William Brand

Light filled the sky rapidly between two and four bells of Morning Watch. So little had transpired that William ordered the Starboard watches to bed, and Captain Lasseter and the Maastricht crews agreed to retire half of each of their crews to sleep. William and Dorian both remained awake to watch the efforts of the shore party and the lookouts, but no body or fleeing prisoner was discovered in that time. There were however no shortage of onlookers, including some agitated locals who did not like English and Dutch speaking marines walking up and down the beachhead with loaded arms. Preston was caught up by this crowd of suspicious locals who assaulted him with searching questions, and with only Englishmen and Dutchmen in his company, he was at a loss to communicate sufficiently to answer all of the many queries hurled at him. Tudor, Owen and Preston pooled what French they had between them, but at one point they had miscommunicated their reasons for being there so poorly that the locals became quite threatening. With some patience, and some bravado, Preston managed to quiet them long enough to escape the continuous onslaught of words and return the shore party safely to the 'Dog. William met him in the waist of the ship. "What news, Mister Pew?" "None, sah. No sign of 'im." "And that trouble ashore...?" Mister Pew made a face and shook his head. "Mistranslation, sah. Seems we said that we'd come t' take prisoners..." "...instead of searching for a lost one." William said, finishing his explanation. Preston nodded. "I understand. I am a veteran of mistranslations myself, Mister Pew." "Sah, if there was a body..." "I know." William said. "I know. We should have found it by now. We shall have to lay aside any speculation on this Tawny matter. We can't weary the watches this way." Both men stood a moment in silence. William was trying to decide what efforts would be wasted or foolhardy and he weighed them against the awful possibility of a monster like Tawny loose on an unsuspecting populace. "Sah, if I may...Give me Claude for 'is French and I can warn..." William was already nodding his head. He did not want to send men ashore again, but he had to send someone or all the crew would be asking for this duty. "Of course, Mister Pew. Get yourself to the galley and eat and rest. You may go ashore again at eight bells. I shall fashion a document to explain your connection to the Watch Dog and your service to the French. And pick another man ere you go. I want three of you together armed at all times ashore, as much for your protection among a suspicious public as for your lives if Tawny should spring upon you unawares." "I'll undo 'is spring a bit." Preston growled, then added. "Sah." William smiled at this. "Remember to tell him to his face before he stops twitching that Jannes sends his regards." "Aye, sah." William dismissed Preston to eat and search out a man to accompany him and Claude. Owen, who had eavesdropped on the conversation, a thing he had a talent for, followed Preston to the galley. "Let me be the third man, Mister Pew." Owen insisted, stooping in the galley door. "Owen..." Pew began, holding out his hand and gesturing to the man with an expression that said 'Look at yourself'. "Y' can't stand up, man." "That wound is days old and you won't let it heal." Lazarus agreed as he passed a bowl to the Master-at-Arms. Mister Pew took it nodding, and seeing how bent Owen was he now wondered that the man had come ashore with him the last few hours. "Y' can't stand up straight." Preston repeated. "I can shoot straight." Owen returned. The Captain passed the galley on the way to the Ward Room just then and he interjected. "You have done your service for the day Mister Monahan. Have the Doctor refresh that bandage and consider yourself relieved of duty until I give you your duties back again." Owen did not look happy. In fact, William couldn't remember a time when Owen looked more unhappy. If he had been bent a little before, he now looked utterly defeated. "Go, man. Go with my thanks." William said patiently. Owen nodded and even managed a salute meant mutually for the Captain and Master-at-Arms, but before he could cross the passageway, Miss Smith was there asking for the same grant of passage. "Captain. I beg a place in any party sent to look for Tawny." "You have already been ashore once before." "Please, Sah." William turned to the Master-at-Arms. "Mister Pew...?" Preston was already eating and he waited a moment to answer. Tudor was not his first pick to go ashore again, not because she wasn't capable, and not because she was a woman. He was just considering more rested marines. Still, looking at her now, the thought of having a woman along stirred several ideas. She might draw out Tawny. Bait of a sort, but dangerous kind of bait. And besides, she had that look in her eyes. That look that was not Steward, but something else altogether. Tudor might just bring Tawny back in small pieces to pile alongside his ear, and Preston smiled at this thought. "Aye, sah. Claude and Tudor will do fine." Owen had already disappeared behind the closed door to the surgery. July 28, 1704 - Aboard the Dog Between four and five bells of Morning Watch ~Larboard Watches on Duty~

William watched the crew go over and begin their journey in the dark. He watched as the Samson crew arrived and fanned out along the beachhead looking for signs of Tawny's escape, if any were to be found. The dawn would come soon, and that was good, but the light was poor to see by and would not improve for an hour or more. William noted that several neighboring ships were regarding them, having heard the shots fired in the night. One ship even called out to see what the matter was, and William was grateful of a few French speakers aboard the 'Dog. Tempest came up from below deck while he was in congress with the French. He raised a questioning brow in her direction and she simply shook her head. Jannes was indeed dead. William nodded and Tempest went to the rail to watch the search party ashore. As time passed, and with little to do but wait for word and watch the water, William chose to go down to the galley to order up food and drink for the tired double watch, but he found Lazarus Gage already at work there making food and hot coffee. William was glad again of the fortune which had brought Mister Gage to them, though it had come at a high cost the the Warrington Hart. Lazarus was a good man and attentive to the needs of a hungry and tired crew. He stood at the stove in a long night shirt and stockings, frying up the last hearty stores of fish and pork. He seemed as cheerful and happy to work as he ever did. He whistled over the cook fires like a man in an airy and open kitchen, though the small and often cramped space of the galley would fill with smoke off the stove. As he cooked, the smell wafted out into the night and he sent hard rolls and rum to still the appetites stirred by the odor. These temporary libations and fare came by way of Sealegs Constance, who was still ignoring the dried blood and swelling eye from Tawny's assault. William stopped her in her rounds. "Some food, sah?" she offered. He smiled a little at her for putting all else before her injury. Then, taking the tray and jug from her, he passed it Jean Dorleac and urged him to continue with the distribution of fare. Then he brought Constance to the masthead where a bucket and dipper hung. He tore off a bit of the old shirt he had worn to bed and dipped it, bringing it up to her face where he wiped the blood away. "Thank you, sah." William simply smiled and she returned to duty. Second Bell of the Morning Watch

William, were you in attendance at PiP 2006? Thought I might have shared our bottle of Tattoo with you and some of the other folk gathered round, singing with guitar accompaniment, but, it was dark that night - all I saw was a red goatee ~ Mary No, I missed it this last year. Financial reasons crept up which kept me away. I have only been the once in 2005, but I shall be there this year.

Mine is the skull from the Watch Dog ensign.

How many spammers have joined in just the last two days alone?

Robert Thatcher was not happy to be left behind, though he thought he understood well enough. He had been awake the better part of the day, and though he felt wide awake now, the Master-at-Arms had chosen "fresher" marines than he so he stood watching them move away from the frigate. Then he felt the presence of Lukas Stoir beside him. He looked down at the powder monkey and raised an eyebrow. "What is it, lad?" Lukas, who spoke little or no English at all, seemed to be in thought a moment before he said, "Pardone", hoping Robert would understand his use of French instead. "Ohhhh. The tripping. It's alright, lad." Robert said, clapped the young recruit on the shoulder. "Ye did well back there. Yer brave fer a boy." Lukas smiled then, though he understood nothing of Robert's words. Then he gifted Robert with a gruesome trophy which rather surprised the older marine. It was the upper half of Tawny's ear.

There are several threads with pics on the Pirates in Paradise Festvial forum. Here is the link to the pics I took in 2005. Jim Warren did excellent slideshows last year and the year before. http://s30.photobucket.com/albums/c327/Wil...aradise%202005/

(Written by Capt. Pew) Preston turned to the sergeant at arms, "Mister Franklin, fetch us several muskets." He pointed at the powder monkey standing next to Eric, "Jean, go an' help." He turned and found the Captain's steward standing on the quarterdeck, "Miss Smith, a brace o' pistols an' yer cutlass, join us ifin ye please..." The young woman nearly lept down the stairway and met the crew in the waist. Eric Franklin returned with the young boy each carrying a load of muskets. Eric handed them to waiting hands. The full compliment of the crew were now lining both rails of the watch Dog. Mister Pew returned his gaze to black harbour and growled, "Alan, Owen get your arse in the Samson, we got r'selves a rat to catch." Alan and Owen went over the side first, followed by Drewes, Willem and Ranst to man the sweeps. Miss Smith, and then Eric, followed by Mister Pew. Lanterns were handed down from above on half-pikes. Mister Franklin arrainged them in the Samson as to hang over the water as if it were daylight. As the Dutch pulled the small craft away from the Watch Dog, Mister Pew yelled above the commotion, "QUIET!!" Owen and Alan knelt on one knee in the bow, muskets both in the small of their hip. Tudor stood with her cutlass on the gun'le of the jollywatt. Mister Franklin and Pew both stood, pistols in hand, half-cocked ears perched for a simple ripple in the harbour. (Written by William Red Wake) As they rowed away from the 'Dog, William called out in a harsh whisper. "Mister Pew!" Pew looked back, but maintained the silence of the Jollywatt. "I don't need the body recovered. The head should suffice." Preston returned a nod as they floated further off.

Written by Capt. Pew and William Red Wake: Mister Pew heard a splash, leaned and looked over the rail. The Watch Dog's jollywatt had remained chained to the side. "Permission to take Samson wit' some marines t' find th' bastid sah?" William considered this, still watching the water between the Maastricht and the Watch Dog. The fluyt and frigate were much closer to each other than the Heron was to either of them, but it was still a considerable swim to either. If Tawny was alive, and the cheers on the Maastricht suggested otherwise, he'd have a good swim to shore. The current would work against him if he went North, but if he swam to the South it might carry him all the way to that shoreline. "You'll take cutlass, Mister Pew. I don't want that Tawny coming over the side at you while you are in the water." "Aye, sah. I'll feed 'im twenty-five inches o' steele if 'e tries it." "Then permission granted." William pointed due South to the nearest side of the Cul du Sac Royal. "Put straight into shore and leave an armed band on the beach. Then come again to the 'Dog in wide arcs." "Aye, Sah! Jollywatt crew to the Samson!" Eight Bells of the MidWatch All hands on duty

Aye. No jail time, unless your looking for a way to complete the whole pirate experience. Fort Zachary Taylor is on government funded property, bu there is a limited amount of hurricane damaged branches and trees each year which we might have access to. Even then, Harry has a number of poles in storage at the fort already, which I'm certain he will let you use.

Creature comforts are an understandable necessity so you simply have to consider camoflauge. Canvas painter's drop cloths would easily hide a matress. You might also consider deflating it during the day, if it simply looks too obvious, but I dount you would have to. a little practical decoration for such things is fine. We could aldo hide your matress under canvas with the "Stores".

The crew of the Heron 'Aye-Ayed' the orders and offers of Captain Lasseter in unison, except for a few who were already scanning the water. Over on the Maastricht, all of the crew there had gathered near the rails, but for Manus. "You missed 'im, i tink." Simon Dunwalt, said to Bill Flint, though if he meant this as a slight it didn't bear out in his tone. He was looking over the side as he said this and Bill Flint did not confirm or deny the remark. Instead, Simon was answered by a surly looking Jonathan Hawks, who was still rubbing sleep out of one eye. "You best smile when you say that." Jonathan said, pushing a hand into the younger sailor's shoulder, and Simon did smile, reflexively, nervous of the blacksmith's glowering. "When Flint here means t' kill, he kills. Best ye remember that." Simon leaned away from Jonathan a little, though he kept his feet, and the blacksmith seemed satisfied when the new recruit said nothing in reply. Bill said nothing either, though why Jonathan should say anything in his defense left him wondering a little. Perhaps Jonathan had merely taken the opportunity to put a new crew member in his 'proper place'. Whatever the reason, Jonathan gave Bill a neutral nod and Simon moved to another spot along the rail. Then, Mister Hawks leaned in a little, as if in confidence. "Did ye kill 'im, Flint?" ~Starboard Watch on Duty~

"Tawny!" was all that William yelled back at first, for Jacobus was on the gun deck now just below William, and the Dutchman had blood on one hand. William leaned down over the side, but did not have to ask the obvious question. "Jannes Mijnheere...sah." Jacobus said, his voice cracking a little on the 'sah'. He cleared his throat and elaborated. "Face is...crushed in, sah." William nodded. He watched Mister Pew ordering all his marines aloft with muskets. Eric Franklin was still scanning the water down the barrel of his firearm for any sign of movement. "Mind you don't shoot too high, Mister Franklin." William said, for the Maastricht was also in the direction of his aim. "Aye, sah." Eric returned, unperturbed by the reminder. William cupped his hands and called back to the Heron. "Jannes Mijnheere is killed! Any sign of the prisoner, Captain?" ~Starboard Watch on Duty~

A very happy birthday, lass.

I look forward to the onion bottles.

July 18, 1704 - Aboard the Dog Seven bells of the MidWatch The Master-at-Arms reached the deck only moments after Tawny had flung himself into the sea. He was dressed in slops alone, but armed with a blunderbuss. He had awoken, unrested, but suddenly alive with adrenaline at the noise from above. He had grabbed up the blunderbuss in haste, worried that some treacherous boarding had accured, and he had failed to even pause on the Berth deck before going up only to find none but the Starboard Watch on deck. "What th' de...!?" he began, and cut himself short, for down below, many screams of terror mixed with anger came rushing up to him. "What is happening?" he yelled, angry at the confusion that greeted him. Captain Brand arrived then on the Quarterdeck via the stairway off the Ward Room. He too was dressed lightly, arriving only in slops and an old shirt. He held his cutlass in one hand, still sheathed, with the baldric dragging behind and he too looked suddenly awake with alarm. He ran forward to the rail to look down on the excitement below. "Mister Pew, Report!" "Sah, I..." Mister Pew began, not knowing what to report as yet, but Robert Thatcher was rushing to the Master-at-Arms and already yelling up to the Captain, forgetting all protocols. "It's Tawny! Bastard's gone over th' side!" "Are ya hurt, man?" Mister Pew asked, noting the knife slick with blood in Robert's hand, but even as he asked this he went to the rail. The water below showed no sign of disturbance. Tawny had not yet surfaced, if he would at all. Across the way, the Heron was waking with activity, with many lanterns appearing along her side. "Siren got off a shot." Robert said, joining Preston at the side. William ran to the facing rail, where Eric Franklin stood, having already loaded additional powder in his musket pan. "Call for Mister Lasseter!" William yelled across the water, forgetting in his haste that Mister Lasseter was in fact Captain Lasseter. "Tawny's escaped!" "He was laughing." A bewildered Constance said quietly as she was being helped up by Murin McDonough. "What...?" Nathan and Luigi said together, already climbing the rail to look down over the side of the frigate. Nathan looked relieved to see Murin on the deck unharmed. "Laughing. He laughed as he went over," she said, too surprised not to say so. "Laughed?" Murin echoed. Robert Thatcher did not want to believe that he had heard Tawny laugh. He was just then deciding to forget he had heard such a thing even as the Mess Mate made her declaration. Robert had cut the man almost to the bone across his right forearm and he had robbed the prisoner of half an ear, and yet Tawny had laughed going over the rail. Laughed? No, not laughed. Giggled. The man had tittered like some crazed hermit. Bloodied and bruised, the man had tittered. "Muskets, Mister Pew!" William shouted, still waiting for sign of Dorian across the waves. "All able marines to the deck and the Starboard Watch armed if you please!" "Aye, Sah! Pe'mission t' shoot on sight, sah!" Mister Pew shouted back, looking as if he meant to go over the side himself and drown the escaped prisoner that very minute. "Aye, Preston. You may empty the armory with shooting that devil!" Ciaran came aft along with several others from below, including Tudor, Claude and Alan Woodington. They were armed with awareness, cudgels and knives. Ciaran went up the rigging at once, taking Robert's discarded musket. Claude and Alan joined the throng at the rail. Tudor ran up to the Quarterdeck to bring word of the dead. "Tawny's escaped." she began, knowing this was probably obvious by now, but unable to keep from saying it. William nodded, and tried not show impatience at this. "Sorry, sah." She said at once. He nodded. "Are any wounded?" She shook her head. "I believe one of the Dutchies is dead, Captain." William's heart sank at once, and while he felt bad for valuing one man over another, he hoped against hope that Jacobus Casteel was not the man lost. "Who?" "Jannes, I think." she returned, even as Jacobus gained the gun deck below them. "Aye." William said with a nod, though he wasn't at all certain who Jannes was, and then not knowing why he said it, he added. "Fetch the doctor down there to be certain."

The where is Key West. Florida. The festival takes place all over the key, but the buccaneer camp and careening camp are in Fort Zachary Taylor out on the Southernmost point of the Key. Specific updates and information can be found here and on the website for the Festival at... http://www.piratesinparadise.com/

Aboard the Watch Dog Six bells of the MidWatch William remained in the Ward Room, passing word to the officer of the deck that he was retiring for the night. He sent word to Miss Smith to bring breakfast by six bells of the Morning Watch, and with the business of the day done, he went to his hammock. The night passed easily in the shelter of the harbor. The Watch Dog, Maastricht and Heron kept silent company like slumbering cattle on their feet. They moved but little, resting at anchor in the gentle surf of the port. A half dozen ships of similar size bobbed on the dark water of the Cul du Sac, and but for the shared sound of ship's bells, all was quiet. Down in the 'Dog's cable tier...a rat stirred. This was not one of the many garden variety rats found about the ship's bilge and holds. This was an altogether different rat. This was the lowliest of the species. Tawny. The man was cut of strange cloth. From an early age he had delighted in the most macabre sorts of sport, often destroying the lives of many a poor rat himself in varied and unsavory ways. He would trap them in barns and corn cribs for the purpose of skinning them alive or dipping them in oils or pitch to make sport of them burning. By the age of thirteen, Tawny had graduated to more profound mutilations, doing to dogs and cats, what he had done to mice and rats before. It was during this downward graduation of evil that a cousin of Tawny's chanced to visit Tawny's home and was unfortunate enough to spend a summer with the sadistic boy. The cousin, a young man by the name of Christopher Daniels, came to the remote country home of Tawny in his fourteenth year. The two cousins were separated by only three weeks in age, but by a vast gulf of conscience. Tawny despised his cousin at once, for Christopher was fair and well spoken. Tawny's father took to his visiting nephew so immediately, that Tawny was forced to paint on a smile to cover the murderous thoughts which crept up in him almost hourly. He visited his cousin with smiles and cordiality every day, but all the while he was plotting against him. His unnatural imagination conjured deeds so unworthy of any mortal soul, that had his parents even suspected but a portion of his ambitions of destruction, they might have locked him up from the public eye. Unfortunately, they and Christopher learned all too late what Tawny was capable of. Now, here in the dark of the Watch Dog, and so very near to so many sleeping throats, lay the rat who had once done to his cousin what even the Devil might not have done. Here in the dark lay one of creation's broken mechanisms. A man beyond redemption and civilization, though practiced in the art of patience. It was this patience which Tawny had called upon to slip the ingenious knots of Owen. He had slipped but one hand free so many hours before, and all the while moving like a waking snake, trying not to scream from the pain Ajayi had inflicted upon him. With every passing minute he had gained an inch. Tawny felt like he had crawled a thousand miles or more, but the journey which starts with a single step had finally freed his second hand. He slipped soundlessly from the coil of ropes which held him and allowed them to pool into a pile on the floor. He was instantly moving about the tier in slow and careful circles, seeking any opening to peer through. He managed to watch many a sleeping man and woman through the seems of the door, and he made an accounting of any tool or device within reach once he was freed. He bloodied his fingers a bit in loosening one or two nails from the surrounding beams. He took the longest and most slender of the nails and began to bent and hook the end a little. This effort cost him one finger nail, but it was worth the price, for though a single nail might do very little damage in the hands of some, a nail was a cutlass to a Tawny. "Kill a Christ, kill a mortal." Tawny thought to himself as he examined one of the long nails by the sliver of light which came in from the berth deck, and this thought made him so giddy, that he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. Not a single sound escaped him, but he shook a moment just the same. Once this inner laughter was gone, he made his attack on the door. Now the cable tier had never been fixed with anything more than a simple latch set with a ring. The marines had placed a lock upon it, but the small door was not made with prisoners in mind. Especially not Tawny. The man pressed his thin fingers through the crack in the door. The seam in the jam was not wide enough for fingers, or at least for anyone who favors his own fingers, but Tawny could care less about what damage he might make of his own digits. He simply pressed them through until he had quite stripped the skin from all the knuckles on his hand. A sliver slid under one of his finger nails and Tawny did not draw his hand back. Only when his fingers touched the back of the lock did he begin to move the tips around. He pushed his hand so hard against the jam that his hand was already purpling. He ever so carefully lifted the lock upwards on the ring until the key hole was facing him through the slit in the door. Then he inserted the hooked nail into the keyhole and began the subtle attack on the locking mechanism. Several times the lock slipped and bumped back down on the numb tips of his fingers. And several times he worked to flip the lock up again. After almost a quarter of an hour, he had lubricated the thin space between the jam and the door with a veneer of slick blood. His injured testicle had swollen to such a size that his left hip ached from crouching over to work the lock, but still he fiddled. When three quarters and then an hour had almost slipped by, and his shoulder, hand, wrist, hip, back and everything else that might hurt had nearly undone him, he heard the soft click which promised freedom. Jean Dorleac woke in his hammock near the front of the berth compartment. He did not like sleeping next to the cable tier, and could not forget the look of the man who had been put there. Jean had a knack for seeing the good or the utterly bad in most people, and Tawny was no exception. In fact, Jean remembered the laughter of Tawny the first time he heard it. Jean had assumed then, and still felt now, that he would rather hear angel's call out in pain then ever hear that awful thing which passed for laughter in Tawny. Now, awake in the near darkness of the berth deck, he swiveled his head around to look at the cable tier. The door was closed fast, and the lock hung upon the ring of the latch. Nothing seemed amiss, and but for a foreboding in his guts, Jean could see nothing out of place. He turned away and he was in the act of closing his eyes when he turned himself about once more to look. There, set in the jam, were four dark dowels he had never noticed before. They were almost uniform in size and he wondered that he had never noticed them until now. He tried to focus on them, but he could make out little detail in the dark. The lantern burning nearer the aft companionway did not illuminate the space well. "What are they?" he wondered. "Pegs...? But for what purpose?" Finally, he decided they were nothing, and he turned to sleep again, though sleep escaped him. Then he woke, with a start, but with little real movement. In point of fact, Jean Dorleac, who had witnessed the accidental shooting of Jack St. Anthony, the brutal execution of Augustus Muller and his share of necessary atrocity in the taking of the Maastricht, froze in his hammock. "Fingers." he thought, and almost said it aloud and he did not want to turn then. Jean's young imagination raced. He suddenly wished more than he had ever wished before that someone else would wake and look where he could not. "What manner of man could force his fingers through such a space?" he continued thinking, and this thinking led him to thoughts of the lock. "Was it there? Had it been there?" And suddenly he thought, "It was open when I looked last. I'm certain of it." Jean Dorleac would regret this cowardly, but perfectly understandable pause, for the rest of his life. His last words on his death bed some thirty years later would be of the devil,Tawny, though no one there would understand his lament. Tawny, killer of dogs and cousins, was standing amongst the hammocks. Jean saw him like a shadow in the shadows out of the corner of his eye. Tawny was standing there, soundless but for a lone heartbeat Jean heard pounding, not realizing it was his own. Tawny stood wraith like, moving ever so slowly through the unsuspecting slumberers. Then the Watch Dog herself, almost like a living thing in fear of the crew within her, rocked a little on a solitary white cap traveling across the Cul du Sac Royal. The cable tier door closed just hard enough to make a dull thud on the jam, but it was loud in the small space. Jannes Mijnheere, so recently taken on as an able seamen, died in his hammock a breath later. The thud had awoken him and four others in the dark, but Jannes was unfortunate enough to be too near to Tawny. Tawny was just attempting the stair when the seamen began to wake and Tawny just escaped the grabbing hand of Claude Marchande, who had retired to bed just a little while before. Claude was still a little removed from his dexterity, due to drink, and the thin man slipped his reach. Jannes was in a hammock near the stair and Tawny planted his right heal in Jannes' face with such force that he drove the bones of the Dutchman's nose right down into his brain as he pushed up against the hatch of the forward companionway and into the night. Jean Dorleac found his voice then and cried, "The prisoner! The prisoner!" This was overlapped by yells of all descriptions and a chaos so lively that it overshadowed the solitary twitch of Jannes as he slipped his mortal coil. The Starboard Watch, spread about in the rigging and among the weatherdecks had little warning of Tawny's escape, for he exploded onto the gun deck through the forward companionway so quickly, that the hatch was flung up against an unsuspecting Patrick Hand. Patrick reflexively thrust back at it, just missing Tawny, and the hatch almost fell on Willem Tuygertgen who was trying to follow after him. Tawny passed by Nathan Bly who just missed striking the prisoner with bucket as he went by. Tawny's course brought him past Reind Halster, who had to duck a blow sent by Tawny. Miss Tribbiani, who had swapped watches so that Paul Mooney might catch some sleep, was forced to stay a shot from her musket for fear of hitting Lukas Stoir, for Tawny had almost gained the rail when he was tripped by the young powder monkey who had had the presence of mind to barrel into Tawny's legs. Still, the prisoner kept his feet. Eric Franklin, a veteran of his share of brawls and battles, leveled his musket at the taffrail and pulled the trigger with perfect ease and aim. The powder, which had been sifted some three dozen times at least puffed dully in the pan, failing to carry the ball from the barrel. Tawny, who had escaped every attempt of capture reached the rail amidships when he was attacked on two fronts. Miss Constance, coming from the galley, threw hot coffee into the man's face even as Robert Thatcher closed from the other side. Tawny tried to turn away from the Mess Mate's assault, but was badly scalded. Robert Thatcher had already discharged his musket, with no success, so with the firearm discarded, he lunged upon the prisoner with a weapon he was far more used to, having been a skinner in his former life. He flicked out his seaman's knife with quick precision, slicing Tawny's arm just above the wrist and then removing the upper half of Tawny's right ear, cutting him to the bone on that side of his head. Still, that good fortune which oft times follows bad people, lent itself to Tawny awhile yet. Robert Thatcher, steady on his feet despite the drink from early that evening, was tripped by Lukas Stoir, who had mistaken him for the fleeing prisoner. Lukas had been truck by Tawny 's foot as he passed over and was dazed from the blow, but still feeling brave beyond his years, he had reached out and grabbed a fleeing foot, which was not the prisoner's. Robert Thatcher stumbled and fell, almost upon his own knife. Tawny took this opportunity to struck Constance across the face so hard he she lost her famous well earned name of "Sealegs" and collapsed. Then Tawny slipped over the side in a movement that was part dive, part fall. It seemed in that moment that he had escaped the greater harm intended for him. High aloft, Treasure Tribbiani, born of a courtesan and wealthy tyrant, and a woman who had sometimes doubted her place, her calling and her own true aim, shot Tawny in the back even as he fell into the dark water of the Cul du Sac Royal. Seven bells of the MidWatch ~Starboard Watch on Duty~

The ship you ask...? Well, the Tsunami never moves. Steady as a rock and with Jenny and Jack cooking now and then, I get to relax and put up my feet. As for guinness...

I would love to go boating here.

Food. And endless supply of food.

Aboard the Watch Dog on the Cul du Sac Royal The small boat bumped against the Watch Dog in the darkness and the shore party was still coming aboard as the jollywatt arrived at the frigate. Captain Lasseter came up the onboard stairway and Captain Brand met him amidships. They retired to the Ward Room to discuss the business of the day, and while Dorian drank, William abstained, having had his fill of drink ashore. Dorian led the conversation with an inventory of the many catalogued items from the Heron and Maastricht. Shoes, sea trunks, hammocks, hammers, clothing, bibles, and all matter of specie had been gathered and bagged on the Heron for sale or use as shares. William nodded at each detail as Dorian read from his perfect ledger of memory, complimenting him on the absoluteness of the lists. No nail, no cup, not even stockings escaped the accounting. Any worthy item that might be exchanged for coin or goods spilled from the Quartermaster turned Captain. "A most decisive list, sah." William said, nodding his head in an abbreviated bow from where he stood at the open shutters of the Watch Dog's damaged stern. "Thank you, Cap'n." Dorian returned. "When morning comes, we shall gather the whole company together on the Heron and on the 'Dog. I will speak to each crew in turn and we shall divide the watches for the purpose of going ashore. We will then draw lots to see which watch goes ashore first. The losing watch shall have the privilege of visiting Martinique in the morning hours for a short duration before all else, while the winning lot shall have the whole of the afternoon afterwards and all of the first night to spend as they will...and sleep abed in whatever place they shall find themselves. In this way, the losing lot shall have a short respite before returning to the long duty of...waiting." William said this last part with a smile, knowing that the first great revelry ashore was always the most coveted. Four bells of the MidWatch ~Starboard Watch on Duty~

Stories continued about the table until William was satisfied that the shore party had enjoyed their time in port enough that they would not mind the much needed return to the Watch Dog. There was business aboard the three ships at anchor that could not wait while they spent and drank ashore, so William ordered a final round of drinks and they set out into the Martinique night. They walked the lamplit streets of the French colony and were greeted and ignored by their share of individuals all the way to the docks. The weather was fine and the air, both sweet and rank, as is common along shores, greeted them warmly as they walked. Claude sang a tune that was familiar to all, though only he knew all the words. Preston and Paul tried to join him in the chorus more than once, and their failure to pronounce any one word correctly, owing to a few drinks in their bellies, caused considerable laughter. Claude was unperturbed, and by the fifth round of the chorus, he took to butchering the words on purpose so that the result was a slur of very poor French and very good English laughter. William did not mind the din or the behavior and even he took to walking backwards on the last round of the chorus, that he might conduct their butchered chorus with his walking stick. So it was that they came to the docks again in good spirit and filled with many good spirits.

Mister Pew never stopped smiling, though his mouth flattened a little and he glowered a bit in good humor. He punctuated his exasperation with a small sigh, so William elaborated. "Fortune brought me to the 'Dog." William said, and he was unsure where to begin and what chapter of his life to draw from, for some of that fortune had ben ill, and so many events, small and great, had led him to his auspicious place on the light frigate. He let the phrase hang for a moment, but not on purpose. His mind had simply wandered a moment until the silence of the waiting listeners prompted him back to his story. "I tried my hand at the merchant trade some years back, though with little success. An old friend from my early sea days encouraged me to join in partnership with him and one Andries Salade, an intemperate fellow out of the Seven Provinces. I was schooled in the arts of trade and cartography and served aboard the company's flagship, Commonwealth. The name proved to be erroneous of course, since Salade was the only man ever to become wealthy off of the endeavor, and the only profit we shared in common was the man's unpleasant company. Still, despite some unpleasantness with my employer, made obvious by his constant rudeness and larcenous behavior, I did have high hopes that my small fortune would grow and that I might escape the reputation attributed to me." William paused again, this time to drink. He drank long for a moment before continuing. "At first, all seemed well. I was in the company of an old friend and in a profession which drew upon my love of art and my love of the sea. I was very recently...well..." William paused again, and the smile he wore was one of fond recollection mixed with some unnamed bitterness. "...well...my expectations were high." Robert was watching the barmaid again and Paul kicked him under the table. "What? Yes...?" Robert said, and Paul snorted. "Please continue, Cap'n." Paul said, shaking his head at Robert. "Well...the Commonwealth sailed out of port and out through the channel bound for Southern coasts. We were but two weeks from port when Andries announced that he was not obliged to support any agreement made between myself and Bill Ferne...my friend and business partner. Instead, I was to sign a new article of Salade's choosing with a considerable alteration as touching my wages. He offered me shares over wages, which I declined, recognizing that the opportunity for him to cheat me at some future time was greatly increased with shares. Then, he, and he alone, agreed on a wage that was 'fair' and I was made to understand that if I declined the offer, I would be put to sea at once. As you might imagine, I was obliged." There were several nods about the table. Many of them had experienced the fair treatment of a crooked man in their time. It was the balance of life in action. A few men with enough gold to outweigh all of the rest of humanity. "However, the matter was not altogether unpleasant. I found satisfaction in the work and the journey. The many voyages that followed were filled with variety and experiences I will not soon forget. We first made port at Agadir, a place I had all but forgotten from my youth. Whether or not it had changed much, I could not say, for I was far too young when first acquainted with that place. Agadir was bristling with ships from Portugal, France, England, Greece, Spain and the Colonies. Slave ships, trade ships, what have you. We purchased silks, ivory, and all manner of goods from Agadir. Salade eventually took on human cargo. Everything that might be bought, we bought. Well...rather, Salade bought or stole. We were there but a week and I witnessed more piracy in the form of false documents, clipped coins and abject lies than I have witnessed at any other time. Salade was a master of the devious arts. It was there at Agadir that I learned that the Commonwealth herself had been swindled from Salade's former partners. He had all but bankrupted them until they were obliged to let him take her just to be rid of him. In the course of three years I watched him make promises with one face and then scorn with the other. He bought and sold partners with vows, destroying many a merchant in his path until his reputation was such that men would groan and sometimes cross themselves at the mere mention of his name, and yet, as often as I tried to leave his company, he would lure me again with some carefully crafted lie. Even me." William shook his head, not at the memory of Salade exactly, but at his own weakness during that time. So many times he had wanted to strike out on his own and escape the imprisonment of the Commonwealth, but he had believed so many of the lies, and with no supporters to his cause, he had remained and endured. "The worst privations I witnessed came at Caledonia were he plied his serpents tongue in destroying the lives of many a Scotsman out of Isthmus at Darien. That place was a land of spent hopes and they were so eager to clutch to any offered hand. So much need, and he gleaned them like a false parishioner." William's face had grown dark at the recollection. So dark in fact, that not a few of them wished for other conversation, but no one dared to offer a change of subject. "In the end, he made no attempt to cover the lies he told. He was ever spilling falsehoods out of his mouth like so much vomit, with little concern that anyone might dispute him, and like dogs they would lap it up. Eventually, he even took to lying to me and spreading lies of me, until my whole reputation was besmirched by this horrible little man. It was then that I struck out on my own, but not all at once. I purchased a small, but nimble little boat. A Baltic ketch brought over by the Scots." William's face lit a little at this recollection, and by now, everyone wanted to hear what would come next. Even Robert had put off watching the barmaids. "She was a beautiful little boat. Not as large or long as the 'Dog, but a fine little boat. I put together a modest crew and fitted the ketch with all many of arms and comforts. I even managed to lure many of Salade's former partners and some of his previous and ruined customers to join me. Much of this was done in secret over a few months, though Salade knew of the ketch. Indeed, he thought it to his advantage that we should sail together as 'twinned partners in trade'." "What of Bill Ferne...?" Robert asked. "Oh." William said, looking surprised. "I had quite forgotten. Bill Ferne had already left some...eight or nine months previous to this. He acquired a fine little company of his own, so that I became Salade's sole partner." "Was that good or bad?" Mister Pew asked, certain that it was bad. William smiled, "Bad of course, though I thought it good. When Bill left, and I assumed his place, I thought I might benefit from the promotion. With Salade away spending his money on women and wine at all hours of the day, I would be left to command the company and see it rise to become what it should have been all along. But not so. When I approached Salade and postulated my ideas to him, he turned upon me. It seem that all of my confidences. All of my many secrets, dark and hidden. All of the many things I had shared with my friend Bill...well...Bill had in turn shared with Salade." "Bastard." Preston said, and with a good deal of emphasis on the first syllable, so that it came out sounding like 'Baaaasss...turd'. William merely shrugged. "He had his reasons, I'm sure. It doesn't matter. Bill had children and a young wife to consider, and perhaps he was moved to sell my secrets cheap for his own sake. I do not know. I only know this, that Salade had me by the throat." William regarded his own drink for a time and Preston had the opportunity to say 'bastard' again under his breath. "Eventually, when I came to own the ketch I met with Salade. We stood face to face and I carefully explained that I would no longer keep his company. And I we parted. Of course...Salade tried many times to win me back with promises of vast fortunes." William chuckled a little and went back to drinking, only this time he waited on purpose, knowing full well that none of them would be satisfied by this ending. He was not wrong. "And...Cap'n?" Mister Pew prompted. "And...?" William echoed back. "What happ'ned to th' Bastard?" "Ahhh, well I do think I have told you in the past how I came to be a caulker at Amsterdam." "Aye." Pew agreed. "Well, I had some months to plan my departure, including the stripping of many a seam on the Commonwealth." Preston leaned back in his chair and a wide grin spread on his face. William smiled back. "The Commonwealth took on water off the coast of Caledonia and Salade was forced to run her aground in an effort to save her. To my knowledge, she remained aground and was never recovered." "To devious caulkers." Preston said, presenting his cup that all might join in at the toast. Which they all did. "Is tha' th' end o' it, then, Cap'n?" Robert asked, when they all had drunk and refreshed their cups again. "No, Mister Thatcher." William said, with a bit of bemused reluctance. "I wish I could say that the man fell into ruin, but the Salade's of the world always prosper, even when they should fail. I have heard by rumor, and though it be rumor I believe it to be true, that Andries Salade has found new sheep upon which to prey. His end might never satisfy me or you, but being mortal, he will at least perish in the end." "I'll drink to that, Cap'n" Mister Pew said, and they toasted again, then he made a face and regarded William with a questioning look. "Sorry t' press th' point, sah, but you haven't answered my question." "Ahh, yes. How did I come to be aboard the 'Dog. Well, let's see. As I said, I tried my hand as a merchantman. Many of the men and women almost destroyed by my former partner, eventually returned to him." "Nooooo..." Paul said amazed, and then repeated himself once more. "Nooo." "Yeees." William said, and nodded quite empathetically, then shrugged. "Dogs to vomit, Mister Mooney. Dogs to vomit. I was forced to give up the trade eventually. My endeavors, and my ship, almost floundered over the course of the last few years. I sold the ketch and reaped the reward of many losses. I took what little remained and found my way to La Desirade. I had no expectations by this time. No ambitions, apart from rest. I ate when hungry. I slept when tired. I drifted into the company of many a discarded sailor, and eventually acquired the Kate in the process." "Aye." Preston said, and he smiled. "She was...is...the perfect ship." Several eyebrows went up at this, and Paul couldn't help but laugh. William raised an eyebrow towards him as if daring him to explain his descension on the subject. "She's...aground, sah?" "Aye." William agreed. "And this makes her a perfect ship. A fine ship. She will never sink. She'll weather any storm. She is never short of rum and sailors. She is steady. Easy to navigate. Adequately stocked with provisions. Her berth deck is never dark. The air their is seldom foul. Coin comes to her, so she need never go to coin. And if I would not miss the Watch Dog so much, I would be there even now. You might say what you will of the Kate, but when storms have taken the 'Dog, the Tsunami will remain."

Blast. Well, I guess I'll have to shoot for Re-enactorfest IV.