The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

"Miss McDonough. When we make Cul de Sac Royal, prudence dictates that we must fly under a flag friendly to France...and I can think of no friendlier flag to France than that of France. However, we have no such flag. As Mister Lasseter has reminded me, we have a flag of Britain and of the Dutch. We also have a very dark flag which would no doubt be greeted with great trepidation. And by trepidation...I mean cannon fire."

Mister Lasseter nodded.

"It therefore falls to you as Ship's Tailor to make a proper drapeau."

-LARBOARD WATCH ON DUTY-

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin blinked, "Aye sir." She tried to recall the French banner but all she could bring to her minds eye was a field of white. "I would need an image uv it sir. I ken nut recall wot it looks like. I am sure det one uv d'crew could help wit det."

[William Brand]

"William nodded. He too could think of several sailors who could describe the flag to her in detail, though one of the flags of France was the antithesis of detail, having no emblem or color.

"I think the fleur-de-lis would serve us better than the Bourbon Banner."

-LARBOARD WATCH ON DUTY-

[Silkie McDonough]

"The fleur-de-lis." She stated firmly, as if she had knowledge as to what that was. "I'll need an image uv'it." She continued, "How many days t'Cul de Sac Royal." She struggled with the correct pronunciation. "D'sails bout tree qwaters repaired, would have ad more done save fer m'hand" She looked at the hand and extended the fingers stretching the palm. The dressing was bloodied. Doctor Fitzgerald would be unhappy. Murin looked from her hand to the captain "The repaired sail should be used as d'spare, she'll be useful buot weakened."

[William Brand]

William took her hand as though a surgeon himself, ignoring the woman's natural timidity. He scrutinized the bloodied bandage and then brought her near a deck lantern for closer examination. After a moment he looked up from her hand, raising an eyebrow.

"Bloodletting is at the discretion of the Doctor, Miss McDonough."

"Cap'n...I..."

"We are not at war. Not yet. There may come a time when you will be asked to shed blood for this ship...but over canvas?" he shook his head. "No, Miss McDonough, that will not do. Take yourself to the surgeon, and when you are again repaired, we will speak of repairs elsewhere."

-LARBOARD WATCH ON DUTY-

[Silkie McDonough]

"Aye sir", she began a curtsy again but stopped herself and knuckled her fore lock instead. Turning to go she could think of nothing other than the scolding that she was surely to receive from either the doctor or her mate ...or both. She had not noticed the blood that had seeped through the bandages before that moment. Had she been aware of it she would have stopped ...perhaps.

[William Brand]

July 22, 1704 - On the quarterdeck of the Watch Dog

Seven Bells of First Watch

When Murin was gone, they both made equal observations about her. Both of them had noticed that her past belied a life of much work, poor pay and little freedom. How much her life must have changed, answering now to watches broken by bells and short spells of sleep, surrounded by people who answered, not to social distinctions, but to positions of rank in a lifestyle made all but equal by hard work and freedom.

"She needs rest. That hand must mend if she is ever to make full use of it again."

Of course what the Captain had said was true, but Mister Lasseter didn't respond. Both of them had seen their shares of laborers, indentured servants, slaves and prisoners. They were the underpinnings of the world. The mud and stone upon which the history of mankind was paved. Neither of them liked the idea very much and neither of them felt the need to talk about it.

Instead, the conversation turned to that of Islands. Dorian waxed prolific about the Emerald Isle and William spoke of Pharaoh's Island and Crete. Dorian touched only lightly on the subject of family and William was equally reticent to speak of the Mahdi, but they swapped stories until the seventh bell of First Watch, when William asked Mister Warren if he might take over at the helm for a time. Jim gladly handed over the duty and William allowed him to fetch some cider while he took the helm.

William fell into the practiced pattern of Coxswain at once.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The QuarterMaster looked on as the Captain took on that of the Coxswain, a job he also had enjoyed in times past. He stood in silent contemplation for a time. Then the Eighth bell of the First Watch broke him from his reviere.

~STARBOARD WATCH COMING ON DUTY~

23 July, 1704

He came more to attention as he watched the fresh watch come up from below and the weary folks make their way to the berth deck. As Mr. Badger approached he stopped and gave an odd look to Mr. Warren standing idly by as the Captain was at his job. He went to comment, but did not as the look of contentment on William's face said all was well. Instead he nodded to Mr. Warren and sent him off to his hammock. The new watch settled into the routine quickly and the ship sailed on under the hand of the Captain.

[Black Syren]

As the starboard watch began to appear on the decks she took one last cautious look around, the ship was sailing more smoothly, the winds were warm and humid and the heavens were ramshackle with stars that glittered and twinkled like thousands of diamonds on a bed of black velvet.

Sighing she carefully swung from her post, gingerly testing the weight she could bear on her wrist and finding it not so very bad inched her way through the rigging ever downwards till her sandaled feet touched the deck. She stifled a yawn as she moved to the rail to see if she could further make out the land she had spotted earlier to no avail, but she was too keyed up to sleep. The slap of the waters against the ship was soothing in it's way and she leaned with crossed arms over the railing watching the mystery that surrounded them ease them to new destinations.

Again she lifted her face towards where Martinique lay, where the sea now took them, and blocked out all the sounds about her for the moment, for now it was just the spray of saltwater upon her face, the breeze caressing her frame and the exuberant feeling within her heart. The sea was a bewitching enchantress and it was clear why men gave their hearts to her, sighing she bumped into Owen who grinned at her before she moved past him with apology and down below to seek her hamock.

[William Brand]

Nigel Brisbane was still braiding his hair back from his face when he arrived at the helm to find the Captain there. He saluted and fell in at the opposite side of the helm, ready to take over at the Captain's discretion.

Mister Badger made one final round before returning to the quarterdeck to inform the Captain and QM that all was well.

"Thank you, Mister Badger. We shall see you in eight bells."

"Aye, Cap'n."

Before he could turn away, the Captain and QM both added their compliments and he smiled a tired smile through a graying beard which appeared more black in the darkness. Then he stopped to pass on the details of the previous watch to Mister Morgan before disappearing below decks.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian enjoyed the time of darkness, enjoyed the peace when those off duty were below in their hammocks and those on duty were in silent vigil. He stood Leeward as the Captain continued to act as Coxswain and Mr. Brisbane stood opposite the wheel from him. Nigel occasionally fidgeted, scratching an itch and looking out of sorts. A man in need of an occupation. The QuarterMaster smiled and leaned back on the edge of the poopdeck. He looked up at the stars visible and realized he had not taken the midnite sighting, so he stood upright and headed forward to the binnacle, retrieved the instruments and logbook. Heading back to the edge of the poop, he set all the instruments down and opened the logbook. He sighted the north star with each instrument thrice. Wrote the notations down and did the mathamatics. He then took pity on Mr. Brisbane.

"Nigel.... get two of th' lads an fetch th' logline aft... time ta take a readin' r' two..."

Nigel stood tall and nuckled his forelock.

"Aye Quartermaster..."

He turned quickly, knuckled his forelock to the Captain and headed to the waist, bringing back Paul Mooney and Harold Press. They went to the locker and took up the logline, bringing it aft and up onto the poopdeck. By the second bell of the Mid Watch all recordings had been taken, the logline had been cast thrice and noted for drift. With all sails reefed they were traveling at five and one half knots and the current was pushing them west.

"Cap'n... Do me th' honour o' adjustin' yer course two points east..."

~STARBOARD WATCH ON DUTY

23 July, 1704 Two Bells of the Mid Watch

In route to Fort Royal, Martinique

Aboard the Watch Dog

[William Brand]

July 23, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

In route to Fort Royal, Martinique

"Aye-Aye." William said with a smile, adjusting the Watch Dog in her course with a minor alteration at the helm. The light frigate answered favorably and their course was corrected in short order.

Once accomplished, William returned the duty of the helm to Mister Brisbane, opting to make rounds above an below deck. He walked along the gun deck and the fo'c'sle deck in slow strides with his hands behind his back. Then, fetching up a lantern, he went down the fore companionway and wandered through the dim lit berth deck, careful not to jostle the many swinging and snoring hammocks.

He made his way aft to the armory where he found Master Pew and Franklin still postulating over their choices for marines. They urged him to remain, assuring him that they would soon arrive at a decision, but William waved them off, telling them that the matter could wait awhile until they were certain of their candidates.

Eventually he had paced the decks of each of the 'Dogs many layers fore and aft and he returned to the darkness of the weather decks.

Three Bells of the Mid Watch

-STARBOARD WATCH ON DUTY-

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin lay in her cot staring at the darkness above contemplating what the doctor had said and all of its implications. She had done as the captain ordered and went straight to the surgery although her pace was slowed by the weight she carried upon her shoulders. She so wanted to prove herself valuable to the captain and crew, she felt she had achieved quite the opposite. When she knocked on the door she prayed that neither the doctor nor Chanault were still about but a female voice softly entreated her enter. As she stepped into the surgery Tempest smiled a tired but pleasant smile and inquired how the young lass' day had gone, more specifically had she kept her hand to light duty. Murin stammered. "I ..err ..the sail ...umm, it..." The doctor raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes at the Irish lass' answer, she was aware of the damaged sale, she then gestured for Murin to step up to the light. When the tailor did not offer her hand the doctor presented her own hand palm up and waited for Miss McDonough to comply with her non-verbal wishes. Murin's demeanor was that of disobedient child expecting a scolding. Slowly she displayed her palm to Dr. Fitzgerald. The Doctor looked at the bloodied dressing. She said nothing as she cleaned the wounded hand. Murin tried hard not to flinch at her touch but the hand was sensitive and the reopened wounds stung at the cleaning. Tempest remained silent as she wrapped the hand in fresh dressings. Leaving Murin where she sat the Doctor went to where she kept her stores medicinal herbs and roots, poured a cup of water and stired something into it. Returning to Murin she handed the girl the cup. "The Willow bark would ease the pain." she tonelessly instructed. When the doctor was finished with her patient she gathered the work that Murin had disturbed and headed for her private quarters. Before opening the door she turned to the girl, "You will NOT use that hand until I have decided that it is time. Is that clear?" Murin's nod was almost imperceptible as she kept her eyes focused on the floor. "If you continue to use it as you did today you will never have full use of it again." The Doctor paused then exited.

As Murin sipped on the tea she heard animated conversation in the neighboring room. The words were foreign but the tone familiar. The doctor was not pleased with her, not one bit.

Murin's mind began to race once more. What of the flag, the fleur-de-lis. What would she tell the captain? That she could not perform her duty? That the tailor on the ship could not stitch? How could they safely sail into Fort Royal if they did not have a friendly flag to sail under? Someone on board should be able to stitch well enough to create the needed flag. It was her responsibility. The others of the crew had their own duties, they should not be asked to shoulder hers. These thoughts continued to churn in her head long after the pain in her hand had been dulled and the teacup drained. She could not sleep so she lay in her cot staring at the darkness above, fighting her own small battles.

[William Brand]

July 23, 1704 - Aloft on the Watch Dog

Four bells of the Mid Watch

John McGinty was as a good a lookout as Ciaran could make him. He was alert and attentive. He was also possessed of a good eye, seldom missing anything that might be seen on a clear horizon. Perils both near and far fell under his immutable scrutiny, and while his record at spotting was not equal to that of 'Eagle Eyes', he had proven a most able and recommended lookout.

John prided himself on his accomplishments. He had only just recently been fully tested at La Blanquilla, while the Watch dog had been in the midst of the Apollo's debris field. Here he had proved invaluable in spotting hazards in the frigate's path, and it was understood from then on, if not before, that John McGinty was to be the chief lookout of the Starboard Watch forever after.

He hummed softly to himself, though even he barely heard the tune. He wasn't even fully aware that he was humming at all. It was just an underlying sound his mouth was making while he stood in the main top scanning the horizon and the sea for ships or breakers.

Jerrod Styles was in the fore top, plaiting a rope to keep himself from falling asleep in the near total darkness. Not that he had ever fallen asleep on a watch. Styles would have sooner run naked through a Quaker wedding party than fall asleep on duty. He was faced forward in the top with his back to the fore topmast. He had his feet planted forward and apart, and he was now quite used to the wide sway of the lookout's roost. The cords of hemp passed through his braiding fingers while his eyes remained on the sea ahead of the ship. He was high enough above the lanterns of the decks that his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness which surrounded all of the sea about them.

"White caps." McGinty hissed quietly from the main top behind him, and Jerrod's hands slowed only a moment to watch a lonely wave cresting white in the darkness two points off the Larboard bow. It proved to be nothing. What might have been reef or debris, was nothing more than a high cresting wave of foam and both men returned to silence, but for Jerrod's weaving hands and John's humming.

They continued in this fashion, as they always did, passing an occassional whisper in the top rigging.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the Captain walked the decks, the QuarterMaster stood in place on the lee side of the quarterdeck, watching the stirrings of the crew. Willaim had been belowdecks for a time when the Master-at-Arms made his way up and across the quarterdeck, knuckled his brow and spoke.

"Cap'n wanted this list, 'e said na ta worry 'bout it so soon, but Mister Franklin n' I figured th' sooner th' better so's change might be made quickly iffn' it be necessary."

With that, he handed a folded piece of parchment to Dorian.

"Thankee Mister Pew... Cap'n's about belowdecks... I'll give it to 'im soon as 'e returns."

"Aye Sah!"

"Slan, Pew"

The Master-at-Arms smiled at the QuarterMaster,

"Slan..."

He then headed off and below. Dorian looked at the folded sheet for a moment. He shrugged and stepped closer to a lantern and opened the parchment. In a fine hand was the list.

Larboard Watch

Master- Pew

Main top- Ciaran

Fore top- Siren

On deck- Woodington, Marchande, Flint.

Below deck, Armoury detail- Smythe, Hingerty

Starboard Watch

Master- Eric Franklin

Main top- Tucker

Fore top- Morrel

On deck- Styles, Press, Roche

Below deck, Armoury detail- Dinwiddle, Thatcher.

He read the list twice, and could find no fault in the choices. He folded the page back as it was and returned to his former spot with the list held behind his back. Not long after the fourth bell of the watch was sounded, the Captain strolled back onto the quarter. Dorian smiled and produced the list, handing it to him as he looked at it with a questioning glance...

[William Brand]

William took the list and read it through once, quickly. He always read through lists as fast as possible. He found that he gaged lists best when he skimmed them with a gut reaction in mind. Then he read it through again. This time much more slowly.

"Ciaran in the Main Top. Tribbiani in the Fore Top." he said aloud, nodding to Mister Lasseter, who nodded back. "I have no arguments with that arrangement."

William paced the full circumference of the quarterdeck.

"Bill Flint on deck. Aye. I like a tall man on the gun deck. Any man approaching the 'Dog, seeing a man that tall peering back over the bulwarks...aye. I like that very much." Indeed, William could think of none better for the gun deck duty, for Flint was one of the few men aboard who could easily look out from the waist of the ship. Most of the crew required a step up to see beyond the bulwark rail, but not Flint. Bill Flint also had the advantage of gunnery experience, which made the gun deck duty apropos.

"How does our Marchande handle himself with a musket?" William asked.

"Well enough for a French cart horse." Mister Lasseter returned, and William smiled at this, for Marchande was strong man. He had never though of him as a cart horse, but the comparison was not a bad one. William nodded. Whether he could shoot or not, he didn't mind a strong man for the marine detail.

"And Woodington? I would have thought him wasted on detail."

Mister Lasseter shook his head. "Th' lad has steady hands."

"What think you of Hingerty in the armory?"

"He won't have need of much conversation there."

Mister Lasseter had a way of cutting through the abject matters of a man's disposition. William liked that he often came right to the point. William himself had paused at the selection of Hingerty, for the man was ill tempered and had a gruff manner which made him unpleasant at times. Yet, one might find such a man well suited to the duty of marine. Hingerty wasn't likely to take any excuse or guff from a man. Anyone trying to get past Hingerty on watch was likely to come away bloodied.

"If you have no argument, the larboard marines are approved."

"Aye, Cap'n."

William continued down the list.

"Main top, Tucker...?"

Mister Lasseter said nothing. William was puzzled by this suggestion, thinking McGinty would have been the first choice. He was further surprised by the absence of Styles in the foretop. He continued through the list and back.

"Dinwiddle and Thatcher for the armory. That will do fine."

He noticed the absence of Nathan Bly on the list and wondered why he had not been considered. Harold Press was a good choice, not for his skills as a soldier, but he was steady. William had noted many times that Harold was quick to step in and end an argument peaceably. Roche was an obvious candidate. The man had a shooter's eye, though William had never seen him shoot. He had witnessed however, that the man had a good throwing arm and uncommonly good aim with just about any missile he employed. Tucker, Morrel and Styles were also good choices, but he didn't like the arrangement.

"Whom do you prefer out of Tucker and Morrel?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

"Whom do I prefer?"

Dorian repeated as he thought out the question.

"Tha' depends... Tucker's a goode man... don't flinch under fire... However, Morrell is a better shot, least ways in practice he was... Both lads take orders well enough, but Morrell is... concise... with 'em... A bit of a toss up, Cap'n... Tucker's best in th' heat o' battle, but Morrell will do exactly wot ya order 'im ta do..."

He stood with his arms crossed and gestured with one hand as if to say "which ever".

[William Brand]

"I must insist on McGinty for the Main Top. I should also like Styles on the Fore...and perhaps a less rigid assignment is in order. All of them might benefit from a rotation."

"Aye. A rotation may serve better."

William nodded, but he had a sudden change of heart then. He left the candidates as they were but for two changes. Harold Press would remain an able seaman only. The man was a steadying factor among the rabble, and William felt it might be better for all if he remained a common sailor with no other distinction. Harold Press didn't require a gun to do good service, or to command order. He was a good man and William thought it best to keep the man as common as possible. A pillar on the berth deck.

Instead, he traded Press for McGinty, keeping both Morrel and Tucker.

"McGinty for the Main Top. Morrel for the Fore. Dinwiddle and Thatcher for the armory. With Styles, Tucker and Roche for the decks."

"Very goode." Mister Lasseter agreed, though he would have agreed with more significant changes. The truth was, many men and women aboard the 'Dog would have made good marines, but Mister Pew and Mister Franklin had chosen a fine list of contrasting sailors, all able to take their new role aboard ship.

"These shall be their assigned places aboard ship, with the rotation aloft to be at the discretion of those officers on watch. Have I your approval as well for the Starboard marines?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

Again Dorian made the gesture.

"Fine by me, Cap'n... long as none of 'em in the crow's nest drops anything an us below, or shoots a crewmember by mistake... I'm happy..."

He stepped over to the binnacle and procured the inkpot and pen, offered them to the Captain in order to make the changes...

[William Brand]

William made the necessary changes to the list of marines. Then he offered to take them below himself, anxious to see the assignments made during the next change of watch. He gave the deck over to the Quartermaster and went below.

The Master-at-Arms and Sergeant-at-Arms were employed in the armory. He found them carefully choosing the best of the muskets and pistols for the new Marines. At first, he didn't disturb them, and only when they noticed him in the shadow of the doorway, did either of them stop to salute.

"A very goode list, gentlemen. There are names on here I wouldn't have considered myself, but upon reflection, I can find no fault with them. I have, however, made once change to the Starboard Marines."

William passed over the list. Mister Pew read it aloud and they both nodded together after. They looked pleased, and perhaps they had expected some changes, but it spoke well of both of them that one change and one change only had been enough to satisfy the Captain.

"I believe, Capn', that we'll have as good a regiment as any majesty." Mister Pew said with confidence.

"I don't doubt it, Mister Pew. Good choices, all."

"Shall we inform those that were chosen, Sah?" Eric asked.

"Bring those of the Starboard Marines to the Ward Room at seven bells. I will speak to the Larboard Marines at the first bell of Morning Watch. You may both be present."

"Aye, Sah." They said at once.

"And gentlemen. Thank you."

July 23, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Five bells of the Mid Watch

~STARBOARD WATCH ON DUTY

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the Captain headed below with the revised list, the QuarterMaster again settled into the routine of previous time. He paced across the deck and back, turning each time he came to Blackwood or Bartholomew. As he turned one time he stopped and turned back, looking out into the inky darkness. Retrieveing a glass he peered out into the void. There, a flash of light... was it a ships lantern? Or just an odd reflection? But it was gone now, and he couldn't locate it again... His gut said there was something out there, but his eyes could not comfirm it, and the lookouts had not seen whatever it was from their lofty perches.... He let out a slow breath and blinked several times...

"Mayhaps I'm just gettin' th' jitters..."

He said to himself, then half shrugged and continued on his path. But each time he came to the rail he peered ever harder into the darkness...

[William Brand]

July 23, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Between Six and Seven bells of Mid Watch

William made his way back to the quarterdeck, but despite earlier vows to avoid extra food from the galley, he was drawn there again by whatever it was that Lazarus was concocting. He was so overpowered by the galley, that he lingered there for some time, swapping stories and compliments with the cook.

Meanwhile, high aloft in the main top, McGinty had turned his attention to an unknown point far off in the darkness. He had not witnessed anything amiss there, but the Quartermaster was continuously pausing at the rail, and while John didn't know why, he knew enough to trust the distractions of others. Sometimes a passing observer might witness in a moment, what careful lookouts couldn't perceive by their vigilance.

Even Styles was now looking in that same direction, for he had noted a sudden pause in McGinty's humming, which had been steady and continuos most of the watch. He stood and stretched on the fore top, leaning out by use of the topmost shrouds. Then he looked back at McGinty with a questioning shrug, for he could see nothing but sea and stars.

John just signaled back with a solitary gesture, pointing upwards at the main cross tree. Moments later he was ascending further up the main with a spyglass tucked into his belt. Once he had reached the small rampart of crossed timbers, he positioned himself as best he could, placing his feet through the crossed pieces of wood which made up the perch and placing his arms through the lift lines. Once he was secure in the wide, inverted pendulum set between the main top mast and the main top gallant mast, he fetched out his spyglass.

This instrument of magnification aided him very little at first. All he could find was dark horizon, closer, but no less revealing. He went across the line of the ocean once, twice, then half a dozen times.

Jerrod waited below with an upturned face, hoping and not hoping that John would see something. His thoughts and feelings about what could be waiting out there were mixed. Part of him hoped it would be a lumber-some and heavy laden merchantman. Another part of him recognized that it was just as likely to be a warship, for England and The Netherlands were in conflict with Spain and France, and the Watch Dog, so recently in service to the latter, might be drawn into armed conflict. He finally decided that he wanted John to find nothing at all.

"Let it be a shooting star..." he whispered to himself in the darkness.

John was also whispering to himself. He was chanting the mantra of all lookouts everywhere. "Where...are...you...? Show...yourself..."

He repeated this again and again, searching in vain for that solitary speck which had so distracted the Quartermaster to his uneven paces. He was just concluding that nothing of note would be found when he chanced to see something that stopped his spyglass mid-sweep. It was less of an object and more of a hole. The curve of that great belt, The Milky Way, was interrupted along the thin razor edge of darkness that made up the horizon. There, where the stars should have been uninterrupted, but for the curve of the Earth, lay a shadow. It passed between them and the stars beyond. At first it seemed liked little more than the inconstant twinkling of the stars themselves, but they didn't twinkle. Something along the horizon, something just tall enough to reach beyond that curved edge, was blocking out the stars as it moved.

"Send the Quartermaster up with his glass." He hissed to the decks below.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The QuarterMaster heard the harsh whisper of the main lookout and stepped over to the binnacle where he took a moment to select which glass would do him the best service, his own or the ship's glass. His was good, with a clear set of lenses, but the ships glass had more powerful optics. Finally he took both, more weight to carry up the mast, and it would leave the quarter without a glass for the moment. He tucked his glass into a pocket and slung the larger one over his shoulder on its lanyard. maing his way to the waist and to the shrouds of the mainmast he started to climb with nervous energy. His gut seldom proved wrong, and now Young McGinty may prove it right. Dorian climbed steadily up past the crows nest, up to the perch where the young man waited.

"Aye John... What ye see?"

[William Brand]

John pointed to a location as fixed in his mind as Gibraltar.

"Just there... Sah. I make it to be a ship of some magnitude. She's far off yet, but already she blots out the stars."

He raised his own glass again to be certain he hadn't invited the Quartermaster aloft for nothing. Down below, Mister Morgan put his head in at the galley. He interrupted the Captain and Cook mid-laugh.

"Beg pardon, Sah. Lookouts have called the QM aloft."

"Oh...?" William said, setting a large mug aside. "Thank you Mister Morgan. Mister Gage."

William took up his hat and went out upon the deck. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust. After a time he could make out two men in the main cross tree. Mister Morgan stood close by with his face turned upwards for news from above.

"Mister Morgan, please fetch up the Master-at-Arms."

"Aye-aye, Sah."

[Dorian Lasseter]

John pointed to a location as fixed in his mind as Gibraltar.

"Just there... Sah. I make it to be a ship of some magnitude. She's far off yet, but already she blots out the stars."

Dorian followed suit once he had braced himself well, first with the ships' glass. He scanned the spot McGinty had pointed out. Sure enough, there was something there. He focused the glass as best as it would, not only was it too dark to make out details, but it was too far in the distance. Never the less he changed over to his personal glass, focused it and continued to scrutinize the phantom.

"She be a ship alright... too big a shape ta be somat small like a sloop r' some such... can't tell fer sure, but mebee t'gallants..."

He studies the shape a bit longer...

"Mister McGinty... what can you see?"

The young man cleared his throat and peered through his glass.

"I see... a ship... masts look ta be tall enough for t'gallants, like ye said... Merchant maybe? "

Mr. Lasseter chuckled.

"Yer hopin' she's a merchant... I can't tell if she's wallowin' along r' if tis just how th' sea's tossin' us n' her around... A fine job McGinty.... fine job... keep a sharp eye now..."

John smiled at the QuarterMaster and touched his forelock. Dorian nodded and started down to the deck...