Andrew March

"Well?" March asked, waiting for the report. His dark eyes remained fixed on the horizon, a small boat making its way back to the Archangel's care. "They are away, Sir," young Mr. Merriweather reported. March did not stir. "Thank you Mr. Merriweather. Go below and get yerself something to eat," he replied quietly. The small boy nodded, hand coming upward in a half hearted salute. March's gaze shifted ever so slightly to view younger charge from the corner of his eye. "Ye'll be needin to keep yer strength up, Mr. Merriweather. He will be needin us soon. Cannot be havin ye unfit for a fight, if there be one." The boy's eyes widened briefly, betraying, momentarily, his excitement at such a suggestion. A second nod was offered, this one more in keeping with what was expected of him. "We will not be leaving Captain Sterling behind then?" the boy asked. March turned then, sharply. He eyed the midshipman hard. "Would thou have me disobeying the Captain's orders, Mr. Merriweather?" he asked sternly. "Thou knows full well, that the Captain said we were to keep the 'Angle safe and not return for him!" He winked suddenly at the lad. "Now enough of such foolish talk. Do as thou has been told and get thee below!"

The Archangel was gained without any disruptions. Due to the turmoil at the Royal Grace, every soldier and member of the Night watch had quickly quit the docks and made for the trouble in town. Things could not have been more perfect, especially since permission to sail had still not been granted to any ships in the harbor. Even the wind was up and to the Angel’s advantage. Why now is everything going accordingly, March thought bitterly. When last of the crew was on board, gangplank was removed once more, hands sent aloft and cables quickly severed. “What is happening?” Matthew Hazzards asked making his way alongside March. “We be leaving,” March said. “But Captain Sterling is not aboard!” Symms cried. March looked down at the old steward. “And he won’t be. If he be not here by now, then they have taken him and we must sail if we wish to save his neck some how.” “No, no,” Symms protested. “Captain’s orders,” March said. Eyes raised upward as hand cupped about mouth. “Look lively there. We’ve no time to waste!” He turned to young Mr. Merriweather. "Sound beat to quarters if ye please."

After sending Sterling down the back way, March and mariner hurried down the front. Pace was slowed as common room was entered and eyes signaled to others that it was time to depart. First officer lead small group outward through front door, and went unnoticed because prime consideration was not included in the party. Crew moved onward toward docks, pausing only long enough to look back as brawl engulfed the Royal Grace. March waited a moment longer then ordered the group onward again. “But Sir, beggin yer pardon,” Dyke began. “What about the Captain? What if he does not make it out?” March continued forward progress. “Our orders are to set sail. With or without the Captain.” “But sir!” “We must see to the ‘Angel, Mr. Dyke. The Captain would not have it any other way. Make a way to get back for him we shall. Ye’ll see, but without the Archangel we are all sunk.”

As second glass of brandy was dispensed and passed to March, the first officer kept attention fixed on young woman. She seemed as lost in this entire affair as March did and surely she would prove better company than Sabastian Devareaux. But as March was about to engage her in conversation other than simple introductions, once again the storming of the staircase was easily overheard. This time, accompanied with the low shouts of "Mr. MARCH!" it was unmistakable as to where outsider was currently headed. Under ordinary circumstances, Andrew March would have waited for proper owner of chambers to see to the new arrival, but nothing was ordinary at the moment and March was actually closer to the door. Without so much as a by your leave, the first officer opened entrance, listened to alarm that was given in between heavy panting of younger seaman and then abandoned door for farther room. Devareaux only stood swearing angrily under his breath. Knock was politely given and second door hurriedly opened. March entered private domain, making straight for his friend, he grabbed Sterling by the back of the collar and made for the outer door. "John, they have found ye. If ye do not be wantin harm to come to the Mistress and yer child, ye'll be movin to the servants' stairs ...NOW!"

"Ah good evening Mister Devareaux," March whispered. "Sorry to disturb ye and, I can assure ye, ye won't be needin them none," he added with nod of head indicating pistols in Sabastian's keeping.

“John, calm yerself,” March said. “This was your idea,” Sterling sighed, as forehead came to rest against chamber door. “Aye it was. And I did not tell ye to run off for advice from some whore,” March added. Grip tightened on shoulder and captain was turned about to face first officer. “John…” Sterling glanced back at door’s rough surface. “Why will she not open the door? What does she have to hide?” “Most likely nothing,” March replied. “Give her a moment," he added. His voice then lowered to a whisper. "John, I know you are far from happy with this relationship, but, please, ye are a better man than this,... try to trust her.” Sterling looked back at March, then eyes lowered. March reached up over Sterling’s shoulder and gently knocked upon the door. “Mistress Sterling, tis Lieutenant March of the Archangel, a word with ye, if ye please.”

“Captain a word with ye sir, in private, if I may,” March asked. Sterling spun about glaring intensely at his first officer. The two sailors who had just returned from the Shea house, had not only returned empty handed, but could provide no news as to the current whereabouts of Sterling’s wife. Sterling was fit to be tied. Immediately papers had been withdrawn from trouser pocket and orders issued to find Aurore and see that, this time, the annulment papers were placed into her hands personally. “If ye please, Sir,” March insisted. Stressed features relaxed but a fraction as Sterling presently nodded in agreement and others were momentarily dismissed. “What is it Mr. March?” he asked as cabin door closed. March shifted weight from foot to foot briefly, uncertain on how his counsel would be taken. “John yer not thinking clearly,” Andrew finally began. Sterling’s face colored, he drew in a deep breath. Lower lip was caught and gnawed on before he replied. “I am forced to agree with ye. I have not been thinking much at all since we arrived here it seems,” Sterling groaned. “I should never have rushed into this marriage.” “Aye, ye have not been yerself at all,” March commented. “But ye married the girl and I know ye are a better man than to put a noose about her neck and sell her off the first time yer selfish side gets the better of ye.” “She does not love me, she would be best without … we would both be better off with the marriage dissolved.” “Ye mean she does not love ye the way ye would like her to at the moment. And what about the child?” March said. With a shake of his head, Sterling stormed abaft of the cabin, and exploded. “No! Andrew ye were not there. I had to hear of my own child, first, from a complete stranger! ” “The girl thought ye were dead, John,” March pointed out. “Then what of later? When we had a moment together. She did not even care to speak of it to me then… of all people. . It was as if I and the child did not matter,” Sterling countered. March watched as Sterling fumed at the far end of the cabin. He knew the man was tired and not well. He also knew that man was hurt by his wife‘s actions, but he also knew that he was not behaving as he could. “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man…” “I put away childish things,” Sterling finished. Expression fell. “Is it so wrong to want my wife’s attention for my own?” March shook his head. “No John, not at all. But we both know, you have got to earn it by giving her what she needs first.”

March was only to grateful to be called away from Captain's presence. He made his way quickly to ship's entryway and looked down to find fellow Scotsman below on dock. Gangplank was lowered back into place and March and Straw made their way across. Without word, Straw continued on along the wharf toward land as first officer approached guest. Gangplank was again removed to be of no service to sailor or landsman. "Ahoy Captain MaCraige, and how can we be of service to ye this foul night?" March asked bowing low before superior. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Peter Straw slipped quietly through streets, ducking into shadowed doorways or turning down empty alleyway, avoiding troops blocking his path. In due time Bookstore was found, skirted and backdoor knocked upon. Hand strayed to pocket to ensure safe keeping of papers, signed, witnessed and, with silver medalion enclosed, sealed. Nothing had been dated to give apperance of completion of few days past, prior to sickness forcing Sterling out onto land. Straw had argued with captain over task that he alone could accomplish but orders soon overcame the urge to debate reason. Thrilled to find captain still amongst the living, Straw still found the man to be very much beaten down. If he could give some peace to troubled soul by undoing what he had been so happy to do, then heart rending task could possibly have some redeeming value.

Her voice raised slightly in her upset and March shot warning glance to doctor above, then made his way to the room above once more. "We need to move him... NOW!"

Attention quickly refocused from setting of the sun to arrival of the captain's wife. March remained at a distance but made no effort to hide his interest in what was now taking place. Quick glance was made to upper window, where doctor stood and only shrugged his shoulders, before steady gaze once again fixed on young widow.

It was some while before March made the trek back upstairs. This time alone as Reiley remained outside and Matthew Hazzards, already awaiting a fresh mount, prepared to ride back to port and announce Sterling’s death to his crew. He mounted the stairs, two steps at a time, heedless of servant trying to lead the way. His appearance had changed with passage of time, years of sun drenched skin, now pale compared to previous arrival, tears welling up in eyes. He faltered as he reentered the bed chamber. The still figure on the bed taking him aback in a way that he had never reckoned it would. Collecting himself he set coarse for the tiny form that sat weeping now, bowed low before her and leaned down to delicate ear. “Sorry I am Mistress for yer loss. It is a great blow to us all. Know that we all loved him and shall miss him greatly. I shall give ye the night to sit with him, if ye promise me that it will be ye and Dr. Reiley alone. Then we shall take him home to his daughter come dawn. I would also ask ye to accompany him and see him safely onboard the Archangel.” He did not wait for her reply but continued. “I think it best ye leave him be for awhile and lay ye down if ye can. I shall see to the wagon and horses for the morrow. I shall send Dr. Reiley back to ye.” Again, formal bow was given and he turned to make good his word. But there was one thing he needed to do before he rejoined the doctor in the yard. As he stepped into the hallway, he tapped a finger upon Frenchman’s shoulder. Lambert turned to face the officer and as he did, March’s fist impacted hard with the other man’s mouth, sending him backwards to the floor. “I think the captain would approve ye bloody vulture,” March said, as Christophe passed back of hand over split and bleeding lip. Without interference, March made his way outside.

Ride was accomplished but it had required hours, frustrated by needful slow walks to allow their horses to catch their breath before being pushed onward. Unlike La Cour’s members, that knew about homes along any route where fresh mounts could be obtained, the Archangel’s officers were only given the most necessary of details to get from point A to point B. It was already late afternoon by the time March and Hazzards and spent mounts, with lathered hides and heaving flanks, successfully reached their destination. Servants came forth to see to care of rented animals, the only greeting, extended by Chestnut, who, out grazing, recognized old companions. In silence, Lieutenants were ushered into the front hall of the house, where once again they were forced to wait, strangers in an even stranger world. “Why we ever allowed him to get himself caught up in this web,” Hazzards muttered loud enough only for March’s hearing. “Perchance because he was happy for a change?” the first officer offered as a response. Brow clouded as glance was aimed directly at fellow shipmate. “Ye know it as well as I,” Hazzards added. “We both know we be all to blame where the captain’s health be concerned.” Additional reply was not forthcoming as gentlemen were then shown the way upstairs.

Instructions were finally relayed as to where abouts of new home. At first clan members were reluctant, old habits were hard to break, even when them that had asked were known to be who they claimed. Still March could not help but feel his temper grow warm with each hesitation, they knew well enough that Sterling was dying, and yet they were still more concerned with their own. It was with a forced word of thanks that the first officer left the bookstore and remounted his horse, joining the impatiently waiting Matthew Hazzards. "What is it with these people?" Hazzards asked as March swung himself up into the saddle. "They give not a damn except fer themselves," March replied. "The new mistress is a rare bird amongst their company. Come along. We've wasted enough time," he added moving his horse forward.

"You sailors! For mariners ye spend far too much time on horseback!" The livery owner groused as March and Hazzards asked for his fastest mounts. "Ifn our coin be as good as the next lot, what difference would it be making to ye?" Hazzards said. "Lining yer pocket all the same, I'd be thinkin," he added as he slammed several down upon the counter top. The owner frowned. "I shall see to yer horses and by the by, see that my other horse is returned. I did not let it out for forever!" Horses were finally produced after what seemed an eternally long delay. The two ship's officers mounted, March realized suddenly that neither man knew exactly where they were going. Haste was made first to the bookstore.

“What be all that infernal yelling about?” March complained as he could easily hear it even below decks. As if in answer, the younger of the two midshipmen rushed down to find the first officer. “Mr. March, sir. There is a man here from the Bookstore wishing to speak with you,” Joshua Merriweather replied. March looked down at the young boy, large brown eyes wide with his excitement. “He says tis urgent that he speak with you, sir.” “Tell him I’ll come topside in a moment. Go on with ye lad!” March said with a nod of approval. He waited until the boy was gone then, looked at Matthew Hazzards. “Ye know well what to do Mr. Hazzards. I will return as soon as I can." Once again on deck, March walked to where he saw the younger Merriweather standing patiently beside a strange man. He dipped his head slightly in greeting. “Ye be one of them?” March asked. “Of the new Mistress’s clan?” “Aye,” the man replied. “I’ve brought a note from the household. I was told it was of great importance,” he continued, holding out a sealed paper. March took it with a word of thanks. Glancing over the front, he broke the seal and opened it. Its announcement was not long, its words hastily scribbled in only a few incomplete sentences. March read it, paling slightly as he did. Without any movement, his eyes reading once again the disturbing news, March called the younger midshipman to him. “Mr. Merriweather, please tell Mr. Hazzards to come see me immediately. Make haste now lad!”

^ Fun?? I just got home from work... trounced on by kids screaming "Will you listen to our speeches for Monday?" What will I do? Slip into a coma for a few hours... < Let's see fifty speeches later... ugh, its kind of snowing out V ever have to give a speech in front of your entire school while still in elementary school?

March had remained awake most of the night. Water casks, all save one, were nearly finished being stowed below. Mistress March, waking early to find her husband had not yet taken to bed, dressed and made her way upon deck. She found him signing off on a promisary note to a local cooper than asked if he were ready yet to eat something. The first officer only shook his head. As his bride's facial expression turned somewhat grim, he leaned over and kissed her. "Soon enough Mistress March. There are a few things the captain asked me to attend to before he returned home. If ye have the time my dear, mayhaps ye could take that little trip into town that we had planned and then return and join me for some breakfast." "Are you certain?" Skittles asked. For a moment she appeared hesitant. "Is he sure that is how...." she paused, then nodded her head as husband's brow raised. "If that is what must be done. I shall return as quickly as I can." March escorted his wife to the gangway, then watched as she hurried to accomplish her task. His dark eyes followed her until she finally turned a corner and disappeared beyond the docks. He went then and inspected the final water cask. It alone had arrived that very morning, newly made and empty. "Fill it with water till it swells, then replace the water with brandy and bring it to his quarters. Now look smartly!" March ordered.

March planted his feet more firmly, arms crossing before his chest. "Are ye deaf Woman?!! I told ye, he is not here!"

"Beggin yer pardon Captain MacCraige, but I be not inviting no one into the Captain's quarters without his permission, least of all his ex-mistress." March glanced over his shoulder at the other man. "Captain Sterling be married now and twould be the wise thing to put as much distance betwixt him and Mistress McKinney as possible. He might actually manage to stay married if it we did so."

March looked up from the glass he held as he sat opposite Captain MacCraige. He watched as the old steward made his was to the cabin door and opened it. “Oh no…not you!” Symms snapped. “Who is it, Mr. Symms?” March demanded. He looked to MacCraige. “Have ye ever had one of those days that ye wished you could put out to sea and never have to touch land again? Ye’ll pardon me a moment,” he said and quickly vacated his chair to see what Symms was on about now. As March reached the enterance, he felt himself hesistate. Aye, indeed today was one of those days he thought to himself. He seized the steward, who was already bristling and set to pounce, by the shoulder and hauled him back into the cabin then placed himself in the door frame blocking Lilly McKinney's way. "The captain's not here," March barked. "I tried tellin 'er that!" Gunner Beach said.

March watched as his captain stood, cautiously moving from his seat. Sterling thanked the other captain for joining him in a drink and then relinguished his place to March to finish covering any necessary details with MacCraige. With one eye wary of Sterling's movements about the further end of the cabin, March listened to what the fellow Scottsman had to say, and yet his thoughts centered on the ill man who waited as Symms gathered some personal items together and then helped Sterling replace the worn banyan with his plain brown coat. It was several moments before Sterling, hat in hand, leaned down to March's ear and relayed that he would be leaving for the Three Crownes for the night. If he were needed, March would know where to find him. "Excuse me Captain MacCraige," March said. "I will continue our conversation in a minute or two. In the mean time, please allow Mr. Symms to refill yer glass." He stood and walked with Sterling and Reiley to the ship's entryway.

Heads turned, all save one, as bashfull rapping sounded upon the cabin door. March began toward the exit, only to be outdistanced by the captain's steward. As door was opened, the oldest of the midshipmen popped his head inside, searched out March, tugged at his hat, and made his report. "Thank you Mr. Merriweather," March replied. The first officer glanced first at the prone figure of his superior, then to doctor, who gave subtle shake of head in disagreement. "I will come on deck to..." "Ask Captain MacCraige to join me here," Sterling said wearily sitting up. "Give me a few minutes to make myself presentable. Go along Mr. Merriweather." He waited as the middy made all the proper responses then watched the door to his quarters shut. He descended from the crib, Reiley scurrying forward to assist. "Do not look at me like that doctor. Since ye be so intent on moving me some where of more comfort, I may as well start getting ready for the move now...my banyan Mr. Symms, if ye please. Surely Captain MacCraige has come at an opportune moment, for I would have been content to remain exactly where I was, and none of ye would have convinced me to move otherwise." March looked away, rolling his eyes.

“You lied to me! Lied! How the hell do ye expect me to help the man when neither he nor the rest of you will tell me the truth?! Malaria my foot. Look at him! Although the former symptoms may have been similar this is not malaria at all,” Reiley said, keeping his voice to a loud roar. “We know,” Symms said quietly. “And so does the captain.” “Ah! I’ve an idea that will cure him,” Reiley said as he continued his tirade. “How about this,” he pulled a scalpel from his medical kit. “Why don’t I just cut his throat and put us all out of his misery? You should have told me from the start. I could have been actually doing something that might have helped him! And just look at me... I was worried about his wound festering!! Bloody hell!” “Keep yer voice down doctor!” March snapped. “None of us be wanting the rest of the crew to know things are not well with the captain. Not good for morale.” Reiley rolled his eyes. “ Ah sure you are! Worried about morale? I think you should be concerning yourself with Captain Sterling’s health at the moment.” March moved in closer, fingers lacing themselves tightly into the doctor’s cravat. “Do ye not think we haven’t been? He’s gone to some of the best of yer breed back in London. He’s better off without yer type, says I. All ye and yours can do is hurry him along to the grave!” “ENOUGH!” Symms shouted. “All yer bickering isn’t going to help anyone. We need to be seeing what we can do to help him now. He‘s only been growing worse.” Reiley stood his ground as the old steward yelled. March finally released his hold and walked away. “Tell me Mr. Symms, since no one else seems to be willing to inform me of the facts, how is it with the captain when he is in this way? The more information you can give me, the better it will assist me. And as for you Mr. March, if you were so worried about morale, why did you bring him back here in the first place? Strung up in a wooden box surely can be of no comfort to the man.” The doctor stopped and took a breath, calming himself to think. “I reckon it best we get him someplace else. Some where I can tend him in privacy, some where he can get some rest and some where that you, Mr. March, do not have to worry about your precious crew! Find me a carriage. NOW!”

March soon had the captain’s one arm about his own shoulders. The other had been all too cheerfully accepted by the stranger in black. A fleeting thought passed through the first officer’s mind, the recollection of seeing the other man in the tavern when March had turned to order another bottle of rum. Normally such a thought would have unsettled March, but at the moment, he was far too needfull of the stranger’s assistance. Sterling buckled, biting down hard, trying to keep the torment which wished to unleash itself , inside. “Steady John. We’re almost home,” March said. “I do not wish to alarm you, but do you know the two men who are currently following us?” Pinon asked. But March’s mind was far too distracted by his friend’s current condition. “What did ye say?” the first officer asked, but already they were being hailed from the Archangel. March shouted back, then suddenly turned, plucked off the captain’s beaver hat and caught Sterling about the middle. Hoisting the captain up over his shoulder, March whispered, “Sorry John.” He then looked the taller man in the eye. “Tis as far as ye go, but know that I am truly grateful.” He turned just as suddenly and began his way across the gangplank, carrying his captain. “Nothing to worry about Mr. Beach,” March added with a laugh at the gunner's surprised expression. “Tis the drink as usual, nothing more.”

“Sir? SIR?!” March turned about as the stable owner’s voice raised in alarm. Sterling stood, barely, one hand upon a desk top, the other pressed to his side as he doubled over. His face had gone ashen, his eyes, one moment wide, the next screwed tightly shut as he gasped. The first officer was at his side in an instant. “Tis all right John. It will be all right,” March encouraged as his arms went about his captain’s shoulders. “We won’t be needin' them animals,” he added as he turned Sterling toward the door. “Catch yer breath John. There ye go. Come on now…bloody hell! Lean on me John,” March said, yanking a handkerchief from his coat pocket and pressing it to the captain’s mouth and nose as a thin trickle of blood began to run heavier down the man’s face. March’s grip tightened as Sterling’s knees gave way momentarily. “Hang on John.” “It will…pass,” Sterling said, his own hand now holding the handkerchief in place. “It always does. Just tell me when and I shall get ye back to the ‘Angel. Ye won’t be going home tonight,” March said.