The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

"I shall be prepared within the next thirty minute's passing."

"Thank you, Doctor."

William excused himself by way of the surgery. He found not three, but four people there, for Bill Flint had joined the throng, and having guessed at the Surgeon's needs, he was packing her instruments for the short voyage across the reefs to the shore party. William gave him the same nod he had given Nathan earlier.

Mooney was awake and looked confused by his surroundings and the happenings of the moment. William asked after his health and his reply was apologetic. William reassured the man that all was well, a lie of capital proportions.

Then the Captain went to the departed lady's cot and slipped his hands under her remains. She was light, for her height, and he supposed the days at sea and shore had waisted what had once been a far healthier frame. Even so, he felt the weight in his shoulder, for the too much recent rain had seeped deeply into the all too recent injury. Despite this, he managed the body without much difficulty, carrying it from the surgery by way of the passageway. Bill Flint opened the door for him as he went out, and William paused in the hall between the surgery and the galley.

Now that he had the body, he wasn't sure where to take it. If he brought it forward, it would not greatly improve the mood on deck. He could not take it below, for fear the rats, which most surely came aboard at La Margarita, would have their way with it. Instead, he turned to the Ward Room, and Bill Flint rushed forward past the Captain to mind the door for him.

Once here, William placed the body on the bench built into the framework along the stern windows. He lifted her exposed arm back under the blanket and did his best to make the body appear comfortable, a ridiculous, but very human act.

Mister Flint was already retreating to his other duties when William called him back. William stood with his back to the ward room door, but his voice was clear and concise.

"Mister Flint, please have dry clothes and blankets prepared for the shore party and join Miss Fitzgerald in the boat when it goes over."

"Aye, aye."

Mister Flint went out again, leaving the Captain and his recently saved and recently lost guest alone in the ward room.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Patricia, off the coast of Los Hermanos

The rolling waves tossed the cutter some as all eyes remained on the battered hat held in Mr. Tucker's hands. He turned it over several times, as if doing so would produce the owner. Finally, the numbness was overcome by the Coxwain,

"C'mon lads, afore we're dashed against the rocks, back ta work, pull!"

All eyes swung to look at Mr. Warren. His jaw was set in a hard line. He did not look at any one of them, but had his eyes on the shoreline of Los Hermanos. When no action had come from his command, he repeated it savagely.

"Damn your eyes, the lot of you! Back to the sweeps! Pull Damn You, Pull!!!"

Some of the men recoiled from the severity of the Coxwain, others set there own jaws in a hard line, but all obeyed. All took up the sweeps and began the task of propelling the cutter. Mr. Warren waited until good headway was being made, then put the tiller hard over, heading back into shore. As they returned to their former berth on the small beach head, the rising tide made it a bit trickier than their first landing, or the Quartermaster made it appear so when he had the tiller.

As the bow ground into the sand, Tucker and Styles jumped into the receeding water with a pair of lines and ran up the beach, finding the same trees to tie off to as they had previously. the surf pushed the boat futher ashore with each rush of water. the others jumped out and hauled the cutter up the beach, almost perfectly where she had been before. Once all were out of the boat, the stood around or sat on the supplies that were abandoned in their haste earlier. Most were either looking at the Coxwain or Monseur Chanault for some direction as to what to do next.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Raphael moved away from the Faithful and walked the shoreline to clear his mind. Now and again, his visual focus would slide towards the frigate or towards the blow hole which was steadily regaining gusto. The coral thrashing that mapped the terrain of his back, announced its' reality with movement. The Frenchman knew that when facing his Charge there would be further concern with its' existance and he considered donning relenquished linen shirt, then let the thought pass on. The idea of cloth filliments clinging to already aggrivated flesh was deemed an unnecessary torture he could well do without.

He paused in stride, turning back to survey the area in his wake. The pull of instinctual authority fought to show face when the pale sights fell upon the gathering of men, an instinct once again placed into check. Monsieur Warren was rightfully in command of the situation, and the motley group would have to wait for said officer's whims...At least until something was known from the floating nation who rode anchor much closer to the isle than previous.

The haunting that harried Chanault's core still circled his being like carrion birds on sentry duty and once more his attention was pulled to the North and East. Restless fingers fidgeted with listless direction at the salt saturated cloth clinging to left thigh, then upward to the medallion that hung securely from around his neck. The ornate piece was the embodiment of symbologies that running deep into the ancient. Laying like a miniature moon on lithe muscle cushion, twined jewels of rich crimson glinted defiently at the sun floating heavens above.

Onshore breeze lifted in stregnth, pulling at loose stands of raven hued hair still damp from earlier actions. Pivoting in stance, pale sights trailed back to the frigate and awaited what next would unfold.

On some deeply buried subconscious level, he sensed the Three Sisters bent to task; manipulating an unseen skien...

[William Brand]

July 19, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

First Bell of the First Dog Watch

William went to the rail armed with pistol and cutlass, something which he seldom did. He cut an imposing figure, not because of the added armament, but due to a darker shadow which he carried about him like a volcano. It was a brooding cloud and everyone seemed all too aware of, leaving him alone at the rail.

Only Mister Badger and Mister Youngblood approached him, daring to ask what might be done next. Each of them asked to be a part of his plans and thoughts.

William ordered the Samson out, and all were glad to do it. He informed the two officers that he meant to go over and pass the duration of the tide in waiting ashore. He would there remain until the vigil had passed and it could be discovered whether the Quartermaster were alive or dead. While he spoke on this, Mister Flint arrived with the provisions for the shore party and Tempest followed him hard by.

Each of them went down to the small boat in silence, except for William.

"Mister Youngblood. Mister Badger. The ship is yours".

[Pew]

Second Archipelago of Los Hermanos

As each small wave crested and broke the small crew of the "St. Christopher" remained quiet and uneasy upon hearing of the departure of the Watch Dog.

"Ne'er fear lads, tha Cap'n merely moved about as to load what Mr. Lasseter found ashore..." Hoping to dissuade any notion of being left behind and that our Quartermaster was on a grande treasure hunt.

"What would you do wit' yer fortune Cut'throat?" Harold asked the stalwart gunner in the bow of the longboat.

"Powder," Mr. Johnson smiled wryly, "lots of powder...."

Owen quickly jumped on his conversation, "Why tha's just stupid, wastin' yer monie on powder." "Oh yeah?" asked Harold, egging on what we knew would be an argument brewing, "whad you spend it on smart arse?" Owen put his hand to his chin and acted like he had grandiose plans for what treasures may be found, "Why I'd buy me me own barrel o' rum I would, and then visit me a certain island for weeks on end, ne'er ta leave the hut..." Harold quickly reared back his oar and and snapped the handle so hard it struck the water with such velocity that a huge wave of water rose up and doused the ideallic crewman back into reality. "HEY!! You got me new slops all wet!!" Harold slapped the water again without even a second thought and doused Owen again. "Why you!!" Owen tried to dive towards Harold but had his foot caught in the floorboards of the longboat, tripping, he fell towards midships smashing his elbow on the small seat near the Captain's Steward. Smarting something fierce, he begun a torrent of swearing that made Cut-throat turn about.

Rising and grabbing his elbow, while Ajayi and Harold continued to laugh, Maurice noticed my demeanor had changed and he immediately dropped his oar.

"ALL HANDS STOP!! Miss Smith give me a sounding!"

Just clearing the southernmost end of the second island in the Los Hermanos chain, I saw the battered hulk of the Apollo starkly rising above the waves due east from the "St. Christopher." Nearly a third of her was still visable, but most else was missing.

The crew had begun to move about to catch a glimpse of what was left of the British Trader.

Nodding towards Miss Smith and Mr. Johnson, "You two'll need ta keep a sharp eye out, we know not where that reef may start, but we know where she lies. Quarter pull on the sweeps lads, listen fer the soundings from the bow."

[Silkie McDonough]

Earlier in the Surgery

Murin felt Nathan's apprehension before she was aware of the additional person in the room. She did not look to see who was there when Bill Flint had come in. She thought fleetingly that it would be proper to break from Nathan's now comforting embrace but was loath to move. This was all she had, this moment with this stranger who was both oppressor and champion.

Nathan held the young woman in his arms, rocking her with the ships sway. The vivacious lass he had spent the morning with was, this afternoon, a broken child. He too had once experienced similar pain at the hands of the French and in battle. He knew all to well what damage such experiences cause.

The door had opened again and soon Murin heard the hushed voices of others in the room. She straightened herself and stepped back from Nathan feeling a bit embarrassed. She sniffled "I'm surry, I..." she stammered as she looked up into his concerned gaze, "...ah, ...tank ya." was all she could muster before being compelled to quickly divert her eyes to the damp crumpled linen square in her hand. Murin turned towards the others in the ward just as Captain Brand was lifting Ana's lifeless body from the cot. She froze there, numb, she had not seen Aidan carried from the gallows. She could feel Nathan's presence behind her. How easy it would be to turn back and nuzzle enfolded in his arms. No. She sniffled once again, wiped her eyes, set her shoulders and took a deep breath as Ana was carried from the room.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Under Los Hermanos

The torch had sputtered and grew dim, all it's fuel of tar and spirits had been used up, the cloth scraps turned to ash and the wooden haft burned dimly for a short time then becam nothing but embers. Dorian watched it change from yellow flame to dull orange glow, then to full darkness. He slowly took in a breath and just as slowly released it. He guessed that about an hour had passed, maybe more since his entrapment, and now deprived of light he could only sit and wait for what might happen next, his only companion the crash of the surf reverberating through the subterranian space. His mind remained very active, many thoughts passed through his head, were mulled over for a time, then another thought would take its place. Every so often he would slowly rise to keep the blood flowing, shake out his limbs and stretch his muscles, occasionally finding another bruise. He even broke out in song a time or two, starting to go slightly stir crazy in the darkness....

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

The water was indeed starting to show the signs of danger. Tudor marked the depth, which was slowly becoming more shallow, and gave the number to the Master at Arms.

She held her peace, as she had since they had set off from the first islet, noting down any thing of intrest and occasionally indulging the rowdies with a smirk and an amused shake of her head.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Le Requiem

Armand watched quietly from the high backed chair as Lamaire paced to and fro, occassionally pausing to gaze out stern screen. The Gascon had learned years ago that when someone was deep in private musings, it was best to keep one's peace until addressed. The burden resting on the Lieutenant's shoulders was one of cumbersome means and he had given all outward appearance that all was in order. Le Requiem's enfants were in high spirits with the presence of Chasse De Mer nearby, and nothing had been mentioned of the secrect known only to four. The Secret itself, had been carefully moved from the Surgery's lack of security to the small chamber once occupied by Captain Brand at a former time.

The mischievous glint that forever burned in Lamaire's eyes had smoldered and what aged vissage that lay over his features before seemed to have doubled since the discovery. As soon as Jean-Micheale had been moved to safer surround, Dominique had ordered a bar on any entrance to the Surgery without his permission. It was a decision made in order to maintain an illusion that would dissipate upon the arrivale to Fort-au-France. A crafted ruse that claimed the Capitaine need not be disturbed, that he required rest without any excitement to hinder delicate constitution. The Lieutenant had no worry in regard to those that carried the truth slipping, but his unease with the situation harried him relentlessly. The Corvette was a well oiled machine...Lamaire intended to keep it that way until safe haven was achieved.

The scarred angel of Bottichelian features paused in relentless pace once more to gaze the outside world. His attention centered on kindred old warship and a small comfort bathed his soul. Dominique did not have to see Her clearly, knowing every curve and break in construction; a vessel that embodied memories too numerous to catalog. A vessel that was offered to him in command when Jean-Micheale took on Le Requiem... A command offer that Lieutenant Dominique-Gaston Lamaire had turned down to maintain the smooth workings of he and his cousin's partnership of the sea. Suddenly, the desire for such pursuites had grown cold and the very surround of Corvette and the elements that drove her, seemed lack luster.

Pouring into the emptiness of matched crystal goblets, Armand rose, moving to Lamaire's proximity and made offer of libation. No words were exchanged betwixt the two friends of likened age; none were truly needed. The goblet was accepted with smallish nod, another nod delivered in return. The two companions, a world away from native soils, gave silent salute to their Fallen. Watching without disruption of memorium, as the dullness of night tinged wake frothed in rolling stream, to blend with ink tinged waters.

Le Requiem would achieve port in a matter of hours and then, perhaps, Lietenant Dominique-Gaston Lamaire would be able to breath freely, once more...

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Released from davits grip, the launch was pushed away from mother's swollen curves. With each steady impaling of sweep to bouyant surround, the small craft advanced, her company mindful of unseen hazards beneath her keel. The golden orb above glared down angrily on the mortal word, asserting its' dominance over rain sodden surfaces and the humidity climbed higher.

There was no joy to be perceived aboard, no ussual banter to be heard, giving the vessel the solem manner of funeral barg without accommpanying escorts. A frigate bird was seen high above in the updrafts, its' small eyes watching with curiosity briefly as wings were folded back allowing daredevil plunge. The coursings of Nature moved forward in steady rythem, unaffected by the dramas of mankind.

Near the transom's proxy, Jacquelyn kept unwavering focus on the beach head and those that occupied it. Their approach had not gone unnoticed and several of the landing party moved closer to the break of land to water. Without intentional thought, she counted their numbers, and as before, there existed no increase though no decrease existed, either. Though not close enough to observe their expression, the gathering of men's body language reminded her of lost waifs. The normal proud and semi-arrogant stances seemed to have deserted their bearing. Such a sight left her with a feeling of slight disconcert.

The craft continued forward, carefully choosing her path through the maze of reef fangs, claws and Apollo flotsam. The Surgeon's thoughts wandered to the well being of the second shore party, causeing a minute furrow to unclouded brow. No word had been received of their progress and it unsettled her more in the unknowing. Turning a degree to the right, peripheral view glimpsed William. Nothing could be gleaned from the red crowned man. His expression lay in neutral poise, but for the determination that showed itself in jaw set and the ridgid squaring of shoulders.

Their eyes met briefly before she recanted attention to areas afore the bow that bounced with elemental sway...

[Pew]

Just offshore of 2nd Archipelago in the Los Hermanos chain

"HARD TO LARBOARD!!" yells Cut-throat from the bow. "Aye," yells back the steward, "mebbe a fathom or so here," she yells from the starboard, "with the bottom steadily rising Mister Pew."

Looking ahead to the Apollo I begin to get a touch worried about our luck here on the reef.

Quietly I whisper out loud, "Damn, we're gonna run aground before we even get there. Mr. Lasseter will have my hide."

The swell drives us further towards the wreck and continues to pick up pace in the straight. Cut-throat and Miss Smith continue the back and forth of immediate directions. The lads have since stowed their oars and hold on tightly. Each looks over the gun'le and continues to help with the rapid fire headings.

"Larboard!!"

"Starboard!!"

"2 pts to Starboard!!", yells Harold. "NO!! Mister Pew, 2pts to larboard!", Owen spits.

Each shout becomes louder as we rise over one swell only to nearly bottom out on the trough of the next. With the next swing of the tiller, we get swung hard to larboard and hear the thud and sickening screech of the hull along the reef. Two more hard thuds finds the lapstrake hull beginning to separate.

"Damn!!" Another hard swing of the tiller to starboard and we are free of the reef, but are rapidly taking on water.

"Lads!! Oars in tha water!! Full swings to'rds tha shore!!" Dammit!

"We're takin' on water Mister Pew!!"

"Aye, Maurice. We're puttin' ashore 'ere."

Miss Smith and Maurice begin to bail out the longboat with what they can. Maurice has stowed his oar, and Ajayi notices to make up for the loss of Maurice's sweep. Cut-throat continues to shout the various directions for the fastest route to shore. Several thuds and scratches continue to resound from the bottom of the "St. Christopher".

Nearly a cable length now, stay together now...........

[William Brand]

July 19, 1704 - Los Hermanos

Before the Samson could touch the shoreline, the cutter crew was on the lines and along the sides of the jollywatt. They brought it up onto shore with an effortless that delivered everyone safely. Mister Warren and Chanault came forward and offered a simultaneous hand to Tempest and with their help she went nimbly to the wet rocks and sand, though her usual spring was subdued. Bill Flint followed after with bundles that were lifted away from him by the members of the shore party moments after his feet were on the island. William went forward between the rowers, and though hands were offered for his passage from the boat, he stepped ashore without aid.

His appearance, armed with weapons real and emotions guessed at, cast a silence over the shore party. Mister Warren was the only one to break the silence, and though he was certain that the Captain had witnessed all their actions by spyglass, he reported them just the same, fully understanding the redundancy of such a duty.

William listened with a focused attention that the Coxswain had not quite expected. The Captain looked at him with an even and open regard while he explained each detail of their trials from the time they left the ship to the discovery of the Quartermaster's hat.

"Thank you, Mister Warren." was William's only response, but he gestured to the waterline and he, the Doctor and the Coxswain went down to the soft crash of waves along the shoreline. They stood together awhile in a silent observation of the unobtainable. The short distance that lay between them and the possible final or injured remains of Mister Lasseter might just as well be the span of an entire ocean, for none of them could expect to go down into the metronome of the relentless sea and come out again. So they stood in silence, like three mute and somber mourners walking over what might be the Quartermaster's grave.

Chanault came up quietly behind them, but not so quietly that they were not aware of him. Tempest turned to him then and they shared the apologies, hopes, helplessness, concern, desperation and all the other emotions that two people might without words in a moment of waiting.

William broke the silence, plying them with questions without taking his eyes off of the sea. One questions after the other came with the patient speed of one who is discussing travel arrangements or making conversation about the weather. His detachment was at once admirable and unsettling. It was cold and controlled, but the questions were probing and precise.

He asked about the nature of the subterranean chamber upon which they stood. He asked about purchase and hand holds. He asked about air pockets and imperfections. Every inquiry was followed with another question uninterrupted by pause.

William considered the many options open to them, but they were few. They might blast the blowhole with powder, but a cave in would only endanger the Quartermaster. They might send a line in by use of some flotation device, but this might endanger anyone trying to place a line in the cave entrance. Furthermore, a cask or barrel might become dangerous debris sent pellmell through the underground passage. It might also block the blowhole and further risk Mister Lasseter's life. Every consideration was a risk to them or to him and William's face slowly lost it's statuesque quality as it was replaced with a tired resignation. Nothing could be done but wait. Understanding this, William gave what few orders he could.

"Doctor, see to the injuries of the shore party."

She nodded, equally resigned to the futility of any other effort. She smiled a little then. It pained him to see it and he was certain that the smile was a veneer painted over an ironic or rueful thought. Perhaps she was grateful for the distraction of duties. Whatever her thoughts, she straightened her shoulders and let the heavy worry drift away from her face as she went up the beach to see to the wounded.

William had never seen her look more beautiful. Jeanne d'Arc before the fire.

[Pew]

Second Island of Los Hermanos chain

"We're takin' on water quickly Mister Pew," Owen hollered. "Aye, lad, tha current should 'ave us in the shallows jus' inside the reef soon." I calmly replied, yet still worried should we make it over the reef at all.

Miss Smith looked up at me and gave a scowl that would have stopped Cerebus dead. Cut-throat continued to bark out directions manuevering us between, around and over the shallow reef. Finding the reef to gradually widen, I had Harold and Ajayi drop in their oars to help guide is to the shore on the incoming wave crests. To flop the longboat now may be impossible due to it's extra ballast of incoming seawater, but I was not about to try.

Several clunks could still be heard resonating from the bottom of the St. Christopher and from the lads oars. After what seemed like several turns of the 'glass, we were able to coast into the calm shallows just inside the reef break. Owen and Maurice quickly jump out of the rapidly sinking vessel to try and drag ashore the bulk of the longboat.

With the bow firmly planted in hard pack sand, The captain's steward and Cut-throat climb out and carry what they can to the edge of the sand and scrub. Ajayi and Harold grab what they can from the bottom of the St. Christopher and toss it to waiting arms. With the crew and gear stowed up the top of the beach, Cut-throat lays out the muskets and what arms we have to dry. Unwrapping the tarp, the pistols are nearly filled with water, completely soaking the wadding within. "'opefully there be no unsavories, eh Mister Pew..." stated Owen as he watched the water pour from the smallish barrels.

"Aye." Rubbing my chin with the palm of my hand, I look about what's on the island to repair our Quartermaster's boat.

After several minutes of inventorying the what was brought ashore, the lads begin to toss several lengths of rope further on land to drag the boat out of the water and onto the beach. Miss Smith had ventured onto an outcropping of several large rocks overlooking the channel we had just come in. Opening her satchel, she tries to find some scrap of dry paper to plot our previous course we arrived by. Looking over at me watching her she yells above the quiet lapping of waves as to make her point and demeanor well known to all,

"I'll be sure to note the reef for you Mister Pew," She shouts sarcastically. "Appears to be only a cable length or two heading North by North West."

Waving back to merely acknowledge her existance, I trudge to the shoreline to help beach the vessel and see the extent of the damage from the reef.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Under Los Hermanos

Dorian had sung a couple more songs, some were shanties, some were from his homeland in Gaelic. He was silent for a time in the darkness, and even dozed for a short time, to which he woke with a start.

"Damn... shouldn't do tha' just yet..."

He stood slowly in the darkness and stretched the soreness out of his frame. Thinking a moment what to do, he drew the broken sword at his side and touched the blunted tip to the wall. Taking a step or two he began to drag it along the rocky surface.

"Hmmm.... keep me busy..."

The QuarterMaster began to slowly walk around the vault with his sword dragging along the wall, giving him some reference to position as he walked. As he was about half way around the vault, he nearly tripped on the discarded spade he had brought in with him. After cursing himself, Dorian bent down and searched around for it. His hand touched, then closed around the wooded handle. Picking it up he continued his circuit around the vault, dragging the sword along the wall and using the spade as a sort of cane in the other hand.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Rising above any personal stakes or emotions, the Surgeon joined the gathering of men. Her demeanor gave way nothing to inner angst as she scrutinized those with injuries and offered words of kind support. Jaquelyn mused while cleaning an abrassion marking Godfrey's arm, her silent overall diagnosis weighed towards woundings of the soul rather than the physical.

As she tended the last of the Faithfull, Jaquelyn gave pause to observe William poised at the water's edge. The lap of salt liquid halted inches before touching his person before rapid retreat, as though an act of respect to authority. The heavens were begining metamorphesis to evening shades of Caribe hue, a sight she generally gave appreciation to, but this evening's advance did nothing more than cause heavy shadow to surround her heart in steely grip.

The Surgeon stayed a moment more after duties done, then moved abaft the company to join Chanault in banyan proximity. The Sphinx had been careful keep his back from view in her presence, but as he reached to retrieve silver flask a glimpse was captured. Reaching forward to catch near arm, she gave subtle pull to pivot his stance. The pale jade sights looked over shoulder then away as the sought object was procured.

In the dimming light of day, she looked over the ravished flesh and nodded towards a fallen trunk. The Frenchman said nothing in self defense as he sat on indicated perch, taking a deep draught from flask content, before handing it to her keeping. Laying her left hand gently on the rounding of his corresponding shoulder, silent warning was given.

A sharp hiss of breath drawn through gritted teeth sounded in response to refined liquid fire searing exposed subdermal layers.

[William Brand]

Mister Pew enjoyed the relative peace of the evening as he carried out his orders on the second archipelago of Los Hermanos. Since the small boat was damaged and daylight remained before them, he chose to circumnavigate the island as before and return to the boat before nightfall. Little else could be done until repairs could be made, so he went about his duties. The reaction of the landing party was mixed, and despite one disagreeable remark from Owen, everyone fell into line and continued their exploration of the island.

This proved fortuitous when sunset came, for Maurice discovered a small fishing boat well hidden under a nest of wind bent trees and piled branches. It was a small boat, almost a full third smaller than the longboat. It showed signs of wear and tear, but apart from a few patches and a great need of paint, it showed no lack of seaworthiness. After lengthy consideration, the Master-at-arms put Maurice, Owen and Tudor in the boat and sent them with word to the Watch Dog of the shore party's findings and current predicament.

He sent a third of their muskets and pistols to be cleaned and serviced aboard the frigate. Owen questioned this action, pointing out that all of the muskets and pistols were worthless, since all of them contained wet powder and sand. Miss Smith carefully pointed out that if anyone should arrive and threaten them, they would be none the wiser about the condition of the powder or arms.

"It is better to appear armed than not." Mister Pew agreed and he and the Captain's Steward gave Owen a look that dared him to question orders again. This silenced Owen entirely, for he was loathe to open his mouth and look the fool.

As the small boat disappeared into a growing gloom, Mister Pew and the remaining crew continued the circumnavigation of the small island. When they came full circle to the damaged longboat, he ordered a split watch and an encampment was placed in the shelter of the trees not far from where the second boat had been discovered.

. . .

Back aboard the Watch Dog the minutes gave over to hours. Bells were rung and rung again as the watches were traded out under the careful watch of Mister Badger. Soon, even the Bosun gave the deck and the Master Gunner took up an unaccustomed place on the quarterdeck. As the daylight waned and gave over to a night both clear and dark, Mister Youngblood patrolled the quarter deck as easily as he had always walked the gun deck. He enjoyed the moment only as much as the reasons behind it allowed.

The ship was quiet under his watch, but alert in its relative silence. The galley was dark for the first time that day. Some soft music drifted up from the berth deck, but mostly, it was a sleeping ship.

Still, despite a night of near darkness, the lookouts were watchful, and Ciaran noted the approach of a small and unrecognized sail.

"Sail off the Larboard quarter!" he called out from the darkness above.

Mister Youngblood went to the rail at once and he was joined by two armed men of the watch. Calls were exchanged out across the quiet darkness and soon the two men from Mister Pew's party were back aboard. Miss Smith delivered her report and the cache of small arms into the waiting hands of Eric Franklin. Mister Youngblood plied the three with questions until he was satisfied that none of Mister Pew's remaining party were in any immediate danger before dismissing the tired boat party from any further duties.

. . .

William was standing on shore again, having paced the beachhead during the evening and night, when Ciaran's voice carried over the water. William returned to the water's edge to receive news as it was relayed across the water from Mister Youngblood. He called back over the dark water, sending his acknowledgment to each of Petee's reports and inquiries.

In the end, the conversation ceased between the wooden island and the one of stone as each officer went back to walking their respective decks. Mister Youngblood walked the oak of the Watch Dog and Captain Brand paced the sand and stone of Los Hermanos.

Both of them noted the last bell of First Watch as the calendar rolled over to the next day.

July 20, 1704 - Los Hermanos

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She knew she should be sleeping, but she was too restless. Tudor never delt well with failure, and having to come back to ship in a found fishing boat sounded of failure to her. It didn't sit well.

Pacing the decks, Tudor kept trying to mentally calm herself, but all it managed to do was raise her ire. With a snort of disgruntlement, she looked out to the protrusive rock islands in the distance, sighed and went to find some forced sleep for a few hours, with the hope that she would be able to return to finish the job after the dawn.

On her way below, she overheard some of the crew's gossip, and with it heard the last hope of rest leaving her. The whispered news of the quatermaster's quite possible demise left her completely taken aback, with out any thought on how to react. She just let her jaw drop, and with a shake of her head, she continued in her path, hoping to fall asleep and wake to find the past few days had been just an unpleasent dream. But she knew that was futile. "I don't dream anymore . . ." She argued with herself quietly.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

It was a night ruled by Smuggler's Moon, the faint sliver hanging overhead was of reputed favor with those of secretive intents. The Faithful were restless in rest, some fortunate enough to tread the dreamscapes though no peace could be found there, others conversed with hushed voices in doomed wakefullness. The only constant lay in the steady cadence of water's caress on shore and rock; which under normal conditions would do well to sooth. But sooth did not come, the events of the day combined with the pitch darkness of strange local gave the Sea a haunting flavor in its' advance and retreat.

The wait for dawn seemed endless in coming, but come She would just as night always proceeded her. Their's was an ethereal game of tag, an amusement started before Time began and as to its' ending, not even the wisest of mankind could predict. Never the less, those atuned to subtle change could feel her advance to the field in coquet manner; her gown a ripple of color spread wide to cover noir canvas.

Near the treeline Raphael cat napped off and on, ever atuned to immediate surround on subconsciecous level. A scant numbering of paces to his left, the Surgeon slept unsoundly upon palet made of the Frenchman's coat. Things that could only be placed up for contemplation riddled her sleep process with mummerings usually uncipherable. More than once, the Sphinx had opened one eye slightly to check that all was well...or as well as could be expect.

He watched her now as she shifted position then calmed. It has always been said that men of military persuation can sleep anywhere, in nearly any pose, if allowed the short amount of time it takes for them to drop off, Chanault was no different. The recent wounds succumbed did not afford excessive options to comfortable position in matters of repose, no support to back region would do. He had made due with semi-fetal posturing, arms wrapped around shins and waking again had given announcement to stiff muscles induced by the choice.

He rose with a smallish streaching and retrieved the twined pistols that were near at hand. The pale sights travelled over companion's form then toward a lone figure, barely decernable at the shoreline. Though not much more than vague silhouette, Raphael recognized the width of shoulder, heigth and stance. He considered approach of the flame crowned man, knowing on instinctive level that William had held that spot for the duration of the night.

Achieving final verdict, the Sphinx made stealth shrouded progression, liteing in the larger man's right peripheral view.

[Pew]

Second Island of Los Hermanos

With the small fishing vessel growing smaller in the distance and the night rapidly approaching, each man ashore took to cleaning and inspection their own weapons for a time. Whether running down the blade with a stone found in one of the small satchels or cleaning out the barrels of the small arms, time itself pushed on.

While the sky was dark, it was easier to see the pinholes of light reflected forth from light beyond. Many stars could be seen racing across the night only to disappear into the abyss. Cut-throat had fallen asleep lying against the upturned hull of the longboat. Ajayi was lying on his back snoring at the stars. Harold and I had sat up, not being able to sleep for a time. We spoke the gamut from gossip about the crew to our beginning days on the sea. The night wore on with each sip of the passing flask....

[William Brand]

July 20, 1704 - Los Hermanos

The night vigil over Mister Lasseter's tomb had passed both too quickly and too slowly. William had not witnessed a firmament more pocked with stars since his youth, and then in a sea of sand, not water. The whole expanse of the unknown lay overhead, circling away to the west as Mother Earth rolled over gently in her sleep. Bright, temporary arcs touched the horizon from time to time like all too mortal stars.

William had passed these long hours in contemplation, reviewing whole periods of his life like a self narrated play in his mind. He also went through lines of the Bard line by line to keep himself awake, though he felt no great need for sleep at first. Part of him had ever been the night creature, drawn to nocturnal festivities. He was want to sit by a fire for hours on end, staring up at a bejeweled canopy late into the morning.

Chanault had joined him at some point and he ignored the man as much as he acknowledged him, not out of any disregard for is person, but because the night has a way of gathering silent worshippers who need not explain their mutual appreciation for the infinite. Besides, they were both thinking about the same trapped soul beneath Los Hermanos, and neither of them need mention the obvious points of their concerns.

At one point in the darkness, for no particular reason, William began to quote Julius Caesar.

"I am constant as the northern star,

Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality

There is no fellow in the firmament."

Chanault picked up the cue like a fellow actor and they passed the play between them line for line for a time.

Soon, the ebb and flow of the sea revolved, as the Earth was want to, and the shoreline grew as the sea retreated back from it. At first it was not so noticeable that William felt the need to call it to the attention of the shore party. Only he and Chanault watched the tide's progress. As the sea withdrew, it revealed first the crown of the outcropping and then the layers of Ilex's "curtains". William gestured to Chanault with a nod and the man went back along the darkness to the dimmed fire of the temporary encampment to rouse those not already awake.

They were all gathered in the retreating surf within moments of waking. Tarred torches and lines were passed among the crew as William passed each man his orders. Thought many of them had slept but a few hours, the adreneline of action and the cold water of the night sea had carried away any fatigue.

Standing there by the sea, waiting for the opening to appear in the cave, William's thoughts drifted to funerary matters. He had all too recently buried many a man and the litany of burial at sea went round and round in his mind... 'We therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body (when the Sea shall give up her dead).'

This last important phrase echoed in his thoughts until he spoke it aloud. "...When the Sea shall give up her dead."

Mister Warren picked up on it, drawing on a similar phrase from another bard of sorts...

"And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them..."

A chorus, not much above a whisper passed among the shore party. The soft amen came with some smiles and some stern faces, but all of them together felt the fevered anticipation of rediscovering a lost comrade.

Then the opening appeared.

William and Chanault were the first to go down, and no one argued the point, though any man would have taken the first place in line at the entrance of the cave. Even Tempest wore a look on her face that vied for that opportunity to rush into the darkness. Despite the order, each of them held fast the life and line of the preceding crew member in their hands as the rope played out along the line of rescuers.

Chanault, made no less nimble from his earlier injuries and failed attempts, disappeared easily beneath the upper edge of the entrance. He came back again almost at once exclaiming that the interior did not yet offer enough room for safe passage. This was very irksome to all involved, for the tide seemed not to care about their petty concerns and it continued to ebb ever so slowly. Finally, after minutes turned to centuries, Chanault went in again, followed by the Captain.

The darkness was preternatural and disorienting. Only when Bill Flint followed did his torch throw back the black and reveal the perilous tunnel still half filled and turning under each successive wave. The first torch was put out entriely by a large crash of water that would have driven them forward if not for Bill, who filled the space. the man was wedged upon the entrance with a force that drove out all his air, but he held on and a second torch was passed to him.

Chanault, mindful of what he remembered from before, allowed the water to carry him forward, well beyond the deep pool beneath his feet. William clung at a nearby whirl in the stone and barely found enough purchase to stay his progress.

Before the next wave could gather and reposition them, William gathered one great breath of air.

"DORIAN!"

[Silkie McDonough]

Earlier aboard the Watch Dog - Surgery

The bell had not tolled the first of the first dog watch when Nathan began to urge Murin to rest again. He was right, she was exhausted. Her emotional outburst was proof enough of that. He persisted for a short time until she finally gave in and went to the cot she had occupied the night before. She smiled inside, his demeanor reminded her of Fionn, her older brother, always watching over his "lil' lass", always sure to be at hand to protect her. Nathan tucked the blanket below Murins chin as Fionn had done until the day he married. After that he would still kiss her forehead and 'send' her off to bed each night even though Murin was a lass of seventeen by then. Nathan did not presume to kiss her forehead but she was warmed by his attention and the memory of her lost brother. A tear trickled across her temple and her mind continued to race.

She had tried to sleep, but the sounds on the ship and the tension in the air kept her awake. She lay on the cot she had occupied earlier, the one at the feet of Ana's cot. Her thoughts continued to churn through events both recent and far past. Her eyes closed to the late afternoon sun. The ships bell had sounded thrice since she first laid down and still she was awake. She knew she needed the rest but could not find sleep. Finally, she rose, wrapped herself in her blanket and padded over to the Galley where she knew she would find Nathan. He said that he would be there if she needed anything. As she quietly entered the room Nathan stood and the cook smiled broadly at her. "I ken nay sleep." Her face expressing the forlorn nature of the statement. Nathan introduced the girl to the man who's domain she had just entered. "Murin McDonough, Lazarus Gage" The cook extended a welcoming hand to the lass and told her to sit. Mister Gage said little but in quick time produced a brew that he guaranteed would help Murin sleep. She chatted with the two men while she drank. Explaining what she and Ana had done to survive. She closed her eyes and paused, Ana hadn't survived. She found that Mister Gage had an extensive knowledge of fish and enjoyed sharing all manner of their preparation. Her knowledge was not as vast as his but she was pleased that she was able to hold her own in the conversation. The knowledge gained as youth in a fishing village proved useful.

She listened to the men, interjecting what she could. Bly and Gage talked in hushed tone about the days activities. Shore parties and the missing Quartermaster, presumed dead. She had little to say. The man who saved her was a stranger to her. Her second day aboard the Watch Dog and she had seen little of her or her crew. Murin's mind wandered. Her head bobbed and she realized that Mister Gages brew had indeed begun to work. Her companions laughed lightly as she jerked awake for the third time. "Now, off to sleep with you", Nathan offered her his arm and escorted her back to the surgery. She would not argue this time.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Under Los Hermanos

Much time had passed and the QuarterMaster had no choice but to let delerium take its toll. He had warded it off for some time when finally he had dropped to his knees, then onto his side laughing like a mad man. The laughter slowly died, and soon after Dorian's body gave in to an exhausted sleep. Horrible dreams flowed through his subconcious, memories of the past from all times in his life. The cruel deeds done to him and his family, many of which he had only known about through letters that found him months later. These horrors caused him to cry out several times, caused him to wake totally bewildered until the realization of his predicament brought him back to reality. The last time he woke he remained huddled on his right side, clutching his good pistol as if to ward off the evil spirits that plagued his mind. He had thought to end his time as a marroned man would, but this thought passed eventually. Soon he was overwhelmed by fevered sleep, thrown back into the village of the damned...

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Le Requiem

Dominique Lamaire had stood the decks until the the turn of the watch, then gratefully handed over command to Lieutenant Minervois. The younger officer had been left with strict instructions to notify if anything out of the ordinary occured as Lamaire departed for false comforts of the Great Cabin.Fournier's valet, ever diligent to his stations duties, had ensured a fresh glass of claret within minutes of Dominique's arrival.

That was two hours in the past and the first decanter of grape fermentation in turn was replaced by a second. The self same decanter of crystal wrought sitting percariously upon Fournier's writting desk. Just to the left and behind where Lamaire sat lay his cousin's seachest, its' lid laid open to gape as though secretly desiring an unknown meal to fill its' appetites. The valet had looked into private chamber unbeknownst to its' resident and observed the same scene witnessed thirty minutes before.

The low glow of lantern refracted and prisimed on decanter form, a form surrounded by a stack of envelopes yellowed with age and tied together with faded ribbon. In close proximity and sharing desk surface, lay another paperment, sprung from its' bindings in a sprawl by Lamaire's resting hand. The elegant scroll of Jean-Micheale Fournier's penmenship could barely be glimpsed and its' content not legible from the valet's placement, but he did not have to see it clearly to understand its' content. The parchment had been in his keeping for a long space of time, a possession that the servent had hoped would never be brought to light.

Within the elaborate scribe lay instructions should a time of demise occure, dictates that would stand as long as Dominique-Gaston Lamaire walked mortal plane. There had been revisions to the original document with Fournier's recent marriage, but what remained in origin was the same. All road's lead back to Martinique and to a notaire by the name of Monsieur Claude Berlaise.

Dominique stared emptily at the stark reminder and what it announced. The corvette's desired destination would be in sight just after dawn if all held as expected. With landfall, the circus would begin and the impact of such demands under current situation called for the emptying of decanter's liquid cargo. His eyes drifted to the stack of letters nearby, recognizing the familiar addressing by feminine hand.

Affectionately, Lamaire's fingers traced the line of ribbon fade as a long slow exhalation rose from his lungs, "What will I tell you the next time our paths cross, mon petit bijou?"

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Raphael found some form of secure footing, his long fingers locking in deathgrip a crevice in subterranian wall. He cleared his mind to summon the lay of cavern navigation beheld in the recent past and wondered where the small armored antagonist had sheltered the passing storm. William's call was rendered eerie quality as it sounded with clarion strength and reverbirated the surround. He let a low wry laugh forth as he likened the call to the great heraldings of Gabriel or Heimdall.

The next line of water assult rushed forward, grabbing with greedy hands the Frenchman's meager frame of one hundred fifty five, but it found no success in its' want. As frothing medium lay retreat, Chanault dared movement into more open area, calling across the void to ensure the other's safety and warning of the deep pool that existed unseen under tide illussion. Extreme caution was given in regard to breaching the cavern's hidden secret with the tide still allowing attack of sea's force.

Keeping mindful to the steady pattern of charge and retreat, Raphael reached into water logged clothing and obtained sharp steel length. The smallish blade was applied to lifeline circum navigation of his waist, the hemp fell to the shallow pooling of water below. The Sphinx cared nothing for leashes, such bindings irritated his felinesque nature on some base level and it would only hinder forward progression into the dark maw before him.

Moving forward quickly, ever harkening to the route kept in mental facalties, Chanault followed the right wall and its' slight incline. He paused at hearing the Captain's words that issued forth to him at the discovery of hemp severing. Cocking his head just the left, his hearing decerned the angry tone of William's verbose, soon followed the low rumble of water rush. Once again, fingers found firm hold as horses of salt churn galloped forward with intent purpose. But the grand chargers had been rendered to pony vissage with higher ground's leverage and the Frenchman's youthful features hinted at victorious smile.

Once again a hasty retreat was issued, and Chanault moved more to the center and hailed those in his wake. William's voice boomed forth with deep timber in response, the qualities of certain displeasure were still evident. An unverbosed nod of acknowledgment was given, then the lithe Frenchman moved forward again. His senses reached outward to the encompassing darkness and regardless of the situation at hand, it was a strange comfort felt being shrouded in ink hued mantle.

Picking his way through Hades' gates and chambers, Raphael recalled earlier portrayals on yon beach head, which conjured other words of long passed author, causing ironic smile to play in subtle forming upon his lips,'...Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or take arms against a sea of troubles...'

The Sphinx paused momentarily, focusing into the deep nothing ahead and spoke in query to one who may of may not be therein, "So which is it, Monsieur Lasseter? To die or sleep...?"

[William Brand]

July 20, 1704 - The Tidal Pool

Beneath Los Hermanos

William waited long for an anything but his own echo and the sea to answer his cry, but no reply sounded from Mister Lasseter. William placed his feet soundly on the wall and prepared to use his own strength and the surge from the sea to propel himself across the deep pool. When the next wave crashed through he shoved off and managed the distance almost entirely. Bill Flint tugged hard on the line just before William reached the opposite side in an effort to slow the Captain momentum, so that he would not crash upon the opposite wall, and while this kept him from dashing his head, it hauled him up just too short for a proper purchase. Only one hand managed any hold at all, but the other hand slipped. William pulled on the leading line, hoping to find some anchor in Chanault, but the man's line came back loose and empty in his hand and the Captain was dragged off the pool edge by the retreating wave.

"The Devil...!" was all William managed before he was dragged underwater by the receding wave.

He tried to turn his body quickly enough to get his feet ahead of himself for the inevitable collision, but too late. William tangled in the loose line and it trapped one arm too close to his body to assist him in shielding his head. Then he struck so suddenly upon the uneven edge of the pool that his last breath was crushed out of him at once. His right knee struck an unseen protrusion below him hard enough to make him suck air that was not available to him and he scrambled for purchase and the surface. He drove himself upward with his one free arm, kicking legs and a survival instinct which summoned a strength normally unavailable to him. His knee suffered a second collision, but he gained the surface enough for a flurry of coughs and one breath among three to call out after Chanault.

Bill Flint noted the Captain's tenuous placement between elements and was frantically taking up the line to get a hold on him before the next wave came. He gathered up the line as fast as could, and while his efforts were admirable, he accidently grabbed up one of the coils in Chanault's loose line by mistake. The loose hemp had snaked around William's left arm, shoulder and head as he surfaced and he was in more peril than he realized.

Then the next wave came.

It was a strong one. The rushing force of it almost peeled Mister Flint from his place of purchase, but the man had his feet well planted. William, barely secure in his entrapments, was carried across the tidal pool a second time and this proved to be his near undoing. The loose line went taut about his throat. William was sucked down under the water by the thundering water and his legs were dragged out ahead of him. His left arm was trapped sufficiently in the loose line to be jerked back, and only this added tension on the line kept William's neck from popping, for Bill Flint was tugging back hard on the line in a misguided effort to save the Captain's life.

The inky blackness that flooded William's head then was a miasma of confusion and compliance. Part of him understood his immediate peril, but his mind dimmed beyond his control. It was an eclipse of consciousness that clouded all reason and self awareness. "I've drowned and hanged," he thought absently. "How awful..."

Then reality struck him another blow.

The great beam of wood that the shore party had employed to cross the tidal pool on their initial trip underground, was still here in the subterranean passage, subject to the whims of the sea. Part of it had splintered and wedged upon the wall to their right, but the remainder floated about pell mell on each subsequent wave. As the Captain was dragged down under his own weight, the withdrawing water drove the beam upon him like a hammer.

The next few moments were all drowning and struggle. Mister Flint had realized the Captain's true predicament and had thrown off line, torch and his own self preservation. He dove under the turbulent pool to rescue the trapped Captain. William, awoken by the pain of being struck upon like one of Vulcan's tinkerings, was fighting the tangled line to gain the air above. Between them, they managed a sort of violent ballet, each trying to lead in a dance with no steps. They came up together on the pool's far wall, carried by a weaker wave that filled the space, and for a moment they were two fish in the same tangled line. They sprawled and sputtered a moment in the dark while the waves which thundered in decreased in severity.

"Gods..." William said after his coughing had subsided. And then he express himself again on the subject. "Gods."

Bill only nodded for a moment, then added..."Aye, Captain"...in a fashion that was almost too agreeable to be anything but humorous, given their present situation.

"My added thanks, Mister Flint." William said after another moment's coughing. "Report."