William Brand

A single rider approaches the beachhead. He arrives slowly with some measured caution at first, but then cries out for a boat. William watches him wave from shore for a time before drawing out his spyglass to scrutinize the insistent fellow. After much examination, William determines that the man can be of little harm, since he bears but one small pistol and a canvas satchel that he holds up, probably to signify some message or errand. "It looks as though your crew will have one more practice today, Jack. Lower away." William watches the boat crew fall into a now familiar routine of swinging out the barge and lowering away. They each fall into place at their oars with a practiced confidence and William joins Jack aboard the Samson. "They've become a fine little crew under you tutelage, Jack. A fine little crew." They push off from the ship.

William watches the boat crew lower and launch a half dozen times until the lads are quite worn out. Jack manages to make them enjoy the hard training again and again. "Good man. They're all good. I don't envy the ship that comes up against us, or the crew of that ship. I can't imagine staring down Mister Youngblood's crew of gunners or facing off against our boarders."

Neck ache...? Say it loud enough and every scoundrel here will offer to help fix that.

Guinness is the most popular drink...but...I recommend a good strong rum to start with.

"No, Mister Lasseter. I shall have the keeping of the deck for now. Jack is doing a fine job of drilling the barge crew and I wish to see it go on. We may be in need of a good boarding boat crew very soon." William takes his place beside the coxswain and watches the drilling boat crew on the cove.

William seems only a little angry at first. His face, ever a deceptive sea, now begins to boil. "Yooouuu mangy sprogs! I deliver myself into enemy territory aboard the Nymphe for the sake of a few sailors aboard this ship, and you repay me with a cluttered forecastle!? I find duties waiting your leisure!? I find ammunition enough, scattered throughout the holds to rend a man if a cannon should hit is on the beam! Every damn hammock is a fire and a hanging line in my ship and you men think you have leave to depart the ship, dolphin like!? I find a man a-swimming in the morning while the carpenter and blacksmith hammers are still ringing in my ears from their late labors and I'll wrap that man in his hanging grave hammock and teach him new swimming, by God! If you are found but a yard off this ship again without leave, gentlemen, then you shall be found a mile off my good graces!! I've seen a man stand a storm at watch for a day and a night without food or sleep..." William stands at the rail for a long time without saying anything. He is now too angry to be composed. Then his face slowly returns to that deadly calm of yesterdays gone by. "If you wish to be hanged, sirs, then do so off my ship. Aboard the Watch Dog, we require a certain order. For only in this can we all escape the noose together. May we hang only in our hammocks, gentlemen. Only in our hammocks. Mister Lasseter. You have the deck." William goes below.

William walks briskly out onto the Quarter Deck. "Mister Lasseter! Am I to understand that several men left the ship this morning of their own accord? Is this true, sir? Did members of my crew, so recently rewarded on numerous occasions with extra rations of rum, take leave of this ship without so much as a "By your leave"!? Speak, man!"

"You play a fine flute, Rummy. Aye. Bless me if I can't keep my feet still."

The air conditioner rattle the office window... ...the remix.

Aye.

I'm a Captain... ...now where is that coke?

1,970 posts so far. Ominous. I was born in 1970. That recipe would swamp a small boat. Wow. I'll take two.

It would depend entirely on the circumstances. Most likely it would be a spontaneous volley of curses carefully chosen just for that moment. Aye.

William makes his way about the ship, calling to each crew member on watch as he goes. Each of them returns a favorable report. Some have sighted dolphins in the night surf. Others report a clear night and fair weather. Most report a fine breeze and a good night to be aloft. William watches a quiet Ciaran go below. He watches Mister Youngblood smoking at the rail with a half dozen members of the gunnery crew, grinning and jawing about the day's shooting. An occasional laugh drifts up from below decks and it isn't long before a flute starts up. "Is that Rummy...?" William stands at the motionless helm and tests the wheel for a quarter of an hour. Then, under a deck lantern, the captain records the day's and week's events. He makes note of the combined efforts to save the monsignors life, and the exchange of words with Captain Moreau. He makes mention of Tempest's journey with Armand. He places emphasis on the duty and charges of every crew member. They're a credit to...to... "To what?" he wonders. "To pyracy?" He laughs in the near dark and sets the volume aside to listen to the crew as they sing down below.

Niiiiiice. I'm taking my hat on the plane. Nobody touches my hat.

William watches the shoreline as cannons roar. When all are through he collapses his glass and turn to the Master Gunner. "Very fine shooting, Mister Youngblood. Aye. Very fine indeed. You may reward the crew as you see fit, but not beyond a second ration of rum." William makes his way about the ship stopping to greet Mister Morgan. "Good day, Mister Morgan. Welcome aboard the Watch Dog. It is a pleasure to have you aboard."

"Thank you, Monsignor. Rest now from your labors." William goes out onto the gundeck to watch Mister Youngblood's crew at their cannon practice. He draws his spyglass and finds the treeline soon to fall victim to heavy fire.

"My efforts are not worth mentioning, my good man. My experience with snakes not-with-standing, if Ciaran had not exhausted himself in your return, we would not be having this conversation. His efforts alone began that rolling wave that has seen you beached here in this bunk. Rest and pay heed to your caregivers. There is nothing but toil above. You may do us all the service of prayer in your convalescence. We may need it."

"Hello, Monsignor." William said, smiling in the surgery doorway. "It does me well to see you up and about, sir. I trust that you are mending well?"

William stands over a dozen charts, scrutinizing ever coast and every island. He paces about the room, returning to the charts time and time again. Each trip round the room narrows the choices as he plans his first outbound journey. He begins measuring destination, careful to calculate the supplies needed for each adventure. He is mindful to take in possible stops along each route where the Watch Dog might re-provision its stores. "I need to know her speed. I need to know just how much sail she can take." He begins to eliminate destinations based on the balance between profit and loss. He paces about the room. He calculates. He waits.

William cannot hide the smile that crosses his face as he watches Mister Warren's mind wander. "Mister Warren? Mister...Warren...?" William waits for Mister Warren to return and when he does he goes up with him to the helm. There he stands opposite Mister Warren at the wheel as Mister Warren tests the feel of the wheel-housing and the pull of the tiller ropes and rudder underneath the ship. "Don't worry, Mister Warren. We'll have her out soon. Excuse me." William goes out onto the deck to survey an anxious Master Gunner and his crew. He walks down to the gun deck, hands behind his back. "Mister Youngblood. Those barrels there, three points off the Larboard bow. I do believe they're endangering this ship. What say you?" William waits only a moment. "MISTER BADGER! WE SHALL BE TO QUARTERS!"

"Mister Warren. Please come in." William does not look up from the myriad of charts laid out across his desk and table. He seems entirely enthralled in them for a long time, before saying anything at all. Then he sits back into his chair with a tired but genuine smile. "Mister Warren, in light of your recent, and very short run as the boat header, I would like to extend the opportunity to man a much greater helm. In short, Mister Warren, we have no helmsman. Would you step in as our coxswain?"

"No. She is gone." William says smiling. "For now, you are the only Tempest in the neighboring sea." He gives the other doctor a nudge and goes off to the galley.

William makes note of the Monsignor's eye and the life that appears to have returned to his frame. "Nothing, Doctor." William says quietly. "But I may have some questions regarding Moreau at a later time. I just came to see our Monsignor." William comes over to check the familiar arm. He seems not to see the other doctor, who has now become a shadow or extra doctor. "Tossing snakes into the fires of Malta are we, Monsignor?" Not expecting an answer he turns to the spare doctor. "Have you eaten? Wil you eat before you go?" The man starts at everything and this is no exception. William keeps his amusement well hidden and urges the frail man towards the galley. He presses coin into the mans hand as he goes. "I'll see to this other patient, good Doctor. Thank you for working on our Paul, Tempest."

William steps into the surgery for the first time since departing the Watch Dog. He smiles to see the Monsignor both well and to find the Doctor back in her element. He waits to be noticed so that he can watch her at her work without disturbing the interchange between patient and healer.