The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian looked over to Havoc, he could see the crack from where they stood.

"Damn..."

Walking over to it he examined it closely, Sure enough the crack was deep, the bolts through the timbers were in poor shape as well. The trunion straps were still in good order, but the wood of the carrage they were bolted to did not look good. Mr. Lasseter sighed.

"Mister Youngblood... I agree... She ain't ta be fired 'less truly necessary... We ain't got th' proper timber 'r tool aboard ta make another truck. We'll hafta have one made in Martinique. This' scrap... "

"Aye Ser, I'll make a note of it."

"Very goode Mister Youngblood, carry on..."

The QuarterMaster continued his tour of the uper decks, inspecting the cannons even closer now. many of these cannon were well seasoned, only a handfull of them and the swivels were newly aquired, and some of them were used. He stopped at the top of the stars into the waist from thr foredeck and again watched as Pew and Franklin schooled the crew in musketry. When it ccame time for individual firings, they were getting better. several of the bottles in the water were gone now, shattered by either goode or lucky shots...

[Pew]

"HOLD YER FIRE" I say to men on the line.

Each bottle has now been sunk. Standing with weapons at their side the smoke begins to settle and waft over the ship. Stepping down from the quarterdeck, Eric nods at me as many of the crew banter about the accuracy of their shots as well as their mates missing their own mark. Looking over each man with their weapons at their side, I inhale deeply and put my hands behind my back.

"Sure ye all c'n make several shots at anchor, in calm sea, in a light breeze, wit NO ONE FIRIN' AT YE! Mister Franklin, wot say ye put four men in the dinghy an' fire Charity and Straight Shot at 'em." Eric Franklin grew a devilish grin across his face. "Aye Mister Pew." The throng grew silent and recognized the importance of what we were trying to accomplish. "When ye come broadsides or try to' rake th' other's stern, they will shoot back. C'n ye 'old yer muster t' fire away knowin' it may be yer last?" Eric Franklin walks through the men and stares at each one. Allowing several minutes to let my last words sink in, I give orders to return the muskets to the armoury in the care of Mister Franklin.

[William Brand]

Long after the training of muskets grew silent aboard the 'Dog, the digging continued ashore, and only after the half buried shelf of coral was exposed enough to explore its size, did they cease. The false cave proved wide and deep enough to store all the remaining goods intended for the island, so William sent word to the 'Dog that no third cache was needed ashore. Many more provisions were brought to land and the longboat and cutter crew continued working in shifts, both in storing and transporting goods from the frigate. This work lasted well into the beginning of First Watch and food and water was sent landward to feed all of the men and women employed there.

By the time the sun had set, the cannon salvaged from the Apollo was brought out by the cutter crew. Special care was taken in the transport of the brass six pounder, which was heavy enough to warrant a passage of its own from ship to shore. It proved very difficult to take it inland over the sand and dense cactus, and more than once they were foiled in their efforts to bring it up hill, but in the end persistence won out.

When everything was stored and covered, William released the shore crew to the beach for an hour. Some rested in the gathering darkness on the sand, while others, unimpeded by the mixed company or the embarrassment reserved for gentler folk than themselves, stripped down to nothing and went swimming in the sea. William almost reminded these stark sailors of their female company, but thought better of it in the end. Any woman living amongst so many sailors was bound to see her share of flesh over time. There was just too little privacy to be had aboard a ship as small as the 'Dog. Besides, it was a necessity of sea life that the men and women bath when opportunities presented themselves.

Tudor seemed somewhat surprised by this display, but also resigned, having lived aboard long enough to see no less than three sailors in their where with all. The Berth deck was an open book of life which censored nothing. Profanity, blasphemy, humor, sorrow, injury, spites, snoring, nudity and all other aspects of the human condition, played out in a very public claustrophobia below decks, and while Tudor enjoyed a more private space aboard than most, she had witnessed enough in transit to make this spectacle of flesh no less commonplace than bad air and elbows.

In Murin's case, Nathan Bly took some cares to walk her away from the bathing revelry to more private climbs along shore. The approaching night was a warm one, and the two wandered together during their hour's respite.

William, no less abashed by the opportunity to bath, took to the sea for a short time. When the echoing bell of the Watch Dog signaled their need to return to ship, he dressed along side the others and assisted the men in loading spades and lanterns back aboard the two small boats.

. . .

When all were safely back aboard, William called for an assembly to inform that they were to make for Martinique that very night. This was received with the expected cheers and smiles, for the promise of port was weighing heavily in their coin purses and sea trunks. William ordered the men aloft and to the windlass, and the orders passed from Quartermaster to Bosun and on down to each able seaman.

The Watch Dog, woken by the men and women aboard, prowled out into the open sea.

July 21, 1704 - Departing La Blanquilla aboard the Watch Dog

Six bells of First Watch

[Silkie McDonough]

As the others on duty set sail Murin attempted once more to keep herself from underfoot.

She first went to the galley hoping to make herself useful but the only work Mister Gage could offer required the use of both hands.

In the surgery the surgeon and her mate had tended to all there. Doctor Fitzgerald wished to inspect Murins hand and upon doing so was satisfied with the progress of the healing. The swelling had subsided, the redness was fading and the wounds were

no longer seeping. When pressed by Murin as to when she might regain use of the hand the surgeon simply told her to continue to flex the fingers but she was still not permitted to use the hand or get it wet. Chanault applied clean dressing at the Surgeons request. Murin, always talkative once comfortable, tried to start up a conversation with the French man but to no avail. She thanked him again for his kindness and attentions to her and reiterated her desire to buy him a drink and share his company in Martinique. “Besides,” she reminded him, “French is spoken der n’I speak nay a bit o’French …Mon-sure!”, she laughed at her mispronunciation of the word, again, she got the notion that she my have seen a hint of appreciation of her humor pass over his otherwise stoic visage but could not be positive of any reaction. He assured her that he would try to join her before they departed Martinique but made it clear that his first duty lay in the surgery and with Doctor Fitzgerald. That, to her disappointment, ended their conversation, for after the fresh dressing was applied to her hand he bad her goodnight, extinguished all but one lamp in the surgery, excused himself and exited to his quarters.

Alone in the surgery once more Murin removed the worn shoes and placed them beneath the cot she slept in. The belt and breeches she draped over the back of the chair sat next to the cot. Her coin ‘pouch’ she deposited on the cot near where her head would lay. She sat on the cot pulled the small pouch from her shirt, loosened the draw string and poured the contents into her hand once more. The gems sparkled dark in the dim light. Perhaps the Doctor would be wiling to pierce her ears. She replaced the earrings and the pouch, laid down and began to run through a list of things she wanted to tend to and questions she needed to ask in the morning but was asleep before the list was completed.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Once the sails had been set and the ship was under way, they had navigated out and away from the Island. As they were on the north western side, near the deep trench it was relatively easy to do in the darkness. The moon was of no help, being just past new moon, the stars shined brightly in the dark sky. Just before the change of watch, from First to Mid, Dorian took a sighting with the astrolabe and quadrant. Not once or twice, but thrice to be certain of where they were. The logline had been done as well, and they were traveling at a fine six and a half knots. If the wind held, and nothing else slowed them down, they would reach Fort Royal on Martinique in three days time, close to 400 nautical miles away. They had mapped their route east to La Granade, then northeast past St. Vincent, further north past St. Lucie, and finally to Martinique. Once they had been under way for an hour the Captain had retired to his quarters, and Dorian had hoped to a good nights sleep. He was quite weary himself, but would not retire for another turn of the watch. Four hours in the darkness to keep vigilant. Many of the other crew were just as weary if not more so, the days toils catching up on them. But the promise of a long shore leave on Martinique kept many a man awake in these late hours. The QuarterMaster sent to the Galley for coffee and something to stave off hunger. Geoffery Wayne brought up a steaming tankard and a bowl full of cheese and hardtack.

"Thankee Young Mister Wayne... send m'compliments ta the galley."

The lad knuckled his forelock and departed. Dorian shared the cheese and hardtack with Mr. Warren as they made small talk to wile away the hours...

22 July, 1704 - under sail, the Watch Dog

First Bell of the Mid Watch

[William Brand]

July 22, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Fourth bell of Middle Watch

The night was a quiet one with a fair wind. The Watch Dog glided easily on the water, having shed some weight at La Blanquilla. The light frigate moved across an ocean that reflected back very little, and while the watches kept a keen eye out for other stern lights in the darkness, they were alone.

Those men and women of the Middle Watch passed the time making only minor adjustments to the rigging as they went, for there was little business about the ship that wouldn't be better performed by daylight, and only the navigation of the ship occupied the crew in the dark.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Time marched onward... the watch changed and the QuarterMaster gave the deck over to the Boatswain and headed to his quarters. He stripped of his outer garments and weaponry, his knife and small pistol remained on his belt. He headed into the Wardroom quietly and found the ships' ledger, ink, and pen to write some notes of the past day's events. An hour passed at this task and he rubbed his eyes. As the second bell of the morning watch tolled, he sat back and yawned. It was time to retire. Closing the book and replacing it and the other items, he procured a drink from the cabnet, once finished he returned to his quarters. He arranged his weapons and clothing on his desk and chest, then settled himself in his hammock. It took very little time to fall asleep as the day was a long and busy one.

The Forenoon watch took up where the Morning watch left off....The Ship continued on through the night and into the morning...

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin woke early. Stretching, she found herself restricted by the blanket she had pulled over herself at some time during her slumber. Once dressed, remaining shoeless, she padded across the hall to the Galley where many of the crew had gathered for the morning fare to break their nights fast. Some greeted her with a smile, some growled as a dog having been awakened far too soon from his slumber, others looked on with obvious suspicion of her. She tried to ignore the later individuals but found it difficult not to take it as a personal affront. She forced herself to recall Nathan’s words “There is not one among us that is lesser than the other.” She straightened her shoulders carried her bowl out to the sunlight bathed weather deck, leaned against the rail and dug in to her morning meal.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the day brightened, the activities on the ship got livelier. Mr. Warren noticed that in the dark hours when the ships boats were stowed, they were not stowed properly or as nicely as they should have been, so he assembled the crew to correct the situation. The boats were unstacked, the Jollywatt set to starboard on a temporary rig above the great guns, likewise was done to the Longboat. The Cutter was jostled into proper location, all her gear restowed properly, next the Longboat and so on. It was work, but it was done without complaint, and furthermore was done to the melody of the Carpenters' flute. The only trouble was with Owen Monahan who grumbled and growled through the whole process. But Mr. Warren never batted an eye at him, he remained steady through the whole workings, only correcting individuals where necessary, even Owen. He did not reprimand Owen, just quietly corrected him. When the rerigging was complete, Mr. Warren headed to the quarterdeck after relieving the men with a hearty thanks. He walked over to Mr. Badger and greeting him.

"Mister Badger.... Did ya note Mister Monahan's bellyachein'?"

"Aye Jim, I did.... Cap'n'll hear about it when he comes topside."

"Thank you Mr. Badger."

The Boatswain nodded to the Coxswain and each in turn turned their eyes forward into the waist of the ship.

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin finished her meal alone. She had kept an eye out for Nathan or Billy but saw neither. Left on her own once again she recalled them telling her that they had been required check their weapons with the Master-at-Arms when they first boarded. Since her things were wrapped in the bundle she carried Mister Pew must have been unaware of their existence. Additionally she needed to learn how to care for and use of her newly acquired weaponry. After returning the bowl to the Galley and thanking Mister Gage she returned to the surgery for the pistol and cutlass. She tucked the pistol into her belt, carried the sheathed cutlass under her arm and headed out again to the weather deck in search of the Master at Arms, Mister Pew. She stood in the bright light her good hand shading her eyes scanning the deck for mister Pew. Surveying the crew she realized that she could not recall which of the many faces may be him. All of the lads she had seen in the past few days blended save those she had conversed with. "Scuse mae?" She asked the nearest crew member, "Where might I fin'de Master r'Sargent et Arms?"

[Black Syren]

She sat barefooted and crosslegged upon a coil of rope steadily repairing some canvas that had been rent in the storm and glanced up as a shadow fell across her. Seeing the woman that had been rescues she brushed back her long hair from her eyes and debated how best to answer that question.

'They call me Siren Ma'am as fer the Sargent et arms," She gave a shrug and grinned "Ain't seen him miss." Then whistling began to stitch again. "Where ye from, or rather where be ye goin?"

[Silkie McDonough]

Squinting she smiled at the lass seated before her. "errr ...um MEER-een, r'Silkie ifin ya prefer." she offered her right hand in greeting. "From? Tis a long time ago, would b'Erielaund ifin d'bloody English would let us be buot I ken-nut return dere jus yet." She paused, for a moment realizing for the first time she had thoughts of returning some day. "Goin? ...where d'winds take this ere vessel. Cap'n Brand jest signed me on fer..." She paused seeing that Siren stitching was stitching a sail. "...well, fer mendin sails and tailorin' once m'hand is useful again."

[Black Syren]

Murin is it? Aye it seems to suit ye it does, But Silkie seems more apt for the likes of us here on the open sea. A water sprite that would be Aye?" She asked with a grin showing straight white teeth for a pirate.

"Have a sit down lass and have a chat wit me. As ye are injured ye will have no duties as of yet I am sure, and repairing sails is quite easy so I can talk and sew at the same time."

[Silkie McDonough]

"Well I..." She thought of her small list of things to attend to and decided none were so urgent that she couldn't stop for a chat. Besides the responsibilities would start soon enough. "Tank ya kindly lass." Murin laid the cutlass on the deck, adjusted the pistol to her side and gracefully lowered herself to sit beside the striking lass. "Was lookn fer d'master at arms. I need to d'clare my weapons" She let out a bit of a laugh at that. "Der mine simply because I happened to b'da one who survived ...I've only a notion uv how t'use either, needin some instructshun. Wuz tinkin det Mister Pew r'Mister Franklin would be best t'ask." she paused while looking down at the sheathed cutlass "Nea'r owned a pistol afore, tis against d'law at home tanks d'British and dear brute force. M'people are uv a lovin nature but even d'most gentle creatures will defend demselves iffin beat down nough times!" The disgust and hatred flashed across her face then her visage relaxed. "M'serry, some topics r'best left alone." She smiled, a soft embarrassed smile, and fell silent as she turned her head to look at the blue cloudless sky.

[William Brand]

July 22, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Second bell of Forenoon Watch

Eric Franklin's shadow fell across the seated ladies. "Aye...some topics are best left alone." he agreed, and his tone was pleasant, even conversational, though Murin noted that his accent had enough English in it to make more of a point than his words had made. There was no shortage of both English and Irish born aboard the Watch Dog. Most of them had severed ties with one or the other. Still it paid to ere on the side of caution concerning some subjects on a narrow ship.

There was no real threat or malice in Eric's voice, just the cautionary tone of a shipboard officer and a smile that won everyone over daily. It was a good smile, almost impish. Even Owen, surly as he was at times, could not be entirely disagreeable in Eric's company because of this. The Sergeant-at-Arms was a man of many mixed attributes that should have worked against one another, except that they seemed to work in him. He had a casual aspect that never left him even in serious situations. He was untouched by any weather, mood or situation, though he was a practical man with a boyishness that he could set aside in a moment if the cause called for it.

Siren gave him a salute and Murin noted that his eyes fell almost immediately on the pistol and then the cutlass.

"I was look'n' fer ya...or d'master at arms." She said at once.

"Were you now?" he said with that same smile. "Here on the coils...?"

[Black Syren]

Siren tilted her head listening as she worked and was about to reply herself when another shadow blocked the sun and she quickly glanced up to see Mr. Franklin. She saluted him and arched a brow at his grin before returning it with her own.

"Aye Sir she was just askin aboot that and I persuaded her to take a seat. No sense in having a Lady untrained in weaponry traipsing o'er the decks at least to my way of thinkin'."

She quickly finished her last stitch and shook out the canvas seeking any other reapirs to be made. When none were found she rose with sprightly energy and folded the canvas. It would be taken to the holds and used as a replacement for the sheets already up.

"Anythin else sirrah?"

[William Brand]

"I beg your pardon?" Eric asked, his smile fading for the first time that day. Never since becoming Sergeant-at-Arms had any crew member called him anything but Mister Franklin or Sir. Certainly no one had used a term as contemptuous as 'sirrah', an address often reserved for an inferior man or boy. He stepped a pace closer, while most, but not all of his mirth faded away. "What did you call me?"

[Black Syren]

She watched his smile fade and her own grin too though more perplexed than anything else. He seemed suddenly very angry and she had to rethink her words over.

But never one to disessemble she stood her ground "Sirrah, I heard it used below, tis a proper form of respect." She refused to quail and turn tale before any so her chin tilted higher and her blue green eyes were wary, wild. Thick tendrils of raven hued locks swept in front of her and she raised a hand to brush it back, the only move she made.

[William Brand]

Eric and Siren were nose to nose by the time William came on to the gun deck, stifling a small burp from a meal he had just taken in the galley. He watched this interchange of wills, more surprised to see Eric and anyone else, let alone Siren, standing one another down, for he had never witnessed a close altercation between the Sergeant-at-Arms and a crew member.

Murin was rising next to them both and she looked nervous. William walked slowly over to them, trying not to gain their attention as Mister Franklin spoke.

"Who told you thus?" Eric said, his tone both curious and dangerous.

"I cannot say, Sirra..."

"Can't? Or won't?" Eric shot back, for now he was growing angry at her repeated use of the word.

[Black Syren]

She weighed her options, she would not lie nor would she snitch. Bold blue green eyes locked with Erics then shifted to take in William. Knowing she could well be reprimanded for her actions she decided it would be better to do so than cause further grief. Afterall perhaps the one she had heard it from was unaware of the form of address.

"I will not say, Sir." Her words were quiet, the husky vocals pitched low.

She stood before him refusing to give voice to a name, to one of her crewmates. She would take what was given to her and so be it.

[William Brand]

"What is the matter, Mister Franklin?" William asked before Eric could speak again, not that he thought Eric was the matter. He also couldn't imagine Siren being the cause, but no matter, he asked anyway.

"This sailor is under the misunderstanding that 'Sirrah' be a proper way to address an officer."

"Sirrah...?"

Siren nodded. She had a defiant look about her that she was just reigning in. He didn't mind. He appreciated her defiance far more than some sailors acquiescence, for a weak crew member is often a poor one, and William could never abide sheep.

"Is this true?"

"Aye, Sir." She said at once, then she took the opportunity to explain herself. "I was lead to believe that 'Sirrah' is a form of respect, Sir."

William nodded very slowly. "You were mislead to be believe it. It is in fact a form of respect. Disrespect to be precise, and you will not use it again. Is that clear?"

[Black Syren]

Siren again focused bold blue green eyes upon Eric then back to William as he spoke. She trusted William implicitly. In ways that she would never trust another man. He was as a brother to her of sorts and he had aided her out of several sticky situations not of her making.

She paled taking in Williams words then her gaze shot back to Eric as she spoke again "Aye Sir!" Again she stood still and inclined her head and spoke loudly her voice carrying over the deck and to those beyond. "I apologize for my words sir and it will not happen again." If she was in the wrong she was enough of a person to admit it, and a bigger one to try and correct it.

She ibowed her head to him but not before thick lashes veiled her sea shaded eyes.

[William Brand]

"Ladies." William said, turning away now satisfied that the matter needed no more attention. "Mister Franklin. A word if you please."

Eric turned away from the two ladies, not smiling as before, but not angry either. He joined William as they moved along the rail aft.

"I trust you're satisifed, Mister Franklin?"

"Aye, sah. Though...?"

William said nothing, waiting for him to finish if he would, but Eric did not continue. Instead he chose another track entirely.

"Cap'n. Is Jonas to be armed during an attack?"

William considered the question only for a moment. "He signed on aboard. He took payment and he shares the berth deck with everyone below. Equal work. Equal trust."

"Pegging your pardon, Cap'n, but you...well...we all trusted Muller."

"Aye." William agreed. "And you may trust that I will shoot Jonas in a similar fashion if his loyalties prove too similar."

"Aye."

They spoke at length and william asked many pressing questions as touching the handling of arms, the armoury, the storing of personal weapons and the crew's training. Eric was reminded of Murin's weapons and he dismissed himself to that duty.

[Black Syren]

Siren bowed as Captain william moved off with Eric in tow, then again to Murin. "I will head aloft M'Lady as it is my turn yet again."

She moved upon soundless barefeet over the deck and passed her fellow crewmates and quickly scrambled aloft. In turth it was her favorite place to be. To overlook the sea and the ship, to feel the winds upon her face and feel as if all the world lay before her.

But her thoughts weighed heavy upon her, the words that passed earlier not to be forgotten. Sighing she saw nothing upon the horizon so gave her voice free reign and began to sing. The notes haunting and seductive. A release to the tension from earlier.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The QuarterMaster awoke witha slight start, sunlight streamed in through the cracks around the gunport into his quarters and slashed across his face. He relaxed for a moment and laid back into his hammock. He listened to the stirrings aboard the ship around him and hearing nothing that sounded urgent he smiled. Looking over the small quarters he occupied, he did not find a thing out of place from when he retired. He stretched, yawned and rubbed his face.

"Enough sleep... I think... "

He rolled out of the canvas and onto his feet, again stretched to his full height and bounced on the balls of his feet a couple of times. Pulling open a drawer he produced a small mirrior and hung it on a nail. He looked at himself in it, noted his braided que was looking worse for wear, so he unbound it, opened his sea chest and withdrew a comb from his dittybag. he combed out the knots and snags, rebraided and tied the que. Nodding to the mirrior approvingly he put the comb away and pulled out the basin and pitcher, withdrew a soft cloth from his chest and freshened himself. As he was in the midst of doing so, he heard the ship's bell toll out four times. His brow creased as he did not know what watch the bell was rung for. No one had come to wake him, to tell him he was to be on watch, so he continued dressing at a normal pace. A fresh neckerchief was tied around his neck, fresh stockings on his feet as well. Shrugging into his wesket, then the sword and baldrick he grabbed his hat as he made his way out into the corridor and headed to the wardroom. With a polite knock he stood and waited to be given permission to enter, when it did not come, he opened the door and looked in. The room was empty, and looked as if it had been for a time. Pulling the door shut, he headed foreward and out into the waist, the bright sun causing him to shield his eyes with his hat. After a short time his eyes were adjusted somewhat, he placed his hat firmly on his head and looked about the deck. All seemed well... He spied Mr. Franklin standing foreward speaking with Ms. McDonough and a cutlass and pistol exchanged hands. It looked to be a pleasant conversation, no need for him to interviene. Turning aft, he headed up the stairs and to the quarterdeck, where the Captain and Coxswain stood, Mr. Warren at the wheel and Captain Brand to the lee side of the deck. Walking aft to them he greeted both.

"Cap'n, Mister Warren... What news?

Just before five bells of the Forenoon Watch

At sea, the ship Watch Dog

22 July, 1704