The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

Port of Saint Pierre, Martinique

As the cutter made for shore, the wind gusts began to increase. The trip from the Lucy to shore on the small guard boat was not uncomfortable, but it was not an easy sail. The marines were used at one point to man the sweeps instead of making a succession of tacs to get to the wharf. The boat secured, all the men scrambled onto the wharf and at a quick pace made their way to solid ground. Sergent Leveque got his men in order, as did Mister Flint with those of the Lucy. Marines were then paired off from each unit and formed rank together, making five and a half groups, as two marines of the Lucy were not present, having been sent ashore earlier with the officers that were to join the Captain for dinner at the Admiralty House. The two French Marines who were left were told that they would have counterparts soon and to follow the Captain, Lieutenant and others to the Admiralty House. The orders were again repeated and five squads of marines were let loose on the town of Saint Pierre. Captain Lasseter, Bill Flint, Lieutenant Martin and Sergent Leveque, plus two French marines then made their way through the town to find those officers and marines of the Lucy unaccounted for.

Four Bells of the First Dog Watch, Second Dog Watch begins

Starboard Watch on Duty

[BriarRose Kildare]

BriarRose went back into the surgeon’s personal quarters. She could hear Maeve humming a sweet lilting tune as she instructed Treasure to help her unpack some of their personal belongings. Treasure seemed interested in what all the two women had brought on board for their stay on the ship. BriarRose chuckled to herself at Treasure’s curiosity.

The room contained two bunked beds in which BriarRose would insist upon Maeve using the lower one. She dragged Maeve’s wooden chest to the end of the lowest bed while placing her own personal wooden chest against the far wall. She instructed Treasure to place their brushes and combs on a small table that also held a pitcher and water basin. Above the table, there was a small hook in which BriarRose hung a miniature wooden framed mirror.

Turning around she surveyed the room with a critical eye. From her own wooden chest she took out a few embroidered doilies. She strategically placed them around the room to give it a more homey feeling. Treasure nodded her approval and smiled warmly at the change BriarRose had created in the room.

“Well, Treasure, while I appreciate the help you have given me. I think it is time for you to go and lie down for a bit and get some rest.” Treasure pouted a bit, but did as she was told for she found herself very tired indeed.

BriarRose followed Treasure out in to the main room where Maeve was just finishing up her work. As Maeve talked to the two men a bit more, BriarRose began to organize their work area. Along the far wall she set up her apothecary chest upon a small table. Going back in to the other room she went once again to her own personal chest and pulled out both a warm woolen blanket and a soft quilted blanket. She stood there trying to decide which one to use for her bed when she heard Maeve calling her name.

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

BriarRose poked her head into the surgery, eyes inquisitive. "Yes Maeve?"

The chirurgeon smiled. "Would ya be so kind as to mind Mr. Moses here while I go and make a report to the captain?", she asked as she cleaned the last of the blood from her own hands. The patient had done admirably, grunting with interspersed curses under his breath, but nothing more. He had begun sweating and was a bit pale, but that appeared to be the extent of his distress.

"Of course dear", BriarRose replied, stepping out into the surgery and appraising Moses MacTigue and his crewmate. Maeve could already see thoughts of a poultice or ointment concoction forming behind Briar's eyes as she left the surgery and headed to find the captain.

It had been 2 years since she had walked the deck of ship in full sail. It was with a strange feeling of nostalgia that she walked upon the deck and cast about, looking for the Captain. She spotted him upon the quarterdeck on the larboard side and proceed up the ladderway to address him, feeling the weight of many eyes following her as she went.

[William Brand]

August 4, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

"St. Pierre two points off the Starboard bow!" John McGinty reported. William nodded up and returned his thanks as he slipped into oiled gear against the imminent weather. As he did so, Miss O'Treasaigh appeared on the larboard ladderway.

"Doctor." William said, and wondered to himself if he had ever called Maeve thus. He smiled to find himself falling into the old habit, for he had ever called Miss Fitzgerald by this singular title. He thought that she paused upon the steps, but he was already gesturing for her to step upon the quarterdeck with a wave of his free hand. "Finding the surgery to your favor, I trust."

Starboard Watches on Duty

[Maeve O'Treasaigh]

"Aye indeed so", Maeve demured. "It's generous size is handlin' ma three patients quite nicely".

"Excellent", the Captain replied simply. "And Able Seaman MacTigue?"

"Well sir, he's goin' ta be fine, but seein' as how his fingertip was nearly torn off, it'll be quite tender and unusable for a while. I would like ta suggest that his duties remain light until I determine him fit for regular duties again", the "doctor" suggested quietly. This moment made her a bit nervous in truth. She found it difficult to assert her judgement in the matter to not only a man, but a ship's captain. "It's my hope that he won't lose it", she ammended.

The captain nodded. "How long, Miss O'Treasaigh?", he inquired.

Maeve's eyes lifted up and away to the left as she thought on this. "Perhaps a fortnight Captain, maybe more", she replied.

"Understood. I leave the matter in your capable hands", he said. "Please explain the matter to Mr. Roberts", he added, gesturing toward a man standing in the waist of the ship who was barking orders among the able seamen.

"Aye Captain", she said. "Thank you sir", she added as she made a polite departure from the Captain's company towards the bosun's mate. Jack's demeanor changed immediately from stern taskmaster to that of genuine smiles as the chirurgeon approached him. He listened carefully with perfect and polite attention as Maeve related the condition of Moses and the subsequent need for lighter duties due to his injury. With his acknowledgment of the situation, Maeve returned to the surgery, eager to finish the task of unpacking.

[Black Syren]

Though tired it seemed more mental than physical and rest would not come for her. Her thoughts turned to things she needed to be attending, things that needed doing in the coming days. Truly she felt fine but for the occasional sting upon her hand and thigh and she could not help but wonder over Argus. Surely he was well and fine for she had seen hide nor hair of him since she was brought to the surgery. She sat up upon the narrow bunk as as Briar had not heard her she rose nimbly to her feet and made for the small porthole so that she might take note of the sea.

The sea never failed to amaze her, the colors always changed and now no longer was it the azures and sapphires but of cobalts and deep greys. Perhaps a storm was approaching but as of yet she could not make out any clouds that would attest to this and while the sea was slightly choppy it was nothing untoward. She turned and slightly paced the confines of the room, her thoughts too many to rest.

What was happening above deck? Who was taking her place? When would they meet up with the Lucy?

**EDITED taken out the Navarra**

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

A second bolt of lightening and accompanying crack of thunder erupted across the sky. The spray from the waves now mingled with the rain steadily falling in sheets atop the Lucy. Preston stood in the waist and surveyed as best he could the surrounding ships at rest in the harbor. Liam Rowan saw the Ship's Master peering into the rain.

"Mister Pew?"

"Aye, boy, what 's 't?"

Preston had not turned to see the boy holding the ship's spyglass.

"Sah." The boy nudged the glass into Preston's hand. Preston rubbed the glass at one end to wipe the rain from the eyepiece. He held it to his eye and moments later dropped it to wipe the rain away again. The boy disappeared from the master's side. "Liam, fetch 's a..." Preston turned to see the boy was gone. Charlie Goddon had returned and informed the Ship's Master that the lanterns had been lit, and that Nathaniel had supplied those armed crewman on watch with dry powder.

"Most excellent Mister Goddon, carry on."

Charlie had turned and nearly struck Liam. Preston watched as Charlie stopped in his tracks. Several of the crew on duty had also stopped to see what Liam was holding. While Liam was below, Charlie Marsh had given him half of a broken barrel from the used sundries. Liam had taken a wadscrew from the armoury and had been driven it through the cork stop on the barrel. Now standing atop the deck, Liam looked as if he had just speared a block of flotsam.

"Son? Wot 'n th' bloody hell s that?"

"Sah. T' keep th' rain from off y' 'ead peeking through th' glass." The powder monkey held the half barrel and over Preston's head.

"Well bloody 'ell." Preston laughed. "Carry on Mister Rowan."

The boy braced the pole against his foot and leaned the small shelter over Mister Whitingford's head. "Aye sah."

[BriarRose Kildare]

“Alright then, let me see what I can find to help your finger heal and may haps keep infection away as well.” Smiling, BriarRose, walked over to her apothecary chest and began to rummage through it. Moses sat waiting for her wondering what she was going to give him that would help his sorely wounded finger.

BriarRose chose a mixture of comfrey, lavender and myrrh from her chest. Taking her mortar and pestle she began to grind the herbs together. After they were completely ground up she then got a jar of beeswax. Taking a clump of wax from out of the jar she added a bit of olive oil to the wax in another container. BriarRose lit a candle and then taking a pair of tongs she held the beeswax and oil over the flame. It took a while for the wax to soften. Moses and Dunwalt watched her in fascination as she continued her work. After the wax had softened she doused the candle flame then set the container down and deftly added the ground herbs. She swiftly mixed the all the ingredients together. Once the ointment was smooth she walked back over to Moses.

“Now, in order for your finger to heal properly you will need to have your bandages changed at least three times a day. Each time you will apply a generous amount of this ointment to the wounded area.” As BriarRose spoke to Moses, she began to gently apply the ointment to his wound and then bandaged up the finger with a clean piece of cloth. She continued speaking to him, “I would like to make sure that this heals properly so I will be expecting to see you back here by tomorrow morning.”

Moses still pale nodded numbly. Walking back over to her chest BriarRose took out a brown bottle. Taking a scrap of muslin she poured a bit of white powder from the bottle on to it then tied the cloth with a piece of ribbon. Then going back over to where Moses sat she handed him the small bundle and said, “Also, to help ease your pain, take a pinch of this with a cup of tea as needed.”

[William Brand]

The Making of Tawny: Part Two.

Aingeal and Cormac were married some seven months before it became apparent that he was impatient for an heir. During all this time Aingeal did not conceive and Cormac began to observe this failure openly. He was not rude or accusatory, but he made mention of it by observation so much after a time, that Aingeal considered doing him harm by a poison more powerful than her unhappiness.

In addition to this, Cormac was spending her fortune almost daily. Aingeal was glad of it at first, for Cormac was generous and liberally blessed the lives of his workers, but as he continued to spend it, he made less and less of an effort to include her in his decisions. It was, of course, not a deliberate act to shun her from his affairs. He was simply too busy of late to consider her feelings on the matter, and she being a woman, he simply assumed that she wouldn't care.

These two daily injuries combined against Aingeal's pride, and by the time they had been married a year, she was as secretly bitter as any woman might be, despite the relative comforts of her life.

Life continued this way. Aingeal did not conceive, and more than this, she didn't want to. The more it troubled Cormac, the more Aingeal enjoyed his disappointment. At first, she thought herself barren, and thought herself the better for it, for Cormac was sometimes on the sea and she might be made a widow and she would be free to marry again. She didn't hate Cormac enough to wish him dead, not exactly, but the idea was ever present in her mind, fueled by her disappointment. She simply could not regain what she felt she had lost, though she admitted to herself in more sober hours that she was probably exaggerating this idea, for she could have done far worse. Still, she romanticized her role in her own imaginings and found comfort in the fact that she might escape if he were to tragically die, leaving her the beautiful, pitiful heroine of her own story.

Then something worse happened.

One day she was at the market, listlessly going about the business of buying some unimportant things for her household, when she chanced to see Cormac walking in the lane. As she was in a doorway, and not in a particular mood to speak with him, she stepped into the shop and out of his view. From this vantage point she witnessed something she had not considered. Other women were watching Cormac as well.

"God in Heaven." she whispered to herself, for not one but several women observed his passing with a forwardness that she did not like.

It was in this moment that she realized something she had not considered. She had always known that Cormac was passing fair for a simple man, but now his fortune was also passing simple. She herself had supplied him with wealth and position above his previous station, and owing to a good business sense on his part, he was expanding that wealth exponentially. He was, in a phrase, a man about the town. He walked as had before, but with an added uprightness which drew attention from everyone about him, including, to Aingeal's horror, the fairer sex.

For the next few days she dwelled in a strange and heady fear, as if she had discovered this threat to her position almost too late. If she had understood Cormac at all, she would have known that it was near impossible for him to consider putting her away for someone else, though given time even he might drift. Still, she was panic stricken for several days as she imagined herself cast off from all and left penniless in a man's world. The once wife of a fisherman, left behind barren and forgotten. This fear altered other plans in her heart, for she was so intent on not conceiving, that she had even considered harm to herself to make conception impossible. Now, she travelled near and far to seek out every herb, medicine, concoction, and devilish charm to be had in an effort to bear fruit. She frantically sought after every bit of advice that might see her pregnant within the month, much to the delight of sympathetic associates and neighbors, that took her unexpected awakening for that of a motherly crusade.

Cormac himself was not unhappy about the matter, for her earlier affections had returned. Her begrudging intimacies were now ones of desperate passion. It was heady stuff and he found himself home at earlier hours and sometimes at mid day. Their love seemed to have revived and he was glad of it, for he genuinely cared for her despite what she thought of him. For her part, she couldn't have cared less what he might imagine of this sudden change. A storm had blown over her life and she wanted a lifeline more secure than his love. Women were now her mortals enemies as much as men. She had always berated small minded women, hating them for being small and compliant, but now she hated all, content to be utterly alone in a man's world surrounded by traitorous women.

Once in church a women deigned to smile too long and openly at Cormac and it took all of her self control to keep her seat among the pews. She imagined herself putting out the woman's eyes with a hot candle from the vestibule. She wanted to cram the woman's smile full of hymnal pages and set her alight. They were not the thoughts one should have in church.

Then it happened. Somewhere between desperation and copulation, she conceived.

Cormac was thrilled beyond measure and thanked God daily on his feet and on his knees. Aingeal was not so grateful, and spent her time kneeling elsewhere in abject nausea. She never once thanked her maker, and had not done so for over a year. God was but one more man she never spoke to if she could help it. She might have said thank you, secretly and shamefully, somewhere in the recesses of her heart, but it was a prayer to the void. It quieted her immediate fears to be with child, but only for the moment.

Those first few weeks of relief soon gave over to old hatred, old despairs. She found herself wondering a mantra silently to herself and then aloud. "What if I bear a son? What if I bear a son?"

Strangely enough, Cormac never once made mention of the gender, but to speculate what he might call the child if it were a boy OR a girl. In fact, Cormac gave the matter of gender equal time, speaking about both possibilities whenever the subject arose. Aingeal seemed not to notice this equality of consideration, choosing instead to hear every other man's opinion on the matter, for Cormac's friends would use the word 'son' at every opportunity. They said it so casually, that the word vexed Aingeal, and she could not imagine hating a word more. She understood that a son would secure her place permanently in the world, but Aingeal had become a sad, second-guessing and suspicious creature and could not be dissuaded from her place as a martyr. The more she waxed in girth, the more she sank into a miasma of fear, apathy and sad acquiescence.

Then, on February 12, 1666, Aingeal brought another man into the world.

David Tenille was born small, as is the case with most newborns, but even then he was smaller than most. He was a frail child, but apart from this he was well proportioned, of a healthy color, and fixed with a surprising amount of fine, blond hair. He cried little, choosing to whimper instead, puppy-like.

Cormac loved him immediately and easily, as fathers do with sons. Cormac was surprised and delighted to love so much a thing so small and new, and Aingeal loved him more then, for the look in his face, then she had ever loved him before. The love she felt in that moment was so bright that it eclipsed everything she had previously experienced in her life, but it lasted but a few brief minutes. It might have been the difference between a good life and a fabulous life, but Aingeal had learned to hate too much, and it took but one jealous pang for her to poison that wellspring with a life altering choice. She took that one bright, pure moment of love that might have changed her life forever and carefully set it aside. It was as if two children had been born in that moment. David, the whimpering innocent, and her one opportunity to forget all of her misgivings and maligned experiences. Both pure and innocent. Both beautiful. Both fraught with possibilities grand and everlasting, but it was not to be. While Cormac hefted his beloved son, Aingeal, cold to the idea of ever giving in to anything, beautiful or not, smothered that second child of future happiness as effortlessly as wringing the neck of a Christmas goose.

"Let us name him David, for my Father." Cormac said, beaming.

"And Tara, for my mother..." she amended, with a look on her face that Cormac took for joy.

"Then David Tara Tenille it is." Cormac agreed, and the smile which spread upon Aingeal's face was so sharp that she might have cut his throat with it.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Saint Pierre, Martinique

The French cutter deposited the officers on shore and the crew began to lash her to the pilings. The lightening lit up the sky brilliantly and the sharp sound of the thunder caused some of the inhabitants to flinch as they headed for cover. Captain Lasseter looked over at master Flint and slowly heaved a sigh as the rain began to dowse them. Turning to the Lieutenant, Dorian queried him.

“Lieutenant Martin, I sent my officers to find a tailor of reputation. Where might we look?”

The Lieutenant, whom you would have thought in his fine, bright white uniform would be under a parasol protecting himself from the elements seemed to not notice the rain. The marines and his Sergent seemed to find more displeasure at it then he did. At Dorian’s question he slowly nodded with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Come…”

He turned to the side and motioned with his hand which direction he wished them to go. As Dorian, Bill and the others began to walk, Louis fell in beside Dorian. He directed the way through the now rather desolate streets, not far from the wharf to a row of shops. They inquired within several before finding the one they had been in, but the proprietor had no knowledge as to where they would have gone next. They thanked the man and headed back out into the street.

“They were ta meet us at th’ Admiralty House, Mayhaps we’ll find ‘em en-route…”

This said Lieutenant Martin guided them the quickest route to the Admiralty House, and as luck would have it, two blocks from the destination they caught up with the missing crew of the Lucy. They were hop-scotching from one awning to the next, making their way. Dorian called out to them.

“Ahoy! Crew o’ th’ Lucy! Hold Fast!”

They all turned at his voice and a smile or two could be seen. The Captain, Master-at-Arms, Lieutenant, Sergent and the two French marines walked up the middle of the street and joined the Lucy’s as best they could.

“A’right Lads, and Miss Ashcombe, We had a change o’ plans… Jameson, Whiting… You two are ta join these marines under th’ Lieutenant in searchin’ fer den Oven immediately. Th’ rest o ye head back aboard th’ Lucy. Master Whitinferd has all in hand there. Is that understood?”

There were a couple sour looks, but all answered with an ‘Aye’.

“We’ll dine wi’ th’ Judge on the morrow, even in this wet you all look sharp. I’ll be back aboard in time.”

The marines gathered together and the officers of the Lucy gave salutes and began the journey to the wharf. Final instructions were given to the marine squad and they went on their way. The Captain, Lieutenant, Master-at-Arms, and Sergeant headed to the Admiralty house to check for any word before heading out in the search.

Two bells of the Second Dog Watch

Starboard Watch on duty

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe peered out into the rain as she huddled amongst the others under yet another shop canopy. They had changed into their purchased clothing and were en route to the Admiralty house when the sky opened up, forcing all to seek shelter lest they arrive looking worse than when they left the Lucy. From the direction of the voice, the taller figueres of the Captain and Mr. Flint could me made out amongst the French officers. Jenny was relieved in part when they were advised that the dinner would be cancelled until the night following. It would give her time to put the brush and comb to use and dress less hastily than she had with the men waiting. This was certainly to be a new kind of life for her and though it was perhaps with a bit less comfort, the excitment of certain moments over the past few days fed her adventurous imagination causing her to hide a smile as she ducked her head falling in between Msrs. Wenge and Tucker.

[Silkie McDonough]

Aboard the Lucy

He had not slept the last Starboard watch so when Ben found an empty berth to lay his head he expected he would fall asleep quickly but the Lucy tossing in the storm kept him awake. What at one time would have been a welcome comfort had become strange to him. He lay there swinging roughly as she was tossed by the choppy waters. Had it started to rain? He listened to the thunder rattle the timbers then fade into the distance. Yes, rain was falling. He concentrated on that sound, allowing the splatter of water upon the deck above to expand in his thoughts. He was glad that the berth was dry but with the hatches covered to weather the storm the air did not move below deck and quickly became oppressive. Perspiration beaded on his forehead. Ben spilled out of his hammock onto his feet, shrugged off his waistcoat and draped it over the end of the hammock. Dragging himself to the nearest water ladled water onto the scarf he usually wore about his head. Climbing back into the hammock he continued to dab the wet scarf on his neck and forehead until sleep found him.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Saint Pierre, Martinique

The Admiralty House

The weather could have been better for a man-hunt such as this. Captain Lasseter and those with him made their way through the streets and to the Admiralty House, keeping out of the weather as best they could. At the door stood sentries who were not there when they left not so long ago. Lieutenant Martin stepped forward and addressed them, finding they had been posted by Commandant Depaul, no one was to pass without his consent. At this the Lieutenant’s countenance changed. His cheery disposition altered and he turned to Captain Lasseter.

“Capitaine… If you please, may I have the papers from Juge Richet?”

Dorian nodded and carefully withdrew the parchment so as not to let the weather cause it harm. Lieutenant Martin sheltered it as he took possession of it.

“Mercy Capitaine…”

He marched purposefully up to the sentries and took hold of the front of the coat of the more vocal of the two and dragged him further under the portico and into better light. The other soldier was taken aback to the point of being stunned. Lieutenant Martin berated the soldier in his possession and showed him the document penned in the Admiralty Judges own hand. They would not be overruled by the Commandant in their search, nor halted at the doors of the Admiralty House. Dorian looked to Sergent Leveque and Mister Flint. The Sergent had a calm look about him, as if he had seen this done before, Mister Flint wore a face of stone, but a glint in his eye said enough. Lieutenant Martin released the soldier, now being put in his place, and turned to Captain Lasseter, bowed his head and motioned that they should enter the building. Dorian, Bill, and Sergent Leveque walked to the entrance and just as they were about to open the doors, a servant appeared and did so for them. All four men entered and shook off as much of the rain as they could. Moments later, Juge Richet appeared and conveyed as much bon home as he had upon their last meeting. He ushered them into the Parlor and had servants take hats and coats to be dried. Another servant offered spirits to take off the chill. Once those formalities were dispensed, Richet got down to business.

“As you are well aware, Commandant Depaul is exercising his position to the fullest. I do not believe there will be further complications, but we shall see. Have you any news of the Dutchman?”

Captain Lasseter explained what he had put in place, all that he lacked was a messenger to relay information from here to the Lucy, to which the Judge offered one of his trusted men. Dorian bowed and thanked the Judge who waved it away and offered the use of one of his clerks to write out any messages to be relayed as well. Once all these matters were in place, and each man was pleased with the satiation, Captain Lasseter begged their leave to join the hunt. The Judge had their coats and hats returned, having been dried almost fully and warmed as well. Soon they hoped some of the men would return with information. They would return by the striking of the ninth hour with what news they might have. That said, the four officers made their way out into the weather to find those enemies of France.

Just after Three Bells of the Second Dog Watch

Starboard Watch on Duty

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

The rain continued to deluge the Lucy. She swayed heavily against her cable and would often catch the increasing waves broadside to send the spray across the deck. Nigel and Preston had gathered the remaining foul weather gear from the ward room. With the worsening condtions, Preston cut the men's watch of any approaching vessel, to half what they normally would stand. That would give those crew time to warm and dry before their next post. The ships' master strained his eyes through the dark and rain to catch any sight of the cutter returning with word from shore. The wind howled threw the rigging as Preston wiped the rain from his face.

"'til b' a long night, eh Nigel?"

"Aye, an' wet to boot."

Both men smiled and made their way among those seaman on watch.

____________________________________

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: At anchor, bow facing ENE

Speed: At rest

Wind: Strong Northeasterly gusts, 7-10 knots, dead ahead

[Red Cat Jenny]

The trip back across to the ship proved difficult at best. The boat surrounded by so many dark waves and the rain adding wet to wet, was met by quiet aside from grunts of effort as the men set their back into the sweeps and their concentration into returning before the storm worsened.

The normally placid blues and greens of Martinique's coast were replaced by angry browns and greys. Water churned about their feet as they cut through choppy swells and the ship in the distance appeared more threatening than a welcome refuge, as flashes of light lit the skeleton of its bare masts. After some effort the boat bumped against the Lucy's hull and was secured to the main chains.

[BriarRose Kildare]

After the men had left, BriarRose cleaned up the work area. She then checked on Treasure who had yet to lie down and rest. BriarRose cleared her throat and pointed to the empty cot. Treasure looked away from the porthole sighing heavily as she flung herself down on the cot. “Try and do get some rest dear,” BriarRose said as she turned away and walked back to her own private quarters. Taking the soft quilted blanket she had removed from her chest earlier she laid it down upon the bed. Stretching slightly and covering a yawn with her hand she laid down and promptly fell in to a deep and dreamless sleep.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Lucy, Port of Saint Pierre, Martinique

As the Lucy’s boat was made fast to the main chains, Mister Tucker stood up in the sternsheets and yelled above the wind and rain.

“Get aboard before we end up in the sea! Ladies first!”

Mister Wenge turned and helped Miss Ashcombe to stand, held onto the side of the ship and her arm, trying to steady both the boat and woman at the same time.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Aboard the Lucy

Thankful to be now inside, Jenny worked alone in the ward room. As the rain drummed on the deck above, she spread the new clothing as best as she was able in her small space. Hoping it would dry before the following evening. One of the men had made a loan of his coat on the crossing which spared her in part from the weather.

Miss Ashcombe went to the cabinet and poured a small drink to steady her nerves. Protocol be damned..She'd slipped and lost her footing causing Mr. Pew to have to grab her by both arms as she tried to step over the rail into the waist. Skirts and peticoats made the transition difficult, especially as the hem was soaked in sea water and caught around her foot. She'd also taken too large a step aboard in an attempt to compensate for the lurching of the ship.

But Mr. Pew did not tease her this time. He was all business and bluster seeing to the securing of ship and crew entrusted to him until the Captain returned.

Jenny wiped clean the glass, replaced it and sat in the chair behind the canvas where privacy would allow her to take her hair down and dry it as best as she could manage. The liquor warmed her and the ward room was a dry refuge which muffled the storm outside to a more pleasant sound and Jenny considered what her plight might be, running from town to town had the Captains not granted her refuge. She felt she must thank them again when it was appropriate.

[Alder]

In the constant deluge, curtains of water flowed down the surprisingly repellant fabric of the carpenter’s coat. This newly acquired garment met with his approval in rebuffing the weather from Miss Ashcombe’s form . . . save her skirts; though it was ne’re designed for such. With a grin, Alder reconsidered the merit of what he had thought was a ridiculous price for a coat even with the fine buttons and trim.

His elation had all too soon followed by disbelief and frustration at Jenny’s stumbling after his efforts to negotiate her between the bobbing vessels. Alder wished he had taken another course on her behalf, but could not contemplate what might have saved her plight.

In what he could only discern as embarrassment at being righted by Pew, she disappeared from view. Alder most wanted to reassure her and; out of necessity, to recover his coat in preparation for the forthcoming gathering. The carpenter would be adorned with his new finery and unfaltering fiduciary to the mission of the Lucy, but would it be enough to satisfy the Captain’s strategy.

[Guest]

Tudor had spoken to no one in the time since she realized from where her discomfort came. Her instincts told her to be wary but she saw no point in alarming anyone but herself, for if nothing were to come from her suspicions then she would have slighted an honest man. And if something were to happen . . . well, she'd just be sure to remain armed, even if only discreetly. Again, no need to arouse the concern of the crew by being armed to the teeth constantly.

Thinking she heard someone approach from behind, she shot a severe look behind her only to see the crew at their tasks. "I hate having to look look over my shoulder all the time." She growled to her self.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Lucy

Mister Tucker had finally boarded the Lucy, knuckled his brow to the Ship’s Master and told him of what Captain Lasseter and those ashore were doing. He then headed below, first to his meager quarters he now shared with Mister Goddon. He took off his new short jacket and shook it out. It was still amazingly dry considering the rain. This he hung on a hanger that his old jacket occupied before. His old jacket was bundled and had been kept relatively dry as well, so would serve him well for the night. His slops were mostly soaked, and his shoes and stockings were worse for wear. He took off his shoes and stockings, wringing out the stockings into a bucket and hanging them to dry where he could. The same was done with his slops and an older, worn pair donned. As the weather was warm, even with the rain, he decided to remain unshod. Tucker grabbed up his oilskins and headed forward, stopping in the galley area hoping he might have something of a meal since they’d not dined ashore. Once arrived, Tjaak handed him a wedge of cheese and a large slice of buttered bread. A tankard of small beer served to wash it down. Once finished he made sure to get his rum ration, for that would serve to warm him once back out in the weather. Heading for the hatch up to the deck he put on his oilskins and hat over his jacket and up on deck he went, out into the weather. As he did so, he was approached by one of the new men, simply known as Adam. Adam knuckled his brow and made some gestures with his hands and pointed out to sea. Tucker was about to say, ‘Speak up man, tell me what you need!’ but remembered Adam was a mute. Instead he looked the man in the face.

“Show me again.”

Adam made the gestures again, something like a fish, or no, a ship, then pointed out to sea. Tucker looked to where he pointed and shielded his eyes from the weather. He saw nothing, so looked back at Adam who pointed insistently. Mister Tucker looked again, scanned the sea and was about to turn back to Adam when he saw the faintest of lights come into view, then more lights.

“Ye see a ship out there don’t ye?”

Adam nodded and smiled, pointed to the Lucy and to the ship out at sea. Tucker looked again out at the ship, now that he knew where it was. He strained his eyes through the dark and rain. He couldn’t tell what kind of ship it was, but it was of a good size. Tucker quickly turned to Adam.

“Ye think that be the Watch Dog?”

Adam nodded vigorously at the Bo’sun and pointed out at the ship.

“Lordy man, you got some sharp eyes if that be the Watch Dog, let us inform th’ Ship’s Master.”

They made their way aft to where Mister Whitingford stood and reported the ship sighting.

Starboard Watch on Duty

[Silkie McDonough]

Aboard the Watch Dog

Paul Mooney kept watch; the newly purchased oil coat served him well. It was not a cold rain but with the wind on the seas exposed skin would have caused a chill. Paul relished storms on the sea such beauty and power, no finer woman was there, although the Watch Dog had several nearly as fine. Strong, he thought upon Tempest Fitzgerald, the surgeon that had left the muster of the Watch Dog, and mused that the new surgeon would needs be just as tough. Mysterious like Treasure Tribbiani, so much lay below the surface. Unpredictable, Murin McDonough, now there was something none could have predicted, the girl locked in the cable tier. He wondered why she would be kept so. The marines had been given orders not to speak her but that she was not a prisoner. What news could she have that required her to be locked in the cable tier? Not news, if it were news she would simply be in one of the private quarters on board. Something was not right; she knew something, did something. He had occasion to speak to her shortly after she came aboard, he liked her. Miss McDonough, Mister Bly and he had spent hours speaking when they were in the surgery together. Paul laughed at himself. He had been attracted to her as did Nathan Bly. It was his “brother” Lawrence’s advice that kept him from pursuing the girl. Suddenly Paul’s heart sunk. He missed his deceased friend’s companionship, his humor, his disturbing habits his clear thinking. It was Lawrence’s simple logic that kept Paul form actively seeking out the girls company. “So few women, so many men.”, then he shook his head from side to side. Paul now shook his head, Nathan was hurting. Had the girl intentionally led him on to leave him for another? Paul scanned the deck for the man and determined that Nathan must be below. He looked to the sky, water poured from the corners of his hat down his back. He pulled the collar closer and tilted his hat level once again as he watched the waters ahead and waited for the next command.

[Pew]

Aboard the Lucy

Preston had finished his round checking on each of the crew standing their abbreviated watch.

Brenton Coles was earlier found leaning on the rail with both elbows, half-asleep. A sharp jab to the ribs had awoken the man as Charlie Goddon, now accompaning Preston, made sure the seaman knew of his duties and what frivolities he may be relieved of should he be found dozing on watch again.

Zachary Howard stood on the bow, white knuckles wrapped in the rigging, as the Lucy's bow pitched and scended on her anchor cable. A salute accompanied with a brief 'sah' met the officers as they each struggled against the wind. Whipped taut by the storm, each man watched the anchor cable slap through the waves. Charlie and Preston had strained to discuss the possibility of dropping another bower should she slip her cable. Just then, a strong gust blew over the bow and caught Zach off guard and he slipped and hit his head on the rail. Preston helped the boy to his feet. A former merchant seaman, Zach was not to let his own mistake remove him from duty.

"Carry on Zachary," Preston called.

As the two officers made their way aft, they met two of Charlie's former crewmates, Peter Norman and Nicholas Trodd. Peter was still smarting from the punch Charlie had thrown him some days earlier. Peter smirked when he saw Charlie come near. Charlie did his best to forget the previous events.

"Boys, th' storm's not 'bout t' let up. Light an'oer lantern or two an' hang 'em from th' stern. Anything t' help Captain Brand find 'is way in." Charlie was almost yelling into the men's ears as a SNAP and CRACK was suddenly heard amidships. The rope holding down the canvas tarp had snapped and now the canvas was waving about dangerously in the waist.

"BELAY M' LAST, BELAY M' LAST!! LASH THAT TARP!!" Charlie called as he, Nicholas, and Peter jumped to the waist and struggled to restrain the canvas canopy.

Preston saw the commotion and also saw Charlie take control. He smiled to himself and counted again the number of men on deck. He turned to see Lucky Tuck and one of the new men pointing to the southwest of the Lucy. Preston squinted into the deluge. He managed to make out the outline of a ship struggling into the wind. The men noted this as well, but Tucker wanted to point out that Adam had sighted her.

"Mister Pew, Adam believes her t' be the Watch Dog" Tucker shouted downwind.

"Possibly. Hang out more lanterns t' aft an' starboard"

____________________________________

Navigation Log of the Lucy:

Direction: At anchor, bow facing NE

Speed: At rest

Wind: Very strong Northeasterly winds, nearing gale strength, 28-30 knots, dead ahead

[Red Cat Jenny]

Aboard the Lucy

As she went about settling her wet belongings, the newly appointed Steward lay aside the sailors slops and shirt which were in need of washing. Dressing instead in the one set of extra clothing she posessed. The ship pitched and dove more than once and Jenny began to wonder if her constitution would hold out. However as long as she was feeling no ills there was work to be done. She took up Mr. Wenge's new wool coat in her arm. Though he had been gentlemanly in providing her protection as they crossed in the open boat, he would certainly need it now should his duties find him on deck in this weather.

She ducked out of the ward room door and entered it's neighbor which led down to the berths. As Jenny closed the door on a strong gust and turned into the area she stopped, staring into the dimly lit space full of unfamiliar faces. Some men were only half dressed and snores and conversation blended with the rumble of thunder muffled by the Lucy's hull. A few turned towards her and she felt a dryness rising in her throat. Jenny averted her eyes, once again thinking of Captain brands words.

One man approached and Jenny gripped the coat tighter under its bulk and turned her chin up to face him. As the form stepped into the light of the companionway she saw he was younger than she. His face was not dark and unpleasant as some of the men she'd seen come and go. Those she'd assumed had only recently seen the rigors of prison on Martinique. Mayhaps they weren't as unpleasant as their visage suggested. Mayhaps good meals and time in the fresh open air would change them. However, in the short time aboard, she avoided those men just the same.

The young sailor named Stephen Hudless gestured towards the bundle she held. "Are you the tailor then m'um?" Jenny stammered a bit but explained her position and the crewman apologetically removed his hat and introduced himself. Mr. Hudless led her around sacks and past bundles of stores, with crewmen occupying what seemed to be nearly every space inbetween. Eventually they reached the area where the Carpenter was quartered and found him searching in his sea chest. Alder Wenge stood, waving off the young sailor mid introduction but bade him stay to see her back above decks. He seemed pleased that she didn't wait long to return his newest posession and after a small conversation about what may take place the next day, she left him to follow Mr. Hudless back to the stairs. The Lucy continued to toss on her anchor as they wove their way up causing them to nearly spill into other crew on their way.

[Pew]

Aboard the Watch Dog

Eric Franklin stood on the bow of the Watch Dog. He watched the many light of ships at anchor bob heavily on the turbulent sea. He wondered how Preston fared, riding the storm at anchor. He peered into the heavy rain and wind and tried to spy any outline that may fair for the Lucy. Sighting a sloop of the Lucy's gait, in the rain, at night, in tumultuous seas is difficult at best, but when moored in a harbor of dozens of like craft, it was damn near impossible. Luc stood just to starboard, also searching. He motioned to Eric to look just Northeast of their heading. Several lanterns were hung, extraordinarily, across the stern of one particular craft. Eric nodded and headed to the Ward Room. He met William Brand on the Quarterdeck bracing himself against the starboard stays.

"Cap'n, Lucy could quite b' just off the larboard bow"