Bloody Bill Flint

Bill coughed and came to his senses. He sat up fully under his own power much to the amazement of the ship's doctor and those presently gathered. The movement caused a ball that had but scarcely made penetration drop free of his flesh. "Aw Christ Almighty," croaked Bill," I jus' bought this vest." Whispers were beginning to circulate amongst the crew that the Master-of-Arms was posessed by a demon. Flint slowly found his feet and two of the braver souls among the throng rushed in to help him. "S'alright lads, I'm not shot below the waist" he muttered. He nodded toward the surgeon "Madame I shall see you below" and he stumbled off to the surgery.

Bill was tired of walking so he sat down on the frost covered meadow and stared up at the moon and stars admiringly. He'd heard his mother calling so he had rushed out to meet her, but now he couldn't find her and he was very sad. He was pondering this and watching his breath form in the cold night air when he was interrupted by a bustle in the shrubs off to his left. The great bear walked out of the woodline and slowly towards him until it was directly in front of him. Then it promptly sat up on its haunches as if it meant to join him for tea. Bill was marveling at this when suddenly a voice that seemed to come from the bear and nowhere at the same time spoke. "Why do you have my hatchet flint child?" "Tammanend", Bill nearly choked on the word for he knew the voice all too well. "I buried the hatchet with William Penn at Shackamaxon. Now it is painted red again and my heart weeps." the voice said. "I'm sorry great Sachem, I beg your forgiveness-what must I do?" Flint pleaded "Do?," Tammanend scoffed, "What can you do William, you are DEAD!, the great peace is broken and my hatchet will be painted red forever!" And Bill wept. The sobs shook his body uncontrolably. Then the bear put it's paws on his shoulders. "Would you see this wrong undone?" Tammanend asked Bill nodded but continued to weep. "Would you live again to make it so?" The voice continued. Again Bill nodded. "Well then..if you would live again....", the voice came only from the bear now. It remained familiar but it was no longer Tammanend's and Bill could not place it. "Well if you would live again", the bear leaned closer and the shadows revealed it's face to be Dorian Lasseter's, "THEN FIGHT FOR IT LAD!" AAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW Bill Flint sat up with an unholy roar as a bubble of vitae escaped his lips, before crashing back to the deck of the Lucy and into a deep sleep. Cyrus O'Madden barely crossed himself before fainting dead away.

A shout of triumph when up from the men and women of the fleet. Amidst the revelry Nathaniel Brocke appeared at Preston's elbow close to tears. "Sah" was all the lad managed before his resolve broke and the tears flowed freely. The Quartermaster's gaze followed the point of the lads arm to a sight that stole his very breath. Bill Flint lay prostrate upon the snow's deck, her colors clutched in his fist and his body riddled with shot.

Bill set for the bow immediately to collect Hudless. He found him standing his post or rather he found him in a rather heated debate with Nigel Brisbane. Christ, but the nerve of the little bastard rankled Flint. "Not even ten minutes an he's at it again!" Bill thought. The discussion quickly died down as the two sensed the Master-at-Arms presence. The two snapped to attention and knuckled their brows. Pretending that nothing was amiss Bill addressed Stephen Hudless. "Mr. Hudless you will accompany me to the galley so that you may assist me in distributing a ration of drink to the watch." Hudless' face went sullen but he knuckled his brow all the same and followed the big Marine below decks. The had scarcely made it into the companion way when Flint whirled and struck the frenchman across the throat with both hands clasped as if he were swinging an axe. Hudless barely had time to register that he'd been struck or gasp for air before Bill was on him. The Master-at-Arms drove a knee into the other man's solar plexus. Flint caught Hudless' shirt front before he could hit the deck. Hauling Hudless upright again, Bill seized him by his hair and swung the frenchman's face into the bulkhead like a battering ram. He then delivered two swift blows to Hudless' kidneys cauisng him to soil himself. Bill then let him sink to his knees as he fought for breath. "Now listen to me boy, and listen good," Bill hissed, " I'll brook no further trouble out of the likes of you unnerstand?" Hudless weakly nodded that he did. "Good," said Flint' " because if I even think any member of this crew looks like he's about to complain about you, you an I will put ashore at the next point and settle this in the manner perscribed in the articles." Hudless blanched, he hadn't been aboard long but long anough to know that the last thing wanted was to cross blades with or attempt to outdraw Bill Flint. He'd heard the stories, how Flint was some madman from the colonies, how he'd been raised by the heathens. The thought literally made him ill and he retched up the contents of his stomach. Bill heard a discreet cough behind him and turned to face a questioning look from Charlie Goddon and John Black. Flint thrust his jaw at Hudless, "Tight quarters, we collided." "Aye sah." replied Goddon and the two went on their way. Flint hauled Hudless to his feet "Go get yerself cleaned up a bit and report back to Mr. Brisbane, remember what I said now." With that The Master-at-Arms went cheerfully on his way.

Bill had been mostly joking about disposing of Hudless. However Preston's reaction served to embolden him to press his thoughts on the issue. Shipboard intrigue had worn thin Bill rather quickly. He had tired of troublesome shipmates from the day he'd been press ganged, and now that he was in a position to do so he intended to nip any potential troublemakers in the bud. "Weeeeelll, maybe not over the side with him-though I'm not disinclined towards that option mind you Master Pew-but that man definitely needs a drubbing, or at the very least the fear o' God put in 'im.

Bill scratched his chin in thought for a moment. "We could just throw the bastard over the side, make it look like an accident." He smiled, only half joking.

Something about Steven Hudless' explanation did not sit well with the Master at Arms. The boy was lying, John Black was making excuses for him and Bill meant to get the bottom of it. Flint disliked liars and trouble makers of any sort. And that's what Hudless was, a troublemaker. Many of the new crewmen were fresh from prison, some of them having even been sent there by the company of The Dog herself, and he feared what a man like Steven Hudless could stir up. He checked the pistols at his waist and headed topside to find Hudless in the bow, when he saw the Ship's Master already headed that way he fell in quietly at his side.

Bill collapsed onto a stool in the Armory as the marines filed by and stowed their arms. Nathaniel Brocke made to render some sort of assistance but Flint waved him away. He wished to be alone with his thoughts. He pulled the tomahawk from his belt and stared at it. "This was never to see violence again", he thought. Looking at it and turning it over in his palms his mind drifted back to that day at Shackamaxon. He remembered how Magua and Tammanend, both as old as the hills surrounding the giant oak under which they now stood, dug the small hole between its roots and solemnly lowered the hatchet Bill now held into it. A symbol, that from that day forward the Delaware and the Iroquois would war upon one another never again."The peace is broken", Bill realized. Nathaniel roused back to the present with a proclamation that all arms were accounted for. As Bill stood to leave he knew that somehow he must return home as soon as possible. But wait, had there not been a deed to some land in Manhattan among the Ilex fortune?

Gaston smiled and uttered a few pleasantries, while LeClerc merely to a sip of his brandy and examined the thin cigarillo between his rather delicate looking fingers. Bill mused that they were almost womanly hands, indeed the lads entire appearance seemed rather effiminate. Hardly suited to the hardened soldier he was purported to be. Without looking at the two privateers LeClerc spoke. "William Flint, this name is known to me in the colonies. Did you fight under Captain Benjamin Church?" "Christ, even the little bastards voice is girly", Bill rankled to himself "I have served under Captain Church against the Algonquin nations on occasion", he said with a shrug "Yet now you fight for France," LeClerc returned Catain Lasseter and Monsiuer Richet both took note of the anger Flint kept in check and how he tried to maitain a civil tongue as he answered the boy. "I'm afraid I miss the Lt.'s point" Bill said as politely as possible. LeClerc merely shrugged and sipped his brandy.

The Admiralty House was well appointed in the colonial style. Captain Lasseter and his Master-at-Arms waited momentarily in the foyer before a servant came to collect them and escort them to the offices of Monsieur Arnaud Richet. There were two other men waiting with Richet "Capitaine Lasseter of the cutter Lucy, and Mr. William Flint"* the servant announced. "Capitaine Lasseter, so good of you and your officer to come, but Lieutenant Martin led me to believe there would be more of you, no?", asked Richet. Captain Lasseter turned to Flint " Bill, I didn't quite catch all dat, y'mind translatin' a wee bit?" "Aye, Captain, he's happy we're here but he's curious as to where the rest of the boys are." Richet cut in "Ah, forgive me captain I assumed that because you sail for France you must be french. Let us speak in English then that you may be more comfortable, I was hoping you would join us all for a drink before dinner." Richet said and poured a glass of brandy for each of the Lucy's men. Continuing to speak as he poured he went on "Monsieur Flint I find your accent quite charming, is it from the colonies?" "Oui Monsieur" "Splendid!" the judge cried "Allow me to introduce our other guests this evening, My nephew Gaston," he said indicating the young man to his right "And Lt. Franco LeClerc, of our most Catholic Majesties Dragoons, recently returned from the fighting against the British in New France" and pointed to the young man on his left. * translated from the French

A harsh laugh interrupted their conversation. "Well, well finally bit off more than you could chew eh Murin McDonough?" Nathan Bly hissed aloud.

Bill was below deck in the armory preparing to go ashore. His shirt was soaked with sweat so he decided to replace it with one he had purchased on shore leave. When opened his packages he discovered Treasure's gift. Smiling to himself he replaced his shirt and slid on the blue frock coat she had purchased for him. He retied his sash about his waist, shoved several pistols, and his cutlass inside it and strode up on deck just as the Captain and a french marine offcier disappeared into the ward room. He made is way to the railing to join the ship's master, noting the wary looks of the fenchmen at the sight of a heavily armed man of his stature. He clapped a hand on Preston Whitngford's shoulder. "well, are they gonna invite us to the dance or not?"

Is it really that time of the year again already? So it is. Thanks all.

"Mr. Brocke," Flint said quietly " your skills as a fighting man have surpassed all my expectations for the marines. Indeed te a degree as such that it places you above your peers in merit. Your arms are the most well kept of the marines, save my own of course." Flint cracked a half smile which disappeared before Brocke had a chance to lose his composure and return it. "You are a fine soldier and any commander would be happy te have ya. But I'm wonderin' do ya have it in ya te command yerself?" Brocke looked confused "Sah?" he replied "What I'm proposin' Mr. Brocke is te name ya my Sergeant-at-Arms, and what I'm askin' is are ya up to it?' "I believe so Sah" "Believe!?," Bill thundered " there's no room for doubts in this line of work, either you are or you aren't now which be it?" "Or don't ya know Mr. Brocke? I've just said an awful lot of nice things about ya te the Cap'n here, don't prove me for a liar." "Then'll a'cept the position sah" "No Brocke, what ya will do is prove I've chosen correctly. As of now the job is yours on two conditions. First you'll pick and train your replacement seeing as how you'll be taking command of the Starboard Watch marines, and that leaves me a man short. And he'd best be at least half as good as you when yer done with him. Second ya need te show me yer stuff in St. Pierre. Accomplish all this and the post shall remain yours. Now in the mean time you'll move yer berth next to mine in the armory understand? Good. Now if the Cap'n has nothing else for ya, yer dismissed."

Flint smiled awkwardly as he struggled to find the joke. Then he realized that Mr. Pew had probably just asked that same question, joined in the laughter and sat. Leaning forward he helped himself to some bread and cheese, and between mouthfuls he offered his thoughts on how best to conduct business in St. Pierre. "A large band of armed men roaming the town and knocking door te door would likely do little te endear us te their most catholic majesties. What I propose is we brake up the marines inta pairs, the majority of which should concentrate on searching the countryside around the town unless I miss my guess and Den Oven's foolish enough to try and lay low at a common house. Te avoid tippin' our hand we'll release the pairs from the ship one per bell after we make landfall. Arm 'em with a pistol an cutlass each and three rounds additional shot an powder te keep from seemin' more than men on shoreleave but te leave 'em sufficiently equipped te handle Den Oven in case he's picked up a few more friends. You, me, n' Brocke can handle askin' about town, maybe take Harold with us."

Aboard The Lucy It seemed to the two senior officers that the words themselves had summoned Bill Flint. For no sooner had the ship's master spoke than his familiar frame filled the door of the wardroom. Indeed it seemed the master-at-arms was always to be found readily when action was imminent, a quality that endeared him in his post. "Cap'n if ye have a moment I've come to ask about our plan of attack" The Captain and Quartermaster looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Flint knuckled his forelock "Aye Sar, as whole as possible" he said with a slightly shark-like smile. Flint turned and whistled. Nathaniel Brocke was at his side in an instant. Bill liked Brocke and was thinking of asking Captain Lasseter to name him Sergeant at Arms. "We're bound for St. Pierre to find Den Oven and the The Dog's missing lads. Have the men ready their arms. They're to take a double measure of powder and shot. I not sure what we'll find when get there, but I want everyone ready to march as soon as we make landfall." "And wot of Den Oven if'n we's te find 'im" replied Brocke Bill smiled at his choice of confidant, Brocke was truly a man after his own heart. "Cap'n wants him breathing, but I doubt there'll be too much hell te pay if'n he's a little scuffed upon return." Bill said with a wink Brocke smiled, knuckled his brow, and hurried off to do the Master-at-Arms' bidding.

Bill was struck completely dumbfounded by the captain's response and it showed in his features. "The marines'll be ready to be sure Sar, if we find Den Oven are there any particulars on what condition he should be in when we return him to the ship?"

When their gear had been stowed, Flint approached his captain. "Sar, forgive me if it's above my place but suppose'n I might impose upon ye to learn where we're headed in such a tear, and to what purpose?"

The Lucy's Marines made short work of maintaining their arms and even shorter work of their meals. Bill Flint was a harsh task master and his drills worked up a hearty appetite. When they had cleared their places they began to file out the door of the galley. Ian Hatrick was about to leave when he felt a huge hand upon his shoulder. "Mr. Hatrick stand fast" "Sah?" the boy replied The Master-at-Arms pushed the lad into the chair he had just occupied then seated himself across from him. "Mr Hatrick as you well know marksmanship is the most important part of the Marine's trade and quite frankly I find your lack of aptitude in this regard unsatisfactory to say the least" "But, Sah-" the boy started, but Flint merely held up a silencing palm. "The Captain has decided that all in my power shall be done to correct this deficiency rather than replace you, your instruction shall begin at the next change of the watch." "Oh thankee Sah, ye nil regret it!" Ian beamed "Aye, but you may" Bill said with a smile "Now you're dismissed" Hatrick knuckled brow and practically skipped out the door. Flint returned topside.

Why thankee lass, but I wasn't includin' meself in the dinner. I'm a much cheaper date than that. Bottle of rum, smack on the arse, a "hey you, c'mere" and I'm all yours.

Bill scratched his chin. "No Sar, I believe six Marines per watch should suffice at the present time. I may take two more in the future should there prove a need. Right now my only concern is readying young Hatrick."

Dinner for two at The Pirate House

Bill cleared his throat and spoke. "Ahem, Sir my evaluation of our Marines is complete. Most of those chosen are well suited to the purpose...." Captain Lasseter cocked an eyebrow at Flint's pause. "It's Hatrick Sir, he's a good man. He just can't shoot. Matter of fact it's my professional opinion that he'd be unable to hit the broadside of a barn from within even if he were given a swivel gun loaded with grapeshot. I decided it best to consult with you before officially relieving him of his duties as a Marine and seeking a replacement."