The Watch Dog

[Pew]

"A 'right, then tell why I may be wrapped up an' such?"

Preston tried to wriggle free but found he was bound fairly snug. Luckily, his hands were crossed and he was able to feel his forearm. It stung to the touch. He remembered the blow landing across his arm, but could not remember why the appendage was still attached. Chalking it up to a drubbing he must have received during the boarding, much of the fray was a haze.

"Dorian, come now. Enough o' this nonsense. We've much t' do eh?"

[Red Cat Jenny]

The Lucy

Jenny worked side by side with the others under the competent if exhausted command of the woman churgeon brought from the Watch Dog. They began to make some headway with the addition of proper supplies and the skill of the docteur. Jenny scarcely noticed Durand then, despite his obvious bulk below decks. More than once he struck his head or one shoulder on the beams. More than once they had been shoulder to elbow moving a patient this way or that for Miss O'Treasaigh. Yet all had fallen into silence but for necessary conversation.

The gaps in speech were filled in with moans, coughs from the now dissipating haze and the groan and crunch as the two hulls bore against each other with the occasional swell. Jennys hair was damp and perspiration trickled down her back, beads of it stinging her eyes. She ignored it thanking God that she had been spared such horror as was witnessed in the worst of the injured. She knew she was injured herself as sharp pricks from splinters poked into her side.The sensation told her there were some perhaps below her skin. Yet she was alive, helping others and would wait out what seemed trivial amongst so much blood and stitches. Her shoulder had continued in its dull ache and she willed it to the back of her concious.

They toiled for the next hour against waxing adrenaline mixed with fatigue and the heat of the hearth nearby, which had been re lit at Miss O'Treasaigh command for water and a method of cauterizing wounds. Mister Tucker had been briefly below and had approved the re lighting. Jenny supposed at the woman docteur's confidence, the approval would have meant little. After a time and the beginning of a discussion on removal of a badly damaged limb, Jenny found her breath constricted as if someone held her tight about the waist. Her stomach tossed and she excused herself quickly. Her exit was barely acknowledged by the others for the more pressing matters, but for a sympathetic glance from Durand himself. Or perhaps it was disgust. She cared not. Her indoctrination into the violence that was possible had proved all she imagined previously to pale aganst the reality of conflict at sea.

As she climbed towards the ward room, she paused. Dull thuds, scraping and voices in mixed languages replaced the sounds from below. Wooden mallets were already pounding somewhere forward and also it seemed across on the snow. The deck looked as if a storm had picked up debris and dropped it on the cutter. She cautiously opened the door to the ward room and entered to find it whole. A single candle illuminated the space and for a moment there was solitude.

Sounds from outside were dulled with the shutters closed and everything seemed as it had been. She walked slowly around the room inspecting what was there. Jenny found the larger of two bottles had been removed from their place on the shelf and the edge of the table had an ugly smear of blood and soot. She stopped then, looking down at her own hands which were crusted and the heel of one bruised. Jenny poured water from the pitcher soaking a corner of her shirt and used it to wipe them. She placed 5 glasses where they would be in reach for the officers. It wasn't her original intent, but at that moment, in the solitude she needed to do anything normal. Her neck ached and her head began to swim as the quiet allowed pain, fear and fatigue to become apparent. She sat on the sternbench and placed her head in her hands. She would just rest a moment, collect herself and then muster the courage to return below where she was needed.

.

[William Brand]

Jim Warren came to the precipice between the frigate and snow and called for Captain Brand. His voice was not urgent, but it bore a little something which gave William a sense of urgency just the same. By the time William reached the rail, Jim was standing almost between both ships, his hand upon a grappling line not yet removed. "Sah, the snow is dashed in below. I must insist on a half watch of men at the buckets."

William agreed of course, sending men of the 'Dog and Spaniards both to serve the carpenters above and below. "Use them as you will, Mister Warren."

Jim turned with a nod and would have gone, but he turned about again, remembering another matter. "Sah. Mister Roberts reports that he cannot find Christophe Lefevre."

"Cannot find him?" William looked about. "He's not lost over the side?"

"I cannot say." Jim admitted, so William sent him away again, for the matter of the prize was paramount to them. Then he called for the marines of the watch to send word about for Mister LeFevre.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Darkness fell across Captain Lasseter’s face. He stood and thought to pace, but the confined quarters did not allow it. He turned back to Preston and spoke in a detached voice.

“There is much to do… aye… you’ve done your share, mayhaps more than… and for that reason you shall remain here until I’ve spoken wi’ Cap’n Brand. I cannot let you be seen topside until…

Dorian broke off and wiped the grime on his face, doing no more than smearing it about.

“I’ll have th’ Doctor come an look at yer injuries when she’s able. There’s a guard at yer door if you need somethin’…”

At that he abruptly opened the door and stepped out, leaving the Master to his thoughts. Murmuring low, the Captain instructed the marines at his door to allow no one but the Doctor and himself entry until further orders. They took the order to heart and stood tall as Dorian made his way topside, his steps falling wearily across his wooden world.

[William Brand]

With the threat of the prize lost looming over their heads, William ordered anyone not at work below or in the keeping of prisoners to haul over those goods aboard the snow to the frigate and cutter. As this was done, William was presented with the Master's Mate from the snow.

"Sah, I present Randall Byington, Master's Mate aboard..." Jim began, but the man cut him off.

"Lord Randall Arthur Byington." he corrected.

"Of course," Jim returned. "Of the ship...What ship is this, Lord Byington?"

Byington straightened. "The King's Fury."

William almost smiled but didn't. Instead he looked about the shattered snow and repeated the name again, but with a foreboding meant for Byington. "Indeed. The King's Fury."

If Byington caught the implication, his face did not show it. Instead the man was all business. He presented papers and ledgers of the snow and asked what would become of him and his men. He was altogether direct on this point, almost to the point of demanding answers. William assured the man that such questions would be answered in time, and the man was made to wait while William opened a ledger or two and read them by a light at the rail. He did not intentionally cause the man to wait, his questions all unanswered, but wait he did. After a time Byington began clucking his tongue impatiently.

"Must you do that, sah?" William asked, not looking up, for the sound had begun to wear on him.

Byington seemed unaware of the pretentious habit, and was first baffled, then embarrassed. "Come, sah. I will have an answer."

William looked up at the man. Just that, but the look went on and on. It was the verbal equivalent of a senior officer's rebuke to a subordinate, though it utterly failed to touch Byington's well built sense of superiority. Byington was too well armed with self assurance as measured out by God and King to allow even one of Brand's looks to dismantle the island fortress of his dignity.

William simply went back to reading.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The call went out for all hands not occupied to begin transferring all stores from the snow onto their ships. This brought Dorian out of his weariness as he found the order odd and somewhat alarming. Crossing hastily to the snow, he ran into Mister Franklin and asked why the quick offload was needed.

We drove in her stern heavily, Sah. The carpenters are workin best they can but I cant say they can stem th tide.

Dorian thanked him and without thinking headed below. He could easily follow the sound of the carpenters working and soon arrived at the head of the ladder to the after hold. Here other men were employed with buckets, ferrying them as quickly as they could and dumping them overboard. They paused in their work and the Captain made his way down the ladder into the water up to his knees. Sloshing further aft he found the carpenters and those chosen as mates hard at work, forcing planking back together, reinforcing all they could to hold the water back to no avail. Captain Lasseter stepped close just as a repair burst again, soaking him. He put his hands to it and helped force the lumber back into place. Additional hands pushed as well, a new plank held over and nails driven into already weakened wood.

You men! Head topside! Shes lost to us! Time ta cut the losses! Help offload all ye can wi th others! Go now!

The men with the buckets abandoned them and headed above as the carpenters and company collected their tools. Dorian made sure all were out before heading up himself. The dousing had awakened Dorian further and he was all action again. As he came topside he saw Captain Brand and Jim Warren standing with the officer of the snow who surrendered to him at the muzzle of his pistol. William seemed quite casual as he read through a ledger. Dorian slowed his pace, adjusted his coat and sword before approaching.

Capn Brand, Master Warren…

He looked the officer of the snow up and down indifferently and turned back to William.

Shes quite stove in below, Ive sent all hands at work there to help wi transferring her goods to our ships. Shell hold, but not for much longer I fear.

Edited September 12, 2009 by Dorian Lasseter

[William Brand]

Such was the way of things at sea and in piracy. The tenuous engagement of canons too often claimed a worthy prize, and not a few lives. William himself was obliged to go below and witness the damage himself, becoming as drowned as the other sailors who were bringing up every bit of property to be had from the holds and berth.

"That's it lads! Strip her to the bone!" William called, taking a cask in hand himself and passing it on up the line. He stripped his coat and hung it about his shoulders, wet as it was, and was surprised to find his hands covered in watery rivulets of blood. He had not thought to find so much carnage below, so much so that the water was pink in places. He chanced to look about as he passed another cask and was taken aback to see so many dead, and with no true explanation as to the cause. As he had not witnessed the engagement within, he dismissed the scene and continued to work.

Up above, Lasseter was ordering every bit of the snow's canvas over the side to stave up the torn places of the King's Fury. Those within could just hear the sucking sound of the sea as it pressed hemp against the hull. It did little, but little was enough. The slightest slowing of the sea's progress was another cask of nails or a firkin of rum. It didn't hurt that as they worked they freed the snow of weight and William dared to hope that they would save her yet.

A sodden Luc appeared then, wet from a fall. "Powder's all wet through, sah! Stores are flooded!"

"Nevermind it! Save the swivels from above and all good arms off the deck!"

"Such is done, sah!" Luc assured him. "But the canon are lost."

"Cut them all away!" William shouted as he passed another cask. "A long line and a barrel or two to mark them." He knew that it was a fool's errand, for William could not be sure of the depth of the sea there, but to lose so much that could be sold ashore galled him. "Swing out the yards and haul away any that might be had!"

"Aye, sah!"

The ship heeled a little over to Starboard and William could hear the two neighboring ships grind upon the snow. William was thrown against Mister Gage, who was employed saving salt pork. "Sorry, sah!"

"No rank in haste!" William shot back, and helped propel Lazarus in his progress. They were all working men for the moment. Cook and Captain alike.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jenny exited the ward room intending to return though relucantly to the surgery below. Shouted orders were now being carried across from ship to ship and echoing amidst a cacophony of pounding and other heavy sounds. She inquired of those passing through the waist with sundry soaked as if they'd fallen overboard. She was informed the snow was taking on water and the Watch Dog and Lucy taking on all that could be had. Jenny climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck and was met with the sight of the English ship in depose. One of the Lucy's aft lanterns had been badly shattered, its broken pieces strewn below it like a puzzle and she stooped to pick up a shard of the horn glass. In the darkness she could see smaller lanterns travelling across and back from both ships accompanying casks, chests, coils of line, crates of livestock and all manner of things from the snow. Tools were now employed in removal instead of repair. Captain Lasseter paced upon it's deck shouting orders which were carried out in haste. Everywhere the crews were engaged in hurried stripping of the prize. She descended the stairs and crossed between the caravan of those bearing goods and returning. He was watching sheets of canvas being hoisted over the rail and like the others was soaked through. Jenny lifted Captain Laseter's sodden coat from over the great gun where he'd laid it and held it away from herself. Aprehensively watching the deck of the ship and the water beyond, she waited for his attention bearing the soaked weight of the wool before she would retrieve it to the ward room and return to whatever orders were given. Plying her mind away from the thought of the deck heeling over, Jenny scanned its still level plane for Mister Pew whom she had not seen in some time. She knew he was not among the injured for she had seen all of whom were below and hoped he was not laid in the surgery of the Watch Dog. However she was sure word of anything worse would have carried quicklyand had heard none of the kind. She saw the back of Alder Wenge as he came up and descended again after a conversation with one of the marines. The two spoke in shouts to converse over the din all around them.

[William Brand]

Durand arrived on deck, bearing up from below a satchel of bloodied cloth. He bore it to the Lucy's rail and dumped it over the side. Lasseter, unaccustomed to seeing the Frenchmen on his deck, chanced to see this arrival and the two men exchanged nothing more than a glance as Durand buried Thomas Ried's leg unceremoniously at sea. Then Durand went below again.

He found Maeve so utterly spent, that she sat hunched upon a cask while at the work of sewing up Patrick Godfrey's arm. He was quite certain then that he had never known a woman more stunning in the moment, for there was a kind of ardent beauty in the way she persisted in fatigue, blood soaked and spattered. Even some ringlets of her hair bore the stain of her work, as she had brushed them back with bloodied hands more than once.

"C'est art." he thought to himself, and wondered that artists should never catch such alien moments of mortality, when the curve and figure of woman was shown in all her persistence, surrounded by death.

Then he noted a Jeffrey Elijah, bruised and most obviously marked by the bandage that covered the better part of his head. The lad had suffered the loss of his right eye, owing to a piece of shrapnel that had destroyed the orb. The sailor looked too sober for words and Durand passed him the dipper with a nod of empathy.

"Never be coxswain or captain." Jeffrey said, voicing his concern at his diminished capacity.

Durand simply tapped his all too valuable eye with a single finger and smiled, "A captain puts but one eye to the glass."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Men clamored all over the dying snow as ants over a dead beetle, tearing it apart and taking the pieces back to the mound. Dorian directed this ‘dance of death’ from anywhere and everywhere on deck. Everyone was moving to and fro, carrying what was salvageable. He had directed those marines of the Watch Dog and Lucy who were holding those prisoners left from the battle to move them to the forecastle of the Frigate, lest they go down with her. At one point the Master’s Mate of the dying ship protested to Captain Lasseter about what was taking place. Dorian didn’t even look at the man, but to the nearest marine.

“You there, if this man gives ye or anyone else any guff, Ya have my permission ta shoot him, now get him off this ship!”

Not waiting for a reply he turned away and headed across the deck to help remove a swivel that two of the powder monkeys were trying to pull from the rail. He stopped short when the snow groaned and the hull settled some three inches, grinding against the ‘Dog and Lucy. He spotted a group of sailors headed back aboard and grabbed them.

“Get some stout line and lash th’ Lucy an’ Watch Dog to th’ snow! Pull th’ grapples off so we don’t loose ‘em! Quiclky now!”

The group scattered to do his bidding and as he paused to catch his breath and wipe his damp brow with an even damper sleeve, he noticed Miss Ashcombe holding his coat. Lasseter walked over to her with a determined step.

“Miss Ashcombe, what ever are you doing?”

She hesitated a moment but held her head up before speaking.

“I came to find you, to see what you would have me do to help.”

Dorian thought a moment and nodded.

“Aye…”

He turned about, scanning the decks of all three ships, finally spotting who he was searching for.

“Miss Smith! Come here!”

Turning back to Jenny, he pointed aft.

“You and Miss Smith will remove any and everything of value from th’ Ward Room and Officers quarters, whatever might be left o’ them. If ye need help, ye two have my permission ta haul a crewman off th’ deck ta help… If it ain’t nailed down, it goes, and if we got time if it is nailed down we’ll pry it loose an take it. Understood?”

Miss Smith arrived just then and Dorian addressed her quickly.

“You an’ Miss Ashcombe are on a mission, go now an she’ll explain.”

“Aye, sah”

Dorian gave a flash of a smile and headed off to see what else might be salvaged as the ship groaned yet again.

[William Brand]

"God in heaven!"

Dorian looked up from the binnacle, where he and Jim Warren were salvaging every instrument stored there. They saw Harold Press in the attitude of moving the last of the prisoners across the gap to the Watch Dog. He was staring down between the snow and frigate. "Sahs!"

They went up with haste only to discover the whereabouts of William's lost man. Christophe Lefevre, a Frenchman of Martinique that had served but a handful of days aboard ship, was discovered utterly mutilated between the hull of the Watch Dog and King's Fury. The poor man it seemed had fallen between the two boats during the engagement. Having not completed the leap between the snow and the frigate, or having been caught up in a line during the attempt, he had fallen between the two boats unobserved in the chaos of bloodshed. There he had remained, tangled up in some grapples of the 'Dog and rigging of the snow. It seemed as though he had been crushed and ground between the two boats this whole while. So savagely had the two ships pressed upon him, that had it not been known by all marines that he was missing, Harold would not have recognized him enough to mark the man.

Jim allowed himself a long exhale of muttered curses before crying, "Grab him up."

So horrified were those at hand at seeing a man so abused by bad luck and English Oak, that no man would follow the order at first. Christophe Lefevre had been reduced to a mean smear of a creature that stained both ships and his bones were ground and crushed throughout. Mercifully, as the snow settled in the water he was freed enough to fall, just as Harold would have grabbed him. one of the lines went slack and a smashed yard of the snow was carried overboard and down. It struck what little of Christophe's head and torso remained with a sound too profound as it carried him to dark depths.

It was the first of many burials and not a few men, Spanish and Irish both, crossed themselves.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Deck of The King's Fury

Miss Smith had smiled upon seeing the Captain amongst the living. She glanced towards Miss Ashcombe with a practiced and detached expression, turning back to Dorian she answered. "Aye" Tudor turned quickly on her heel forcing Jenny to follow. Despite being taller, Jenny had to walk quickly to match the woman's purposeful stride. One could feel the ship slipping slowly and Miss Ashcombe said nothing more tham to reitterate the order given. She felt no insecurity in the other woman's non comittal treatment. Too frightened of being sucked into the ocean should the hull split. She instead sought the safety of the Steward's knowledge and where she feared not to tread, so would Miss Ashcombe.

They crossed the deck quickly and only when they were forced to pause for a group of sailors bearing the snow's one intact longboat and several barrels did she speak. "Miss..Ashcombe, I have been told you are the new Steward to Captain Lasseter. We shall know each other to be equals then as I am Steward aboard the Watch Dog." They stood shoulder to shoulder in tight quarters waiting for the men and supplies to pass so Jenny did no more than to acknowledge Miss Smith verbally. They two entered the officers quarters which were mostly devoid of belongings, as the Sea chests had been moved to the hold before the Snow sought to engage the Lucy. They passed through the narrow passageway where part of the ship had been torn open and debris littered the floor. Jenny jumped gasping as a door behind them slammed upon it's hinges from the breeze which sucked through the tear in the beams. She couldn't help the reaction and was too late to put a hand to her mouth. In the darkness she did not see the smirk on Captain Brand's Steward at the confirmation that this new member of the company was not long at sea. Tudor forged ahead pointing out with drawn cutlass a gape in the planking exposing the berth deck below. As Jenny stepped around the jagged opening, she felt for the solidness of the wood she tread upon, matching Tudor's steps to the best of her ability. Miss Smith was mildly annoyed that she would have to take care that Miss Ashcombe was delivered safely back. Haste was necessary at the moment.

[William Brand]

Preston had no where to go and little to do. He tried and failed to get Johan Stadtmeyer and Robert Jameson to engage in conversation with him, though they sometimes answered for the benefit of each other. They also apologized at times, respecting Preston for his office, despite being tied up. After a time, Preston satisfied himself with resting his eyes, though he did not sleep. On one of these occasions, Robert stepped back to Preston's blind side and began undressing himself from the waist down.

Johan turned to him with the most unbridled expression of 'What in Hell?' inscribed across his face that Robert stopped, already exposed as he was.

"I need ta piss." Jameson explained, just as emphatic as Johan was flabbergasted.

Johan stared at him like he was a foreigner of such baffling customs that words failed. He gestured around and could not find any words but one. "HERE!?" Johan was not equipped with surpassing English, but even he could have found more words than that, were it not for his disgust and bewilderment combined.

"There's them tha' piss below 'sides me." Jameson returned with equal surprise and Stadtmeyer cuffed him upside the head. Now whether Preston heard or cared about the matter, he remained quiet. Perhaps he was too amused not to hear this conversation to its rightful or wrongful conclusion.

"Head with you." Johan ordered, but Robert wouldn't budge. Instead he made as if to continue, so Johan cuffed him hard enough across the back of the skull so as to make the man rub the smart of it.

"I've orders..."

"The head with you!" Johan ordered, and while Johan's five foot three was just overshadowed by Jameson's towering stature of five foot four, Johan was almost twice Robert's age and pointed in the direction of the bow. "Off with you. Heathen. Dog. Fool's bastard." Johan used as many good English words as he could find as Jameson wandered out, just as likely now to relieve himself anywhere but the head.

This left Johan and Preston alone. It also left Johan to his thoughts, and they drifted to Captain Stoneburrows and back to Preston.

'I should kill this man and be done of him.' Johan thought, surveying the Ship's Master's wounds. 'He's wounded enough already.' It was as before. Johan was in a position to kill a senior officer of obvious liability, or at least possessed of some demons too dangerous to go untethered and perhaps get away with it. He wondered that Lasseter should not be grateful if he did this service, anonymous as it would be. No one had missed Stoneburrows. Johan could not now remember any mention of the man after his death, apart from some unfavorable anecdotes. It was different with Mister Whittingford, however, for the men seemed to like him and Preston had seemed affable enough before and after the engagement. It didn't matter. Johan was not so ready to kill as he had before, so he dismissed the notion and shook his head in disgust when Jameson returned too soon to have gone forward.

"Dier..." Johan sneered.

Robert mistook this for 'dear' and called, "Oh dear, yourself." They both laughed at each other scornfully, but for utterly different reasons.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As it was, nothing more could be done for the man and all haste was needed to save what could be had off the snow. Dorian had crossed himself and now wore a pinched look on his face as the thought of how the Monsieur Lefevre had been crushed. Back to the binnacle and gathered up what he could carry and made his way to the Lucy, all the way into the Ward Room to lay the brass and wooden pieces. As he lay them on the table, Dorian noticed his coat that he had deposited on a great gun of the snow was now hanging on his chair.

“How in blazes did that get here? Miss Ashcombe? But no… ah!”

The Captain threw his hands up in the air, no time to worry about how it came to be there. Back out on deck and across to the snow to again retrieve all that could be had. His back was beginning to ache from both the exertion of the battle, his wounds, and the aftermath that now consumed all hands. As he came over the rail of the snow, two great guns were lifted off their carriages, one by the Watch Dog, the other by the Lucy. Just as the one cleared the rail of the Frigate, the snow lurched and some lines parted violently. One line had parted near where the men of the Lucy were hauling the tackle and whipped two of them. They all dove away and let the gun crash to the deck of the snow. Curses were shouted at man and equipment. Dorian boldly walked over and cut the gun loose.

“Leave it! We’ve not the space in th’ hold nor on deck!”

Men reluctantly followed the order even as Master Johnson cursed some more and looked to the gun as if he was loosing a child before stomping across the deck grabbing all the gun tools he could carry, yelling for others to pick up what he could not.

[William Brand]

With the unmistakable crash of the great gun, the time had come to depart. William ordered everyone out of the hold, for they were almost swimming now. They were surrounded by anything that would float, including dead Englishmen, but they made their way forward and up as best they could. William all but threatened some of the men to get them out, but out they went bearing the last of what would be saved below. William twice lost his coat but regained it every time. Owen And he were the last out, bearing with them a dazed Oliver Randall who had brained himself upon a timber.

They arrived to hear Badger shouting 'Swing away!' with his usual impatience, and they witnessed a great gun of the snow cross the gap to the Watch Dog, but not before upsetting the rail with a force that sent splinters into the air.

"The wind's up, sah!" Owen observed, but William was already moving to Lasseter's side leaving a trailing line of water.

"What say you?" William shouted over the commotion. "Shall we abandon here?"

[Silkie McDonough]

Following orders silently, as she had become accustom to since her release from the cable tier, Miss McDonough took hold of the smallish cask as it was passed to her. Surprised by its weight she nearly let it fall. Regaining balance she quickly hefted what she now knew was a cask of nails to Moses MacTigue then turned for the next, prepared this time for the load she deftly passed it from one sailor to the next.

Edited September 14, 2009 by Silkie McDonough

[William Brand]

Murin was passed a bolt of some bags or material for making such. It was heavy, being soaked through as it was, and it smelled of coarse cotton. After this came a crate , poorly abused. It was filled with smashed fruits that smelled primarily of apples. Then she was passing a loose bundle of clothing and then a mallet. The work went like this with every odd an end taken and passed along.

"McDonough!" The call came from Alexander Sparshott, who stood balanced on the snow's broken rail. Murin was not accustomed to being addressed by her last name alone, but the man was in earnest. "Take up that line!" He was trying to free up the last of the grapples and the line was slack for only the moment. "Take it lass!"

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin grabbed the line, the length dropping at her feet as she hulled the grappling hook to the rail. Once the hook was in her hand she brought the entire length of rope into a neat gasket coil. As she finished Isaac Lazenby, who had been collecting the hooks and rope for storage, stepped up to take the coil. Lifting an eyebrow he looked at the coil then walked away. Murin stepped back into line with the others passing odds and ends.

[Red Cat Jenny]

The King's Fury

The Ward Room

The Stewards had sacked the ward room for all it was worth. Carrying away charts, ledgers and papers hastily sorted through for their value from amongst the chaos of items strewn about the Captain's quarters. The Ward room had taken a direct hit. Torn asunder when the Watch Dog drove in the stern of the snow shattering the aft windows as well. The desk had been overturned and the table was in splinters, a heavy ball laying amongst the highly polished shards it had created. Tudor concentrated on the papers of import pouring hastily through ledgers while Jenny filled both the sack she located and the arms of a crewman they retrieved upon seeing what amount was to be taken. Miss Smith's mood had changed and she smiled taking in the swiftness with which Miss Ashcombe located the most valuable of items searching without hesitation amongst the shards of crystal and sheafs of paper. Jenny had called out to Tudor at one point hoisting a large bottle of spirits of an unusually fine vintage and two crysal goblets still intact which had survived owing to a cupboard tucked behind the bulkhead. Wiping the grime from her cheek with her sleeve and feigning an air of propriety, she grinned and as the two shared the moment the snow lurched raining debris down upon them from the splintered wood above. They paused in silence until Tudor bade them to contiue but for a moment more. The task before them was too fascinating to run from so easily. Here, the heart of the ship and it's actions was spread before them in splendid dissaray. They bent to their work in silence, each listening for the groan and crack of the dying ship which would send them racing to the deck. Tudor had raided the Captains private arms chest and bristled with many weapons now hung about her person. In her arms ledgers and a roll of charts. Jenny struggled with the linen sack filled with small items, the bottle and goblets and two fine pewter candlesticks wrapped in brocade and linen from the sideboard. She added to it a small oil lamp, two ivory statuettes, a silver cross wrapped in layers of embroidered linen, carved writing implements, chart tools and a spool of silk thread from the desk. Miss Ashcome admired the quill carved of ivory and fashioned to look as if tiny vines and brids twined along it's shaft. She located the inlaid box amongst the debris and each piece which belonged in it. Wrapped the implements in the silk cloth within and tucked the prize carefully amongst what she would carry. The sack was handed off to the crewman for his third trip above. As he left he warned them they should make haste before they became part of the hulk. As if to punctuate his forboding, at that same moment the room they stood in listed and the awful sounds of timbers and lines parting as well as shouts and movement brought Tudor to command them all out at once. As they departed, a glint from the lantern now abandoned, caught Jenny's eye. She turned back to a space in the wall of the wardroom which was covered by a carved panel matching the fancy molding surrounding the whole space. Polished decoration on a leather scabbard had caught the lanterns flicker and she reached for the item. The others had begun to exit as quickly as care to step around the gape in the passageway floor would allow. Jenny looked back towards them and the pulled hard on the wooden panel which was jammed in the destroyed wall. It gave way partially but not enough to retrieve the sword within. Tudor reappeaared in the doorway her face a mix of anger and fear. "I shall not go down with this hulk in order to entertain your foolishness Miss Ashcombe.. make haste at once!" At that moment she saw what had caused Jenny to risk hesitation and the two pried loose the panel. They gazed at the item which was much too finely decorated to be a weapon worn regularly. The scabbard had brass decoration and the hilt of the sword was highly ornate in it's basket tied off with a tassel. Jenny drew the sword up partly and the blade was covered in ornamentation at the top. They were absorbed briefly in the item hidden away due to it's obvious value. Miss Smith had opened her mouth to speak but was but cut off abruptly by The crash of the gun on the deck above. The sound and following fury drove the three then without another word scrambling up to the deck and their respective ships as lines snapped whistling in their fury at losing their catch.

[Black Syren]

The winds seemed to have picked up blowing the smoke past the three ships like ghostly specters fleeing their graves. This caused her to shiver and tighten her hold upon her musket and Argus sensing that nudged her leg with his head bringing her gaze from the smoke and towards her new duties. Her free hand buried itself in the thick fur at Argus’s neck and she spoke reassuringly to him or maybe it was to herself. Now that the action seemed to have died down and sailors scurried to and fro to save what they could from the snow she trembled. Her senses rang with shouts and the pattering of feet, orders being called and obeyed and the scent of death. Gruesome business death…..

She fell in behind Alan and Manus Hingerty as they herded their prisoners towards the Fo’c’sle deck and then below it where the great forward facing guns sat in silent glory. Just moments ago their voices had cried to the heavens with all the wrath of an avenging angel and to see them so silent was mute testimony that indeed they had avenged any injury dealt them and then some.

As they began to crowd into the small space she realized that she had no clue just how many prisoners there were and the confines were tight if indeed there was further trouble. She gave Argus the command to guard and he immediately went on the alert causing the prisoners closest to them to shrink away. There was a rumble of further discontent from their captives and Manus glared at the offender who spat at Alan’s feet. Alan merely shrugged showing he did not seem to much care the thoughts of this sailor. Argus growled low as several of them finally noted her prescence and thinking her an easy target debated rushing her in a bid for whatever freedom or mercy they may find abovedecks.

[William Brand]

With all of the commotion of the moment, it was left to Ciaran to remind them of the Navarra's presence, for she was on approach and would soon overtake them or pass them by. It was comforting to have her return, though she had been of no assistance in the engagement, and would remain a heavy laden liability all the way to Trinidad. Still, she was in their charge and they were all but ready to go with her the rest of the way.

William and Dorian exchanged a few bits of news that each had witnessed separately in the last quarter of an hour. William was sorry to hear of Lefevre's death, but confused that his mention of so many dead below should give Captain Lasseter pause. He would have asked after Lasseter's disquiet, but they were to busy dodging death's long reach again, for the snow had leaned over enough now, and the weight of water had become so great below, that the damaged mast that had once held the trysail split from where it was secured at the mainmast and the spanker boom was sent swinging freely around the deck. It swung so wide that it knocked John Kingsman soundly off the Lucy's rail and threw him into the bewildered, clumsy, but accepting arms of his fellow sailors. It would have struck Dorian soundly across the back of his skull as it came around, but he saw Benjamin Quigley's eyes widen so much that he ducked and just lost his hat. William, who was a little shorter, had already ducked the swinging beam, but others were not so fortunate.

Gabriel Edward and Gavin Montgomery were at the rail of the Lucy with the last objects to go over to the frigate when the boom came around to them. It had lost some of it's force by then, but maintained enough momentum to upset them on the rail. Gabriel went over the side and down at once, but Gavin teetered on the edge, his arm pinwheeling in a way that might have been funny if he wasn't so threatened then. Robert Hollis thrust out a hand to catch him, but only succeeded in going over the side himself and suddenly three men were in the water.

Now that gap between the Dog had increased with the removal of the lines, but the two ships were still too close not to threaten the men below. The situation was not improved by the darkness nor the fact that Gabriel had fallen against the Watch Dog as he plummeted.

"Man overboard!" came the calls from above.

William called to Dorian as he fled his side. "Let us quit this place!"

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe had stowed the items brought aboard within the Lucy's ward room. Taking careful measure after much bewilderment to secure the ceremonial sword and the box of writing implements. The lamp she placed on top of the sternbench with the sack she was able to carry containing sundry items. She exited to the clearing air about the deck and wiped her hands on her slops. The clothing she wore was so besmirched that it would have been difficult to tell whether it was faric or flesh which came away cleaner. Jenny had managed to wipe her face on a spare rag of linen found in the sternbench and felt desperate to relieve herself of the stench of smoke, dirtied water and the blood of others. Never had she been in such a state. Never had she been so exahausted yet utterly charged with the experience both terrifying and freeing at once. The nights spent alone and running seemed a paltry and vague rememberance against the past few hours. She straightened her back and drew in what clean air was to be had with the freshened breeze drawing haze from around the ships. Jenny sought Miss Smith on the far deck and wondered after the woman. Her seeking was interrupted by the snow faltering yet again a portion of it's boom swinging wildly as if the ship was intent on taking a few of it's attackers as the water dragged it over and down. She dropped the rag and ran towards the call of "Man overboard" staring wide eyed into the darkness muttering a prayer for the Lord to rescue them from this place before any more were lost.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dusting off his hat after retrieving it and smashing it onto his head, Dorian was in agreement with William.

“Aye! Abandon ship indeed!”

Captain Lasseter made to pull his cutlass from its scabbard but the coating of gore held it in place. Taking hold of the throat with his left hand he forced the blade free with a sickly sucking noise, as if it was being withdrawn from a body.

“Everyone off! Off this ship I say! Go now all o’ ye!”

Dorian acted as the herder to his flock of sheep, calling out and waving his arms as if driving them. The snow lurched again in the process and the sound of more lines parting filled the air. The snow had shifted to starboard, as if trying to dump Captain Lasseter onto the deck of the Lucy. In doing so the standing rigging of the mainmast began to give way. Where a roundshot had weakened the mast, the crackling of wood could be heard. Dorian ran across the deck shouting as loud as he could.

“Cut th’ lines! Cut ‘em away now! Cut th’ lines away!”

Axes were at the ready and soon the lines were being chopped away. Dorian made the rail as a large crack of wood was heard and a yard fell from its hamper. Had it not been for the ratlines of the Lucy, the yard would have caused great injury to those on deck. Instead it tangled there, connecting the two ships together as the one died. All the lines were chopped away from both ships and the wind allowed some separation of the crafts as the snow began to settle deeper in the water. Press, Styles and Brisbane had made their way into the lines and were trying to free the yard from the snow. William and his crew were busy fishing those man who went over from the water and could do no more than watch. The snow rolled harder to starboard and threatened to tangle herself even worse into the Lucy.

[William Brand]

William vaulted across the widening gap between the frigate and snow. He made the distance poorly and only the shrouds save him as he cracked one shin on the rail. He had not compensated well for the extra weight nor cling of the water in his clothing.

While this self inflicted injury to leg and dignity played out several lines were tossed into the brink and Badger was shouting at everyone, sailor and marine alike. Gavin was treading water with the grace of a panicked cat, having never learned to swim. Hollis had recovered himself enough to keep his head above the water, though he had gone deep in the fall. Gabriel was nowhere to be found.

[Pew]

Aboard the Watch Dog, the armoury

Simon Buttery and his mate Thomas Norman, both sailors from the Bullrush, were employed in bringing the small arms and muskets to the armoury. Armfulls of weapons were being dropped in a fashion that Eric could not keep up with. Piles of weapons began to fill the narrow room of the master-at-arms' cabin. Buttery, the eldest of the two, took it upon himself to begin two rows of muskets just outside the cabin; those in need of repair, those for immediate use. Thomas followed along often asking for Simon's assistance in determining which row to place the guns. At times, even the boys Jules Laborde and Abel Fenner helped clear the deck of what weapons would be returned to the cramped aft cabin. A fairly large pile of pistols began to grow there in the hold.

Eric Franklin stood with his hands on his hips. He stood with his back to the emptiness of the armoury looking into the hold. The Master-at-arms stood trying to determine where he was going to place the multitude of guns he was now in possession of. Luckily, the armoury had been nearly emptied with the call to general quarters just some time ago. He sighed and pulled a silver flask that Preston had left him from the desk. Truly it was Jack St. Anthony's, and then Preston Whitingford's, and now fell to the Master-at-arms of the Watch Dog. He smiled and drained a long pull.

"A'right lads," Eric rested his hands on the frame of the narrow doorway, "Set what hogsheads y' can to the larboard side here, a makeshift bulkhead 'f ye will." He pointed around the hold. "Find what, ifin any are empty 'r can be emptied. We'll need to stow those guns f'r repair someplace aft."

The four seaman now under his 'command' set about the hold to find any empty barrels. Eric grabbed the muskets nearest his door, two in each hand, and made his way back into the armoury.