Capt. Sterling

Burke, Sterling grinned at the thought. Then suddenly looked up at the young woman without straightening. “You are a bold one,” he remarked.

Sterling, eyebrow raising, moved closer and took her hand. He bowed low over it, properly pressing lips to the back of his own thumb.

“No this one seems sturdy enough,” Sterling replied. Board was propped into hole he dug out with hands in the dirt wall. Climbing cautiously upon the plank, he carefully raised himself to full height, board rising and falling precariously with his weight. “Here take my hand,” the woman offered. “And have us both in here. I think not,” he said, as he took a firm hold of opening’s edge and hoisted himself waist high above the edge of hole. Swinging leg over as if mounting favorite Chestnut, he scrambled from hole and stopped to brush himself off. “Thank you Lady. I am much obliged for your noble rescue,” he chuckled.

“Would ye be so kind as to hand some down to me?” he asked, then ducked as first was flung down all too close for comfort. "Oi, have a care!"

“Bloody hell, No!” Sterling answered, his cheeks coloring at the embarrassing thought of being found in such a predicament. “Belay that a moment,” he added looking about as best he could. He could find nothing to aide him so instead he moved closer to where the young woman leaned over watching him. “Ye said there be wooden boards above? Long boards?” he called up to her.

Little breaths continued until lungs could with stand larger and more deeper intake of oxygen. With one final cough to set all back to normal, Sterling managed to his feet. “Are you all right?” “Aye, I shall manage,” he called back, working out bad shoulder then looking around for a means of escape.

As sun slipped below earth’s edge, Sterling forced himself to remain yet another hour locked away. Finally, coat, wig and small sword were left behind, heavy leaded walking stick was chosen and grim cocked hat, that had seen far better days was placed upon crown of loose blond hair instead of great gray beaver. He moved to cabin door, turned the key and set it slightly ajar. Peeking outward, he saw that things were finally proceeding along as he would like. Old Steward would be rewarded at a later time. The smallest of watches had been set, only men, both March and Sterling knew to be fiercely loyal and better still, knew how to hold their tongues. He quickly exited quarters, only to have path that lay to taverns beyond barred by first officer. Stern whisper of “stand aside” was given and countered. “John, someone will recognize ye. Four days growth upon yer lower face and yer own hair cannot hide ye well enough. Ye will be caught,” March said beginning argument. “That makes no difference now. Your good intentions have run aground most foully. I have nothing left to lose. Now hold yer tongue and stand aside!” Unwillingly passage was cleared and Sterling hastened to gangway and freedom. Symms came along March’s side as both made way to ship’s railing. “Be all right he will?” the steward whispered. March sighed. “Only if God truly watches over young children and fools.” Closest taverns were inspected and abandoned. Too many of his own crew had been permitted ashore. Sterling continued on, keeping close to buildings, moving from one shadow to the next. As he neared far end of port, and glanced in window he finally found one he believed he could be comfortable in and made for the door. As he approached, inner light broke the dimness of night as entrance opened and one man made to exit. Alarm sounded deep within and Sterling turned about moving toward building’s side alley. Inky blackness prevailed there and now, nearly blind, toe making contact with scattered wooden boards, Sterling stumbled, catching himself upon hands and knees. “Here now!” came light Irish accent. “Let me lend ye a hand. Had a few too many meself.” Sterling cast backward glance from awkward position in which he found himself. As sights fixed on Devon Burke he froze. But so did Irishman. “Bloody hell,” Sterling muttered as he waited for reaction from Irish Clown but the one he received was not what he expected. As Burke’s bleary eyes widened a hundredfold, he took a step back. “Holy Mary mother of God,” Burke stammered, hands coming quickly up as if to hold Sterling at bay. “Tis you! Ye’ve come back!” Sterling could only frown at latest attempt of joke. As he did, Irish Clown began frantic babbling. “Ye be back. Tell me ye have not come fer me? For God’s sake, man, I only poked fun at ye. I meant no harm of it. Surely now ye know that well enough!” Eyes narrowing at other’s odd behaviour, Sterling slowly stood to his feet. “Stay back!” Burke warned, crossing himself several times. “Have mercy on a poor fool. Be gone, back to where ye came from. Sorry I am for what I done ye!” The joke was now on Devon Burke and it was all Sterling could do to keep himself from laughing. Forcing himself to squash the desire to shout “boo” and watch spooked man soil himself, he decided it best to move on to next tavern. He stepped back into shadows behind. “DAMNATION!” instead was loudly yelled as ground beneath Sterling suddenly vanished and he began to fall. The effect of Irishman’s shriek of terror as he turned to flee, was unfortunately lost upon Sterling as back came in hard contact with dirt and air was knocked from lungs.

Symms was cast out of quarters after requested clothing was produced. Sterling dressed quickly and returned to papers. When better meal was not forth coming, decanter of port was flung against far wall. Surely noise was noticed but nothing was made of it. He made his way to stern windows and glanced out carefully, then he paced away. Five minutes later he returned, then five minutes after that as well, peering at sun and disgruntled to find it had not progressed downward in travels as quickly as he had hoped. Pacing commenced again and would not diminish for another hour. With discontented groan, Sterling crawled back into bed and tried to sleep the hours away. Instead he was plagued by memories of wife which soon turned to bitter thoughts. Rolling over yet again, trying to find some peace and comfort, shattered decanter was spied and need for a drink soon added to misery.

"Tis nigh on six bells and all ye bring me to break my fast is a cup of tea and one hard boilded egg?" Sterling groused as Symms finally made his way into the captain's quarters. Sterling had finally busied himself attending to papers that had long gone unlooked at since arrival in Port town. "But Sir?!? Ye know I be a light eater," the old steward responded. "And if I were to come in here laden with a heavy tray, the others would surely notice! Sterling stared down at a sparce meal, not knowing who to strangle first, Steward or Doctor for plan that continued on in haphazzard fashion. He grumbled, pulling seat back into desk. Taking egg firmly and smashing it all too hard on desk top, he snarled, "Bring me something fit to eat, if ye have to stuff it in yer pockets. And lay out some clothing. The old brown trousers and waistcoat will do. I'm going out as soon as the sun goes down." "But...." Symms' speech froze as evil glance shot back at him over captain's shoulder. "And see that the gangplank is lowered. I do not intend to wait for it to be so... You can sit in this bloody cabin for me all night if ye think my going out will, by any means, seem suspicious!"

The walls are 25-30 feet tall. How's your safety gear? Can the gallows be set up on top of one of the walls? as to our safety gear, tried and true...

Can the hanging be done on one of the Fort Walls?

Oh yes, good question, the ladies did ask about showers and toilet facilities perferrably near, not in, the camps... Oi Rats, not into skinny dipping??

A very happy birthday to one of our newer members. Many happy returns of the day!

My point exactly, all it takes is one yahoo to ruin your hard work and trip down to an event, if you don't have the proper stuff, they can ruin your entire time by saying.."Tis my event, you aren't safe, you can't play." Your blacksmith, had the proper equipment and documentation and thus he was allowed to continue... what if he hadn't?

Sorry for making myself unclear, and yes, I don't see private insurance policy for groups stating they cover individual tents, what I meant is that I have been to numerous Rev. War events (over 14 years of em) where if your tent did not live up to the event's safety requirements, you did NOT put your tent up..(at least on the Brit side). I'm saying I would hate to see these people go to such hard and admirable work to hand sew all their tent/tarps to arrive at an event and be told sorry, you can't camp because your stuff isn't fire safe...when all it takes is to "paint" on the fire retardant chemical.... this is just things I have gone through for the past 35 years of reenacting and just wanted to make sure no one suffers when I may have been able to make a simple suggestion... And Mike, I need to agree with you, I've never seen smoke set a tarp on fire either... its usually the match or the burning embers from the cigarette, or the lit candle some fool forgot and then even the fire retardent stuff goes up....

Not to put a damper on the make your own hemp tents/tarps... which being the ARLH that Chole has already mentioned... I would love, BUT I'm now thinking event insurance for fire... are the homemade hemp pieces being treated with the fire retardent chemicals?? If not, like I said, not to put a damper on things, but you may wish to think about treating your hard work before an event coordinator tells you, you cannot use it for safety reasons... just a thought....

The same sound of heel striking above was the first sound to greet him come the rise of sun the next morning. Sterling rolled over onto his back, eyes still closed, stomach growling for the food that it had been denied the night before. He lay still again and listened, taking in the sounds of his ship. Normal, the gulls from the port adding their own song to the beginnings of a new day. Eyes slowly came open, struggling to focus on innards of cabin, before he sat up, pushing covers back and bringing legs over the side of newly made bunk. Glance was thrown abaft at stern windows. The sun was already up and the heat of the port was already stiffling. Banyan continued to lay neglected as he left bedding and began to pace barefoot across the room. The idea of being confined to his own cabin, aboard his own ship, already eating at him. Memories of Algiers were quickly shook off before they were able to take too deep a hold and consume him. It would be a long day, with only paperwork ahead of him to distract him from the need to be out on deck in the open, some place he knew he could not go.

Who said we had coin? **turning empty wallet inside out**

Sounds perfectly charming...

This helps thank you all... will get things laid out and then get back to you, need to make an emergency trip to NY for my dad... I will most likely be out of touch until Thursday or Friday...

Oi Rats, Mistress Diamond, I'm awake are you? snigger

^ Stinking Bishop < Hunter's Cheese comes a close second... oh and Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite... V What do you like with your cheese?

^ drinking Port, getting drunk and scheming... < I could say the same, but then you are getting me brilliant information V Late night snacker?

Brilliant thank you!