Dorian Lasseter

*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.

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...

Oh I'm sure we could make him bleed... I mean he could make himself bleed on it... LOL Both of you.... Actually, on saturday I did some fencing with sabre, and the one fellow was a very good modern fencer... both of us were in shirtsleeves and he whipped the heck out of my right arm. I'm not used to such a flexy weapon, and blocked accordingly, thus, still got hit... Two spots actually are scabbed now, but no real blood flow then. Don't worry, I will be wearing in the jacket in time.... Already got the sweat, blood and tears to follow... and dirt, mud, other stains... we'll see...

It's the same as the wool sleeved waistcoat with metal buttons...

How to describe it... It s a split sleeve, no buttons... And folded back into a cuff... Almost dog-eared. Based on the one Hogarth painting with the fellow tied into a chair being carried off, in front of him is a sailor with a peg leg, the jacket he's wearing... and other images from other paintings...

Just got back last night from Fort Niagara (F&I event) And found a grande sailors jacket... it is based on paintings by Hogarth among others, the folks that made it did the original clothes for POTC 1-3... BUT, they are serious historically correct, before hollywierd got them... Here's their website; www.barkertownsutlers.com No image on their site of it, but it's perfect. Looks like it's fitted because of the belt with my bellybox on it. Made in a linen blend or wool, mine is wool...

hehehehe.. goode ol' Benny Franklin.... "Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote." B. Franklin

Dorian dreamed of things long past. Time on the deck of another ship, in a far away sea. His dream was interrupted by protestations from his belly, due to the scent of food finding its way to his nose. He opened his eyes slowly, remembering now where he was. He sat up and stretched his back, arms up over his head. He stopped in mid stretch to see William standing, looking his way. “Mornin’ cap’n… What news?” He lowered his arms and stood, shaking off as much sleep as he could. He brushed his coat, trying to smooth out any wrinkles and removed his hat as he noticed the women folk were up and attending to things around the business and residence of Miss O’Treasaigh. William smiled slightly and nodded towards Mister PEW. He lay quietly, breathing deeper than he had been the night before but still not on a lucid state. Dorian looked back to William and nodded in understanding. Again his stomach protested. Looking about more, he noticed Claude was no longer snoring away and he realized he had no idea of the time. He stifled a yawn and gave a slight shudder. With a smile he pardoned himself from the company and headed outside, around the corner and to the back areas of the buildings to find the privy. After relieving the call of nature he returned to the front of the Surgeon’s office and home where he waited out in the morning sun for a time. Not long after he saw Mister Marchande heading up the lane, laden with a large sack and a covered pail. As he approached Dorian greeted him warmly and he offered to help the man with his burden. He took the pail, full of hot coffee and held open the door for the Frenchman. The smell of fresh bread and sweet rolls mingled with that of bacon and biscuits as the two aromas met in the doorway.

Onboard the Heron The crew had worked all night setting the new guns, rigging the new lines and cables and all around stowing and setting up the supplies that had been delivered to their ship. All were weary as first light appeared and Nigel let everyone have their rest. Only O’Hara, Godfrey, and he remained awake. As the light strengthened it reflected off the shiny brass six pounders, almost blindingly so. The three of them smiled at each other and Mister Brisbane chuckled a little. “Wait til th’ Captain sees all this… “ The other two answered with a proud ‘aye’ and nodded. They looked about the deck of their proud little ship and out into the bay around them. Young Patrick let his mind wander, thinking about what it would be like in battle with this nimble ship under his feet and the more powerful guns thundering. Even though they were rather small compared to those on the Watch Dog, they were still powerful enough to thrill the young man. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the question asked him by Mister Brisbane. Patrick O’Hara elbowed Godfrey and brought him back to the present, where Nigel was looking at him with slight annoyance. He grinned sheepishly and ducked his head. “Er… pardon me sir, I was… er what did ye want sir?” The Coxswain shook his head slightly. “I was gonna have ye head up inta th’ riggin’ as lookout, but if yer gonna daydream, best have ye stay on deck. Mister O’Hara, yer on lookout duty.” “Aye-aye Sah!” O’Hara went and found the ships spyglass and lithely jumped into the shrouds, quickly taking position at the lookout’s vantage point. Thursday, 31 July 1704* *Gregorian calendar, as opposed to the Julian, making it Monday

Heave!

The hour grew early and the conversations grew short. Soon Mister Franklin had joined Mister Marchande in sleep, though not so noisily. William and Dorian spoke of the ships a bit longer, debating what they would do in as much as the reorganization of officers, and additions to the same. As the fashion dictated, the crew would have a hand in the appointments of new officers, it was not just a hard fast ‘laying of the law’, brought down by the captains. While casting a still worried look upon Mister Pew, Dorian voiced a thought to make him his QuarterMaster aboard the Heron when, not if, he recovered. He also voiced that the men that had been assigned to the Heron remain with her, with an addition of men they might receive from the jailer to make up for gaps in the work force. Questions were asked between the men, just to find where each sat in regards to who would make the best Master-at-Arms on each ship to who would replace Dorian as the QuarterMaster of the Watch Dog. Sleep deprivation and no lack of sprits consumed finally took their toll on Captain Lasseter, so he bid William a break in the conversation until some rest was to be obtained. William nodded and stifled a yawn, knowing he to was near exhaustion as well. Both men settled into their chairs as comfortably as possible and soon their breathing matched those in slumber around them.

Hehehehehe... Can't say I can add more to BlackJohn's discription of how the duel went. It was grande fun indeed! The Dueling, not the skewering... Between John, Billy and Jim(?), I had a couple bruises as trophys for a bit and can't wait to get more! Although, mayhaps a bit of modern armour needs to be added to our fencing kit. A cup at the very least... Juuuuust in case...

Captain Brand, Lasseter and Mister Franklin talked into the wee hours while Claude Marchande snored lightly. Mister PEW occasionally stirred, which caused many a break in the conversation. When he settled, after a moment longer they would return to their talking, just to keep their minds off what may be. So much had transpired since they made port that it was hard to believe how short a time they had actually been here. Dorian eventually spoke of the averted incident in the tavern with the Tailor, Carpenter, and Mr. Bly. William looked thoughtful for a time, nodded once and filed the information in his head for future reference. It was discovered that neither captain had been to their ships in some time, and both wondered aloud how thing fared aboard each vessel. Neither were worried however, knowing that those left in charge would continue to follow the last orders given.

Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 You scored as a Captain Jack Sparrow Roguish,quick-witted, and incredibly lucky, Jack Sparrow is a pirate who sometimes ends up being a hero, against his better judgement. Captain Jack looks out for #1, but he can be counted on (usually) to do the right thing. He has an incredibly persuasive tongue, a mind that borders on genius or insanity, and an incredible talent for getting into trouble and getting out of it. Maybe its brains, maybe its genius, or maybe its just plain luck. Or maybe a mixture of all three. Captain Jack Sparrow 79% El Zorro 71% Batman, the Dark Knight 67% Indiana Jones 63% William Wallace 63% Lara Croft 50% Maximus 50% Neo, the "One" 46% James Bond, Agent 007 38% The Terminator 38% The Amazing Spider-Man 33%

And he calls me a fancy dan... look at them bright red stockings...just aim for the legs lads, ye can't miss him! Wot's wrong wi' red stockings? This was taken on 16 June in St. Mary's City aboard the Dove...