The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

As Miss Smith struck the colors of the Maastricht, William gave the deck over to Mister Warren and went to the waist of the Watch Dog. Here he met with some of the Dutch who were trying to do to the 'Dog, what they were doing to the Maastricht, but for their part, the Dutch made a poor show of it. William, not the finest swordsman ever to cross blades, still managed to dispatch a sailor with little effort. The man he struck down looked overwhelmed, and indeed, William's methods of fighting often surprised men thus. He always closed quickly with opponents, utilizing a reckless style that surprised the unprepared. It was hard to reconcile the abandon of it or defend against the rush of it. William had already killed the first and propelled the dying man into a second, before the third had judged the momentum of the Captain, and the third proved to be better than William in many ways.

First, he had a longer reach, being much taller than the Captain, and William was almost undone by the man's first jabs. Second, the man was armed with a longer blade which added half a foot to his reach. William only just turned the blade away from his chest and then his gut. The man backed him up three full steps as he came on before William would give him no more ground. The Dutchman lunged into a wide swing, and William set it aside by deflection. This altered the balance of reach, for William stepped so close to the man that he could not employ his weapon to any immediate advantage. The man had enough presence of mind to draw a knife as this happened and William only just caught it in the basket of his own blade, ignoring the damage that it did to his hand in doing so. Then William grappled the man by his sword arm with his left hand while punching the man in the face with the basket of his cutlass. The man's nose disintegrated and William cut the man's arm deep below the elbow.

Bill Flint shot William's second attacker who had recovered enough to come upon the Captain's flank. The man went down screaming with his ear and some of his face gone. William offered his only mercy of the battle then by drawing a second a Jacobean to end the man's suffering, but Miss Tribianni had shot him before the Captain could pull back the hammer.

William went to the bulwark rail trailing a thin, interrupted line of his own blood.

[Dorian Lasseter]

"Kapitien o' th' Maastricht! You are lost! Strike an' save yer men! Strike I say, Strike yer colours damn you!"

The only response was a rallying cry from the officers of the Fluyt to their men. They responded with a cheer that was less than earlier. The battle on deck continued for a time, until a shout went up, the shout of 'quarter'... Looking aft the proud colours of the Dutch were settling to the deck.

"Give quarter! Give quarter Watch Dog!"

Captain Brand yelled at his crew of boarders, and the call was taken up by the QuarterMaster.

"Quarter has been called for! Give quarter to those who now surrender!"

As the call went up and the colours of the Fluyt lay half over the stern, the sound of swords being dropped to the deck was heard. And a cheer from the Boarders and those in the Watch Dog's shrouds and on deck went up. Dorian brought up the tip of his sword and looked at it. It was covered in drying blood and gore. He was about to wipe it off on a dead man but stopped when he realized he was being watched by others, and it would be uncooth to do so. He shook his head and almost smiled at what he was about to do, until he recognized the dead man at his feet. Lawrence Dinwiddie lay in a pool of his own blood, dripping from a slash across his neck and a bullet hole in his gut.

"Ahhh... Dinwiddie... poor soul... "

Fire returned to his eyes as he looked for the officers of the Dutch ship. As he looked around he saw others of the 'Dog injured. Hungerty had his jacket and shirt torn open and his right arm cradled in his left and had blood clotted on his lower leg... Marchande had blood dripping from a head wound, but appeared fine. Woodington walked with a limp as blood ran down his left leg and soaked his stocking. He loomed over the surrendered crew until he came upon a man in better clothes and a look of disdain and contempt on his face.

"You be Kapitien? Eh? Speak up man!"

.

The man's eyes narrowed and he drew himself to his full height, yet did not answer. Dorian sighed... Turning his crew he gave orders to secure the prisoners and all the weapons to be had.

"Take them to the fo'cs'tle while I see what I c'n do 'ere..."

He turned back to the Captain of the Masstricht and then looked to the quarterdeck of the Watch Dog. He expected to see Willaim standing there, but he was not. For a moment a feeling of fear gripped him. Had William been struck down? Dorian looked about the deck and caught sight of Willaim finally. He was crossing the gap between the ships and was on his way to where the QuarterMaster stood.

[William Brand]

Many of the remaining crew members, not already aboard, crossed to the Maastricht to secure the prisoners. William paused in the waist of the fluyt as did Paul Mooney, for the stricken form of Lawrence Dinwiddle lay in their path.

The sound which came out of Paul Mooney then, when he discovered the death of Lawrence Dinwiddle, would be remembered by everyone who heard it that day. It came out of the man like rustling leaves in a hollow and it was as wounded a sound as can be made by one who has lost a brother. He came upon Lawrence with his weapon drawn and he made an attempt to put his cutlass away twice, but failing this, he simply let it fall to the deck, where it clattered. He looked grave and even his color managed to look worse than Dinwiddle's, who lay broken and pale. He knelt and cradled the lifeless body of his damaged friend and did not hide the tears that came at once, streaming down for several silent minutes. The tears made tracks in Mooney's face, which was blackened from smoke and spattered with its share of spent blood. Paul and Lawrence had been born just days and a few houses apart. There had never been a day where the two of them had not known one another. They were brothers to each other, for neither of them had known a real brother, having had only sisters. They were friends born of the same poverty and of the same fortunes. They had joined in every decision in their lives from their first memories until now. Every choice. Every ship. Every adventure.

While this piteous scene played out, William crossed the Maastricht's and surveyed the deck to sort out his fallen own. He noted the injuries among the crew, but soon counted himself lucky to see only one from the 'Dog among the dead. Some of the others might die from their injuries yet, but his faith in the Doctor made this possibility a weak one.

His cutlass was still out when he approached the Captain of the Maastricht, and he made no effort to put it away, despite the obvious lack of cause. He carried it with him unsheathed, trailing a spotty line of his own blood as he went. William looked at the man without speaking for a very long time. Then he noted that the First Mate of the Maastricht was wearing a coat.

"Your coat, sir." William asked, holding out his unarmed hand, and when the man looked uncertain, William remembered the necessity of language. "Uw laag."

The man looked at his Captain, who nodded to him. The First Mate stripped it off and passed it to Captain Brand, who in turn bore it over to cover Lawrence Dinwiddle.

Paul never stopped cradling the body, even as William covered the staring, upturned eyes, and William stood a moment with his hand resting on Paul's head. No words were shared. No condolences given. What might he have said, then, that would not have sounded empty or galling? William kept his tongue, for he had no intention of vexing the silent mourner with empty sympathies. He stood there, not only for Paul, but for himself. He needed the time to collect himself. To return from barbarian to officer. He needed the moment to set the cruelty aside for the civilization required of him over the next few minutes and hours.

The battle was ended, but not replaced with peace. Peace came by negotiation, and William was already setting the terms in his mind.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The QuarterMaster watched as Captain Brand headed aft to where he stood with the Captain of the Maastricht. He watched as William demanded the coat off of the one officer and drapped it over the form of Dinwiddie. Dorian did not feel a pang of sorrow, yet. Instead he turned to the remaining officers of the Fluyt and gave them a stone faced stare... his gorey sword tip tapping on the broken rail at the break in the deck. It was a slow deliberate tapping, as if to say it's work had not been done...

[William Brand]

William returned to the Captain of the Maastricht.

"I am Captain William Brand." William said in his clearest english. "Have you an understanding of this tongue?"

"Yes." he returned, removing his hat. He looked at William with an auspicious eye, for as a Dutchman, he new the name of William Brand, but not the man. "I am Kapitien Meeuwsen Abel den Oven."

"Kapitien." William said with a nod, his tone polite, if not a little distracted. "May I introduce my friend and the Watch Dog's Quartermaster, Mister Dorian Lasseter."

They exchanged acknowledgments and den Oven made a point to introduce his First Mate, Matthys Loerwairt. Then William continued.

If you will gather your papers, I..."

"My sword, Kapitien." den Oven interrupted, offering the handle of his weapon to William. "The Maastricht is yours."

William nodded at the formality. "You may keep your weapon, Kapitien. I have as many as I may every need. I will meet with you and your officers aboard the Watch Dog once I have buried my dead. You may see to your own."

"My gratitude, Kapitien Brand." den Oven said, and he seemed a little surprised by the polite formality which William visited upon him. Perhaps he had expected an altogether different man. The stories of the man known as "Red Wake" and "Hollande" were wild and varied, and few, if any, painted the man in a civilized light. Still, given the recent destruction to the fluyt, den Oven remained cautious and prepared, even as William dismissed them to their dead.

William called Mister Pew over and the Master-at-Arms came forward from where he and Eric were already collecting weapons from the Dutch. He had a cut under his chin which had bled much, though the injury was small. He still wore the 'business before all else' expression that he had worn since the beginning of the engagement, and William was glad to see it there.

"Once you have gathered all their weapons, see them stored here aboard the Maastricht in their own armory with two marines posted. You may rearm the marines with shot and powder. The prisoners are to be kept forward on the weather decks."

"Aye, Sah."

"It is good to see you unharmed." William added, extending his hand as if to shake Mister Pew's, but realizing there was much too much blood across his hand. Mister Pews plucked up the end of a fallen sailor's sash and used a working knife to cut off a swatch, which he handed to William. "Thank you, Mister Pew. See that nothing is disturbed for the present. The lads and lasses can have their spoils after we have seen to the dead."

"Aye, Cap'n."

William turned again to Mister Lasseter and invited the Quartermaster to join him at the quarterdeck of the Masstricht. There he took up a dipper, and fetched up water, though he plucked a splinter or two from it.

"May you live to be a hundred, and may I live to sing at your wake."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian walked to where William stood profered dipper held out. He stabbed his sword into the deck and reached out for the offered drink.

"On'y a hundred, William?"

He said with all seriousness, waiting to see what expression William's face would betray. After a moment Dorian slowly smiled.

"Aye... May th' devil know yer dead an hour after yer wake..."

He slowly drank down the water and handed back the ladle to William.

"A days work... but not yet done... Shall I gather some lads n' 'ave the Patricia over th' side? See about th' cutter yonder?"

[William Brand]

"Let them stew in wonder for a moment." William said looking towards the Heron, and he himself stewed in it for a moment, for there the Heron stood for the taking, almost undamaged . He drank from the dipper and then looked up at Dorian again. "Who fell before?"

"Thomas Fitch. Struck by round shot."

"Ahhh." William said, nodding, having not numbered all the younger men in the count. "An unexpected day. A prevailing day."

"Aye. And more to do yet."

William looked around the Fluyt. The ship was badly damaged and strewn with shattered wood, but a prize nonetheless. The ship was theirs and already a pile of arms had formed with Mister Pew and Mister Franklin. William turned to Dorian again. "I've utterly lost the reckoning of the hour."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian nodded and looked about the quarterdeck of the fluyt... he stepped over and picked up the shattered remains of a sand glass...

"Hmm.... last I recall... it were... two... three bells o' th' forenoon?"

He looked into the sky a moment.

"Must be near th' end o' th' watch.... or into the afternoon by now..."

Mr. Lasseter dropped the glass with a thud and more of the glass shattered. Walking back to William, he grabbed his sword hilt and jerked it out of the deck.

"I's actually serprized th' cutter struck wi'out much fight... lest tha' shot took all 'er officers... "

Again Dorian looked about the deck and kicked some debris around. Near the binnacle he found a spyglass. the main lense was cracked, but it was still serviceable. He pointed it towards the Heron and squinted in the light bouncing off the water... Thier on the deck were several crewmen staring back at the two larger ships locked together. One had a glass to his eye and as the two saw each other doing such, the man on the cutter dropped it from his eye and gave a weak wave.

"Huh.... don't see much fight in 'em... got a wave from a lad there..."

[Black Syren]

It did not take much to realize the fight was over or was it? she refused to take burning eyes from the scene played below her and kept her musket at the ready and aimed on those below. She could see Ciaran and several of the others also still at attention. Closer to the back of the group of sailors of the fluyt there was a little whispering and she motioned to Ciaran to keep watch just in case. Afterall the Cutter was still about seemingly defeated as well. The only thing she could do was to keep watch over her fellow crew mates back.

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin’s breathing became less labored and her heart beat slowed as the battle played and replayed through her mind. How had she survived? The efforts of the strangers she called shipmates, men and women she barely knew, many she had never been introduced to. Her hands shook as the frenzy from the battle subsided and reality set in. She forced herself to focus on her cutlass, wiping it on the leg of her breeches and sheathing it with effort. Looking over the deck at the dead, injured, and wounded she wondered at what she had done. She began to tremble. She inspected herself, both hands covered in blood; the cuffs and lower sleeves of the over sized shirt she wore, heavy with blood; her own blood staining her shirt where a blade had found her torso; she was spattered with blood from head to toe. The warm body that lay before her twitched as the crimson stain at her feet grew. Her head began to reel, her stomach churned, knees growing week she lowered herself to rest on her heels. Starring unblinking beyond all within her view, she hugged her knees and began to rock. She could not have imagined so much carnage. No nightmare compared.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

As soon as quater was called for and surrender assured, both Captains meeting and pausing to see to the dead, Tudor made her way back to the Dog. Her help would be needed. She took no notice that the better part of her shirt sleeve was stained crimson and stiff.

Upon seeing that there was more then enough crew to see to the few departed members, Tudor turned her attention to tasks requiring more specific attention. Provided that the Cutter gave full surrender as easily as they had struck colours, then the ward room would need to be readied for the meeting of captains and officers in short order. The table would need to be set and refreshments made ready. Duties did not stop in the face of battle, and while the loss of crew was mourned, the way of things went on. . ..

[William Brand]

William gave the command of the Maastricht over to Mister Lasseter as they wandered back amidships. It was a somewhat crippled command, for the ship was badly abused. Mister Youngblood had done good service with his diminished gunnery crews, tipping the balance of power in the fire fight.

The damage inflicted upon the fluyt was no more self evident then on the gun deck of the Maastricht, for the deck was a pile of broken carriages and overturned great guns. The deck and rails were as shattered as many of the departed gunnery crews of the Dutch. Bloodied sand was in no short supply. Bodies were being gathered along the Larboard rails, where the least of the ship's damage afforded them some space along the deck. The fore mast lay everywhere, utterly destroyed in the barrage, but for a few yards and the length of trunk still propped through the deck. Many of the Dutch dead were being rediscovered, crushed below the heavier timbers. Round shot was loose everywhere, and clusters of grapeshot were still sliding about gathering clotted sand. The Maastricht's best bower had sunk to depths unknown, taking the Starboard cathead with it. The beckets and bollards of the main mast were everywhere and the main's Starboard chainwale had split lengthwise so that the chain plates and turnbuckles of the main lower shroud were all separated.

Still, despite all of the damage above, there was little if any damage below. The Maastricht remained intact below here waterline, and her rudder was thankfully unharmed, so she could be salvaged and sold without much time lost at sea in the repairs. She was an older vessel in design, but large enough to be valuable at a time when ships were not only required, but coveted. She was not much longer or larger than the 'Dog, but with modifications, she might bear considerably more guns.

Rummy came up from below as the Captain and Quartermaster made their last round on the weatherdeck, and she reported that the bilge was taking on a little water, but a careful attention to the pumps would stave off any trouble until they could get the Maastricht to port. The few leaks she had sprung had come from the general and overall impact to the ship's frame. The Maastricht had buckled a little under the heavy assault of close quarter hits. The caulking and timbers were weakened lengthwise along the Starboard side of the fluyt, but Rummy still seemed well assured that the Maastricht would sail to Martinique without peril.

"The stern post and rudder seem intact and the tiller is unhindered all the way to the helm." she finished explaining to the officers.

"Thank you. Any sign of their carpenter?"

"The Dutchie carpenter is dead, Cap'n. He has a more than a few splinters stuck through him."

William and Dorian nodded, for the irony was not lost on them. "Perhaps the Carpenter's Mates can be found."

"Or a carpenter aboard th' Heron." The Quartermaster added.

"Aye." William agreed with a small smile, noting that Dorian was still anxious to go aboard the cutter. He was about to give the Quartermaster leave to take the small boats over, when his eyes fell on one of the prisoners forward.

"You there!" he called suddenly, walking over to him as he called. Then he added his own simultaneous translation. "U daar!"

William crossed to where the man stood, finding a familiar face among the Dutch. The man was bloodied, a fair sized cut running across his nose and one eye, but still familiar. "You were on the Danzig." he said in english, not bothering to translate what he knew might probably transcend the language barrier. When the man did not respond, he repeated it again.

"Ja." the man said, having caught the gist of it. William glanced about until he had found at least three more Danzig faces, and at first he was glad to see them, but then a little anger and even confusion set in. They had rescued the Danzig Trader several weeks back and he had not thought to see them again so soon, if ever, especially among the opposing ranks of antagonists. William pointed at one of the others.

"You're...Dunwalt."

"Ja...yes."

"What the devil brings you here?"

The man paused, not from any hesitation born of caution, it simply took him a moment to frame his answer. "Ve are...de..de pers ganged?"

William nodded, sympathetic at once, for that made sense. It was war time, and pressgangs were everywhere, in every port. The Danzig Trader would have been little more than a hulk when she arrived at Montserrat, so the English and Dutch had simply grabbed up these extra sailors and pressed them aboard the Maastricht. William looked out towards the Heron with an altered regard.

"How many old faces will we find there, I wonder." he said to Dorian. "Take Mister Pew and the Starboard marines to the Heron and find me some answers, Mister Lasseter."

[Pew]

As the smoke settled and cleared, it was evident the amount of damage done was tilted in favor of the Watch Dog. Our marines had begun to clear the deck of weapons and create one large cache. Mister Roche stood diligently above the ever growing pile at his feet as Mister Franklin and myself walked amongst the dead and wounded prodding for any hand that may still be upon a trigger, hiding and waiting for that moment. Most of the powder and shot had been run out and the blood upon the deck of the fluyt had damaged what powder may have been salvagable. The Marines kept a close watch on the prisoners being rounded up when we over heard our Captain raise his voice and call for our brigands to join the Quartermaster.

"Take Mister Pew and the Starboard marines to the Heron and find me some answers, Mister Lasseter."

[Dorian Lasseter]

"Aye Cap'n..."

Dorian nodded and turned to find the Master-at-Arms to gather the marines of the starboard watch. Mr. PEW was crossing the deck headed to where He and the Captain stood. Mr. Lasseter was about to touch his hat with his hand but realized he still held his sword. He went to sheath it but the dried gore on the blade would not allow it, so he remained standing with naked steel in his hand.

"Mister Pew... Gather th' Star'b'd Marines.... we're off ta secure th' Cutter... Mister Badger! Ready th' Patricia!!!"

He yelled across to the Watch Dog's Boatswain, who yelled back a hearty 'Aye!' and turned to the remaining crew, bellowing the orders given. Mr. Pew was rounding up the marines and they all followed the QuarterMaster over to the mother ship. Once aboard, they all pitched in to ready the Patricia, eager to see what awaited them aboard the Heron. Dorian turned to Mr. Pew and spoke quietly.

"Pew... I'd like th' marines rearmed, full supply o' charges an' loaded muskets afore we depart. I'll need a brace o' ships pistols as well..."

Mr. Pew grinned widely and knuckled his brow. He turned and headed below, snagging Geoffery Wayne along the way. Dorian then spied the Master Gunner and called him aside.

"Mister Youngblood... when th' Patricia is over th' side, I want Castor n' Pollux loaded wi' grape, ready ta go... an' four extra charges at th' ready..."

"Aye Mister Lasseter."

Again a forehead was knuckled and a man set to his duty. Soon the Patricia was rigged out and headed over the side. Dorian eyed the Heron all the while, watching for and deception he might see from the deck. He thought to head to the Holy Ground and pick up a spyglass, but time was short. Again he realized he still held the Mortuary sword unsheathed. Raising the point, he looked down the length of the blade. It was nicked several times and black with bloody gore. At some point he had sheathed his work knife, for it was now semi glued into it's scabbard, being covered in the same. He looked about for a way to clean off the blade so he might place it to rest, He thought to draw a dipper of the fresh water barrel on deck, but that water was need for better things than cleaning a blade. So he continued to hold it bare. The Patricia was now over the side and in the water, the swivels placed and loaded, the marines filing over the side to fill her. Mr. Pew headed down and Dorian followed him into the sternsheets. Dorian had Mr. Pew take the tiller, while he dragged his sword through the water, cleaning what would come off in that way. It took little time to sail the Ship's Cutter the distance to the Heron. As they approached there were many faces staring at them, as the closed the gap, not all looked friendly. Some looked sad, others almost elated, while others down right angry.

"Marines... at th' ready incase o' resistance..."

Muskets were hefted into a 'port arms' position, and most had a thumb ready to pull the cock back fully. As they drew close the QuarterMaster hailed them.

"Ahoy th' Heron! I am Mister Lasseter, th' QuarterMaster o' th' Watch Dog, come ta peacibly accept yer surrender! What say you?"

A man of middling height stepped to the shattered rail and cupped his hands.

"Mister Lasseter... Our Captain's not long for this world, soon ta foller th' first officer... "

He turned away, nodded, then turned back.

"Captain give ye permission to come aboard, we'll give ye no trouble..."

Dorian stood and gave a shallow bow, touching the brim of his hat.

"I thankee fer that... "

They bumped along side and hooked onto the main chains. The QuarterMaster stepped abaord first followed by the marines and Mr. Pew last. The crew, or what was left of the crew of the Heron stood as a mass of humanity against the far rail. Some stood at leasure, others with crossed arms defiantly, and others at military attention. Dorian surveyed them, and his own men who stood in a line opposite the crew, muskets held in a threattening manner. Mister Lasseter found the man who spoke to them, he touched his hat and spoke.

"Dorian Lasseter, at yer service... "

"Andries Weers, Cox'n's mate... Cox'n's dead, along with th' other officers who ain't wounded..."

"Aye... where is yer captain?"

"Over here..."

Weers held out his arm and walked aft the handful of steps to the quarterdeck, or what was left of it. There lay the captain, a young man held a neckerchief on the dying mans chest stained red...

"Captain Stoneburrows, may I present Dorian Lasseter, QuarterMaster of the, Watch Dog?"

The man was grey yet still lived. With all his strength he lifted a bloody hand and held out his sword to Dorian, who stepped up and knelt by the man, gently taking the blade offered and bowing his head. The Captain made to speak, but only a rattle issued from his throat followed by a racking cough, producing crimson on his lips.

"Take yer ease, sir... no need ta speak... Ye will die with yer honour intact."

The Man's eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth.

"Go to hell, you irish bastard... "

The look on the QuarterMasters face was as if he'd been punched soundly in the face. For some time he remained speachless and motionless, but for the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. His eyes locked on those of the dying man. Finally he slowly stood and gave a stilted bow and stepped away.

"Mi.. Mister Pew... 'ave two marines collect the weapons and secure th' crew for'ard..."

"Aye, Sah!"

"Mister, Weers... yer captain... I...."

Weers nodded slowly at Dorian loss for words and stopped with a hand held up. He looked the QuarterMaster up and down.

"You seem honourable enough to me to speak my mind... Captain Stoneborrows is not loved by his crew... a harsh man with a short temper..."

Dorian nodded slowly and was about to speak when a wimpering voice spoke up from the quarterdeck.

"Captain's dead! Heaven help 'im, he's dead!"

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin closed her eyes. Concentrating on nothing but her breathing she forced herself to be still then stand. There was nothing she could do now, there was no replacing the lives she had taken and no replacing the innocence that was taken from her. She opened her eyes, no, it hadn't been a nightmare. The body in front of her now lay still. Squaring her shoulders she surveyed the deck of the Maastricht. Fellow crew members swiftly lifted the corpse and spirited it away to lay with the others they had gathered. The arms of the Maastricht's crew were piled midship. Several yards away a man silently clung to a lifeless body. The Captain and Quartermaster had already taken possession of the Maastricht, prisoners were being held on the forecastle, the Marines had moved back to the Watch Dog and the Patricia was being lowered to the water. Murin gathered her strength. The tableau of the mourning sailor and his fallen comrade tugged at her emotions. Even these hearty men, these hardened seafarers experienced the pain and loss and were moved to grieve. Two additional crew members from the Watch Dog stood not far from Mooney trying to decide how best to proceed, waiting to collect the body that Mooney clung to. She recognized the grieving man from the Watch Dog. He was one of the few she had actually had an opportunity to converse with. Paul Mooney had fallen ill the day the Dog had claimed La Blanquilla and was brought to the doctor. She made her way to the lad.

Laying her hand on Pauls shoulder she lowered herself to one knee. He did not look up. Tears no longer flowed from his eyes. He simply sat there cradling the man shrouded the blue frock-coat. "Pooul." Murin moved her hand to his jaw and gently compelled him to look at her. He opened his eyes and turned his head towards the lass. "Pooul, cm'way." Paul simply looked at her as if she had uttered the words in Gaelic. Their eyes locked for a long silent moment. He heaved a sigh and gently laid Dinwiddle on the bloodied deck. There was nothing Murin could say or do to ease the pain, she hoped she could help him with the burden. She took Pauls hand and they stood in unison. The two tars that had been waiting carefully lifted Dinwidie's lifeless body and headed across the gang plank to the Watch Dog. Murin and Paul joined in solemn procession. The man following like a child the woman leading as one lost.

[Alder]

Interjecting amid the rabble mutterings of despair and confusion a new tone resonated

"Permit me to introduce myself Sir, Alder Wenge, carpenter’s mate” the tall, sinewy man presented in a respectful though somewhat defiant tone. I serve Mister Aimsworth and the needs of the Heron and her Captain. I have no quarrel with you Sir, save the carnage to these vessels you have wrought.

“Mister Wenge!” came the curt bellow from the bronzed and broken carpenter of the Heron, John Aimsworth as he painfully grappled into the discussion.

“I shall speak on behalf of the needs of this ship.” he winced as he curled a bloodied fist. Wenge knuckled and stepped subordinately aside. Although taller and of more robust character, It was not Alder’s intention when he set aboard the Heron to enter into neither battle nor negotiation. Instead, he sought refuge amongst the seaward timbers escaping unspoken torment he left ashore in England. Content with his role tending the very essence that carried men to and from despair, he toiled until the sun failed him each day. Though on this day, it seems the eve would fail to offer respite to either labor or his sequestered anguish.

[Black Syren]

*My yahoo is not working for some reason*

As the Patricia was lowered and rowed to the cutter she loked back to the small group at the back of the prisoners on the fluyt. There was definitely talking going on but perhaps it was from their capture, or the loss of a comrade.

She glanced over to the cutter her musket still at ready and waited....

She could not hear what was said but she could see a tall gent make himself known to Mr. Lasseter and then step down as another approached. Apparently it was over but her ears still rang from the cannonfire and she glanced back to that small knot of sailors on the Fluyt, maybe it was nerves but she was not liking the congregation at all.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the QuarterMaster stood and listened to the sad announcement of the captain’s passing, murmurings from the crew became louder. Some crossed themselves and others seemed to give a sigh of relief. One man stepped forward and introduced himself as the Carpenters mate and was quickly admonished by the Master Carpenter. Dorian’s eyebrows peeked as this exchange happened.

“I be th’ Master Carpenter, John Aimsworth… “

He spoke with venom in his voice and some pain crossed his face.

“Mister Aimsworth… I be Dorian Lasseter, QuarterMaster of yon ship, Watch Dog. Report yer damages…

The Carpenter winced with pain again as he straightened up and again gave Mr. Lasseter a resentful look.

“Take a look yerself, QuarterMaster…. Most o’ the rigg been shattered, th’ tiller split and th’ sails shredded.”

Dorian looked about as the man spoke and observed all he said and more. He slowly nodded and centered his eyes on the man.

“Then there be much work ta do, ta make ‘er worthy again… Right then. Crew o’ th’ Heron! All those able put yer ship ta rights. Gather yer dead n’ wounded fer burial and treatment o wounds. Otherwise yer ta be confined in th’ hold til we reach port. Aye, ye be prisoners o’ war. Have ye a surgeon aboard? “

Dorian looked at all the faces staring back at him waiting for some response…

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor stopped short upon reaching the ward room. She had been so intent on the battle on hand, that she didn't stop to notice if any damage had been done to the Dog. And while the damage done was of no serious consiequence, a room with blown out windows was not likely to be the choicest of places for the negotiations. In fact, there wasn't one thing in the ward room that resembled any sort of order. "time to improvise" she nodded resolutly and started pulling a few chairs out of the dissarray that was the furnishings of the room. She quickly made plans to set up on deck once all had been cleaned from debris, but she would need help to move everything, and would need the captain's go-ahead. She went topside again to see how everything went and when she could expect some aide, then headed back towards the fluyt to see the captain. As she was making her way to the captain's location some dutch faces registered, the cook Cuylemburch, and a few able seamen halster - and the other one, she thought his name was Blikenderfer. She always had an uncanny knack for remembering names and faces. It was what made her so good at her job.

[William Brand]

William paced the fluyt from stem to stern. He noted the damage to the fluyt in his mind, careful to site those items of value which he would use as leverage during the sale of the prize. The math of war had evolved to an accounting of prizes, and William counted the cannons as he moved along the deck. He was almost finished with this stock taking when the Watch Dog's Steward presented him with her plan to assemble tables and chairs on the gun deck of the frigate, instead of the Ward Room.

"That will serve, Miss Smith." the Captain agreed, but even as she saluted and turned away, he called her back again. "Have same water pumped up to the gun deck and see it washed down well before we come aboard again.

"Aye, Captain."

[Alder]

“prisoners o’ war...”, the resonance of these words sliced past the frequent and familiar reproach of the Master Carpenter. Although his diligence and uncompromising attention to detail estranged him from his senior officer, Alder considered himself a patient man with great countenance toward the Master Carpenter’s wanting character. The apprentice awaited command amid the turbulent uncertainty of his circumstance and that of the craft. In this haze, the boisterous voice of his father harkened.

“Work with thy hands?” he grasped his son’s calloused palms firmly within his own. “Son, these hands were meant to grasp books and concepts beyond that of commoners, not to ply a trade.” “Shall years of instruction be cast to the wood pile” he gestured abruptly to the heap of shavings and scrap surreptitiously cloaked behind the summer manor “even as I vie for you a place at Winchester?”

Had he only followed his father’s guidance, he would by now be a practicing barrister. Yet Alder had answered his craving for the gift of the earth from his earliest recollection, content to carve or rest within the boughs of a sturdy oak. He never venturing toward shore save to cast a line or seek out drifting and weathered wood. Alder looked back on his father’s council with veneration, love and respect even as he caught the steady gait of a man of authority traversing the fluyt. There was no regret in his choice.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Coxswain's mate spoke up when Mr. Lasseter asked if they had a surgeon.

"We do... but 'e was knocked senseless by th' main's'l boom when it all came down... "

Dorian nodded, sighed and slowly shook his head.

"Gather yer wounded... I'll see about transportin' 'em o'er ta the ship to our Surgeon and 'er mate... "

"Thank you Mister Lasseter."

The QuarterMaster gave a bow, which was returned by Mr. Weers and he headed off to begin the chores of post battle. Dorian walked across the deck and watched as those able moved the dead into a line, and helped the wounded find a comfortable place to dwell until much was righted. Those who were serverly wounded were laid at the head of the ladderway, and some of those who were ambulatory kept watch over those who were not. No matter how many times he had been in battle, Dorian was still amaized at the damage one properly placed shot could do a ship and her crew. When the number of badly wounded numbered ten, He called over to the Watch Dog.

"Ahoy Watch Dog! I have need to send wounded over as the Heron's surgeon is number'd in them!"

[William Brand]

William went to the rail and called back to the Heron. "Understood, Mister Lasseter. One moment, if you please."

The Captain went to the officers and able seaman standing under guard forward. He found a concentrated rabble of wounded and weary men of every station. William ordered all of the regular sailors and gunnery crews to sit along the sides of the space there. The officers were asked to remain standing at the foremost part of the fo'c'sle. Then words were exchanged back and forth in two languages, until William was satisfied that he understood who passed for their surgeon and how many others had ever treated or tended to wounded men. He found that several officers and a few able seamen had a limited understanding of washing and dressing wounds stemming from experiences prior to the conflict. Their doctor, a less experienced, but able surgeon named Jurriaan Van Zandt was taken aside and William selected two additional seamen from among the Maastricht's crew, careful to pick men he had known from the Danzig. He chose Reind Halster and Simon Dunwalt, both of whom had demonstrated a passable English in times past. He also picked out the Maastricht's First Mate, Bartel Raymer, to join him at the waist of the ship with the two able seaman, the doctor and the Captain. Eric Franklin was careful to remain close to the small group with his musket as they followed.

"I shall have all of the wounded and prisoners brought aboard the Maastricht, Kapitien den Oven." William explained. "These men Which I have chosen shall have the run of the ship, with the understanding that they are prisoners lending aid to their fellows. They will remain within sight of my marines at all times." William said this as much for Eric as for the Dutch, and the Sergeant-at-Arms nodded along with them. "My doctor will see to me and mine first, but I shall certainly make her available to you and your wounded afterwards, if there is still a need. No one else is to move about without instruction. Is that understood?"

"Ja, Kapitien Brand." den Oven said with a polite resignation, and he looked as though the day's events were finally coming home to him.

"Mijn dank, Kapitien. Arts Van Zandt, these men are at your disposal."

"Most kind, Captain." Van Zandt returned in the clearest english William had heard since coming aboard.

William returned to the rail and cupped his hands. "All wounded to be brought aboard the Maastricht, Mister Lasseter! You may send them over at your leisure. Then select laborers for the clearing of debris under guard, if you please."

"Aye, Cap'n!"

"Have they any officers among the dead or dying?"

[Pew]

While our Quartermaster and Captain conversed over several yards or rolling sea our marines were kept to watch over the shifty gaze of many of the new prisoners of war. More than once did the marines have to step closer to the small band huddled at the bow to keep the mutterings to a minimum.

The amount of weapons aboard the sloop was well below the number of hands aboard ship. The smallish pile of arms could not nearly outfit each hand on deck. Should the Watch Dog have grappled with the sloop, the crew would have been easily overpowered. An interesting turn to the days events. With the report of the last of the arms whispered to me, I moved to the edge with Mister Lasseter.

"Mister Lasseter, a word sah," I whispered putting my back to the Masstricht and keeping my eye on the deck, "an inter'sting development sah."

[Dorian Lasseter]

"Aye Cap'n! I'll send a list o'er wi' th' first lot o' wounded!"

Turning away from the rail He spoke with Mr. Weers.

"I trust you to gather pen 'n parchment an' make th' list?"

"Aye Mister Lasseter, by my honour I shall need to go below for those items needed. I shall return quickly."

"Very goode..."

As the Coxswain's mate of the Heron went below, Dorian motioned for the Master-at-Arms. Mr. PEW stepped lively over to the QuarterMaster.

"Mister PEW... I'll be sendin' you n' a couple o' Marines on th' Patricia ta ferry o'er the wounded. Two 'r three should be well enough ta handle 'er I should think."

Mr. PEW nodded and knuckled his brow, heading to pick who would go.

As the Master-at-Arms departed his company, a small group of sailors stood apart from the majority of the Heron's crew. One was a young boy who tugged on Robert Thatcher's waistcoat and pointed to Mr. Lasseter while speaking to him. Thatcher looked at the boy, then at Dorian. He nodded and the boy slowly walked over to the QuarterMaster. He got within six feet of the man and stopped, stood as tall as he could and knuckled his forelock.

"Mister Lasseter sir... Hindrik Saal Kalfkin, powder monkey on Her Madyesties ship Harone... Ah... but we... some of us were on the Dansig Trader when she was found by Kepitain Brand and your ship... We would like to help if you would have us..."

Dorian looked at the boy and back at the group he came from.

"I see... come..."

Dorian walked back to the sailors from which the boy had come. and as he looked at them thier faces began to register. Dorian stopped infront of them and gave a nod.

"So... th' Lad tells me ye wish ta lend a hand..."

All of the men nodded and relaxed some.

"Tell me your names..."

One man who appeared to be the oldest of the small group spoke first, then the others followed.

"Johan Stadtmeyer"

"Jacobus Casteel"

"Loren Huygen Brant"

"Anthony Coipman"

Dorian nodded as each man spoke his name.

"Very well, gentlemen... I would appreciate th' help... I shall trust yer Honour ta behave- "

He was cut off by Stadtmeyer.

"Miester Lasseter... From what I know of you and your kapitain, I speak for us... We would serve under you happily... Kapitain Stoneborrows was a, a miserable excuse for an officer..."

He said this loud enough that some of the other crewmen, some that were loyal to the dead captain shot angry looks at them. He continued.

"We were press.... pressgang onto these ships... "

"I see... not to worry Mister Stadtmeyer... I do believe Cap'n Brand willl be happy ta have ye... Now... under our agreement, please help with the wounded..."

They all snapped off a salute and eagerly headed to do the QuarterMaster's bidding.

Mr. PEW approached Dorian.

"Mister Lasseter, a word sah," I whispered putting my back to the Masstricht and keeping my eye on the deck, "an inter'sting development sah."

"Go on Mister Pew...."