The Watch Dog

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Raphael hesitated his pace within subterranian baliwick as distressed clamor echoed foward to his hearing. Cocking his head slightly, he tuned his senses to the area in his wake. Nothing else could be decearned of what may have occured in outer chamber, only the steady thrum and battering of water against coral and stone, an allegro of nature's symphony undaunted.

Reaching out to the near wall that had served as map and compass, the Frenchman's fingers traced a searching pattern as an effort to lock down position in to heavy dark. The air was an intoxicating mix of scent, a thick concoction of pleasant and not threaded with trailings of fresher qualities from the outer world. Victory was finally achieved in a rounding to the wall's surface and Chanault weighed his options decisively.

If he continued forward, it would bring him into the next chamber, but beyond that the Sphinx had no true recollection of surround. After numerous contemplations, he squated to rest weight comfortably on the balls of his feet. Attention pivoted towards the way just passed, and Chanault waited with predatory patience ,for those left behind to gain proximity.

Berift of woodwind companion, he softly whistled to himself an old Brittany folk song. If given verbose, it would have conjured imageries of warm moonlit nights and secretive trysts...

[Bloody Bill Flint]

The Redlegs shook some water from his ears. He bent at the waist midst the tidal pool to remove his uniform boots. He emptied them back into the pool and reguarded the rest of his attire, which was surely ruined.

"Pity" was his only comment.

Regarding now his master and commander he spoke.

"I believe Monsiuer

Chanault is somewhere up ahead awaitng us to catch up to him, and I'm inclined to believe Mr. Lasseter awaits as well with quite a story for us, Methinks this will call for the odd celebration tonight"

[William Brand]

July 20, 1704 - Under Los Hermanos

"Aye." William agreed, but found no celebration in his own mood. Later, he would settle for quiet relief, some personal joy at reunion and some much needed rest.

"Captain. What news?", Jim Warren asked, having just entered with a newly lit torch in his hand and seeing the two soaked men across the pool. The light from it threw back the darkness at once and William squinted from the light and pain. His knee suddenly felt alive with heat and he rubbed a hand across his chest.

"A pale horse has kicked me soundly in the ribs, Mister Warren."

"Sir?"

William waved his own comment away with a gesture, inviting Mister Warren to join them as he may. The Coxswain lit a second torch and tossed it to Mister Flint who caught it deftly. Then, anchoring the second torch in a crack, and being dressed down to slops and shirt, Mister Warren swam the moderately disturbed pool in short order. While he made his passage, William studied Mister Flint, and judging that he was no worse for having risked the pool, he asked him for a hand up. Bill pulled the Captain to his feet. Now joined by the Coxswain, William gestured forward to Mister Flint to took up the lead.

As they made their way they were serenaded by Chanault's soft whistling, sometimes magnified, sometimes reduced by the acoustics. It had an erie effect in a darkness defined by the shadows thrown from the torches. It bounced and mingled with the sea behind them.

When they came upon the Frenchman, he was crouched in a passage that depreciated as it disappeared into the darkness ahead.

Chanault stopped his whistling at once, for William's visage was not a friendly one. The Captain wore little or no expression, which in and of itself meant nothing, for the man often wore a quiet mask. No, it was not the Captain's face, but the water dripping from his hair and the blood it carried from behind the man's right ear where the hemp had tried to dislodge his head. It was also the splinters still protruding from his waistcoat and the angry rope burn under his chin and jaw line. It was also the added limp and the way he held a hand upon his chest in a fashion that Chanault had never witnessed. It was all of these things, but mostly the silence.

Chanault made as if to speak, but the Captain took the torch from Bill and stepped past the man. William moved into the diminishing space until he came to that part of the chamber which the shore party had previously unearthed through the aid of shovels. William passed the torch back to Bill and set upon the newly collected sand with his bare hands, despite the presence of tools from the earlier expedition. It was not difficult work and he soon freed enough of the choked passage to pass through it. Once he had squeezed through the opening, Mister Flint passed a torch through and William found himself standing in the innermost chamber of the cave works.

There, prostrate on the cave floor, lay Dorian Lasseter.

William strode forward too quickly for his knee's liking, but he ignored it, bending down with an audible complaint from it and himself. Mister Flint was immediately at Mister Lasseter's opposite side and they rolled him over gently. His left arm was bloodied and the wound looked grievous in the torchlight. Chanault arrived next, just as the stirring Quartermaster raised his pistol with an effort that was more blind instinct than alarm. Chanault plucked it nimbly from his fingers. Dorain said something then that might have been "Make yourselves known", but it was lost in the dry rattle of his throat. Mister Warren was the final to arrive and he passed a canteen to William at once, who in turn brought it to the waiting lips of the Quartermaster.

"Mister Lasseter, it gives me no small pleasure to see you thus...", but William didn't know how to finish this, for he did indeed feel that an adequate celebration then would be a joyful silence.

Mister Warren picked up the remains of the Quartermaster's broken sword while Chanault threw all of his attention on his damaged arm. William, half sitting, half laying, assisted Dorian in slow and careful sips and the water revived the man a little. With Bill holding a torch aloft for the benefit of them all, Mister Warren circled about, finding evidence of the Quartermaster's short imprisonment. The tacky blood was rinsed away from Dorian's arm and his wound was bandaged for his short transport from the cave. The man looked better for the water and after repeated inquires about relocating him to better accommodations, he nodded. William and Bill lifted the man, while Chanault and Mister Warren lit there departure fore and aft.

They had stepped but a few paces, when Mister Lasseter halted them with a solitary "Wait" gesturing to a nearby crevice. Close examination showed that the Ilex fortune rested here inside a modest sized, metal box. William nodded to Mister Warren, and he and Bill fetched it down, but with an effort. It proved no small trouble, for it was carefully placed. The box itself was not overly large, but it had to be turned in just such a way as to fit through the hole. Once it was resting on the cave floor, it looked small, almost disappointing, but William knew that the value of such things can never be measured at a glance, for even the lock which held the catch was imposing and each of them noted what work it might take to free the lid. Still, having no powder, nor a desire to blast the lock in this enclosed place, Bill Flint and Mister Warren shouldered the weight and followed the men from the cave.

The passage out again was as difficult as the danger had been getting in. Mister Lasseter was as weak as William was battered and tired. More than once they appeared to the others as two drunken shipmates navigating an alley. Each of them leaned on the other, and anyone unaware of the situation would have been hard pressed to guess as to which one was the supporter and which the burden. When they reached the pool, they found the remaining shore party gathered in anticipation. William found Tempest's face at once, as she found Dorian's. This was another celebration unto itself and it buoyed William as he continued to support the injured man. A dozen reaching hands offered their support as all of them were delivered over the tidal pool and out into a night of stars.

Once outside, William refused any help but Tempest's as they brought Dorian safely up onto dry ground.

[Silkie McDonough]

Aboard the Watch Dog - Surgery Ward

Murin dreamt, something she hadn't done in years, an odd mixture of memories, from her childhood and innocence and the dark years of her young adulthood. Aidan standing on the a large ship at the rail with the spyglass , Nathan Bly opposite her laughing heartily while mending net or sail, Mr. Lasseter pulling her as a youth from the water beneath a foot bridge, Mister Edward Hodge from the plantation on Barbados in Ireland, the landlord placed by the crown ...all of it juxtapose. Her sleep was restless. The vivid vision of Smyth, the 'work foreman' from the plantation using the whip on Fionn woke Murin with a start. She sat up blinking in the darkness. The lamps in the surgery were dark, the ship quiet, and the oceans rhythm washed against the sturdy ship. She calmed her breathing and lay back again staring into the blackness above her. She could hear everything and nothing at all in the silence and stillness of the dark hours. The ships bell sounded. Murin contemplated the hour as sleep overtook her again before the next bell.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Los Hermanos

As he was helped by the Captain, Dorian noticed that he too was in a slight state of injury. They both shared a limp and in the flickering torchlight a tinge of blood was noted on his neck, but was it his blood or Williams' he was not sure. As they came down the incline and to the edge of the pool, it appeared as if the whole crew stood there awaiting their arrival. Mr. Lasseter searched every face until coming to rest upon that of the ships Surgeon, upon doing so a smile tugged at his mouth and he winked at her. All hands ferried him across the pool and out into the open air of a dark sky, the twinkle of stars and the barest sliver of moonlight were all that lit the heavens. Dorian took a huge, shuddering breath of the night air and slowly released it. He was carried bodily up the shore and over to the beach head amid small protests that he was fully capable of walking. Finally he was laid on a pallet of canvas and rope fashioned between two oars.

"Tis goode ta be back amongst th' livin'... damn goode..." He spoke hoarsly...

All who heard him grinned broadly, some nodded their heads vigorously and a couple of the lads even reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

He sat up and looked around then spoke with a strong voice,

"Where's Young Godfrey? Where is th' lad? Tell me he's a'right, tell me Patrick is fine, ye fished 'im out o' th' sea?"

The crowd parted and the young man approached, he had his jaw locked tight, yet managed a smile, holding back an emotion.

"Ahhh... grande.... S'a'right lad.... Ye done well, no worries........ Thank ye, one an' all... I fear'd th' worst while I was in there..."

Godfrey took several short breaths and nodded, not daring to speak... Dorian relaxed a bit and closed his eyes for a moment, then tried to stand, as he did so a small hand found his shoulder and pressure exerted kept him from rising. Tempest looked down into his face, so many emotions held in check infront of the crew. Dorian put his hand over hers and gave a gentle squeeze, the whispered softly.

"I's a'right gerl... All's well... bruises n' scrapes is all, m'worst pain is that ye dinna know if King Neptune had taken me off... No worries..."

She blinked several times then gave his injuries a once over. The long gash and scrape on his left arm, bruised shoulder, bruised hip, scraped knee, and a thin diagonal bruise across his left thigh. As she ran her hand across the swelling he commented...

"Ah.... that were done by m'poor sword... snapped in two she be... damn shame, really..."

She looked him in the eye and slowly shook her head, a slight curl of a smile pulled at her mouth. He smiled back.

"Might I have a drink? A strong drink, if ye please..."

"Non.... not until you are back aboard and I can fully see to your condition..." came her relpy, all the professional surgeon.

He narrowed his eyes and smirked, "Fine... Fine, fine... I 'spected as much... give us some water then... bloody damn water..."

He chuckled a bit as he was handed a canteen, to which he drank dry.

[Pew]

Second island of Los Hermanos

The gentle break of the shore eventually lulled me to sleep. That and what was left in the flask from half our groups departure. Waking intermittently to catch a star fly across the sky, I decided to wake and make my way to the east beach. Finding what had washed ashore from the Apollo piqued my interest more than half drunk slumber.

Harold had propped himself upon an outcropping of large rocks. Placing his hat over his face appeared to draw all of the light and help ooze him into sleep. That and trying to hide the roar coming from the dozing giant.

Cut-throat had barely moved. With his weapon beside him like a newfound puppy, he tossed about yet managed to stay upright against the hull of the longboat. Walking towards him I tiptoed around the arms laid out to dry and managed to run my hand through the slice in the hull of the St Christopher. Instinctively then looking towards the South to catch any sight of the Watch Dog's lanterns I failed, only to move to the water's edge and make my way east to a better sight line of the Apollo.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

"Not to worry about the sword Mr. Lasseter, soon as we build a forge we'll have her good as new." Bill said.

"But for now I'm afraid the old girl'll have to suffer a few more indignaties, my apologies in advance sir."

And with those words he laid hands on a nearby rock and began pounding at one of the broken ends to the amazement and shock of all who observed.

"What the Devil's he doin'?" someone wondered aloud. Bill's purpose was singular. Get that bloody lock off the strong box they had recovered in the cavern. Having given the sword a most undignafied treatment he procured two slivers of metal. He sat on his haunches before the box, offered a silent prayer begging forgivness for using such an unsavory set of skills and went promptly to work picking the lock. After several minutes of manipulation, cutting his fingers on his improvised picks, and genrally cursing in a manner that would have made Old Roger blush with shame, the lock fell away with an ominous click. Slowly Flint pried the lid open. the sight that greated him made his eyes widen and his jaw go slack. Slowly he turned his head towards William, his gaze never leaving the chest's interior.

In an almost unaudible whisper "Beggin the Captains pardon, but I believe you should see this sir"

[William Brand]

July 20, 1704 - Los Hermanos

The Ilex Fortune revealed

William lifted himself from the ground and came to where much of the shore party had gathered. They stood about the open box waiting for the Captain to delve first into its contents. The gleam of some gold and precious stones could not be mistaken, though the true treasure was not readily apparent, for much of the fortune lay in bags and boxes within the strongbox. He knelt and lifted each item out.

The first box within appeared to be carved from ironwood, but upon closer examination it proved to be ebony. It bore a family crest that might have been of Spanish origin, but no one recognized the emblem. The box was beautiful and valuable by itself, but shrouded in a plush green velvet within, lay two matched pistols of such fine workmanship and materials that they received an appreciative remark from everyone in the circle. Every tool included in the case was made of the finest materials, and all were unspoiled, except for some neglect from time. The pistols themselves were of a make that rivaled the nicest pieces aboard ship or in any private collection among the crew. Each pistol was encrusted in Spanish gold designs depicting scenes of upper class hunting and feasting out of doors. They were show pieces to be sure, but William doubted not that the works themselves were of a fine quality. He closed the hasp and set the box aside gently.

Next he brought out three bags of equal weight, all containing 100 pieces of eight each. He poured the contents into the hands of an admiring Mister Flint, who tried his best to hold the coins, but they spilled and eager hands gathered them up again. William tossed an unopened bag to Mister Warren, asking him to show the contents to Mister Lasseter.

Next came a similar bag of gold dust weighing some nineteen ounces. This went into the pile of small pouches along with three others containing, rings, bracelets, fobs, earings, necklaces, hat pins, broaches, buckles, buttons and all other manner of specie made from gold, silver and every other precious material. Other loose jewelry came up from the box including 2 necklaces, 3 pendants, 2 pairs of pearl earings, 2 loose rubys, 5 emeralds, 3 saphires, and a Signet Ring.

It was a delicious cache of items and everyone had a greedy smile that they couldn't help wearing. It was a treasure indeed. Perhaps not the exaggerated treasures of their dreams, heaped high in dozens of impossibly heavy trunks, but a real and absolute find of no small value. All of it gleamed and burned under the torch light.

"Think what we might buy, gentlemen. Think what rest and revelry await us in Martinique." William said with a widening smile. Each of them returned it, understanding what many months of delights and delicacies they might enjoy on such a sum as this.

"Think..." William continued, but then halted, for what he had misunderstood as the bottom of the box was a dark leather satchel containing many papers. He opened them with care, but found them all dry and well protected. The first quantity proved to be layers and layers of folded charts and maps of many regions. It was a treasure unto itself for the wealth of knowledge it yielded. William, ever the student cartographer, reveled in each discovery and spread out the charts one at a time to appreciate them. Several of the men stopped to point at the various maps. It was jewelry on paper, but even this could not have prepared them for the final find.

The last envelope, made of heavy vellum, contained three small documents. William read them three times before he looked up at the surrounding circle.

"Land deeds."

"Deeds?" Mister Warren echoed.

"William nodded, reading them a fourth time. "Land grants. Holdings in Trinidad and New Netherland...Manhattan, gentlemen."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Unable to sleep, much as she had predicted, Tudor mearly dozed for a short time, then rose from her narrow bunk and stretched, then after stifling a yawn, she made her way to the abandonded galley in search of some of the Devil's Brew. She made her way to where the coffee pot was being kept warm in the dimly lit galley and as she was pouring the aromatic liquid into her tankard, she quickly turned her head, to see what was making the scuffling noise behind her.

"Sorry, Miss. Din't see ya come in." Callie, the stray said, looking up from the barrels of food supplies she was sorting through. "Didn't startle ya, did I?"

Tudor shook her head. "No. You are fine, Moore. See to it." Tudor nodded her head back in the directions of the barrels. "Although, I would ask what has you up so late?"

Callie shrugged. "I take the late shift, y'see. So Mr. Gage can get some sleep, like. I make sure there is coffee kept warm an' th' like." She said motioning to the pot Tudor was replacing no the embers. "Made that pot meself." She said, an inordinate grin of pride on her face, just as Tudor took a gulp. She tried, truely tried not to grimmace. "Never made any coffee before, see?" Callie was truely proud of herself.

"I can tell." Tudor said as she finally managed to swallow and was trying to pick the grinds out of her teeth.

The young girl's grin dimmed visibly. "I'm not much good at this serving girl, kitchen work. I'd much rather actually help with the sailing."

Empathy arose in Tudor for the girl's feeling of being at odd ends with herself. And she gave her half of a grin and a raised brown. "Well, first things first. Let's teach you how to make coffee. After you've mastered all your duties in the galley, then I will see if the captain could find a place for you elsewhere." She said, dumping out the burnt, chewy coffee, and filling the pot a-fresh. "now, fetch the grounds and we'll get started."

[Callie Moore]

[ooc: I'm not dead, I swear...

Callie watched, fascinated, as Tudor showed her the mystical art of making good coffee. What she didn't let on was that she'd never had coffee before, hence why she didn't know how to make it properly. Of course, she never imagined a beverage could end up so... gritty.

When it was finished, she sipped the hot brew and tried not to make a face. So that was coffee. Ugh. She decided it was an aquired taste as she thanked Miss Smith for helping her.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

"I's a'right gerl... All's well... bruises n' scrapes is all, m'worst pain is that ye dinna know if King Neptune had taken me off... No worries..."

She blinked several times then gave his injuries a once over. The long gash and scrape on his left arm, bruised shoulder, bruised hip, scraped knee, and a thin diagonal bruise across his left thigh. As she ran her hand across the swelling he commented...

"Ah.... that were done by m'poor sword... snapped in two she be... damn shame, really..."

She looked him in the eye and slowly shook her head, a slight curl of a smile pulled at her mouth. He smiled back.

"Might I have a drink? A strong drink, if ye please..."

"Non.... not until you are back aboard and I can fully see to your condition..." came her relpy, all the professional surgeon.

He narrowed his eyes and smirked, "Fine... Fine, fine... I 'spected as much... give us some water then... bloody damn water..."

He chuckled a bit as he was handed a canteen, to which he drank dry.

It felt as though the weight of the world had been removed from Jaquelyn's shoulders, and the one thing she craved more than any earthly object, was to be back aboard yon frigate and within Surgery confines. Finding a spot in soft sand's semi support, she sat cross-legged and resisted the urge to lay caress to the Quartermaster's cheekline. The Surgeon's expression was kept in stoic check to the swirl of emotions laying just under surface, forcing back the flow of tears that wanted their hour.

The goings on that took place nearby held no bearing to her thought process, much like the young Frenchman that held post just behind left shoulder, riches did not hold much sway to her philosophies. Large sums of monitary means were already in her possession, a fact that had always been and she seldom gave thought to. Title had its' privilege, even if it had been revoked in her grandfather's time and the exsistance of said status was not common knowledge.

Chanault drew near and whispered in native tongue to which her attention drifted to William. Practiced observation surveyed his form, making note of his stance and revealing untold injuries. She would wait. By rights, the Surgeon could invoke the power of her office, it was a mere matter of voicing. She contemplated doing so, then let the thought dissipate as the wordings of planned destination were announced.

Glancing over shoulder, she noted the subtle smile that played the Sphinx's stoney expression. A smile that hinted some unspoken resolution...

[William Brand]

July 20, 1704 - Los Hermanos

William carefully replaced the items in the strongbox, keeping out the maps and titles for closer examination. He bade Mister Warren and Mister Flint to carry the box to Mister Lasseter's side, who looked better for his escape and Tempest's company. He doubted not that it was her presence more than her ministrations as a Doctor that improved his well being, and he didn't mind that neither of them seemed too interested in anything but their own company.

Still, he sat nearby and carefully perused the charts and paperwork. The land grants were of particular interest, since land holdings represented a firm financial foothold in most cases. A man possessed of land was often possessed of certain rights and position. The Watch Dog was already much improved for having a haven in La Blanquilla, even though the promontory was a plain one offering few resources. Land, no matter the quality, can lend a people place among society. They might even sell the grants for a significant profit if the property proved valuable enough. The Trinidad holdings would be of worth, almost certainly, but the Manhattan land was problematic.

New York had ever been a haven for privateers, pirates and pilgrims for several decades now. It was a growing civilization built on a foundation of gain, but with the English in possession of it, it presented some small obstacles for William and others aboard ship. Of all the colonies, this one might be relaxed enough in its laws to allow them a guarded safety of sorts, but it would be tenuous at best.

He laid all of the charts and documents aside after a time, tucking them away in the worn leather satchel. He ordered Tucker, Styles and Godfrey to take the smallest of the boats back to the Watch Dog with reports and orders. Then he gave the watch over to Mister Warren, he having slept most of the night up until the rescue. Mister Warren took a seat on the strongbox armed with a good musket and a brace of pistols while the rest of the watch wandered about the beachhead in pairs, most of them discussing their shares and their ambitions for their own private portions.

William was asleep in under a minute, lulled by the sound of mixed conversation, surf and the fire which popped and cracked nearby.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Los Hermanos

Dorian relaxed on the pallet and watched Jaquelyn's subtle shift in expressions, he knew she would keep her emotions in check until privacy might be had, as would he. It pained him badly not to take her in his arms and feel her warmth. He had to stop himself from reaching up and pulling her towards him. As he tempered himself Much was going on near the strongbox. It had been opened and it's rich contents revealed to all ashore. Soon everyone was grinning like a jackal and already musing what to do with their personal fortune. Dorian just settled back and grinned, shaking his head slowly...

"Heh... th' grande illusion o' wealth... "

He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the back of his right hand, soon there was a thud near his head as the box was deposited in his proximity. Mr. Warren sat on it as watch commander and guardian. Mr. Lasseter upon seeing the heavily armed Coxwain realized he was rather light on arms, and turned to query his guardians.

"Where might my pistols be? M'dragoons were of no use, being wetted, but my other pistol... where has it gotten off to?"

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Raphael had allowed himself a semi-unawares to the surround. Once again he had bent into upright fetal posture to rest his head upon knee support, the pale sights covered to slit by heavy lids. It was not the sound of chest settleing that drew him from faux sleep, but rather the Quartermaster's queries.

Without changing overmuch the vissage portrayed, the Frenchman reached to where item in question had been safely tucked and withdrawing forementioned from hiding, produced it for Dorian's acceptance.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As Chanault produced the QuarterMaster's pistol Dorian smiled.

"Thank - Merci, mon ami... merci..."

He took the short barreled weapon and laid it across his belt. All the crew not given a watch had tkaen there ease, all had found a spot to claim as their own on the beach or even in the cutter. The Captain was already asleep, gently snoring. Mr. Warren sat with his back to Dorian, looking out towards the Watch Dog. William snored louder, then stopped, shifted himself onto his side and was back asleep. Dorian touched the Surgeon's arm, then shifted his weight over silently offering room for Jaquelyn to take her ease next to him.

[Tempest Fitzgerald]

Jacquelyn jumped slightly at his touch, her mind being far away. Noting the silent offer, her eyes flitted the surround like disturbed sparrow on the wing before returning to focus on his own. The familliar glint of mischief played his expression in the dim standoff of light and dark and her own expression pinched in consternation.

Glancing to where William lay then back, she shook her head in negation. It was a decision that she did not preffer, but one she would hold to steadily. As a peace offering, Jacquelyn brushed a stray strain of hair from Dorian's brow and allowed her hand to drop in gentle caress to his cheek before withdrawing.

Silently, the deep green pools offered apology.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian sighed and nodded his understanding and made as if to lay back down. He stopped and looked about, not sure if he had heard an irregular noise. Again he looked at the ships doctor, who had also been looking about. When their eyes met again it was with a questioning look. They both sat with their ears pricked to the wind, hoping to hear whatever it may have been. After several moments had passed and no further sounds out of the ordinary were heard, Dorian settled himself. He closed his eyes, but opened them a moment later, still Jaquelyn knelt beside him on her vigil. Again he closed his eyes and again they opened shorty there after. He could not sleep while she remained at such a vigil. His life was not in grevious danger, nor were anyone elses that he knew of. Pushing himself back to a sitting position, he knew would attract her attention, as well as many others, so he slowly rolled onto his side, then his chest and pulled his knees up under him, his injuries protesting some as he gained his full height. This brought fourth a scolding from the Surgeon.

"D... Monseur Lasseter, it is best you lay back down... now... "

He remained standing, swayed a bit when he put his weight on his left leg, then clipped his pistol to his belt and crossed his arms.

"M'dear Tempest... I am not at death's door... I had plenty of...... sleep..... while in that confine... You on th' other hand look weary... I assume from a vigil while awaiting ta determine wot m'fate were.... I tried ta let th' lads know I were alive, but m'pistols suffered in th' surf... Please... take yer ease... I'll be just right there, gettin' somat fer me belly... still thirsty n' a bit peckish..."

Her eyes narrowed a bit and her jaw set. She knew he would be stubborn, so she gestured for him to do as he wished. As he turned away her eyes flicked to Chanault and without a word he knew her wishes and shadowed the Quartermaster to his destination a short distance away.

[William Brand]

July 20, 1704 - Los Hermanos

Gathering the Crew

The first bell of Morning Watch came and went with no formal change of watches ashore. Life aboard the Watch Dog went on as it had, with Mister Badger taking over the watch from Mister Youngblood and then mister Youngblood taking it back again from Mister Badger. They each took their turns watching the shore party and the horizon for any dangers, but all was quiet. La Blanquilla was proving to be removed from the world in many ways and this made for a good rest for all.

By the fourth bell of Morning Watch, the shore party was stirring from the various resting places of choice. William, who could never sleep once the dawn had come, had arisen early to wander the shore and reexamine the documents in his possession. By the fifth bell, most of the crew was awake, including a tired and weathered Quartermaster.

William ordered the cutter loaded up with the strongbox to be delivered to the Watch Dog post haste. Some of its contents were divided among the boat crew for the journey to avoid loss if an accident should occur while in transit, but given the cargo, the crew was especially careful and it arrived without incident.

Soon they were all safely aboard the ship again and William ordered the Watch Dog about to gather up the longboat crew. The Quartermaster was welcomed back, receiving as many jeers and jests as he did fond returns. Many inquires were also made about the strongbox as it came aboard, but William refused to display any of the discovered goods until all of the crew was safely aboard again.

The Sixth Bell of Morning Watch sounded as the Watch Dog came about and pressed Northward on a favorable wind to gather up the shipwrecked, but safe shore party.

Sixth Bell of Morning Watch

[Pew]

Second Island of Los Hermanos

Wandering in and out of ebbing tide, I found several small glass bottles and their shards reflecting the new day through the shallows. This beach had found the brunt of the small flotsam washed ashore from the Apollo. The beach was littered with timbers, planks, small lengths of rope, various broken casks and several splintered crates.

I climbed about the large rock formations and out onto various promontories to get a better look at the beaten Apollo. "Apollo, eh?", I say to know one in particular, "tha archer-god o' medicine and healing, eh? Seems ta be in a tight spot now ain't cha lad?" Laughing, I pick up several small stones and try to skip them out to the hulk. Falling drastically short of my mark, I retire the game to find my way back to rouse the crew for the day.

Reaching the crew by a full sun of the morning, Ajayi and Harold had awaken and already begun to re-wrap the arms for transport to the Watch Dog. Cut-throat was found on a spit of beach just south of our campsite with his eyeglass trained to the south ever watchful of our fishing vessel on a return journey.

[Silkie McDonough]

Surgery Ward

Murin lay listening to the ship gradually wake while the dawns light seeped in around the port holes into the surgery ward. Shades of gray colored the world around her. Money’s snoring had stopped. The room was quiet. She rolled over, the bell rang five. She could hear the crew moving busily about their business. Rolling over yet again she thought she would surely go mad if she lay any longer. It had also gnawed at her mind that she had no idea what she was to do once in port. For that matter what was she to do on this ship until then? She had been introduced to the captain but had no opportunity to properly thank him and his crew for her rescue. How could she ever hope to repay them. Her thoughts strayed to Nathan. Had she really behaved so yesterday? Embarrassment rose inside her, and who else had seen? Yes, she sighed, at least Mooney had been the room, and someone had come in as she cried. Good lord! Was it the captain? She suddenly recalled that he had taken Ana's body from the room ...and Billy Flint had opened the door for him! She rolled her eyes at the thought. Yesterdays events played in her mind again and again as she tossed in an attempt to stay still a bit longer.

Wood creaked against wood as the ship slowly shifted on the waters gently rocking those who slumbered. Was she moving? The bell rang six. Murin lowered her feet to the floor and sat up on the cot. The air was chilly and damp, it felt like home. She had always enjoyed waking on the water. She felt at peace there, perhaps even more so than on dry land. She went to the port hole, opened it, and gazed at the world outside. Color and light of the bright morning flooded the room. The ship was indeed on the move. They had turned. The view from her window to the world had changed.

Gazing out on the new world her heart lifted slightly only to be dashed against the rocks like so much flotsam and foam. She sighed heavily and closed the opening. Now what? Trying to sleep again was not an option. She looked around the ward. The pile of gathered belongings still lay where she had deposited them two days ago.

Murin padded to them across the ward. Bending to the floor she grasped the hilt of the sword and lifted as she was reminded of the less than graceful incident with the surgeons mate before it had been placed there. Yet another embarrassment. Again she sighed. She drew the blade from the scabbard. It showed little signs of corrosion. Ana knew how to handle a blade and had tended it. She supposed the blade was hers now. She knew nothing of such things but it felt good in her hand. She lifted it, swung it and promptly laughed at herself. A dagger or a knife she could wield but this? This would take training. She re-sheathed the sword and placed it back on the floor.

The pistol was not so well kept as the sword. She gingerly took it into her hand. They had nothing to properly care for the weapon. She knew nothing of such weapons. As a Catholic in Ireland she was not permitted to possess a pistol. Murin turned it in her hand, she had never held a pistol before. Ana had been the one who found it and kept it. Even as she held it for the first time she felt both fear and power. She did not hold it as if to shoot, she simply flipped it a few times, unable to see much detail in the dim light, and returned it to where it had rested. Straightening herself she shook her head, a bemused smile came to her face. Now what?

Either the wind shifted or she was now fully awake. The scent of fresh coffee drifted in from the galley. That is what, she answered herself for now and headed to the Galley.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Watch Dog

The Cutter had deposited the crew and strongbox aboard, soon after the jollywatt had done the same. The Samson was hauled aboard, but the Patricia and the fishing boat were tied aft to trail behing the ship as they weighed anchor and set sails to recover the damaged Longboat and the rest of the crew.

The QuarterMaster was stiff and sore from his injuries, and with the permission of the Captain headed to his cabin. He did comment that he would soon return, for the sea between La Blanquilla and Los Hermanos was trecherous as the Captain was aware of. There were protestations from the Mistress of the Surgery, but he assured her he would only be taxing his eyes and brain, all of which were in perfect condition. She steeled her gaze and ordered him to return to the surgery as soon as the anchor was dropped in their new location, and not a moment later. To this he readily agreed.

He headed below and to his quarters, slowly and carefully disrobed and sponged off with clean, fresh water. He moved slowly due to the soreness and wounded left arm, but he still was dressed soon enough in a fresh shirt, neckerchief, and slops, his wesket would need to be cleaned as it was covered with filth from the cave. Once his shoes were off, he decided not to be shod again this day, so he left his quarters barefoot. He had donned his light cutlass and sea service pistol, having sent his dragoons and broken Mortuary sword to the Armoury. He reappeared on deck and smiled, it was goode to be back aboard the ship.

He gained the quarterdeck and stood larboard of the helm, carefully grasping the rail in his left hand to steady himself.

[William Brand]

July 20, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Seven Bells of the Morning Watch

William sent for Rummy and Miss Smith. The Master Carpenter and Ship's Steward exchanged details regarding the longboat damage. Rummy expressed every confidence that she could repair the boat on site and that it would be unnecessary to bring it aboard for full repairs. William advised her to be ready to return to the island by way of the fishing boat and that Miss Smith should join her with supplies for the shore party. They would anchor the Watch Dog on the Westward side of the island with the anticipation of scouring the Apollo wreck with the cutter while the longboat was under repair. With Mister Lasseter returned and Mister Badger standing hard by, William gave over the deck, excusing himself to eat, wash and change.

He went below to check on the wounded. The surgery was as it had been. Mooney was looking better for his stay there and Nathan looked much recovered. He found Miss McDonough standing just inside the galley and asked her to join him in the Ward Room on the next bell to discuss her future aboard ship.

William returned to the ward room to strip off his damaged waistcoat and see to his own bruises. He stood naked to the waist examining his neck for a long time before a mirror. It was bruised and burned from the rope. He would have a scar behind his right ear, but not a noticeable one. The neck burn would be obvious for a time, but he didn't mind it so much. Even his knee looked well enough, for much of the ache had gone. He would walk off the remaining discomfort as he always did.

He lowered himself into a chair, regarding the closed satchel on the table and the strongbox which had been placed near at hand.

He stripped his remaining shore clothes and put on fresh garments again. He left the pistol and baldric in his room and returned to the table. Miss Smith arrived as he was laying out the treasure items for a counting. He showed the Steward the fine pistols and wondered aloud what he might do with them.

"Perhaps you might keep them, Cap'n." Miss Smith offered, but William shook his head after a moment. It was easy to covet such a fine pair of pistols, but they were showy pieces, and William thought they might better serve the ship at some future date if they were given as a gift to someone of power or position.

"It never hurt to have 'trinkets for the natives', Miss Smith. We might require these as a gift to someone by way of a formal bribe at some unguessed and future hour. I'll have the carpenter change this identifying emblem."

William put the box away and he and Tudor ate while they catalogued all of the items by size and value. It was a slow process and the ship's bell rang before they were finished. A polite knock was heard as they tallied and Tudor ushered in Miss McDonough, who stared at the fortune spread upon the table.

"Please, be seated, Miss McDonough."

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin managed to pull her gaze from the table ladened with more wealth than she had ever seen amassed in one place to, make eye contact with the captain. Had she any better attire she would have been embarrassed to attend him in a simple shift but things happening as they did she had no choice and would not let that worry her. Still, her heart pounded in her chest. Again she felt as a child. Unsure of herself, inwardly she shook her head, she had lost so much over the pase three years, her confidence not the least.

"Tank ya sur" she addressed him with a light curtsy. "N'tank ya fer everyting yer crew'as dune fer mae." She lowered herself into the chair indicated by captain Brand allowing herself the opportunity to wonder at the contents of the table once again. She blinked, quickly glance at the lass that stood to the captains side, then adjusted her focus to the man before her. His eyes were intense, she could see a torrent of thought behind them though his expression gave no indication of burden at this time. She forced herself to lift her head and meet his gaze directly, she would never cower before any man again no matter the reason.

[William Brand]

"Miss McDonough, please allow me to offer my condolences at the loss of Lady Ana."

She managed a nod.

"We have known our share of recent losses aboard this ship and I sympathize. We have also known our share of other departures in recent weeks."

William gestured to Miss Smith who placed a glass filled with dark liquor in front of Murin. This seemed to make Murin all the more awkward and William smiled reassuringly. He sipped from his own glass a moment before continuing. Tudor refreshed his glass and took a seat on his left to continue her tally.

"Miss McDonough, let me come to the point. We are in great need of a tailor and a sail maker. We had both in a young woman who recently departed the Watch Dog for other shores." Realizing this might be misinterpreted, he amended his statement. "She departed the ship for La Margarita, not the afterlife."

She showed a trace of a smile.

"I hope you will not take offense at this observation, but given your connection to Lady Ana and your hands, which have the look of labor about them, would you perhaps have some experience with thread and needle?"

[Silkie McDonough]

Judging from the expression on her face William must have been speaking some unknown language or had grown an additional nose. Relationship to Ana? What had he meant by that? Murin blinked at him without comprehending. She closed her mouth and absentmindedly sipped the dark liquid from the glass in her hand without noting the pungent emanation. Her eyes opened a bit in surprise as the liquor flooded her mouth and left a warm trail down her gullet. She hadn’t expected the liquor at that moment, her focus hadn't been on the drink. She smiled sheepishly at the captain. Was he hoping she could fill the position on the Watch Dog?

Gathering her confidence she spoke deliberately. “No offense teken cap'n. Uv known harrd work n’m nil ashamed uv det fect.” She drank again from the glass and continued in a lighter tone confidannce began to show in her subdued smile. “I ave skill wit needle n’tred. Ner’ made a sail bot uv mended many. N’tailorin I ken do well enough, nawtin a bit o’experience wont impruve.” She added “Ulways was good wit m’ands." She lifted the bandaged hand casually displaying the the back to the captain. "Hope t’b once again." She smiled sheepishly. The palm caught her eye. Blood had seeped through the dressing. Her mind flashed to the day before when she had used it in her attack on Nathan. She folded her fingers over her palm, laid it in her lap and nervously sipped at the liquor again.