Dorian Lasseter

Hugh, What's th' year on that Penn's Woods Rifle? I love it!

Aye... a goode phone-a-pirate day... BlackJohn answered his line at work... We talked away his lunchbreak I think... If so, My apologies, but it was a grande conversation... Oh, three minutes? more like three quarters of an hour... Rules? What rules? We talked about too many things... Work, reenactment, moving to MD (me that is), being in movies, or lack there of (I'm envious, and still kick myself for not signing on for Last of the Mohicans...), and so many things inbetween... Like FireFly! And as we were finishing up our conversation, I got another call... The do-over is done! Aye, RedCat Jenny called me. I actually missed her call, so I returned the call. Another varied, grande conversation, this time, instead of control tower babel in the background, the occasional yell of the train operator shouting out the next stop was heard as she was on her way to work, and to get her car out of the shop... What did we talk about? Work, reenactment, historical sights, transportation, vehicles in the shop, my 'adventures in Queens, NY' while on a work trip there, unmarked colonial forts and embattlements in NY and PA, Legionville the birthplace of the American Army that no one seems to care about, etc, etc... My ear's warm... So... lets see... William RedWake Maeve Jim Hawkins RedCat Jenny BlackJohn

Hmmm..... Pride in their moustaches, eh? Do tell Master Foxe, Do.... Tell.... As I see you are an mustachioed and bearded Lad... Or would you be concidered Goateed? Between you and BlackJohn, the list of sailors with facial hair is growning. HOWEVER, it still is a minority, thus far... My apologies, minor thread hijack....

“Dorian had Mister Brisbane and Tucker help Roche and Smyth take the satchels into the wardroom where he lit extra candles. Over the next two hours, the five men sorted through the satchels, separating out the good shoes from the worn and broken, gold and silver tokens from those of copper and brass. While the sorting progressed, Captain Lasseter noticed Andrew Smyth putting the sole of a shoe against the bottom of his sandal, then quickly laying it with its mate in a pile. He drew up one side of his mouth. “Lookin’ ta get a better bit o’ footwear, Mister Smyth?” He looked sheepishly around the room, then at the Captain. “Aye sir… I suppose I am…” “I see… perhaps when ye get shore leave, ye can find a cobblers an’ get a grande pair…” He brightened at what Dorian said, having almost forgotten that would happen soon enough, and they would have plenty of coin in his pocket. “Aye Captain, I nearly fergot! Er…… when do we get shore leave?” Dorian sat back and looked about the wardroom. “I do believe we’ll have a chance in the morn… I’ll see if we can ‘ave the first chance once Cap’n Brand comes back… Fair enough?” All in the small room shouted a hearty ‘Aye!’ “Very well… can’t promise till I speak wi’ Cap’n Brand…. But I’s sure it’ll be fine…”

Because they are pins that belay, or hold the lines.... Thus the phrase "Belay that order!"

The Heron’s crew had used some elbow grease and sweat as the prisoner exchange took place, using the capstan with the spring line to angle the ship around, keeping the guns trained on the small boats. The captain kept a stoic look on his face as he watched the boats travel to and from the wharf, his keen eyes watching for any sign of trouble. As the light faded and the ships lanterns were lit, the last boat made it’s way across the water to shore. Dorian squinted, then used his glass to be sure, it was the officers of the Maastricht and the Captain and Master-at-Arms of the Watch Dog. “Ah… th’ final voyage fer th’ Dutchies…” He collapsed the glass and held it behind his back. Looking foreward he called to the Boatswain. “Mister Brisbane… have th’ men stow th’ guns, remove th’ spring line and take their ease…” “Aye-aye, cap’n.” He turned his sights to the wharf and watched the flames of a thousand lamps flicker in the darkness of the coming night, wondering what the late hours and the new day would bring… As the Fifth bell of the Evening Watch was tolled, Dorian noticed the Heron’s jollywatt making it’s way back to the mother ship. As it came within the sphere of light cast by the Heron’s lamps he saw it was manned by Maurice Roche and Andrew Smyth. As it bumped along side, Smyth secured it to the chains and hollered to those on deck. “Captain, we need some help transferin’ some goods aboard!” Captain Lasseter headed to the waist and looked over the side into the jollywatt. There lay a half dozen satchels, stuffed to their limits. Roche picked one up and held it high, his arms quivering with exhaustion. “Weers! Brant! Coipman! Jameson! Lend a hand!” Dorian barked the names and four sets of feet pounded across the deck to do as ordered. In short odred all was aboard, including the two marines. When all was safely standing on deck, Dorian looked at the satchels, then at the two marines. “What have we here?” Roche spoke first. “Capitain Brand and Monsieur PEW sends the valuables recovered from the prisoners.” Dorian unlatched and opened one of the satchels and peered inside. “Valuables… Hmmm… Aye… Valuables indeed…”

Dorian nodded sharply once and turned to the Boatswain. “Mister Brisbane, have Mister Tucker pick two men and have the three of them take th’ jollywatt over to th’ ‘Dog fer th’ duty requested by Cap’n Brand.” “Aye-aye Captain…” Nigel knuckled his brow and started foreward to carry out the orders. In short time Tucker, Whiting and Press were on their way to the Watch Dog in the Heron’s small boat. “Mister Johnson! Lay aft!” Dorian called, and soon Nicholas was before him. “Aye, Sir?” “Have th’ men put a spring line on th’ anchor cable… and run out th’ guns… e’en though they ain’t loaded. When th’ boat loads o’ prisoners are on their way ta shore, swing th’ ship about so as ta keep th’ guns trained on ‘em… “ A look of questioning first appeared on Johnsons face that slowly turned to understanding. A devilish grin spread wide on his face. “Hehe… Aye, Captain… Aye…” Off he went to gather the hands. Next Dorian called Mister Smyth aft. He ordered him to have Roche and himself on deck with four muskets apiece, loaded and ready, giving eight total. If there was any trouble the two of them would be ready for it. He gave a quirky grin and saluted before heading off to gather the other marine. Dorian stood on the small quarterdeck of the Heron in the late evening light, his eyes strayed westward, watching the sky begin to turn pink.

Aboard the Heron, Cul-de-sac Royal, Martinique Captain Lasseter had finished adding the necessary information to his list of needed supplies and now took some time to relax. Not much was happening to warrant his presence on deck, and the breeze had made the wardroom quite comfortable now. He sat back in the chair, getting as comfortable as it would let him, and let the sounds of the ship lull him into peacefulness. The sound of loose canvas flapping slowly in the breeze, the snap of the flags on the staff. The slow footfalls of someone pacing the deck above. He nodded his head once, and realized he was indeed tired. A catnap wouldn’t hurt right about now he thought, plenty of sharp eyes topside to allow it. He smiled at this, then frowned slightly, realizing that his thoughts brought a question to mind. Since he took command of the Heron he had not seen a ships cat about. He wondered if this ship did indeed have a cat or two aboard. He settled himself in the chair and made a mental note that if there was no ships cat on the Heron now, there would be before leaving Martinique. He had drifted off into slumber with that thought in his head. Twenty minutes later he was awoken by the call from above that the shore party was returning. He stretched and yawned, feeling slightly refreshed. He sighed, and stood, heading topside. Just before two bells of the Evening Watch

tis a balmy 2 degrees F... with a windchill of -17F... I's pinin' fer Martinique...

Not to digress from the thread, but... Idiots will find anything to shoot at.... back when the Hubble Space Telescope was being built, the main mirrior had to be shipped from where it was produced. They had to build a special railway car for it. in process a decision was made offhandedly to bullit-proof the car.... good thing they did... when it arrived at its destination over One Thousand bullets were lodged in the sides of the car... It would be grande if the fools who did this to the Royaliste were caught... make them pay for the repairs...

The lieutenant’s eyebrows lifted as Merchande repeated what William had said. “Deux cents et cinquante?” “Oui, Lieutenant” A wicked grin appeared for an instant on Bedeau’s face, then vanished just as quickly. “Très bien, j'attends leur livraison.” Marchande nodded and turned to Captain Brand. “The Lieutenant will be happy to wait for us to deliver them…” Marchande had paraphrased a bit, and William knew it, but let it pass.

“Capitaine Brand… très bon…” Before he could say more, Capitaine Brand called one of his men foreward, they exchanged sme words, then the man turned to him and began to speak in fluent French. Bedeau’s face relaxed some, a slightly more cordial look upon his face. He conversed with the speaker over why they were here and what was expected. Marchande bowed his head to the lieutenant and turned to Captain Brand. “Capitaine, they are indeed here to take the prisoners off our hands. Lieutenant Bedeau’s orders are to escort them from here, so we must deliver them from the ship. He also asks what is the number of prisoners?”

The Lieutenant’s lips twitched slightly before he spoke. He bowed slightly while touching his hat. “Lieutenant Bedeau de ses soldats de marine de majestés plus catholiques…. Vous êtes capitaine..... ?” He waited with a look of annoyed question on his face, while Sergent Wischard looked slightly uncomfortable as he stood at attention, watching his commanding officer. Bedeau was not a bad officer, however he had been roused from a lazy day to attend to matters of prisoner escort. And who knew what he was doing when he was in the tavern that he had been interrupted from. Here he was, taking out his annoyance on these foreigners whom he had no knowledge of, save that they had prisoners to turn over to the commandant of Fort Royal.

The group of foreigners closed the gap steadily, Bedeau noting some small attitude changes of several of them. When they were within ten paces, the Lieutenant spoke in a commanding tone. “Lequel de vous est le capitaine de ces bateaux?” He pointed towards the English built frigate and cutter, and the Dutch Fluyt. He waited for a response for barely a breath, then asked the question a second time. “Lequel de vous est le capitaine de ces bateaux?” He said it in a slightly annoyed tone, wondering if these foreigners did not speak French. His brow furrowed. The French flag hung from the flagstaffs of these ships, surely they had the decency to speak the language. When no answer came, he dropped his arm to his side and sighed in exasperation, a drip of sweat ran down his left temple.

Marine detachment, on the Fort Royal Docks The men had been standing at rest for some time now, the Lieutenant gone for as long. Smalltalk had broken out, some of the men admired the local women, some commented on the weather, and others just remained silent, staring out into the bay. The sergent had stepped a short distance away and produced a flask from inside his uniform and had a tipple or two. He slowly looked around the port, also enjoying the women and the occasional breeze that did not smell of fish. As he tipped the flask to his lips, he spotted a motley group of foreigners coming towards them. They had to be the group from the new ships anchored in the cul-de-sac Royal. Sergent Wischard quickly closed the flash and shoved it into a pocket. He swiftly paced over to the nearest soldier and whispered to him to go inform the Lieutenant that he needed to return to the docks. The man almost ran into the building that the officer had disappeared into. Sergent Wischard then straightened his uniform before barking an order. “Copmagnie! Prenez garde À vous!” The men, as if jolted awake from a sound sleep, jumped and quickly organized themselves into their former ranks. “Alignez!” Just as Wischard barked the second order, the soldier sent to inform the lieutenant emerged from the building and quickly took his place in the rear rank. The Sergent waited to see Lieutenant Bedeau emerge from the building soon after the soldier, but he did not appear even after a minute had lapsed. He was about to reprimand the messenger he sent when the lieutenant finally appeared. He slowly stepped into the doorway, his hat in hand. He looked out into the wharf, looked at the dressed ranks of marines. Slowly he placed his hat on his head and walked out into the late day sunlight. He walked to within five paces of the compagnie and turned about, looking around. He then centered his sights on Sergent Wischard. “Sergent… Là où sont ces hommes, où sont les prisonniers?” Wischard pointed to the group of people heading their way, lead by a red haired gentleman. “Les voici qui viennent maintenant, Lieutenant.” Lieutenant Bedeau turned and looked where the Sergent pointed. A sigh of exasperation escaped his lips. He nodded to the Sergent and took up a place of command in front of the marines and waited for the foreigners to come to him.

Agreed Cap'n Jim... I do very, very borderline... I'm a gun crewmen... I wear clothes that span from 1580s to... well into the 18th century... simple, almost generic, but correct...

Oh? what motif might that be? Yes, I'm a jeep nut.... But not just any ol' Jeep nut... I like the FSJs (Full Sized Jeeps) made by Kaiser, then AMC... the '80 was rearended by a public transit bus while I was at a red light, the bus was going 25-30 mph.... the bus got towed away, i drove the Jeep home...

But of course... my vehicles in order of when I bought them.. 1987 Jeep Commanche pickup - Warpony She was a tough little truck, got me in and out of many a situation 1983 Jeep J-10 longbed truck - Angus He was very utilitarian, got me all over the place, the new owner still drives hhim as a DD... 1980 Jeep J-10 shortbed 'Honcho' pickup - Wilakota She was even better at getting me into and out of trouble, was killed by a bus 1969 Jeep J-2000 shortbed pickup - Douglas Bought to fix up and use as a weekend offroad truck. 1962 Jeep J-300 longbed pickup - Edward Traded Angus for Edward because of the bloody smog laws in my area, Angus wouldn't pass due to not having some of the equipment, even tho he passed the sniffer tests... I own none of them now.... I want another one...

AH ha... Mister Hawkins was easier to reach at home.... Found out his work number, I had the wrong extension! A nice chat about his coworker (BlackJohn is a morning person!), reenacting different time periods, Dog sitting, and more.... Well worth the (Ooops!) 8 minutes on the phone.

I was going to stay out of this, but... The SCA time period ends at 1600.... "Pre 17th Century" So... No frock coat.... No tri-corn...

Blast.... BlackJohn didn't answer his phone when I called... Well, he did say he doesn't answer it often... And Jim Hawkins.... strike two for me on this day...

Aye

How about: In reference to the above flags... Winged skull in the middle, hourglass in one lower corner and the mercury symbol in the upper or lower opposite side corner... Or Mercury symbol above the hour glass....

"Stop, or we'll cure ya!" That could be a threat, being the Mercury....

Hurricane, Yep, I just like the demo video, it's so basic in design and well, not too safe looking...