some of the new crew learned from scratch. Captain Brand had returned from shore and was to come aboard the Heron soon as well.

“A’right you lads… well done, well done… secure th’ guns fer now, put all o’ them fully depressed, tampions out. Take yer ease an drink th’ water barrel dry. Then… yer ration o’ spirits…”

The crew gave a cheer, all but one who was unable to, but Adam grinned a toothy grin in response. Dorian had stripped to his shirtsleeves again during the drilling, even jumping in to show how he wanted something to be done. Again he gave the deck over to Mister Tucker and headed below. There in the wardroom of the Heron he drank his fill of water and stripped to the waist. He used more fresh water to bathe, then put on a fresh shirt before donning his outer garments and arms. As an afterthought he looked in a mirror and decided to redo his que as it had come part way undone. Once restored he put on his hat, completing his captain’s outfit. Nodding to his reflection, he went about the cabin straightening it up and setting out refreshments for when William came aboard.

*Drums fingers on table where quill and ink lay beside the papers, waiting for those hearty men to come and sign*

Arriving aboard his ship, Captain Lasseter nodded to the Coxswain who saluted him and reported.

“We shifted th’ spare guns, sir. They was dead amidships. Now they be th’ farthest aft in the hold, I think that’ll do it.”

Dorian smiled and nodded.

“Aye… that much weight that far aft should do th’ trick. Well done… You ‘ave th’ deck, I ‘ave business b’low…”

He wore a grim look when he said the last, and Mister Tucker knew what it was about. The two crewmen caught in a drunken brawl by Mister Flint were confined to quarters foreward. ‘Lucky Tuck’ nodded and knuckled his brow as the captain headed down into the fore crews’ quarters. Andrew Smyth came to full attention as he came foreward, and the two lads in custody stood quickly. Dorian said not a word. He looked the men up and down. He noted their torn and stained clothes. He noted the smell of alcohol and filth about them. He noted the fat lip on O’Madden and the blackened eye of McCormick. Both had scraped knuckles and bloody noses. He watched as they fidgeted under his eye. Dorian turned away for a moment before speaking.

“Do I want ta know the reason fer yer brawlin’ ashore? Were it o’er a woman, a wager, or just fer th’ joy o’ scrappin’?”

He stopped and looked at them, expecting an answer. They both mumbled some, stammered out an answer that Dorian ignored.

“No… I care not what the reason… If you value yer place aboard this ship, you’ll not do it again. Do you understand?”

Both men stood ramrod straight and shouted “Aye!”

“Good… Now… since you understand me, an’ this is a first offense. Yer punishment is time served in confinement an’ yer spirit ration taken away til we leave port. I hear of either o’ you e’en arguin’, their’ll be hell ta pay…”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

“That is all… now… get topside, get cleaned up, get to work… save yer fight for wote’er enemy we may face next…”

Dorian stood in place as the two men saluted and gathered their wares to clean up and change into better clothing. He stepped to the side and let the pass as they headed topside. Once they were gone he turned to Mister Smyth.

“Did they have words wi’ each other while confined? Any more fight betwixt ‘em?”

“No Sah… well, ‘sides arguin’ about th’ ships cat… th’ Pooka…”

Dorian chuckled.

“Goode…. Mayhaps all will be well enough between ‘em from now on… Head topside yerself fer some fresh air.”

“Aye Sah…”

With that, Captain Lasseter headed topside into the light breeze and sunshine. He stepped to the quarterdeck and took in his ship. He admired the fine job done shining the new guns and decided to exercise the crew some more. He called all to the waist and had them break up into two gun crews. They were to practice running guns Number three and five, as they faced the Watch Dog. No one would react poorly around them for running out the guns there. No shot nor powder was to be used. Just going through the motions was all they would do, but he promised the men that once they were out to sea that they would do it right with everything. There were grins all around at the notion of firing the brass sixes in a broadside. So, under the command of Captain Lasseter, two gun crews were put through the paces on the great guns of the Heron for a time.

Four Bells of the Afternoon Watch

The Heron slid through the water swiftly, even with the light breeze. Dorian played the tiller, maneuvering the cutter through the water traffic with relative ease. He furrowed his brow on occasion, and would yell ‘Have a care!’ just before making some quick adjustments, tossing the ship about. At one point he chuckled, seeing the ships cat on deck with his claws dug into a rail during one such maneuver. He cut the trip short and headed back to the spot they had up anchored from and had the hook dropped again. He called his officer over.

“Mister Tucker… She’s light on the tiller…. See if ye can shift some o’ th stores aft. With th’ wind pressin’, she’s light aft an’ th’ rudder ain’t bitin’ enough. While yer busy wi’ that, I need at make a trip ta th’ ‘Dog…”

“Aye-aye Cap’n.”

‘Lucky Tuck’ saluted and stepped down into the waist, grabbed a handful of the crew and unbattoned the main hatch as Dorian shrugged into his coat and placed his hat on his head. He called over to the Watch Dog for a boat to be sent over. Jim Warren complied and over the Samson came. The Captain stepped into the sternsheets and they headed back to the Frigate. Dorian climbed aboard and was saluted by the Mister Warren, the officer of the deck, and by Miss Smith, who had been relieved yet still stayed on deck, eyeing up some of the neighbors. Captain Lasseter inquired of where the Carpenter might be at present. Jim directed him foreward into the bow. Thanking the Coxswain, Dorian walked to the bow and found the man in question. He was putting the final touches on some rework. When he looked to be finished, Dorian cleared his throat. Mister Wenge looked up then stood, knuckled his forelock.

“Sorry Sir, didn’t see you there. “

“S’alright… I didn’t want ta disturb ye… fine work… I’ve a job for ye if I may…”

Alder stood with a look of anticipation to what this job might be, so Dorian continued.

“Ya see, the Heron, she has no figurehead… so, I purchased one. However, it ain’t quite what I had in mind… needs some changes made…”

“Aye sir, I can do whatever ye wish.”

“I believe you can and will. I’ll write up a note for ya… she’s at a chandlery in town, take what ye need and I’ll give ya some coin too, for supplies. Finish up what ya got here and then ye may head ashore. Thank you…”

Alder smiled and knuckled his forelock again. Dorian tipped his hat to the man and smiled in return. He headed aft and informed Mister Warren of the details of what he wished the carpenter to do so all would know, no surprises. Dorian headed to the wardroom and wrote out some details to the chandler, sealed the note and wrote the address of the Chandlery on it, along with addressing it to Alder. He handed this off to the Coxswain and made his way back to the Heron. It was time to see to his two sailors in confinement. Time to deal with them.

Three Bells of the Afternoon Watch, 31 July 1704, Thursday*

*Monday on the Julian calendar

Lovin' the whole idea of this...

But, need to raise a question...

What's the surf like around there? And, when's the last time anyone who'd be doing this rowed a small boat in through the surf without getting swamped?

If the surf is very light, no worries... If it's surfboard worthy... er.... good luck....

Mayhaps we need a bigger boat?

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

or

in the Ward Room

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

Onboard the Heron

The hook had been brought up from the depths and cocked. The sails were about to be shaken out when a small boat with three men aboard, one of which was yelling at the Watch Dog came around the stern of the Heron.

“Ahoy the ship, Captain Lasseter! Ahoy!”

As the boat passed, Dorian stepped to the rail and cupped a hand to his mouth.

“Ahoy the boat, I be Cap’n Lasseter! What business have you with me?”

The man on the sweeps was ordered to head for the Cutter by the redheaded man who called out.

“Captain Brand gave us orders ta report ta you!”

“Oh? That so? Come aboard then so I c’n ‘ave a look at ye…”

“Aye-Aye Captain!”

The boat bumped alongside, the man at the sweeps paid and the two men climbed aboard and made their way to the break in the deck. Dorian looked down at them for a moment, then stepped down to the deck beside them.

“And who might you be, gentlemen?”

John Black explained himself and of Adam, the mute. Dorian nodded every so often and looked over the men, noting calloused hands, weathered skin. Just to satisfy a curiosity, as John had said Adam was ‘the best man he’d ever seen with knots’, so the captain had a line given to Adam and he told him to tie several knots, from Bowline to Sheep-shank and then some. Each knot, bend, etc was done with speed and accuracy not seen before by the captain, and John Black just beamed with pride at his friend’s skill. Dorian nodded his approval and turned to John, so he might explain himself further. He did so to Dorian’s approval, and the captain sent them forward to take up lines and show their worth immediately. Both knuckled their brows and were off. Soon the sails were full of the light breeze and Dorian had the Cutter directed across the Watch Dog’s quarter. When they were very close he hollered to Miss Smith.

“Miss Smith, I’ll be takin’ th’ Heron round th’ bay, not far from ye, just ta see how well she runs with ‘er new rig! If Cap’n Brand comes aboard while we’re off, fire a swivel ta let me know!”

Miss Smith nodded and knuckled her brow to Dorian, not bothering to voice a reply, which suited the captain just fine. Off they went then on their pleasure trip. Dorian even stripped down to his shirtsleeves and took the tiller for a time, feeling the old girl under his own hands. His eyes were everywhere, yet held a far away look in them as he remembered such a time in his past. On the tiller of another ship, at another time.

Onboard the Heron

He looked from his perch down at the two beings that had been brought below and made to sit. They smelled strongly of many things. The cat shifted himself and then decided to remove himself from their presence. Jumping down, he startled both of the men. McCormick raised a hand as if to strike the animal.

“Yer bloody cat! I aught ta give ya what’s fer!”

O’Madden grabbed his wrist and pulled it away.

“Don’ e’en tink o’ doin’ tha’! ‘E’s a Pooka! Bad, bad luck strikin’ a Pooka…”

McCormick snorted a laugh at O’Madden

“Yer believe all that? Tis a buncha hogwash!”

The Pooka had sat and watched the two men argue with a look of genuine interest. Both men stopped arguing and looked at the animal as he looked at them with such intelligence. O’Madden gingerly reached out and rubbed the Pooka’s ears.

“Tha’s a good Pooka… No ‘arm done to ya… Next bit o’ vittles I gets, I’ll save ya some…”

The Pooka began to purr and gently swatted at his hand when he stopped rubbing. He sat for a moment longer then hopped down to the deck and wandered away. McCormick watched the cat go and looked at O’Madden, smirked and shook his head. Above them on deck they heard the strain taken up and the pawls begin to clank as the anchor cable was brought to bare the weight of the hook.

Onboard the Heron

Two of his marines reported to Captain Lasseter, Bill Flint told of how he had found the two sailors in the midst of brawling. Dorian nodded slowly while he told the tale. When he finished with an apology of being late returning to the ship, the captain smiled.

“Mister Flint…. Yer duty ta keep th’ peace on shore is admirable… Ye’ve no need ta apologize fer doin’ such. Take yer post on deck.”

Flint hinted at a smile, knuckled his brow and was off to walk the deck. Dorian paced the quarter with a furrowed brow. He was happy at the work done by half his crew, glad that those coming back on duty were mostly in good spirits, and aggravated at the two men confined to quarters. After a short while he made a decision to let the men confined suffer a bit while the rest of the crew had some enjoyment. He planned to sail the Heron about the bay, seeing how she handled with her new armament. As he arrived earlier, he noted how she sat in the water. Nigel had the supplies stowed well, balanced well. They would see how she ran.

As Mister Brisbane was now ashore, Dorian turned to the Boatswain.

“Mister Tucker, prepare ta weigh anchor an’ make sail, once ‘round th’ bay… keep close ta th’ Dog, well… within th’ range o’ the guns.”

“Aye-Aye Captain!”

Tucker turned and began to bark orders to the men, who set to the job at hand. Most manned the capstan to begin the task of pulling the anchor from the floor of the bay.

The Heron

As those off duty returned to the ships, many noticed the fine new arms on the Cutter. Dorian stood on the Quarterdeck and had to salute with his hat more times than he could count. Every time a ships boat passed, words of praise were exchanged. Once all those who did the work on the Heron were ashore, and the returning crew aboard, Captain Lasseter informed them of what had occurred while they were on shore leave. They were allowed to familiarize themselves with the new guns and rig of the ship. Dorian let this happen while he spoke with the coxswain, who noted three crewmen absent. O’Madden, McCormick, and Flint. Dorian’s brow creased and his jaw clenched. In low tones he hoped there was a good explanation for their tardiness. He hoped he would not have to find them in a prison cell. Mayhaps a night in the gaol would teach them if that were the case. He turned back to watching the crew, mesmerized by the shining brass guns and smiled some, hoping that was all the problems that would be for this day.

Right...

Patrick, do I count?

Captain Lasseter had made his way to the wharf and found the Herons’ boat waiting and crewed as if someone had spied him coming from a ways off. He looked at the crewmen aboard, who sat at attention, sweeps held just so. Mister Johnson sat in the sternsheets and stood, knuckled his forelock and bade the captain to board and be ferried to his ship. Dorian nodded his assent and stepped aboard, his mind working through ideas of what had brought on this pomp and circumstance. He remained quiet for the duration of the trip, yet one look to the Heron told him what this was all about. You could not miss the glint of sunlight off of the new brass guns. He started to smile and checked himself, he was proud of his crew as they must have worked through the night to make the ship just so. As they bumped along side, a bo’sun call shrilled as his head came level with the deck. There stood every crewman on duty, waiting to receive their captain. Mister Brisbane stepped forward and saluted him.

“Welcome aboard Captain, we hope yer time ashore was fruitful.”

“Thank you Mister Brisbane, it was… I see you’ve kept th’ men busy whilst I was away.”

“Aye Sir, I did.”

“Lets ‘ave a look about, shall we?”

“Aye-aye.”

Dorian and Nigel took a tour of the deck amidst the men who still stood at attention. Captain Lasseter noted the weariness of each, knowing the feat they had accomplished to please him. He could not help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took in the sight of the brass great guns in place of the smaller iron guns she was armed with a day before. The ship looked ready for imminent action, aside from burning slow-match and an adversary off her bow. Dorian made his way back to the quarterdeck and turned to face the crew.

“You… All of you… A fine job, no… a grande job… Ye humble me greatly… I am proud ta be yer captain, an’ hope I may live up to th’ honour. Mister Brisbane! See to it tha’ all get a double ration o’ spirits, an’ a well deserved rest. I have th’ deck an’ th’ watch…”

All around him, the crew gave a great ‘huzzah’ and many threw hats and such into the air. Dorian smiled openly at them and chuckled at their frivolity. Nigel grabbed two lads near by and had them bring up a cask of spirits, open it infront of all as they lined up for their share.

But let's face it, we'd like a real challenge, and that would be getting our pirates to shave!

What I'd really like to do is bring a shaving bowl and razor to the Lockhouse and have mass shavings!

 

Hey John,

I was gonna do that in SMC, bring my razor and shave soap, but forgot it... My wife got me a better, more period style of razor this past weekend too... Once I get it cleaned up and sharpened, I'd be happy to shave in camp at an event... scare the public and hope I don't nick myself!

Even after two years of shaving with a straight razor, it still happens on occasion...