Terra Incognita

[Ransom]

Terra Incognita = An explanation and call for players

Although there are many role playing stories on the Pub, this one will be different. An experiment, if you will. With input from PEW (we've been bouncing this idea back and forth since last November), we hope to try a new approach to story telling.

The biggest difference is that this story will be illustrated. Now WAIT, before you throw up your hands and say "Well, that lets me out, I can't draw." Let me explain. By illustrated, we mean anything from scanned copyright free art, scanned letters (written by you or not), maps, rough sketches, even photos — with this caveat. The art doesn't have to be strictly PC correct, but it must be PC appropriate. So, if you want to use a photo to illustrate a beach scene, that's okay, just make sure there are no modern buildings, ships, or people in the shot. No pyrate event photos either. Our faces are too well known. Nothing that would pull the reader out of the early 1700s. If you use art gathered from the internet, post the picture, not just a link. Really, everyone knows how to find pics on the internet and post them, so adding a few to your posts as you go along is not going to be too hard. Really!

NOT EVERY POST NEEDS, OR SHOULD HAVE, AN ILLUSTRATION. THEY ARE JUST AN EXTRA, FUN ELEMENT OF THE STORY.

EDIT 1-26 Originally we asked for players to come in under new log-in/avatar names. This has been changed, as it was felt it might turn people away. So, come in under your regular Pub name, or a new one, whichever you prefer. But the rule of no secret players stands.

Here are the rules of play so far:

* All characters to be written in third person. (no "I did this", or "I did that.")

* This is historical fiction based on facts known or unknown at the time. Not a fantasy.

* No "secret" players.

* All questions, historical info, and character names to be posted in a joint thread (which will be started if there are enough people interested in playing), so as to not interrupt the flow of the main story.

Story Summary: Loosely based on the circumnavigational voyage of Captain George Anson in the flagship Centurion, 1740.

Another caveat = This is historical fiction, not a history lesson or essay. Facts may be fudged, give or take a decade, to keep the story fun and loose.

One or two ships (depends on how many people sign on to play) leave England around 1720 to go on a voyage of discovery around the world. They will cross the Atlantic and touch bases in South America, then round the horn, visit known and unknown islands in the pacific, then head to Malaysia, China, and India. Then round the cape, up the coast of Africa, and eventually back to England (the actual route to be posted in a joint thread as the story unfolds).

This scenario gives players a chance to experience different cultures, not to mention the trials and tribulations of long months at sea (in one historic circumnavigation, over three hundred men died, but only two of wounds received in battle. The rest died of disease, mainly scurvy).

In this story, it would be necessary for ships to remain in foreign ports for extended lengths of time for repairs and exploration. This would give more opportunities for land-based characters, whether native (which would be really interesting), or settlers, and how those characters would interact with the sailors. This also gives lots of opportunities for minor characters as the ship/ships move from one place to another. And, naturally, there would be battles, with pirates — of several nationalities — ships of other countries, or, even other English ships competing for the same glory of discovery (this would make a great antagonist character for someone to play — another ship dogging our every move).

So, that's the plan. If you are interested in this experiment, and we hope many of you are, then PM either myself or Pew.

[Ransom]

We're going to go ahead and start the story soon. If you want to play, jump in any time. The character possibilities will be endless, but please read the above description and rules before doing so.

TERRA INCOGNITA—A Circumnavigation, 1720

[Pew]

The proposed route, to follow that of Anson.

[Ransom]

PORTSMOUTH, ENGLAND

September 1720

Simon Millechamp stood, water dripping from hat, cloak, and shoes, in the common room of the King’s Head. He’d just spent several murderous hours cramped in the public coach which had brought him down from London. It had rained the entire time. It was raining still, a downpour of epic proportions which seemed determined to wash the port town back into the sea.

On the floor next to him squatted a large portmanteau packed to near bursting with everything he thought he might need. He had no trunk, as he’d been advised to pack lightly, for his new quarters would allow no room for extravagances or creature comforts. Despite this, he’d managed to shove a half dozen of his most favored books into the portmanteau, leaving behind one of his spare shirts, a fine pair of boots, and a box of sweetmeats his sister had made as a leaving present.

“How many nights will you be staying, sir?” The innkeeper, a scrawny man missing several teeth, examined Simon through eyes inflamed by infection.

“Just tonight. Tomorrow I board the Terra Incognita.”

The inn keeper shook his head. “Hope you’ve provided well for your widow.”

“I’m not married. And why do you say that?”

“Well, stands to reason, don’t it? Most of them that has sailed away looking for strange lands never come back to tell the rest of us what they saw. The last ship to sail from this harbor looking to find the Northwest Passage was never seen nor heard from again. Others ‘ave been gone for years, and come back with less than a handful of men, and them all looking like ghosts.” He cocked a crust-rimmed eye. “You take my advise, and go back home. That ship is a floating death trap.”

Simon was already quite terrified of this trip, so the keep’s recitation did nothing to ease his mind. It still bewildered him why the financiers of the expedition had chosen him to represent them on the voyage. He was not a sailor, he was a clerk, and knew nothing of ships or the sea. The only time he’d experienced life on board was during a crossing to France to conduct business for his employers. The trip over had been uneventful, but the trip back had been a nightmare. The ship had been caught in a storm. For three days it had bucked and reared like a wild horse, and around him fellow passengers spent most of that time spewing over the rails. It had been small consolation to Simon that he’d not been afflicted with seasickness himself. When, battered and bruised, he was finally back on solid land, he’d vowed never to step foot on a ship again.

Yet here he was, standing in a cheap common room in Portsmouth, away from the warm hearth of his parent’s London townhouse. Instead, he faced the sobering prospect of three, possibly four, years at sea, cooped up with men who would no doubt look upon him as a spy, reporting their bad behavior to his employers. Which, if he thought about it, was pretty much the truth. It would be his job to look after the financiers money, how it was spent, how life was conducted on the vessel during the voyage, and, when possible, sending reports back to London appraising their Lordships of such. He was also to keep a written record of the voyage, especially his observations on Spanish holdings in the Pacific, to be examined along with the ship’s log when and if the vessel returned. It did not help that he’d heard horror stories of ship’s factors being tossed overboard in the dead of night.

“Please, just give me a room.” Simon was not altogether successful in keeping his voice from quavering.

“All right, young sir, but don’t say ye weren’t warned.” The innkeeper handed Simon a heavy key, rusted with age. “Second room on the right of the stairs. I’ll have my girl bring you up some hot water directly.”

“Thank you.” Simon took the key, grabbed the handles of the heavy portmanteau, and trudged up the staircase.

Much later, after he had eaten a light supper, and crawled into bed, he lay awake long into the night. Staring into the darkness, his heart thudding against his chest, every emotion he’d felt since being assigned to the ship tumbling through his being — surprise, anticipation, curiosity, and most of all, fear.

When he at last fell into a fitful sleep, he dreamt he stood at the edge of a great high cliff, below him a roiling, stormy sea, and the vast sky before him a starless black void....

[Pew]

The Black Bough Inn, Gunwharf Quay, Portsmouth, England, 6:30pm

A thunderbolt cracked across the sky. Thunder rattled the glass within the lead lined panes jolting more than one officer in the small group. Smiling, Thommie Woolsworth turned away from the sea and looked to his midshipman. The junior officer had just sliced an ever so slight piece of his thumb into the apple in his palm.

"Ne'ermind the flesh eh' boyo?" quipped the first rate officer.

"Aye sah, 'tis but a flesh wound sah," retorted the lad. Each of the men in the large conservatory laughed as the storm brought another flash and rumble to their early evening.

The innkeep was a friend of a friend and kept their cups flowing throughout the night. Thommie was not quite sure how to approach the men about the task laid before him. It was not an easy thing to simply mention that they were to protect the Crown's possessions around the world as well as spy on Spanish territories in South America. How was he to break this to a crew where they were to be at sea for the better part of several years. He moved from the window and decided to simply announce their their departure as he had their many campaigns.

Lieutenant Thomas Earle Woolsworth had spent 6 years at his current position within her Majesty's Royal Navy. His position on the ship came by the captain, not the navy and he could lose his ranking once the ship was lossed, or removed. Thommie could retain his ranking once they returned to service if the new captain wished a former first Lt. to be his Executive Officer. He knew his Captain would not let him rot in an Admiralty office in some godforsaken office in London proper. The thought alone made him shiver. Thommie was aboard the H.M.S. Terra for the duration. A queer thought invaded his mind though. He had seen so many young men live, serve and die before him and the thought of leaving some of the same men sitting, drinking and living before him in a strange land miles from home made him instantly finish his drink.

He began his remarks first by announcing that their Captain was to join them upon arrival from the Magistrate's office. There was some paperwork that had been mucked up by an errant clerk and the Captain himself had gone to set it right. There was rumor that a secretary, employed by the financiers of the voyage was to join aboard. This remark itself gained the guffaws of the young lads. Lt. Woolsworth raised his hands calmly and quieted the noise. He mentioned that it was Vice-Admiral James Berkeley, the 3rd Earl of Berkeley whom had personally entrusted the crew of the H.M.S. Terra with the care of said Secretary. The Captain had to see for himself.

[Ransom]

Kins's Head Inn

Portsmouth

Simon woke well before dawn, nerves twisting his stomach into a knot. Sounding like grapeshot, gusts of wind flung rain against the small window. The room was freezing. Knowing he would never get back to sleep, he got out of bed, dragging the blankets with him for warmth. Rummaging around in his portmanteau, he pulled out paper, pen, and ink, and sat at the small table beside the bed.

Thinking it might be the last letter his father ever received from him, Simon thought carefully of what he wished to say, then proceeded to write. When finished, he let the pages set for a few minutes to allow the ink to dry, as he had no sand, then folded the heavy paper, addressed and sealed it.

When finished, he attempted to read from one of the books he’d brought with him, a volume of the complete works of Shakespeare. He avoided The Tempest, and settled into the lighter fare of the Merry Wives of Windsor. But even Falstaff’s buffoonery couldn’t keep his mind off the coming voyage. In frustration, he put the book back in the portmanteau, dressed, and went downstairs to break his fast.

The innkeeper, already at his post, gave Simon a gap-toothed smile. “Morning, sir. Hope ye slept well.”

“As well as I expected, thank you. Could I get some coffee this morning?”

“The wife is boiling it up now.” The keep gave Simon an all-encompassing appraisal. “Ye know, ye don’t look to be a sailor.”

Simon sighed. “I’m not. I’m a clerk.”

“Ah, your family hit desperate times, then? Or did you and your father have a falling out? Lots of young lads are forced to take ship due to fatherly misunderstandings, or lack of money”

“Look, my father is a high court judge, so we are hardly suffering desperate times. And my father and I get along quite well.”

The keep squinted at him. “Then why in God’s name are ye going? It’s a fool’s voyage.”

“You’re an awfully nosey fellow, but if you must know, I was assigned to the ship by my employers. I’m to keep a record of the voyage. Now, could I please have some coffee, and maybe a chop and some eggs?”

Through eyes which looked more inflamed than the previous day, the innkeeper studied him a moment, then shrugged and disappeared into a back room. Some time later, he reappeared with a platter on which were two chops, a pile of slurried eggs, and a slab of fresh-baked bread smeared with butter. Accompanying this feast, was a tall pot of coffee.

Simon looked up at the keep. “This seems quite generous. Thank you.”

Once again the keep shrugged. “Just figured a lad going to his doom ought to leave with a good meal under his belt, that’s all.”

[Ransom]

King's Head Inn

Portsmouth

The innkeeper’s last remark turned Simon a bit off his food. However, he thought the Keep was right in one respect. This might be the last good meal he'd have for quite some time. So, he forced himself to finish it all. The coffee helped wash it down. When he was done, he returned to his room, repacked ink, pen, and paper, along with the volume of Shakespeare, donned his great coat and hat, and returned to the common room.

The Keep gave him a forlorn look. “So, ye’re off then?”

“Yes, and could you make sure this gets in the next mail pouch bound for London.” Simon handed over the letter he had written to his father.

“Last will and testament?” the Keep asked, as he took the envelope.

“No! A first of many letters I intend to send to my family, letting them know how I fare.” Simon handed over the heavy room key. “Really, you are the most depressing fellow. Do you treat all your patrons with such a funereal attitude?”

“Only those as are throwing their life away on a fool’s venture.” He leaned across the counter and gave Simon a wink. “Tell ye what, young sir. If ye survive yon trip, and turn up in my inn again someday, I’ll make ye a feast, and fill a pitcher with my finest ale, and not charge ye a copper.”

Simon grinned at the man. “Done. And I’ll want dessert as well.”

They shook hands to seal the bargain, then Simon left the King’s Head and started the short walk to the docks. To his dismay, it was still pouring down rain. With a nervous shrug, he headed for the Terra, the eggs and greasy chops suddenly curdling in his stomach.

[Pew]

Gunwharf Quay, Portsmouth, England, 10:15am

Thommie had been about at the docks for some time when his midshipmen made their way down the wharf. Most of the lot looking miserable. Reeling from the night before, and chilled to the bone in wet oilskins Lieutenant Thomas Earle Woolsworth shouted to the boys even as they stood before him. He grinned widely as they clutched their ears and whimpered.

"Plenty of work to do. The Captain has made arrangements for the Clerk to stay below. You lads are to fetch his belongs," the lieutenant pointed to a cart draped in a heavy canvas, " and take them below."

"It's true then sah? A clerk?"

The Lieutenant crossed his arms. "Aye, 'tis true. Anymore o' ye now, an' it'll be the lash." Thommie scowled, then slowly broke into a grin. "Right now, off with you lot."

Thommie took a moment to look about for anyone that could seems out of sorts. he raised his head to the clouds and found the rain to continue. He sighed heavily. How he loathed this climate. Grey, everything was grey, and wet, and cold. Lt. Woolsworth looked southeast to the old burned out cathedral . When would the bloody rain stop.

[Ransom]

Millechamp House

Queen’s Square, London 8:30 am

The Honorable Cecil James Millechamp came down to breakfast, only to be reminded by the two place settings at table, that his son was no longer residing at Millechamp House. There would be only his lovely daughter, Lavinia, to keep him company. Not that he had cause for complaint, as she was an intelligent woman of no nonsense, and able to hold her own in any company of polite society. But Simon’s absence from table brought home to Cecil once again the frightening possibility that he would never see his son again.

The appointment to the Terra had come as a shock to all of them. Yes, it was certainly an honor not to be refused, but oh, the danger. Lavinia had struggled to keep her tears at bay, but Cecil knew she had gone to her room later and cried for her brother. Her reddened and swollen eyes at supper that evening gave her away.

Simon had been excited but mainly confused. “Why me, of all the persons they had to choose from.” he had wondered aloud.

“I suspect, my boy, it is your singular powers of observation that caught their attention. I swear, even as a child, you could recite back to me every cottage, every coach, and every bug and bird you had seen on any outing I can remember. You also have a gift for numbers, and are scrupulously honest. That alone would recommend you to their Lordships.”

But after Simon’s departure at dawn the previous day, Cecil had wished with all his heart that their Lordships had chosen some other man’s son to go on such a perilous voyage.

He heard Lavinia approaching the small dinning room. She paused at the door, much as he had done, and stared at the missing place setting. Then she met his trouble gaze, and sighed. “Oh, father. Do you think he will come back to us? I have such dread in my heart.”

The Honorable Cecil James Millechamp took his daughter’s hand and replied kindly, “We must pray every day that God will return him to us, sound in both mind and body.”

[Ransom]

Gunwharf Quay, Portsmouth. 10:30 am

Rain continued to pour as Simon navigated the chaos of men and supplies crowding the wharf. Buffeted along like a piece of flotsam, he received many a curse, and one or two shoves out of the way.

Once beside her, Simon was aghast at the size of the Terra, although she was not the largest ship in port. However, to him she was a giant tangle of robe, canvas, masts and men, which he despaired of ever figuring out.

After another shove, which nearly sent him into the water, Simon approached a ramp, which led from the wharf to the ship. A man with a leather-bound ledger was making notes as men carried barrels and bales aboard. Those containers too large for human labor were being hauled into the ship with a heavy boom, from which was suspended a thick-roped net.

Simon approached the man, and trying to be heard over the rain and the din, asked, “Excuse me, but with whom do I speak regarding passage on board?”

The man looked up from his accounts, and glared. “Terra's not a passenger vessel. Move off.”

“I’m sorry, I may have worded that incorrectly. I am assigned to this ship. What I was asking is, how do I go about getting on board? Is there someone I must check in with?”

The man gave Simon a hard inspection. “And who might you be?”

“Simon Millechamp, company agent.”

The man gave him an even longer inspection, then snorted. “You won’t last a week.”

[Ransom]

Gunwharf Quay 11:00 am

Simon glared at the man. Its effects were lessened by the water dripping from Simon’s chin, and the fact that his hat was limp as a dead flounder.

“Look,” he said, with what patience he had left. “Just tell me whom I am to report to. Is that so hard?”

“I’m just the local victualer. Soon as my cargo is on board, it’s back to the warehouse for me.” The man grinned. “Sorry son, but if ye can’t tell a merchant from a sailor, you’re in for a long and frustrating voyage.” The man laughed out loud, and went back to his ledger book.

It was all too much for Simon. Feeling like an abandoned kitten tossed into a dog run, the only thing he could think to do was yell. Which he did, to any and all on the wharf.

“You can’t ignore me forever!” he railed. “I’m assigned to this ship, God rot you, and no matter how much you may dislike it, you’re stuck with me. Now, could someone please tell me the proper procedure for getting aboard!”

A young lad of around thirteen years tugged on his coat. “No sense killing yer tonsils on this lot.” He made a gesture, which included the wharf and the amused looks coming from the other men, including snorting laughter from the merchant, who had nearly dropped his ledger book when Simon let fly. “They’s ain’t going to tell you naught, but if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you aboard.”

Not in a trusting mood, Simon snapped, “Who are you, the local pot boy?”

Another snort came from the merchant.

The boy shook his head. “I’m one of the powder monkeys. Names Nate Wheeler, but me mates call me Touch. Me an the other lads have been with the Terra for over two year now. You stick with us, we’ll show ye the ropes.”

“I’m Simon Millchamp, company factor.” He shook hands with the boy, noticing that, even at his tender age, the boy’s palms were rough as a man’s. “Pleased to meet you, Touch.”

The boy grinned. “Ah, so you’re the clerk we’ve been warned about. Shoulda knowt it by your clothes. Come on, then. It’s Lieutenant Woolsworth you need to see.”

With the overwhelming feeling that he was leaving the real world behind, Simon followed Touch across the narrow wooden ramp, and finally set foot on the Terra.

[Ransom]

[Ransom]

Aboard the Terra

As Touch led the agent on board, he tried to size the man up. His appearance was pretty clerkish, but Touch got the feeling the plain clothes and formal speaking hid a tough spirit. Not many deskmen would risk their lives on a voyage such as this one. Hell, Touch thought, most of the hardened sailors on board were shaking in their slops at the idea of leaving for unknown territory. Who knew what savages or wild beasts they might have to fight?

Watching Mr. Millechamp stumble on board made Touch smile. No doubt about it, he’d have to take care of the man, at least until he got used to life on board. Helpless as a lamb, that’s what he was, and Touch knew there were those as would just as soon see him pitched overboard as soon as the ship was out of sight of land.

So without Simon Millechamp knowing his good fortune, Touch secretly assigned himself the job of keeping the man alive and teaching him the ways of ships and the sea. He just hoped he didn’t have to nurse him through weeks of seasickness. Emptying slop buckets was not what he had in mind.

With that thought, he asked, “Ye get the sea sickness, sir?”

Mr. Millechamp shook his head. “No. I sailed to France and back without being affected by the mal de mere.”

“Mal da what?”

The man smiled. “Sorry, that’s French for sea sickness.”

“Oh, well, that’s all right then. Thought ye might be telling me ye had some kind of French pox. Captain don’t like it by half when his men come down with the pox. Ye’d best watch your step.”

“I promise I’ll be careful.”

Satisfied the man wasn’t having him on, Touch said, “Well, come on then. Ye have to see Woolsworth before I can settle ye in to your cabin.”

[Pew]

Lieutenant Thomas Earle Woolsworth had spent the better of the morning in the deluge logging the influx of supplies onto the Terra. The rain had abated long enough for him to oversee the dry stores coming aboard. he stood in the waist and covered his eyes from the drops that still rained down from the Main yard, Main topsail yard, and the Main topgallant yard. Staring above, he eyes drew across the harbor. He smiled as he thought of the the last time he saw a forest as thick as the masts appeared to be. A call from the docks shook Woolsworth back to the present. A hogshead had come loose from the net. The Lieutenant stood placidly and watched as nearly 54 gallons of small beer came smashing down upon the deck. Thommie knew if this was the worst to come from the day's work, he was ready for his double ration this evening.

[Ransom]

Aboard the Terra

Simon followed his new friend through the chaotic bustle on deck toward the rear of the ship, where a man in uniform was directing the taking on of supplies. Just as Touch was about to call up to the officer, a loud crash behind Simon made him nearly jump out of his shoes.

Touch, startled for a moment, quickly regained his composure. “Aw, that be a shame.”

“What was in the cask?” Simon asked, willing his heartrate to drop. Then realized the smell should have told him.

“Beer, more’s the pity. But, I doubt that’ll be the last keg we lose on this voyage.” The boy shrugged. “Likely we’ll pick up more somewhere’s along the way.”

The lad’s confidence amused Simon. “Well, if you’re not worried, then neither shall I be.”

Touch gave Simon a crooked smile. “Do a body no good to be worried ‘bout that kind o’ thing. Besides, I said me and me mates would watch out for ye, and we will. Never you fear.”

Before Simon could express his gratitude, however dubious, the boy shouted up to the officer. “Beggin’ your pardon, Lieutenant Woolsworth, Sir, but here be the new clerk. Seems to be a right friendly bloke, and he says he don’t get the sea sickness, but he been nowt but to France and back, so I’m not sure that’s a true test, Sir. Seems ta need a bit of looking after too, so I volunteered me and me mates for the job, if it’s all right with you. Don’t want him fallin’ overboard on our first day out.”

Setting down his portmanteau, Simon doffed his soggy hat, gave a short bow of greeting, and called out, “Simon Millechamp, ship’s agent, at your service, Sir.”