Dorian Lasseter

Darkness fell across Captain Lasseter’s face. He stood and thought to pace, but the confined quarters did not allow it. He turned back to Preston and spoke in a detached voice. “There is much to do… aye… you’ve done your share, mayhaps more than… and for that reason you shall remain here until I’ve spoken wi’ Cap’n Brand. I cannot let you be seen topside until… Dorian broke off and wiped the grime on his face, doing no more than smearing it about. “I’ll have th’ Doctor come an look at yer injuries when she’s able. There’s a guard at yer door if you need somethin’…” At that he abruptly opened the door and stepped out, leaving the Master to his thoughts. Murmuring low, the Captain instructed the marines at his door to allow no one but the Doctor and himself entry until further orders. They took the order to heart and stood tall as Dorian made his way topside, his steps falling wearily across his wooden world.

As the whiskey settled in Dorian’s gut, he did no more than look at Preston. In the dim light the Captain searched the Master’s face, trying to see if there was any thought or knowledge as to why he might be confined in such a way. After a time all Dorian said was one quiet word. “No…”

Captain Lasseter had let the whiskey burn in his gut while he did no more than stare out the stern windows of the Lucy’s Ward Room. At one point he caught his reflection in one and realized he looked quite demonic, covered with sweat and grime. At some point he had sheathed his cutlass, but he didn’t remember when he had done it and was almost afraid to draw it out to see what gore might be covering the blade. With a deep sigh, he set the bottle on the table and was about to find the pitcher of fresh water and a cloth to wipe away some of the filth when he heard a voice scream his name. Dorian paused in his movement until the voice again called out his name. “I see Preston is awake… God save him from what might be…” He turned away from his search and grabbed the bottle to take with him, something in his gut told him it would be needed. Through the one door and into the lower decks he went as arrived at the door to the quarters of the Ships Master where the two marines left to guard him stood. Both men knuckled their brows as Stadtmeyer began to talk. “Cap’n, Sah, we were about ta come find ye, but weren’t sure if we aught ta look in on im first. You heard im call, sah?” “Aye, so did half th’ ship. Stay here, I’ll be with master Whittin’ferd fer I know not how long. Someone needs ta see me, knock first.” “Aye-aye sah!” Dorian went into Preston’s quarters and saw him bound like the Christmas goose in his hammock. He said not a word, but sat where he had before, on the chest there and placed the bottle of whiskey next to him.

Mister Tucker had gone from bow to stern on the Lucy and the Snow enquiring of those men who were found to be injured or killed during the battle. Many of the crew suffered what would be normal in a ships duel, the minor cuts and bruises from flying debris and jostling about. Others suffered worse, such as the first man on his list, the Coxswain’s mate, shot through the leg, or the Gunner’s mate who received a gash across his face on one side. These men never left the deck of the Lucy, while others who boarded suffered wounds in hand to hand fighting. The ships Master was cut deeply across his right forearm, several of the marines took damage such as Andrew Smyth with a dislocated shoulder and Cyrus O’Madden with a crushed hand. Then there were those who manned the great guns of the Lucy who paid an ultimate price. Samuel Milling and Roger Reeves killed while loading ‘Morrigan’, and Roundtree and Sandefur killed serving ‘Leucetios’. Tuck knew the Captain was well aware of the Death of the Master-at-Arms, so did not write a description of his injures, just the simple statement ‘Killed in Action’ next to his name. He went over the list before reporting to Captain Lasseter, totaling eight dead of the crew of the Lucy, with an additional five from the Spanish guests aboard. He knew others would die as well as some of the wounds were quite severe and even with help from the Watch Dog’s Surgeon the possibility of survival was bleak. The Boatswain finished looking over the list and went to find Nigel, the Coxswain to see what his list would reflect before all was reported to the Captain.

Well, not that this helps... As we don't know how well the general public can or will make the distinction... He is identified as a 'Civil War Buff' and not a reenactor...

Hmmm... that's in my neighborhood! Well, not 'in'... Pittsburgh in general...

Christopher Tucker had left the Captain and headed aft to find Nigel Brisbane to inform him of the orders given. He found the Coxswain tending to his mate, Logan Christie, who had been shot through his left thigh at some point in the battle. As Nigel finished tightening and quickly tying a rough bandage around the man’s leg, Tucker stood back and waited until he was finished before speaking. “Nigel, Logan… Are ye needin’ help ta get ta th’ waist? Have Charlie take a look?” Logan grimaced at Tucker. “I think not! Not goin’ ta th’ butcher ta be slaughtered…” Both men chuckled at the Scotsman's thoughts on being treated by the ships cook. After the laugh, Tucker got back to why he was there. “Nigel, Cap’n wants ye ta find out from Master Johnson wot were used er got destroyed aboard, I’ll be off ta get the injury count, startin’ wi Mister Christie here.” All three men chuckled again, although Logan grimaced through more pain as he was helped to his feet.

Captain Lasseter led the two marines below, first to the ‘hospital’ to inquire about Preston. There they found Mister Marsh and Cuylemburch doing their best to help the wounded. Helping alongside was his Steward, Miss Ashcombe, shirtsleeves rolled up as best as could be, doing her best. Charlie told of what had been done with the Ships Master and Dorian nodded several times. He looked about at the waiting wounded. “Miss Ashcombe… Head to the Watch Dog and inquire of the Doctor, You all have done a fine job, but a true Surgeon is needed to help…” With that he headed to the quarters of the Master, where he found young Liam sitting on Preston’s sea chest, so weary he was nodding. When the three men bustled in he stood wide eyed. “Captain, Sah! I was watchin’ Mister Pew! He ain’t moved but ta cough once!” Dorian held up a hand. “Off with you then, thank you Liam…” The boy made himself scarce, giving more room for the Captain and marines in the cramped quarters. Dorian studied Preston and began asking some questions of Jameson and Stadtmeyer. Their answers came haltingly at first, until finally Robert blurted out what they saw below and how he’d been found. The Captain slowly sat on the sea chest. At first he could not take his eyes off Preston, then he shifted his gaze to the marines. “Get some line… bind him where he lay… watch over him… come find me when he wakes… tell no one what you’ve told me until I say… Is that perfectly clear?” Even if they had not understood, the Captain’s tone caused both to snap off salutes. Jameson acted quicker and was off to get a stout line, leaving Stadtmeyer to guard the Master. Dorian stood, looked at Preston once more before heading out and into the wardroom. There he stood for a time doing nothing but breathing. With a great intake of breath that was held a moment too long before being exhaled, he moved. Over to the sideboard and found the half full bottle of whiskey. He did not bother with a glass or cup, but unceremoniously uncorked the bottle and drank from it, not once, but twice before slamming the cork home again.

He was brought back to the moment by Williams question. Th Lucy… Shes not as pretty as she was, but shell be put to rights in time… Dorian became more himself and even smiled some. Thank you Will… Ill have my marines back soon as… soon as I am able. Touching his hat and turning away, he found Nathaniel Brocke, Acting Master-at-Arms waiting with the Lucys marines. Already a shroud had been laid beside Bill. It seemed as if all activity stopped to bear witness as the men who Master Flint had trained gently lifted him onto the shroud, then lifted him and bore him across the gap and onto the Cutter. Dorian followed and had them place him on the main gratings. Once the man had been laid in repose, Dorian caught Mister Tucker crossing the deck. Tuck, what have you seen of Master Whittinferd? Before he could answer, Jameson spoke up. Capn, hes below, was brought aboard some time ago. The Captains brow creased. Brought aboard? Did he bear injury after quarter was given? Jameson opened his mouth, but could not answer, the haunted look grew deeper on his face. Out with it man… What has occurred? Stadtmeyer took up where Jameson left off. We found him blow on th ship dere, he seem ta be knocked senseless. Didna wake even after near, after dowsed wi water, Sar. Dorian began to grow irritated. Not at his men standing before him, but at himself for not knowing the state of his officers and men. He had thought Preston was doing his office, gathering the numbers of dead and wounded, stores used or lost, stores and goods aboard the prize, and so forth. Dorian set his jaw and cleared his throat. Tucker… do me the honour of getting me th count of our dead and wounded. Have Mister Brisbane get numbers from th master gunner of wots used or destroyed aboard th Lucy. Aye Sah Marines… as you were, Ill be below… Jameson, Stadtmeyer, come…

Dorian did not react to the mild joke made of the Navarra as William might have expected. As a point of fact, it seemed to pass as if it had not been said. Dorian spoke in a low, even tone to his brother. “William… One dead you say? Aye, very well… I’ve not got the count of my dead or wounded, save one… Bill Flint, Master-ta-Arms of the Lucy… I would… If you would oblige to send over your marines to secure th’ prisoners, I’d have those marines of th’ Lucy bear Master Flint aboard th’ Lucy…” His voice trailed off some and he left the question hang, his mind on many other things at the moment, one being where his senior officer might be.

Jameson and Stadtmeyer had found the Master of the Lucy bloody and unconscious. What they had seen below in what must have been his wake would haunt them for a time. Not knowing what else to do, they had taken Master Whitingford and cleaned him up as best they could in a short time. As luck would have it, they found a butt full of water and near drowned Preston in it, yet he did not come to. They had made the deck with the Officer between them, and other hands helped them with their burden, but only the physical one. Preston was spirited over to the Lucy, stripped of his wet and bloodied clothes, cleaned and wounds dressed as best they might. He was tucked into his hammock and covered. Liam Rowan was left to watch over him, should he stir. During this time all those prisoners on the snow were gathered on the deck of the Focsle, where it was discovered that only thirty two men survived the battle to become prisoners. Of that number, three were officers and none higher than the masters mate. Captain Lasseter had remained visible the whole time, but made trips to the Lucy twice in that time. When the marines were securing the prisoners, he walked to the rail where the Watch Dog still grappled and called to Captain Brand. Captain Brand… A word with you Sah?

As the two captains began to reign in the bloodlust, to bring calm to the deck of the shattered vessel, Dorian began the task of gathering the prisoners. A couple more small arms were fired, but not much came of it, so Dorian made known his intentions. “Master-ta-Arms! Assemble yer marines in th’ waist! Disarm th’ prisoners at th’ mainm’st, take ‘em foreward an’ hold them on th’ deck of th’ Fo’c’sle! Master Whittin’ferd, have some men guard th’ prisoners until all are accounted for, then the marines will take over, have th’ rest search th’ ship for anyone hiding, then we’ll square away this deck.” Certain familiar voices were not heard and Captain Lasseter looked about. Harold Press stepped over to the captain, looking quite the seasoned veteran of battle, covered with spent powder, spattered with blood and some other unknown substance. He knuckled his forelock and wore a grave expression. “Cap’n… you’ll want to see…” Dorian made a gesture to Harold, so as to say ‘show me’ and the marine escorted the Captain to where the Master-at-Arms lay. A silent curse escaped his lips as he thrust the tip of his cutlass into the deck and released the hilt to leave it stand on its own before kneeling down beside the fallen officer. Dorian looked Bill over and noted the many wounds inflicted. He looked up to see others standing neared now, seeing Preston and Mister Brocke he slowly shook his head before looking back to Flint. He spoke to the man as if he could still hear them. “Ya got th’ colours I see… Fine job Master Flint… I’ll see to it ye get… rewarded…” He gently took the colours out of Bill’s one hand and folded it onto his chest. Finding the other hand out and holding the all too familiar Tomahawk, he folded it onto his chest as well. “Mister Press, you will stand guard over the Master-ta-Arms until we can have him brought aboard th’ Lucy.” “Aye cap’n…” Harold stood at attention, taking the order most seriously. The last thing Dorian did before standing was run his hand across Bill’s face, insuring his eyes were shut and he looked at peace. Standing, Captain Lasseter scanned the deck of the snow. He noted Mister Brocke and hoped his words would not be to stoic and seemingly cold. “Mister Brocke… Take Master Flint’s place an’ lead th’ marines as ordered.” Nathaniel blinked back some more tears and straightened some, knuckled his brow but made no effort to speak. Dorian nodded to him slowly before turning to other business. He scanned past the snow and over to the Lucy’s deck trying to see what all he could of his ship and crew on board. Those left were squaring away the deck and seeing to the wounded and dead. There stood Master Johnson near a swivel with two muskets leaned against the rail. He held a lintstock in one hand and directed some men, yet kept an eye on the happenings aboard the snow. Dorian continued to look over his ship, trying to pick out who was yet standing. The Holy Ground seemed too vacant and he wondered what had happened there since his departure. All he saw was Nigel looking to the snow. Their eyes met and the Coxswain gave a crisp salute to Dorian, who returned the salute, though not as crisp.

be Sailing... Or Jessie... Don't call Stern... Billy... Leave the Catalizer... Take your people and go... Now get the hell off my ship...

The 'Other Chest' is 36 long x 18 wide x 16 tall... The first chest with all the drawers and tils is 42 long x 24 wide x 24 tall... Aye, I like me pipes too... I've got two of them... fired clay bowls with reed stems, they smoke nice and I've a loooong stem for that one so it's a cool smoke...

Nicely done, Eye! Updates on the other chest; I added a drawer and lid to the til... At the moment the lid just sits on top, I plan to add some slides so it will slide over to get into the til. The drawer fits very nicely... At present it stays shut by friction, I may add some sort of lock eventually...

On the deck of the enemy ship, chaos reigned. Damage done by the guns of the Watch Dog had far outdone what the Lucy had wrought. And now the Lucys marines and sailors alike were continuing to damage those who would come against them. Captain Lasseter had bolted onto the deck and his men followed him, not in his wake, but at his shoulders. For every man they had encountered, Dorian fended off the attack and only returned blows a fourth of the time, so bloodthirsty were his men. Muskets and pistols were discharged time and again, both at the enemy and from them. One found its mark across The Captains back as he was striking at a man with his cutlass. The sting caused him to arch his back and grit his teeth. Instead of slowing him down, it propelled him deeper into the fray, now curses in gaelic flowed through gritted teeth as he hacked and slashed at men around him, searching the chaos for the mark of an officer. At one point he used a great gun that had been dismounted to see across the deck. Climbing atop it he searched the deck and finally spotted a man yelling and pointing at men, sending them forth to do battle with his. Jumping off his vantage point, just as a musket shot meant for him was fired, he gained the deck and gave a final order. Lucifer! To Me!!! With this given he thrust his bloodied cutlass into the air and slashed it forward in the direction of that officer about to meet Captain Lasseter, and find him in a most foul mood.

Ladies and Gentlemen... please! Twas not I that found the time to look this up, twas passed on to me by someone else. I just had to share............

Someone at work shared this with me, so I must pass it along.... NOT for the faint-hearted... Mission and all you other Physics should be amused by this, the rest of us should be distraught... http://www.cracked.com/article_17399_8-terrifying-instruments-old-time-doctors-used-on-your-junk.html

Quarterdeck of the Lucy The Lucy’s bow was half a pistol shot’s distance from the rail of the snow when Dorian’s attention was drawn aft. “Ah, William, y-” Was all he managed before the chant and then the barrage of shot drowned out any words that followed. The Captain spun about and used the back edge of his sword to direct Nigel to ease off a bit, lest they catch some of the shot from the Watch Dogs’ guns. He understood and remained clear of Dorian’s steel until he withdrew it as the broadside came to an end. Musket fire became the order for a time as they closed the gap. Some shots were fired across the quarterdeck and one unsettled the Captain’s hat. He also felt a mild sting on his right earlobe. Resetting his hat, Dorian touched his right ear as well and found an earring gone. His fingers also came back tinged with crimson. “Why you bloody – Nigel! Put th’ Lucy into her! Now! Second wave! To me!” He nearly leapt down to the waist, sword held high as a rallying point. There they waited, pistols, cutlass and quarterpikes at the ready. The Captain glanced back up to the Holy Ground and saw his Steward there, looking at him. He touched his hat to here and calmly mouthed 'I'll be back.' and smiled before turning to the smoky deck of the snow.

Thank You Cascabel! That's just what I needed... I can easily modify what I have now, or produce another one... I have rounded the edges on two of the pieces (the horizontal ones in the images) so as not to have the line go across a semi sharp edge. So, 'Drop Lines'... sounds good to me... I had thought to transfer the line off this one onto my piece, but I can't... I'll be getting a kit from tha place Rene showed us to add to it. Slainte and happy fishing!

The captain was gritting his teeth, unable to make out all who had suffered injury on the Lucy. “Dammit! Th’ close range has us in greater harm’s way.” He took a moment to think, even though a moment was something they really did not have to waste. A decision made, he voiced it calmly. “Preston, if William doesn’t show himself soon, You’ll be leadin’ th’ boarders on that ship. Ya go in wi’ th’ marines here an’ I’ll be behind ye wi’ every man I can spare …” Before Master Whittingford could answer, Dorian gave more orders. “Nigel, Put th’ Lucy into th’ side o’ that bastard right after our next volley, Mister Flint, into the waist and to th’ bow ta cross over wi’ yer men. Tucker! Pass out arms ta these rabble so they can show their worth!” He drew his sword and looked at the blade as if admiring it for the first time. “Godspeed and luck with you, Preston… I’ll be coming across, hot on yer heals now… make a good show…” Master Johnson gave the command and the Lucy’s guns fired into the side of the snow. Nigel shoved the tiller and they were headed at an angle, right into the enemy. The Lucy’s deck swarmed with much activity, mixed with anger, fear, courage, defiance, and any other emotion known to man. Hands were embraced between friends, good-luck charms kissed, and more prayers sent heavenward.

Well, It would be in the til or a drawer of my sea chest, so no real worries there... and sticking the hooks into a cork is always the way to go! This is just for reenactment... at this point... If you look at the first image, there is a dollar coin there for size reference. Not a very big item. That site Mr. Tognor found, excellent indeed! I plan to order some line and/or a rough fishing kit from him soon.

After much digging and head scratching as to where I put this thing... I found it! I've had this since my dad gave it to me, and I have no idea how long he had it... While looking I made a part out of wood from memory... My memory thought it was bigger... heh As you can see, it's plastic, but I can imagine it would originally be made of wood... Here's a closeup... I can see something of this nature being in a sailor's kit to while away some time, add a bobber (small chunk of whittled wood, or some cork) and bait the hook...

Jeep J Series truck... And a military version of said truck, a 5/4 ton pickup called an M 715 Originally called the Jeep Gladiator, so if it's ever made, a new one too...

I agree with Master Hawkyns... It would be the same throughout many centuries. Think about a 'professional soldier/sailor'... When you're trekking across an area, yes, you might have all your necessities slung on your back, but in a bag, pack, etc. Once at your destination, you'd set camp or make a gathering point, then leave all your extra gear there, stripping down to your 'battle dress' and heading off. Hunters would do this too. There's no way you'd go off through the woods carrying all your gear to bump around and make noise, catch on the brush, etc.