The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

Closing his eyes slowly, Dorian took a moment to clear his mind. No, the ledger needed to be filled out now, for when he did lay down he would be slumbering deeply for as long as possible. Dorian thought back and realized that he had been awake for near two days. No wonder he felt as if he was weighed down with lead. He squeezed his eyes shut hard before opening them again and opened the ledger to the last entry he had scribed. This he read and nodded, remembering the events just past. Finding his pen and inkpot, Dorian began the task of summarizing what had happened since that last entry. He writ of the repairs to the Lucy, the condition of sails and rigging, weather and sea. Another swallow of Madera was had before writing of the crew, who was recovering well, who was not, and who had succumbed to them. It was then that he remembered that he would have several funerals to preside over at some point this day. Again, a heavy weight pressed down on him. Wiping his eyes with his hand, Dorian looked up and noted that Preston had found some peace and was asleep. A smile crossed the Captain’s face at this, followed by a yawn. Dorian quietly stood and stretched, sat gently and took up the pen again. In short order he had finished the entry and stood while the ink was drying. He left the ward room quietly and found the Surgeon, instructing her that she was given leave to come and go without need of permission to enter the quarters. He then found the officers on watch and informed them that if they needed him, he would be in the Ship’s Master’s quarters and to leave the Ward room in peace. Once this was understood, the Captain headed back to the ward room and relieved the space of his hammock and some small items, taking them to Preston’s freshly cleaned quarters and made himself comfortable. The smell of vinegar hung in the air, but not to an unpleasant extreme. Doffing his hat, coat and sword, Dorian stiffly climbed into his hammock and with little pain settled himself and lay for just a moment thinking of what might happen next before he succumbed to exhaustion.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe having bid Captain Lasseter a good night once Preston appeared to be sleeping as comfortably as his condition would allow, drew the canvas about her space and retired. Soon they would be at Trinidad and she hoped all would get the rest needed. Through hazy speculation and the quiet rush of the sea against the hull she soon found sleep waking ocasionally only to resume slumber as the Lucy swayed on the wind.

[William Brand]

Durand was in an ill mood. Captain Avendano had not been the most welcoming of hosts when Durand had come aboard, and the ensuing time spent on the Navarra had been equally unwelcoming. Usually this wouldn't have bothered the Frenchman, but his political clout was watered way to thin aboard the Spanish vessel, a thing equal to the quality of her grog.

A passing sailor chanced to fix Durand with another ill look as he stood at the rail. Durand returned the same temperature of approval, but was mindful to turn into the sun enough that his false eye caught the light of it. He knew it could be disconcerting when seen in concert with a good, well executed scowl, and he wasn't disappointed. The man amended his face at once and Durand was once again left alone to ponder the bottom of a too soon emptied cup.

He did not think anyone would come and refresh it soon.

As for Avendano, the man was still pacing in anger somewhere within his high hall. Not only had the Lieutenant brought back Brand's refusal to pay shares against the lost prize, but he had sent another 'hireling'. Avendano was not happy, and he was known to excise his moods on anyone who crossed him.

His partner in business (or crime as it was better understood by a few) tried again and again to quiet Avendano's distemper, but to no avail. Avendano was a man of pure ego, equalled only by his obscure perspective of self against a backdrop of Earth that he viewed beneath his feet. Once insulted, a man might spend a lifetime trying to regain the Captain's favor in vain, for Avendano could hold a grudge as well as he could a fork, almost never to be put down.

So Avendeno paced amidst a litany of Spanish profanity within, while without, Durand traced the bottom of an empty cup in silence. His one good eye watching everywhere at once.

[Pew]

The four bells of the first dog watch had finished ringing true as Charlie Goddon collected his fid, pricker and stabber and placed them in the small leather apron. His hands were sore and he flexed them and balled them into small fists. After depositing Preston into the ward room he had returned to restitching of the ratlines. They continually rubbed on the larboard rail just aft the gunn Morrigan and forward of Leucetios. Goddon made a note to see if the cordage above was too tight causing the friction to continually wear thin the meager footholds to go aloft. His decision upon hearing the bells was to get a better look at first light and discuss such with Mister Tucker.

[William Brand]

Mister Wenge stood in water to his knees with an expression of careful contemplation. Those sailors assigned to him stood hard by and more than once tried to engage him. Each time they opened their mouths to speak, he would raise a hand before going back to his thoughts. Then he began pacing up and down dragging his feet through the water, but careful not to foul a foot on the ballast stones.

One of the sailors dared the silence again. "It's not so much water..."

The Master Carpenter did not reply, but shone his lantern into every little space. He thought about fetching a cup to listen to the timbers. He even thought of putting out the light to rob all of his senses but sound.

"It looks the same." the man offered further, but he was not so well acquainted with such things as was Alder Wenge.

"Our watches will be spent here." Alder said at once, resolved to prove the matter by observation. "I've work above, so you both shall have the watch down here." He pointed down at the water, which seemed all but unchanged in the last hour.

The men consented, neither too happy of the light duty, nor to upset about the smell of the place. Alder just watched the timbers and remained, so both men were made to wait and watch him again.

"Mewl a little louder, Lucy. Just a little louder for me." Alder whispered to the cutter and her undiscovered hurt.

She did not answer.

[Dorian Lasseter]

He softly padded across the deck, making sure to avoid the busiest areas on the ship’s deck so as not to get stepped on. He was still a bit scared from all the commotion that had occurred earlier and as such was also a bit skittish. Pooka jumped sideways when a chest lid was dropped hastily, then dashed to the safety under the ships boat. There he watched for a time, making sure all was safe for him to continue across the deck. The cat watched as the men worked and sweated over parts of the ship and her rig. The smell of fresh paint and varnish, shaven wood, and even death hung about in varying degrees. As a strong scent of death wafted by, Pooka flattened his ears and hunched down. There he stayed hidden until the smell lifted and he slowly, cautiously padded out from under the boat and aft. Up the stairs to the quarterdeck he went and settled himself starboard of the tiller. Here the only smells around were that of whatever blew from the stern, mostly fresh sea air and occasionally a scent from the Ward Room below, and that suited Pooka just fine.

[Pew]

Ian Hatrick was well shorter than the two years younger Master Godfrey, but was nonetheless able to find him in a compromising spot just aft the bow. Only Ian had been privy to the young powder monkey showing a rare instance of regurgitation. Just aft the swivel Aella and forward of the great gunn Fionn, Ian had finished with the spit and polish of his gunn that his father would have been proud. Patrick Godfrey was unaware of the company.

Patrick had heeled himself over the larboard side as if in the motion to fetch a pail of water. Hard of hearing, Ian was unable to hear an accompanying din above he waves and wind, but was there to witness the retch. He set his pail and polish aside to grasp his peer by the breeches. Coming face-to-face, Ian could see Patrick had been crying and that the burst vessels in his face could only mean a spell of vomiting. He pulled Patrick to the deck away from other crew. They both sat at the rail as Patrick wiped away any resemblance of tears. Ian tilted his head to the side to hear what young Godfrey may speak.

" . . .they, they just came 'part Ian. They died. Arms . . legs . . .parts . . .I hid in the cabin on th' Solstice back then . . .I did what I did but never . . .On the Dog I never saw . . ."

Ian took him by the back of the neck and held him for a moment.

"S' aright boyo, s' aright."

[William Brand]

Mister Greene was in the same attitude as his counterpart aboard the Lucy, pacing the length of the 'Dog in her depths. It was not for wont of worry that the snow had done them harm, but a part of his regular wanderings in the timbers. Were the frigate ever to sink, he would not have it come back upon him, so he made his rounds as often as time permitted, this time in the company of the Bosun's Mate.

At one point he found a wounded beam that predated him. It was a minor crack in an otherwise perfect timber. A wound left over from days that predated even Brand and Lasseter.

"Aye, come look..." He said aloud to Jack who was still learning the ship stem to stern. Mister Roberts brought up a lantern for inspection.

"Good eye."

"I'll need a lad or two on this." he said as he ran his finger through an old split hidden in the grain. "Not soon, perhaps, but Clovely..." The Master Carpenter stopped as the man's name passed his lips and looked over his shoulder at the Bosun's Mate. "Sorry, sah..., Mister Norman will serve."

Jack nodded. He too was getting used to the losses of sea and war. "You can have Mister Norman."

They returned to their inspection, more retrospect than moments before.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Somehow, Charlie March had become appointed as a nurse-maid. Not that at other times he had shied away from doctoring crewmen in past battles, but there was a surgeon on board and he had meals to prepare for a hungry crew. He grumbled to himself as he made his rounds of those crew in his care. He tried to not let it get to him as some of the men had succumbed to their wounds and he and the Surgeon had others remove the bodies to be prepared for burial. Eight men laid on the deck of the Lucy now. Sometimes it amazed Charlie how what seemed a simple wound would kill one man, yet not another. And, further more, how some could take so much damage and yet survive. He shook his head as he looked at the foot of James Whiting and noted that his three middle most toes were turning black. Charlie covered James foot again and smiled at him and went off to find Miss O’ Treasaigh to inform her of this.

[Pew]

Preston awoke groggy and tired. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the stern windows of the Lucy trying to regain his focus. Whittingford coughed abruptly causing him to sit upright. He turned his head and looked into the cabin. Dorian was not seen in the immediate surroundings. The setting sun had now cast a glow within the ward room of the Lucy setting it afire.

Preston stood and craned his neck to each side. Hearing a loud 'pop', he pulled his head foreward and tucked his chin into his chest. The same noise sounded across the room. He took a bottle and a small glass and poured himself a drink. Placing the glass on the table, he withdrew a chair from the table and sat softly. Several tomes lay prone in front of him. He reached and withdrew the ship's log from the collection. Preston opened the log to where the thin fabric had marked its current place. The ship's master immediately recognized the Captain's handwriting before him. He squinted to make sure he had read correctly:

" . . .in action with a snow of the Commonwealth named King's Fury . . .members of the Lucy lost . . . "

Preston took another drink and ran his finger tip down through the names.

• 
  
• Godfrey Bicknell
  
• Francis Thomas Roundtree
  
• James Abraham Sandefur
  
• Samuel Milling
  
• Roger Reeves
  
• Peter Hurgronje
  
• Brenton Coles
  
• David Leigh
  
• Nicholas Trodd
  

The ship's master sighed. He noticed a further remark below the crew's names.

" . . .8 Spanish sailors aboard the Lucy in consort with the Spanish vessel Navarra . . ."

He closed the log slowly. Draining the glass, the ship's master returned to his spot atop the stern bench. He lay for quite some time watching the sea trail out behind the Lucy, wondering now whom aboard the Dog had been lost in action.

[William Brand]

William had retired to the Ward Room to bath his face and rest his legs. The fall he had taken during the last engagement had finally announced itself fully in a few pulled muscles in his lower back. He and his back had some words on the matter as he settled on to the stern bench and tried to sit as upright as possible. He would have groaned then, but Mistress Smith came in at the door.

"Mistress Smith. You are as prompt as an oracle. How is it that you know?"

She smiled a little at this as she put out a tray. "WIth Mister Gage's compliments. He says some of the ship's stores are ripening too fast."

William nodded and stood with the assistance of a chair. "Send back my permission to be generous with anything that would be wasted. We'll be at Trinidad soon enough. We can afford the...generosity." He asked after the wounded then and Tudor gave him a report of those still recovering under the care of Mistress Kildare. William rummaged through a few of his books and gathered a volume or two of various works for the Surgeon's Mate, so that she might pass the tedium of the sea by reading.

"I'll speak with Master at Arms or his second about the prisoners when he has a moment."

"Aye, Captain." Tudor went out at the door and only when it was closed did William allow himself a groan as he bent over standing to test his troubled spine.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe had lain awake for only a short time when the Ship's Master stirred himself. She waited until he had settled his body again and peered from the small opening in the canvas. Mr. Pew seemed at rest and she dressed quietly. He did not turn from his study of the waves as she parted the curtain and made her way quickly up and onto the deck. The sea air was pleasant and tinged with the brine always more apparent in the evening hours. Jenny stood at the foot of the quarterdeck stairs and drew in a few deep breaths as she surveyed what little could be seen of the ship from her vantage point.

The Lucy's deck was still littered with some debris and cargo and the day's ration had been passed out. Further forward, some of the Starboard watch was at brief rest from their continuous duty of clearing and stowing while others moved themselves and their labor carefully around damaged planks and those hammocks laid out awaiting their inhabitants final journey. Any who would speak of ills or superstition over recent events remained silent in their thoughts.

The sun's remaining rays traced the tops and lent a blush to the bosom of the figurehead prompting a few wistful if indecorous comments between caleb Millet and Zachary Howard as they leaned on Babdh. Some shared their thoughts on the past hours and Trinidad ahead as they toiled. The lookouts had been quiet for the past half turn of the glass and as the ship heeled to larboard Jenny looked out to sea watching as the Lucy made graceful arcs ahead of her consorts. Vigilant, but serene in her task at the moment as the bow cut smartly into the swells.

As the sun rested itself into the sea and the cool of eveing edged the warmer breeze, the cat from his place aft, did not move save to lick one paw and then the next allowing his lids to droop some and continuing to let his other senses to pick up the pipe smoke of two men nearby, the scent of the wardroom and perhaps the galley.

[Pew]

The starboard watch moved about in unison on the deck of the Lucy. Tightening, loosening, tying down, untying, mopping, sweeping; all mundane chores, but necessary evils.

Jerrod Styles smiled to himself as he squinted in the waning light and watched the crew scamper about the deck. He leaned against his lookout high above the deck. Each passing moment he would continue his simple methodical pattern on watch: two points fine off the bow, on the bow, abeam, on the quarter, mark the distance of the Navarra, scan for the Watch Dog, on the quarter, fine on the quarter, astern, then continue along the weather side. He finished one revolution then gazed down at the ensign flying astern. Jerrod gauged their speed to be eight, perhaps nine knots and smiled.

The fourth toll of the second dog watch continued across the deck. Jerrod looked down again and could see the lanterns being lit and hung out. He squinted back to the Navarra and saw her repeat the process. He sighed lightly and began his pattern again. Something caught his eye on the bow, low towards the horizon. Mister Styles peered ahead in the darkness and saw the ominous flash again.

He called down to the deck for Mister Tucker.

The bo'sun cupped his hands and called aloft.

"STORM, SAH," Jerrod called back as he pointed ahead.

Christopher Tucker walked slowly to the larboard rail and rested his hands on the rail. He waited a moment and saw two distinct flashes a minute apart. "Hmm. Headed this way 's well." He turned to Nate and Logan who had quietly joined him at the rail. "Gentlemen, clear the deck. Prepare for the storm."

[William Brand]

Jim came down from the quarterdeck and he and William passed a nod to one another. William went back to his figures, but paused when he saw Jim reaching for his oilskins.

"No." William said, the word coming out long and almost in two syllables. Jim simply nodded, so William said it a second time, as if repetition alone could change the truth of the approaching weather.

Jim shrugged on his oilskins and said, "Weeelll, by last light the sea was a fine shade of grey, black and some unpleasant green."

William closed his eyes once with that resigned slowness that accompanies all of the best, tired sighs. "Life on the cauldron."

"Aye. Will you be coming up?"

"Not yet." William returned, gesturing to the charts and books. "Have Mister Badg..."

"Already forward and in good form."

"Good. Excellent. Too soon for hot food before we snuff up the cookfires?"

Jim shook his head. "We've time enough, but we'll be wet through by Mid Watch and a day back from Trinidad."

Jim went up again to the Holy Ground and William called for his Steward, who was already part way through the door.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Normally, the sound of rainfall would cause a body to relax and sleep easy. Or, if one was fast asleep cause a deeper slumber. Captain Lasseter was in such a deep sleep after so much activity and time awake that even the sounds of labor on deck did not cause him to stir. But somehow the sound of rain on the deck, as subtle as it might seem, did wake him. As the storm made its presence known, Dorian sat up in his hammock.

“Rain…”

He heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed his face with both hands, slowly stood and began to gather his belongings in the dark, reassembling himself as best he could and headed to the wardroom to find his foul weather gear.

[William Brand]

"Sah! Come in out of the rain!"

William turned to those sailors of the main deck sheltered under the canvas awning at the the three doors aft which opened upon the galley, passageway and surgery. Then he looked down at his own clothes, all but wet through despite the heavy gear. "Gentlemen, I am annointed. I could not be made more wet in the drink." Still they urged him to some hot drink and respite. William refused, content to walk the deck with Jim as Mister Youngblood spat long and loud orders at his gunnery crews.

"What bloody ditch rat was heee tha' failed this knot?" the Master Gunner yelled into the face of the nearest sailor. "Better t' tie yerselves t' a cannon ere it go o'er, or I'll send ya o'er after it!"

"Pete is in fine form for Pete." Jim said, searching his pockets for a pipe and finding one.

"You won't get that lit out here." William observed as he looked straight up into the rain. "Ahoy the Maintop!" A head peered over in a heavy hat and coat, just a shadow against more shadows. "Find me the Spaniards!" William ordered up.

The position of the Navarra was shouted down again and they went to a point on the rail where Mister Badger was already peering at a glass. He was muttering there the same phrase over and over. "Damned sloppy." He just managed to slip in a 'Sahs' before passing the glass and returning to his muttered mantra. They each took a turn looking and shaking theirs head, for the Navarra was as slovenly handled as she had ever been. Still they noted the Lucy in her course and how neat and trim she bore herself under the maintenance of better hands and heads.

"We'll lose a day back in this." Badger muttered and Jim and William agreed in silence. Then they returned to their observations, passing the time under a hail of rain and Pete's obscenities.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Deck of The Lucy

Miss Ashcombe had traversed the deck for a time as the remaining light blended into a ring of twillight along the horizon. Though it was still draped with stars, a haze indicating rain gathered quickly from one direction. The wind had increased in small gusts and the sea grew more active ahead of it, changing colors to reflect the impending weather as the swells began to crest in white. Activity on the Lucy's deck quickly shifted from clearing and repair to stowing and securing and the tightening of lines. Shouted orders blended with reports from the lookouts as the first heavy drops began to fall. Jenny made her way back towards the shelter of the passageway and ward room looking towards the last position of the ships they scouted ahead of.

She passed Mr. Tucker at the Larboard rail, he was draped in oilskins and an expression of one who was concentrating on several tasks in a single moment. Still he paused for a moment to address the Steward. "Mr. Tucker.." "Miss Ashcombe, it appears we are abreast of a squall".. "Aye sah" she replied holding her hat against the wind with one hand and grasping the rail as the Lucy pitched upwards on a swell. " Have you proper cover to stay out in this ?" he asked as his eyes traveled quickly to flashes on the horizon and then up into the flurry of activity above them which matched the pace of the deck all about. She made to answer but paused when he grasped her arm and drew her aside as several men passed to their right, calling one back to gather a report and adjust orders recently given. The rain began to sheet and Tuck motioned to her mid conversation to make haste below decks. Grateful to be out of the rain before proper covering would have been useless, Jenny entered the ward room once more closing the door against the wind's gust. As she secured the door and turned toward the interior of the ward room the sound of the rain became muted into a softer thrumming from above. She latched the shutters and they clattered softly against their frames. Jenny went to the basin and dried her face and arms with the cloth there and returned to her canvased space retrieving oilskins given to her along with items from the slop chest when she had come aboard. She placed the heavy garment across her cot and returned to peer out the stern windows searching again for the Watch Dog and Navarra listening to the calls from above. Lanterns bobbed in the distance among the swells and she hoped the weather would pass quickly thinking of Trinidad and hopefully the sun's return on their arrival there.

[Pew]

Preston could hear the rain begin to tap lightly on the stern windows. He awoke from an otherwise uneventful sleep. Drowsy still, and a tad of bowel discomfort led him to try and admonish both. IA brief stop at the galley to grab a last cup of something hot just before they went to dump the coals sounded like a cure-all for his ails. A lucky respite before all had been tossed found him with a lukewarm cup of coffee combined with a dash of his daily ration.

He passed by many on their way to trim the sails in preparation for the evenings deluge. Preston made his way placidly back to the ward room in hopes of finding his captain there.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Hudless and McCormick saw opportunity in the coming storm and the idea was quickly planted amongst the crew that the squall was somehow connected with the Master-At-Arms and the devil he supposedly harbored within his flesh.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The patter of rain on the deck above came harder as Dorian made his way aft and the fresh, cool air that it brought made its way below. He took in a lungful and it refreshed and awakened the captain some. Not that it was a long way from the Ship’s master’s cabin to the Ward Room, but long enough that by the time he had reached his destination, Dorian was fully awake and prepared to see what may come of this weather. He stepped through the doorway and into the chamber and noticed right away that Preston was absent from his bed. Dorian paused a moment and considered the worst, that something had happened to the man while he slept, but surely someone would have awakened him for something of that gravity. He headed across the cabin and checked his sea chest, noting that all weapons and such were in place there and in other places around the space. He gathered his foul weather gear as he considered other possibilities of where his Ships Master might be and added to those thoughts of everything else that was unknown to him at this moment on his ship. One pressing matter that would now be delayed was the matter of the funerals of those killed in the recent battle. If the weather kept up through the morning, those poor souls would just have to wait and weather the storm before having their mortal remains given over to the depths and Poseidon's care.

Edited June 2, 2010 by Dorian Lasseter

[Pew]

A canvas tarpaulin had been rigged in the waist to protect those necessary on deck. Preston stood facing the wind peering at the storm through squinted eyes. With his hands on the rail, it became hard to discern salt spray for that rain now attacking the crew on deck.

The weather felt good to Preston. The rhythmic rise and dip of the Lucy in the storm made him feel whole again. He knew he wasn't quite right since the battle with the snow, but didn't know why. Preston needed a word with Dorian.

[William Brand]

Durand watched the men of the Navarra busy themselves with what he could only assume was their version of manning the sails. It was a sloppy affair and the ship's bosun seemed more concerned with looking capable than actually being capable. To be fair, the bosun was not a poor sailor, but life aboard the merchantman had strained even the best of the men and life under their tyrannical captain was showing in the face of every weary sailor.

Durand sucked a little air through his teeth when another man very nearly fell from the rigging. Durand was not a man of the sea himself, but he knew poor direction when he saw it, and while he was not actually afraid of the wide, uncertain ocean, he still maintained a healthy respect for the medium and ground his teeth a little at the thought of drowning with the Spanish.

"Rhum et un pistolet..." he muttered quietly.

[Pew]

Now sopping wet, the former ship's master removed himself from the deck to find the captain. Word had been passed that he had retired below. Preston nodded a thanks to Mister Aretineson and went in search of Dorian.

[William Brand]

Life below the frigate's decks continued as it might rain or shine, though any of the Watch Dog's leaks were now self evident before the mast. Even some men not on duty were obliged to cover themselves with their oilskins, so that so many men swinging side by side and weighed down by heavy weather clothing took on the appearance of bails strung up. Mister Badger went through the berth in near darkness, with only the greasiest of lanterns to guide him. He checked all of the compartments forward; fore-lastage, fo'c'sle, and every space which made up the cable tier and berth. Every place was tied up tight and every article stowed, so that he smiled a little despite the weather. He nodded and turned on his heel, making his way aft again. He went as far back as the powder magazine where he found two marines checking the stores for any moisture. Finding them hard at their work, and wishing not to intrude on business under the purview of another, he went up again.

The rain had not abated. Instead it was coming hard on and with a wind less favorable to their course. It bit into what little canvas furled and unfurled as they tacked against the building storm. William was shouting something from the quarter as Jacob came up to the main and then aft up to the holy ground.

"All's secure below, Cap'n." Badger announced and William nodded from where he stood to one side of the binnacle. Though not at the wheel himself, the Captain was adding his weight as an anchor to it, for the frigate was arguing her course, and two or more men were obliged to be at the wheel at all times. "This weather could turn." William said without taking his eyes from the compass. Anyone not used to life in the open sea might have laughed and thought the weather bad enough already, but Badger just nodded. "See that you eat and drink when time permits. We'll not be so lucky to dine at the table." William continued, and it was an order as much as a suggestion. The same which he had given to others.

The Watch Dog rolled hard over to Larboard then as a wave tried to convince the frigate to some other course. All of the men on deck leaned to one side in tandem but opposite to the ship until the helmsmen brought her back to her place. The men worked, the rain fell, and the night moved on.

...

Aboard the Lucy, the carpenters were still employed below, as were some sailors. Mister Wenge was convinced without much evidence, that the Lucy had taken too many hard hits not to be wounded more. While not taking on much water for a storm, there was water still and he feared the long slow bleed of a wound not openly apparant. During their last engagement he had felt a sickening shudder forward, and had found two strikes abaft the cheek and forward of the skid beam.

"I c'n find no damage in the breasthooks or the futtocks for'ard, sah!" Alder was running his hand along a timber and seemed not to hear. "Sah, the..."

"Thank you, Mister Black." Alder cut in quietly. "Take Millet forward with a candle and check the strakes. Then see yourself to the apron again."

"Aye, Sah." John clamped his hand on Millet's shoulder and they went forward to examine these timbers once again.

One sailor observed, and not for the first time, that the ship seemed sound enough by his reckoning. Alder narrowed his eyes a little and thanked the man for his understanding of all things in the matters of carpentry, being apprised of so little of that himself. The sarcasm sobered the fellow and Alder recognized his own temper shortening. "Nevermind, lad. It's the lives aboard, not the timbers. Remember that."

The sailor nodded and all went back to work in search of the wound Alder felt but couldn't find.

...

Aboard the Navarra, life also continued, if life it could be called. The bosun was not the man that Badger had become, and was not the careful practitioner that Alder sought always to be. The Spanish bosun was rather a casual and careless man who viewed his position as comfortable and secured, so he kept the ship less so. Here was a man hand chosen to take orders without question, even when endangering the ship and the lives aboard her. Here was a tyrant's perfect man, but a fool to anyone else worth their salt. He was not a bad man in any true sense, he was simply too little of anything to be weighed against a very able seaman.

He stood, not in the rain with his fellows, but behind a casement aft. It was dry here, and he remained there while more able men than he came and went with reports. The reports had slowed over the course of many hours, not because the storm had lessened, but because the sailors felt more obliged to keep the Navarra afloat by their own ministrations than by any advice of the casual bosun. Even Durand, a man not of this element, had taken up a line or two when he saw the need, so that he was wet through by his assistance to those strangers he traveled with.

As for the Captain of the merchantman. He slept...well brined in the gravy of his table and the wine of his stores. He had ever been thus in times of requirement.

[Pew]

The Lucy was bearing the brunt of the storm as far as the crew could tell. Taking her position well ahead of the Navarra and having the Watch Dog nearly out of sight, she stood hard against the ever changing wind.

Nigel and Logan had their hands full maintaining course towards Trinidad. The Lucy would want a larboard roll while the sea had an altogether different plan. To get both men in consort, they would have to feel the Lucy make her own decisions and steer her thus. She would yaw to larboard as she would climb the face of the first wave, rolling her to starboard. On the descent into the trough, the opposite would occur. Each scend and pitch of the bow made Mister Brisbane stare hard into the deluge to make sure Mister Styles was still aboard carrying out his duties from a somewhat safer perch from on deck rather than aloft.

Charlie Goddon had made his seventh trip across the waist to check and double check the lashings of his subordinates. While the tarpaulin had stayed well put in the oncoming storm, the increasing winds made the prudent decision of hauling it down easier. Five crewmen solidly struck down the canopy and reefed it as best they could against the larboard scuppers. Charlie made sure that those waves breaking over the bow had as little impedment to running off the deck as possible. He check the small boats lashed in the waist. Satisfied, he called to the bow to check on Jerrod who simply replied by a raising his hand quickly then returning it to the rail.

Cut-throat also made his rounds on deck, albeit more gruff than his counterparts. Mister Aretineson had suffered more than one brow beating from the Master Gunner about the standard to which the gunn crews had lashed their cannon down. Even though Joseph was nearly ten years Nicholas' senior, he showed the man respect, more in deference to the position than the man himself. His talents among cannon had long been lauded as among the best in the navy and he knew as much. The gunner's mate smiled as he followed Cut-throat among the great gunns and tightened each down, again.

Alder remained below. The Lucy had sprung a plank, and it's source had not yet been located. This frustrated the ship's carpenter to no end. He would find the leak come hell or high water. He chuckled to himself as the last thought passed through his mind.

The ship's captain had other matters to attend to. He knew the Mister Brisbane would keep them aimed toward Trinidad. Dorian knew Mister Tucker would have the deck set to rights. He knew the Mister Johnson would have each gunn lashed soundly to the deck. He knew Alder had been searching below for the source of leak. While that did not give him comfort, he knew that it would be found.

What he did not know was how much Preston knew of his own actions. That troubled him.

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Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: E, ship on the wind, both closehauled on a starboard tack with sails full, also gusts and waves bending her into the wind, sails somewhat shivering

Speed: 10 knots, nearly into the wind, mounting sea, 4m high with foaming crests

Wind: Near gale conditions, from the ESE