Andrew March

“What are ye doing?” Matthew Hazzards asked coming up behind two idling seamen. The Archangel had come alongside one of the longer piers and secured herself during the night. A number of the water casks had been found to be contaminated the day after the storm and, before departing for home, Sterling had left orders for casks to be repaired or new ones constructed and the old water dumped and exchanged for fresh. Despite the early hour the task had already begun, for the lightening sky only fore told more bad weather. Andrew March was down in his cabin finishing up his breakfast with his wife and daughter. Hazzards, already tired from the late night watch, had agreed to spend a few more hours awake to see that things were moving. And, if he was to be working so would the others. The two seamen did not so much as flinch, when the second officer leaned in on them, but one did point toward the end of the wharf. “Tis the captain, isn’t it?” one asked. Hazzards looked to where the other man indicated as Dr. Reiley joined the small knot of men and also searched along the dock. “That were a quick honeymoon,” the other sailor snorted. His partner could not help but comment as well. “Done tossed him out already?! I reckon tis not yet been even a week!” The two laughed amongst themselves. Hazzards looked to the doctor, then to his approaching superior and then, with a frown, back to the man who had first commented. “Make yerself useful, ye lazy bastard! Enough of your foolish talk! Go below and fetch Mr. March … quickly now!” Hazzards growled. The two men, knowing they had overstepped their bounds went their separate ways, one back to work, the other on Mr. Hazzards’ appointed errand. Dr. Reiley leaned along the railing watching as Sterling continued toward the ship. He could not help but smile at what the others had said and at Hazzards’ reaction. “I take it, Matthew, that this has happened before?” he asked glancing across at the officer. But Hazzards’ expression betrayed something other than amusement. Reiley straightened, an alarm going off in his gut and turned to see the first officer, napkin still tucked in his cravat, hurry along the deck toward where he and Mr. Hazzards stood. “Where is he?” March demanded as he reached the railing, already Hazzards was pointing the captain out. “Is he drunk?” March asked next, lowering his voice. “He appears not to be so,” Hazzards replied. “Bloody hell,” March whispered, snatching the linen square from under his chin. He crumpled it up and shoved it in one pocket. “Send someone to find Mr. Symms. Dr. we shall most likely be needing your services as well, although I pray not. Come along Matthew, let‘s greet the captain and get him below to his quarters as quick as we can.” “But… wait! Wait! What is going on?” Reiley asked, grabbing at March’s shirtsleeve as the first officer began heading toward the ship‘s entryway. “Hopefully nothing,” March replied, but already he had spoken too soon as a scuffle broke out below on the pier. March leaned over the railing. “By all that’s… leave it to de Dogge, to set him off! Hurry Matthew before John kills him!” “But why?!” Reiley insisted as the two officers hurried down the gangplank. “Blame the bloody Turks, Doctor!” Hazzards shouted back and then hit the dock at a run.

Matthew Hazzards’ eyes widened a bit as the first officer reentered the book seller‘s. Closing a copy of The Seaman’s Secrets, he carefully replaced it in the empty spot amongst the other books. He waited, with just a brief glance over his shoulder at the others in the shop, before he leaned into March and whispered. “Where is the Captain?” March bristled slightly. “God only knows!” Hazzards leaned back and rocked forward onto his toes before settling back, this time both eyebrows arched upward in surprise. Twas not the answer he had expected. “Oh,” he replied. Then rocked forward and back again. “Gunner Beach?” “Is hopefully still following… and them …” March said with a nod of his head at the members of Le Cour. “As well.” “Did ye have a word with him?” Hazzards asked next. “I tried,” March replied with a shrug. “He plans to go through with it then?” “Aye,” March answered. “I believe he will.” “Thought as much. Head over heels for this lass then?” “Aye.” “Glad of it I am,” Mr. Hazzards said, rocking forward once more. “Good for the Captain. He shall get his bearings with this lass soon enough. Until then…” “… God help the rest of us,” replied Mr. March.

“Sure ye do… tisn’t Striker. I know ye too well fer that. If need be, ye’d play with the likes of him, like a cat torments a mouse before she finally has the decency to kill it. Tis that girl ye’ve had on yer arm since ye fell ill after the memorial service fer the Oxford. And now ye bloody well plan to make her yer wife? Yer serious about that, I know ye too well fer in that regard too. Do ye not think yer pace is too quick?” March asked. Sterling looked down, the pipe smoldering lightly. “Judge me not Andrew… and just how many days did ye actually spend courting Skittles before ye married her? Look at the two of ye. I have never seen man and wife as happy and content as ye both.” “This girl is from a different world John,” March persisted, waving his arm back toward the direction of the book shop. “And once again, are ye and Mistress March any more different than Mistress Devareaux and myself?” Sterling countered. “Aye Skittles and I started out speaking different languages, but, Good God, John, this girl’s people are not from yer world at all!” Sterling stiffened then. Hoping to knock the spent ash from his pipe, he slammed the bowl against the palm of his hand. With a crack the end of the pipe flew off. The captain glared across at March. “And what world would that be?” he asked, chucking the broken stem out into the street.

unyielding

Andrew March pulled the neck of his coat up closer about him. The rain had already soaked through his high collar and cravat. “Ah, beggin yer pardon, Captain, but… could ye not be tendin to this another time, perhaps?” March asked even though the thought of a Spanish cigar seemed appetizing at the moment. Sterling continued to move ahead, his first lieutenant keeping pace but none too eager to do so. “I mean, we will be wet enough, if this keeps up, when we are off to see Captain Striker. Twas nice having a bit of a rest at the book shop, sir.” And still there was no reply. Finally, March halted, grabbing Sterling by the arm and forcing him to stop. Sterling looked down at March’s hand upon his sleeve, his eyes narrowing a bit before he glanced across into his first lieutenant’s face. “Damn it John, something is troubling you and do not be telling me no… that I am imagining things.”

Yeah all that hair is really he's... no spirit gum needed where Billie is concerned...

With a proper bow, Andrew March turned, leaving Striker and made his way quickly back to the ship. Already Hazzards and the two Merriweather brothers were waiting in the captain's cabin. "Did he be tellin ye?" Hazzards asked as March entered the small room and closed the door behind him. Andrew shook his head as he removed a duplicate key to the Captain's chest from around his neck. "Nay, he did not, but," and Andrew paused with a shake of his head, amazed still himself. " I believe him." He quickly inserted the key, listened to the mechanics of the trunk's lock grind in release, and then he lifted the heavy lid. "Where tis Michael?" March asked. Sean Merriweather answered. "Down below, having a bit of a drink." The younger brother could only roll his eyes at the thought of the great beast. "Good," March said gently removing a wooden case and carefully placing it on the table. Producing a second, smaller key, he opened the case before him and removed, of all things, a violin. The instrument was carefully laid upon the table as March hastily scribbled a brief note, folded the slip of paper and placed it inside the violin's body. The instrument was then carefully replaced within its case and locked. March looked at the older brother. "Mr. Hazzards has told ye what to do, has he not?" Andrew asked. "Aye sir," Sean replied. "Right then," March said, next fetching a brace of pistols already primmed and loaded. These he tucked into Sean's belt and then carefully handed the lad the violin case. "Bring this to him and tell him we need an answer. Tis all ye need to do... ye know where to go in order to meet up with the people who are watching him. They will take ye to the Captain they will," March said, tapping the bone by the corner of his left eye. Sean Merriweather nodded. "And as fer ye," March said taking a third pistol and tucking it into Joshua Merriweather's belt as well. "Off with ye. Ye know to take Michael for a long walk where ever he will, just so's ye be not headin in the same direction as Sean once ye separate. Where be my fiddle case?" "Tis with Michael Mr. March," Joshua said with a sigh. "Good then, do not be forgetting it... and don't be shooting yer foot off!" March warned as the lads, each with a haphazzard bow, turned and went about their odd duties. March quickly turned and locked up the chest, returning both keys about his neck and tucking them within his shirt. "Who will be following them?" March asked as he looked once more to Hazzards. "Watch over the elder I will, until he is safe with Le Cour's people, " the second officer answered. "Gunner will keep an eye on the younger. Tis good he is at following without being noticed," he added. "Very well then. See it done," March said, dismissing the other man to go about his duties. "And make damn sure the younger doesn't go shooting hisself!"

Andrew March walked silently besides the other captain, his hands gripped tightly behind his back, his face a mask. When Striker suddenly halted abruptly and challenged March with his trustworthiness, March had to admit he was taken somewhat aback. He knew not this man from Adam, why should he trust him at all? And if his information was so vital to Captain Sterling's well being, a matter of life and death, surely why keep it to himself? March would be shouting it from the rooftops... The Scotsman fell back into step as Striker resumed their walk. As the other man gave up his deadline it was all March could do to keep himself in check. Any other man with a threat against his captain's life, would have already been escorted down a quiet path and gutted by now, but there was something about Striker that March was all too unsure of... for some reason he believed he was telling the truth. "Can ye not be tellin me, sir?" March finally asked as they continued on after a few moments of silence. Striker shook his head and March had to force himself to believe that what ever it was Striker knew, the man believed it was a matter between gentlemen. March accepted that hesitantly, knowing, not every first officer was his captain's confidant and friend. They continued walking until they had arrived at a quiet and remarkably empty spot. It was then March's turn to stop and turn toward Striker. "Sir, I am indebted to ye for yer information, but due to the death of the tavern maid prior to the attempt on Captain Sterling's life, I am unable to tell ye where the Captain is currently under the watchful eye of our surgeon. Unfortunately the same family that has suffered the grave loss of Mistress Shea is also the same providing shelter for the Captain. Some how Killingsworth has linked the two together and yer new threat may do the same as well, thus neither the Captain, Mistress McKinney or this family may be safe. I understand and appreciate the urgency of which ye speak, but I must send word first before I can just walk in unannounced with ye in tow, in order for ye to speak with the Captain. I need time, Sir, although I will act accordingly with all due haste. Until then I ask that ye see to yer own back as well for if Killingsworth was involved, so then must be Lord Robert Darnly and no one is safe. Where might I be able to reach ye?"

Nothing, Captain! It's the Faire! Come to think of it, what do a bunch of vaguely nautical people from the 1690s have to do with the Renaissance? Habibi touche`

"Mr. Hazzards if ye please," March said signaling the other man to step away. The first officer fixed a steady gaze on Striker. "If ye would be excusing me a moment, sir." Without waiting for a reply, March, with a slight bow, moved back to join Hazzards. "What do ye think we should be doing?" Hazzards asked as the other officer came along side. Andrew March shook his head for a moment. "I cannot be disclosing the captain's location. John would shoot me dead himself, if he thought I was to put this family that he's with in danger... not that I would be so careless where his or their safety were concerned. That Devareaux fellow was good enough to be telling us where they took the captain in the first place.... no there is a trust issue at stake and I shan't be the one breakin it." "Besides," Hazzards said, glancing back over his shoulder at Striker. "This man we know him not...By God what has that McKinney woman gotten the captain involved with now?" Andrew raised his hand slightly, and calmly placed it on Hazzards' shoulder. "The Archangel is almost ready to sail, two or three days more. If we drive these locals a bit harder all the better and we can take the Captain and put out at a distance until Morgan is ready to sail." "And our papers?" Hazzards asked. Andrew nodded a bit and lowered his voice. "I have it from that same fellow that they are in the process of being produced. The Captain will be safe, as will the rest of us. We need to be sending word... maybe this Striker can hold off a day... I cannot be telling him where the captain be... have the Merriweather lads meet me in the Captain's cabin and fetch Michael here." March turned to face Striker. "Sir, if ye would be so kind as to take a stroll with me...perhaps someplace a bit more private along the docks?"

"Good and ill news, says he," Mr. Hazzard muttered as he looked to the other officer. "Good God, what now?" March replied, his frown increasing. He looked down. "Come aboard then. Damn it man, tell me the captain is not in harm's way again!"

bump

The careening finished, the ship had been set to rights once more and the other numerous tasks of refitting and restocking had commenced. Andrew March, surrounded by Mr. Hazzards and two rather tired midshipmen, made his way about, scrutinizing each worker from the shipyards as they cared for their grand Lady, The Archangel. "Someone be hailing ye," Hazzards remarked as March corrected one of the men. "It will not do!" Andrew said, as he finally straightened and looked over the side to where Hazzards had indicated. "I be Andrew March, and who might ye be?" he called. With a frown he chastised the worker once more before he turned his complete attention on the man upon the dock.

Andrew March 35 years of age First Lieutenant of The Archangel Scottish born. First shipped out at the age of nine and have been makin my living by the sea ever since. Dark hair, often sporting a full beard. 5'8" tall. I came aboard The Archangel when I was in my early twenties and have worked my way up through the ranks. Dependable, skilled in my craft, and fiercly loyal to my captain, I looks after him at all times and cover his left side during battle. During our travels to Norway, I met and fell in love with my wife Skittles. When we married the Captain gave his permission for her to stay on board ship with me. She serves as the sempstress, laundress and cook to the captain and the other officers. We have a young daughter, who hails by the nickname of Sunfish. The captain has given her the title of "Naturalist" as our small cabin is chocked full of bugs, pressed flowers, and other items that she collects while we are in port.

Jewelry too? Say when do you think you'll be getting some pieces in... Christmas is coming and Skittles could do with some new stuff for the Reenactor Festival Ball this coming Feb...?

Andrew March had stood waiting for Admiral Morgan to disembark from his coach for his breakfast. He had not intended to run into the man in such a way but at first thought that fate was smiling on him. Still Morgan had not seemed pleased to have his breakfast interrupted in such a fashion. In spite of his politeness toward Mistress March, the admiral made short work of his time with March, offering to take the letter the first officer extended in hand..and dismissing him with a request that he make an appointment with his secretary. But March, far too wise, though he would never make such a claim, instead, thanked Morgan and quickly returned his letter of introduction to his own pocket. He bowed politely to his better and Skittles made a charming curtsy and they made their way off for the day. It was well after the supper hour before March returned his wife to the safety of their rooms and he told her not to wait up for him. She kissed him goodbye for now and he made his way to the Captain's place of abode. "Ah good evening to ye Mr. Symms!" March said as the older man opened the door to him. "I know I am late but things have not gone as planned. If he's feeling up to it, I would like to have a word with the captain. The admiral has not been of much assistance and I would like permission to go directly to Modyford instead." He should have know something was amiss when the old steward remained fixed in the doorway and would not let him enter. It was not as if Symms purposely blocked the first officer's way, he was just at the end of his rope...it had been hours since he had last seen his charge. "He be not here," Symms said, panic emphasizing his words. March could not help but smile. "Well tis good to hear it then. Up and about is he?" "Aye but in no sound condition to be so," Symms replied. A curious frown wrinkled the first officer's brow. "How so Josiah? Ye have me worried now by yer tone as well as yer claim," March said. "And right so, Mr. March. The captain's gone missing... the doctor and that.... that," Symms sputtered for a moment before he let forth with..."That bleedin cow of an actress have gone out searchin fer him. They be all gone since early this mornin!" "This morning? Sure then that someone has laid hold of him. He can't surely have gotten far adrift walking about Jamaica?" "Tis the thing that he managed to rent hisself a horse... God knows where he has gotten himself off to and no one has even sent word to either end of it." "Damn ye Josiah, what were ye thinkin then?" March suddenly shouted at the old man. "Why did ye not send word over to me or at least Mr. Hazzards?" "I did! I did! Mr. Hazzards has gone to the watch to inquire and seek aid in finding the captain. He sent the lads to look fer ye, but I see now that they did not find ye... He is in a bad way this time... I fear the worst," Symms said. "I wish to wait here in case they bring him back... but do what ye must Andrew to be finding him."

It was early when Skittles woke her husband. “A few minutes longer,” he said with a growl and rolled over on his side. “But today you go to see Sir Henry, ja?” she asked. Andrew cracked open an eye and watched his wife as she once more brushed off all the imaginary dirt from his best suit. “Ja,” Andrew replied with a grin, than sat up. With a deep yawn and a good stretch he roused himself until he was ready to set forth from the comfort of his bed. “Shall we dress then and be off to find a bit of food to break the morning fast?” he said, coming up behind his wife and giving her a kiss upon the cheek. But Skittles was already dressed, in her best Bunad, except for the elaborate head piece. “Ja Master March. Tis best to see to your strength this day,” she giggled. “As a long wait, perhaps you vill have. But tis best ve not tarry then. Your clothes are ready for you and the letter from the Captain is in your vallet.” Dressed and making their way out to the street, the couple walked arm in arm through out the streets. Already Port Royal was well into its business for the day. Nervously March kept patting the wallet in his pocket. It would not do for a thief to lighten his load now. "It will be all right," Skittles would whisper every time she noticed. "It is just a letter of introduction. Surely if all this talk be true, Sir Henry vill see you even without it? Ja?" "Still....the captain is depending on me," March replied. He suddenly halted in his track, nearly jerking his poor wife off her feet. "Well I'll be..." Skittles silenced him with a look. She had agreed to his use of certain language on board ship, but in public... Andrew nodded his head in the direction of the carriage that had just come to a stop outside the Sugar Loaf. "Tis Sir Henry himself!" "Surely Master March, we should not be disturbing him during his breakfast!" "Aye ye be right, but we shan't be disturbing him... just enough of his time to deliver the captain's letter and arrange a meeting with him. Come along Mistress March," Andrew said, already the wallet out and in his hand, and he gently tugged her along in the direction of the fine gentleman disembarking from the splendid coach. "Ahoy! Sir Henry Morgan. I be beggin a moment of yer time sir!" March called out to him.

Andrew March tried to make himself comfortable as his wife readied herself for bed. It was late and Skittles had spent most of the evening preparing her husband's best clothes. There were spots to be removed, tears to be mended and buttons to be fixed. He lay abed watching as she remade one of the silk Dorset buttons on his frock coat. If it were not for her skills as a sempstress Andrew, his Captain and the other officers of the Archangel would be all the more worse for wear when far from London Towne. "I am almost done," she said softly. "You should try and sleep now Mr. March. You have a very important meeting tomorrow when off you go to see Sir Henry. " "Aye, Mistress March. The captain is depending on the likes of me to see to aquiring his Letters of Marque." "You will do fine. Ja, both I and Captain Sterling know this well, Mr. March," Skittles said as she bit off the end of silk, gave her husband's coat one last brush and placed it carefully on the back of a chair. She blew out the candle she was using and made her way to the bed. "I think I cannot get used to sleeping on land after so long on the Archangel," she laughed gently as she climbed in beside her husband. She snuggled up close to him. "Come now, Mr. March, close your eyes and rest. All will go well with Sir Henry, I have heard it said he needs all the best crews he can get and you know well enough there is none better than ours." She leaned over and kissed him. "Mistress March, would ye be so kind as to look in on the poor captain? I've been so busy with the shipyard and the careening, I've not heard word as to his well being," March said with a yawn. "Ja, Mr. March. I was going to ask you this as well," Skittles replied. "Good tis settled then. If I not be all day with Sir Henry, I shall meet ye there when I be done."