The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

This next question had Mr. Lasseter make several attempts to say who it was, finally he shook his head and shrugged.

“I’m not sure… I know I ‘ad Press, Mooney, Pascal, Ajayi among others wi’ me on th’ foc’s’le when I order’d fer borders ta cross… “

Again he shrugged.

“Musta been one o’ them… mayhaps one o’ th’ lookouts ‘r some such c’n say…”

His brow wrinkled some as he again tried to recall, his only memories after he yelled was that of musket fire and crossed blades, screams of dying men and howls of anger…

[William Brand]

William nodded as he took up his cup again. He too could not remember all that had passed in those moments during the boarding. Whole moments seemed lost. A few significant details had found root, but not many. One such memory, well sowed and alive in his mind, was that of Tudor Smith cutting through Dutch to strike the Maastricht's colors.

"One may be certain, that the unknown boarder shall have but one share of added prize. For the other goes to the Ship's Steward." and he nodded toward the 'Dog's waist, where the brave Steward was now employed in the less glorious task of clearing the bloodied beach of sand there. "She did us good service."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian grinned widely as he remembered giving the special mission to Ms. Smith and heartily agreed.

“Aye, that she did… that she did…. Followed orders to th’ letter…”

[William Brand]

William drained the glass as his eyes fell on the bodies wrapped amidships on the Watch Dog. This sobered him a little from his toasts, yet in this reminder of loss he had cause to revel, for the 'Dog had lost two only against many and William had cause to remember a King.

"None else of name..." he thought to himself, and then, "...and of all other men but five and twenty..."

"Cap'n...?"

William smiled at Dorian, for he had thought to have only said this last part in his head. "Nothing, Mister Lasseter. I must see to this hand of mine and to our dead. I leave the business of the Heron to you, unless you would have the Maastricht for the trip to Martinique...?"

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian took a moment to survey his surroundings… would he wish to captain the battered and broken Masstricht or the soon to be repaired cutter? He chuckled,

“As if ye have ta ask… Th’ ‘eron will soon be back in fightin’ trim… a fine escort fer bringin’ in th’ Dog n’ ‘er grande prize… ‘course we gonna hafta do somat wi’ all these pris’ners in th’ hold… An’ decide how we wanna distribute those willin’ crewmen from th’ prizes…”

He fell silent then as the wheels began to turn in his head, he knew that there was plenty of repairs to be made to the cutter, but not nearly as much as what needed to be done to the fluyt.

“And… we need ta start makin’ repairs afore we loose any more light…”

[William Brand]

William smiled a little and allowed himself a moment to collect himself there in the sun. It felt good to stand and do nothing for a moment. The Heron rubbed against the Maastricht. The two drinks in his guts burned and awoke him from fatigue and spent strength. His hand burned a little less then. William removed his hat and turned to Mister Lasseter and spoke those words coveted by men of sea and action.

"The ship is yours, Mister Lasseter."

"Cap'n." Mister Lasseter returned with a smile as genuine as William had ever seen on him.

"Cap'n." William said back to him, and they clapped arms in Roman fashion. William didn't even mind the pain this awoke in his hand. "You may have Mister Brisbane for your coxswain and Mister johnson for your gunner. I'll have Mister Badger send over a hand picked man for the bosun."

[Dorian Lasseter]

It had been a very long time since the title of ‘captain’ had been placed on him… Not that it mattered, not that he need to be called such, but having that mantle bestowed upon him still caused feelings of great elation.

Dorian nodded several times as William spoke the names of crewmen at his disposal… He looked about the Heron and again noted the damage that needed mending…

“Well then, Cap’n… Send o’er my men soon as can be had ta begin repairs… not that I mean ta keep repairs from the Maastricht, or the ‘Dog fer that matter… just ne’er know what’s o’er th’ ‘orizon waitin’ ta challenge us… “

He drew his hand up with a finger pointed skyward.

“Th’ Carpenter’s mate… a Mister Wenge I believe, is among th’ peaceable crew off the Heron… An’ there are five Dutchmen pressed from th’ Danzig Trader as well… I would think a couple others n’ I’ll be able ta put ‘er right as rain in no time…”

[William Brand]

They spoke a moment on the subject of new recruits, agreeing to except a limited number of the captured crews to work among them as probationary sailors. The work about them required it. Unseen threats over all four horizons required it. Losses aboard ship and recent departures required it, so they parted in understanding. William to his charge. Dorian to his.

William returned to the 'Dog and went to the Ship's Steward. She stood working at the waist alongside a half dozen hard working and tired crew members. Several of them wore their cuts for the day. Many of them would be wearing those cuts for a lifetime. Tudor was no exception.

"Miss Smith."

Tudor brushed a loose strand of hair back from a face and straightened with a tired smile. William marveled that she should be working, for the blood he had failed to see on her earlier was greater now, and she seemed to work without an awareness of her injury. She somehow managed to look alarmingly immortal and fragile then in ways William couldn't put a finger on. Perhaps it was her youth, balanced on the cusp between what came before and all the years that might come after. She was at that age between dreams of future expectation and longing, but before that age when all beg to forget what they have seen.

"Cap'n." she said with a liveliness that escaped the fatigue, ready to receive her next errand.

William turned to the Bosun. "Mister Badger, you have the deck." Then he gestured to the passageway leading aft. She went ahead of him towards the Ward Room, but William paused to put his head in at the surgery.

Tempest was standing at the table within and her face was a silent operation of calm as she worked. She was stitching up a rather nasty looking cut on Owen, who looked a little glassy from rum. Still, Owen managed a strangely companionable smile and William found that he couldn't help but smile back, because he had never known Owen to grin like this. It was the smile of a bloodied man in the aftermath of a battle when he has come to the realization that his hurts are enough to make him feel alive, but not so much to make him dead. William and Owen exchanged a nod and Tempest turned to the Captain. She began to speak as he crossed the room to her, but when he placed an arm around her shoulders for a moment and gave her the smallest of kisses on the side of her head, whatever she had been about to say stopped on her lips. She regarded him half a moment with an unasked question on a raised eyebrow. William gave her the smallest of smiles in answer and whatever either of them was thinking went unsaid. Then William picked up some strips of bandages and went out again, gesturing again for Miss Smith to go ahead of him to the Ward Room.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the two men parted to go about their duties, Dorian first headed back into the wardroom of the Heron and took up some of the parchment that lay on the table. He sorted through it to find some clean sheets and stacked the others in the cabinet, along with the navigational instruments. He picked out the logbook and searched for writing implements, then remembered that Mr. Weers had them last, where they were now he knew not. Returning to the deck, he walked past the ‘Dog’s Marines still on guard duty and off handedly commented that he would be back momentarily. He climbed up onto the deck of the Maastricht, across her waist and onto the Watch Dog. He made his way aft and into the cabin space to his own quarters. He unstowed his hammock and laid it open on his desk. Gathering up several items, he laid them in the hammock and folded it over as a bundle. Hefting this small load he made his way back out the way he came and was again back on the Heron, heading to the wardroom. Once there, he laid out his hammock, removed all he had stored within and set the different items in various locations he saw fit. Looking about he found two rings in the overhead to which he set his hammock. There was a beat up chair next to the desk that had bee knocked over. He righted it and positioned it in front of the desk and sat, opened the logbook and paged to the last entry. It read;

We have spotted a ship of English design flying a flag of the Spanish. She appears undermanned and has tacked to avoid us. I will have her brought back into British hands by this days end, Heaven help me.

Dorian almost chuckled, but instead he sighed.

“Poor bastard… if ye only knew… or weren’t so sure o’ yerself…”

Shaking his head slightly he opened his inkwell, readied his favourite pen and started a new entry.

July 23, 1704

This Ship, the Cutter ‘Heron’ has been captured as a prize of war by the ship Watch Dog under a Letter of Reprisal issued by those of the Spanish Crown.

Capt. D. Lasseter

Happy with the brief remark, he pulled a blank sheet of parchment from the pile and laid it out, thought for a moment and began listing those men whom he would have as his crew for the trip to Martinique.

Coxswain – Mr. Brisbane

Boatswain – Mr. Tucker

M. Gunner – Mr. Johnson

Lookout – Mr. Styles

Seamen – Mr. Press, Whiting, Smyth, McCormick, Roche

Powder monkey – Mr. Godfrey

Cook- Ms. Moore

Seamen from the Heron Willingly employed.

Weers

Wenge

Stadtmeyer

Casteel

Brant

Coipman

Kalfkin

O’Hara

Jameson

O’Madden

Brocke

He looked the list over several times. Happy with it, he stood and headed on deck and walked to Mr. Pew.

“Master-ta-Arms, I shall be rounding up those crewmen I shall be usin’ ta put this ship ta rights an’ sail ‘er ta Martinique… When I return wi’ them, we’ll transfer th’ prisoners off as Cap’n Brand sees fit.”

Mr. Pew gave a short chuckle.

“Aye-Aye… Captain Lasseter…”

Dorian narrowed his eyes at him, then smiled and clapped a hand on his shoulder as he walked away to gather his men…

[Alder]

Although wrought with anguish of frenzied bombardments, the Heron still retained her considerable strength, and maneuverability. Such a consort was prized amongst captures.

Once made right, she would champion another master. Appreciating the daunting tasks at hand, Alder considered the state of his tools and what may have become of them in the frenzy. The wooden chest of burgeoning variety was a development of wisdom and need; a representation of his craft and conscience. A man of due diligence, each blade was kept sharp each handled lovingly oiled to garner strength from grain and defeat the wages of the sea aire. Care of his tools was a matter of personal pride. Alder vividly recalled his immersion in the trade and use of the adze as his master stood before him and coated the blade with chalk.

“Remove the chalk, Lad whtout biting the flesh of this timber ‘er yer own.”, a hearty yet guided chortle followed.

The scent of fresh hewn lumber and its life blood dripping sticky and sweet hung heavy in the air of the shipyard. After many a session, Alder’s agility matched his wit in speed and precision. His eye matched his hand in deed and duty and tool became an extension of the man. A personal inventory rambled through his mind each tool having special purpose and significance to the craftsman. Year of use had engraved his grip upon the handles and his mark upon their service, Mister Wenge’s work and attention to duty could be relied upon with absolute certainty. The Quartermaster, a man of detail in his own right, had seized upon this facility and would not have it idle.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Mister Lasseter went around the Watch Dog and the Maastricht, gathering the crew of the Watch Dog that would temporarily be crew for the Heron. He even took those that were on the Heron already, and had them report to him in the waist of the Watch Dog. There he gave them a briefing of what was to be.

“A’right…. You all are th’ chosen ta be aboard th’ Cutter under my command. Nigel, yer my Cox’n… Lucky Tuck, Bo’sun… Cut Throat, Gunner… Styles, Lookout… Th’ rest as ye are… I also ‘ave a group o’ th’ willing crew from th’ ship as well, so th’ burden ain’t so great. Howe’er, on’y you, of th’ Watch Dog will be armed… they will on’y have what’s needed fer doin repairs and sailin’…. I’ll trust their honour so far, until they prove better, or if we were ta be found in dire straights…

Marines, ‘ave th’ Master-ta-Arms send o’er a portable magazine to which I’ll provide a lock, the one which carries ten musket, ten cutlass, n’ ten brace o’ pistols… tha’ should do us, along wi’ powder n’ shot… Now off ta th’ Heron, relieve yer mates still aboard, yer now of th’ Heron!”

They gave a hearty ‘Aye!’ to the Quartermaster and some headed to the Cutter and others to the ‘Dog’s Armoury. Dorian then made his way about finding all the willing prisoners on his list, sending them aboard the Heron to start repairs.

Finding Mr. Wenge among the crew he called him over.

“Mister Wenge… Yer ta come back aboard th’ Heron ta begin repairs… I’ll ‘ave you an’ Mister Weers head up the crew fer such. Come to me fer wote’er ye need in supplies, be it new line, tackle, what have you… “

The man stood a moment and nodded, then knuckled his brow.

“Aye sir…”

Dorian nodded to him and the man began making his way to the Cutter. Dorian scanned the sea of humanity again and found Mr. Weers helping a wounded man drink from a dipper. Mr. Lasseter waded through the mass and spoke.

“Mister Weers… As much as yer needed here, I have a need fer you elsewhere… come along…”

Mr. Lasseter watched as the Dutchman handed off the bucket to another and started towards him. As he did so, Dorian turned and made his way off to the rail between the Maastricht and the Heron. Moments later Weers joined him there.

“Aye sir, what can be done?”

Mister Weers, you have done me great honour when I first boarded th’ Heron, I ask you do more, as I am now in command of her… I need you and some of yer men willing to sail ‘er under me. But first to repair ‘er damage.”

Mr. Weers looked at Dorian as if he were trying to peer into his soul. Slowly he nodded.

“Aye, Captain… you’ve shown us a good side, I don’t think there’ll be a problem… Who did you have in mind?”

Mr. Lasseter read off the names of the men he had on his list. Mr. Weers nodded and seemed happy with it.

“If you would be so kind as to assemble those men aboard the Heron, I would be thankful…”

“Aye-Aye Captain Lasseter, Sir.”

Weers knuckled his brow and set about finding those crewmen as requested. Dorian turned away and went in search of William, so as to make arrangements to offload the prisoners from the hold of the cutter…

[Alder]

Alder appraised the actions of the man he surmised would become the Captain of the Heron and his newest liege. His allegiance to Andries Weers presented another challenge altogether.

Weers left an all too familiar and uneasy sensation in his gut. The young Cox'n's mate drew too eager to shift allegiance, the haggard reputation of their Captain notwithstanding. Loyalties were forged in flesh and blood and not cleanly resolved even when the essence had escaped its form. Losing the Master Carpenter to injury did not likewise cease his authority. Alder would do what needed to be done for the sake of the Heron and her crew; those alive and those whose spirits would sail with her into eternity.

“Mister Weers, May I seek my tools and appraise a plan with thee to right our gyrl?” Alder voiced in a forced quality of camaraderie.

“Aye, Mister Wenge, carry on I will meet with thee briefly when I have assembled the crew,” he presented straightening himself and looked toward the hastily scrawled list presented by Mister Lasseter.”

Alder expressed some subordination, but was interrupted in taking his leave.

“It seems they will be many a change aboard the Heron” Mister Weers crowed in a self-confidence bordering on righteousness.

“Indeed, Sir” came the humbled reply of a man in transition and uncertainty.

Mister Wenger collected his thoughts as he reviewed the damage that now seemed so close yet in the face of torn flesh, so removed from concern. Much of the deck and structures were peppered with lead, some errant grapeshot would be removed form the cavities well made while others would escape in the wooden coffins in which the lay. Measure by measure the cutter and her constitution would be hune and reformed.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor made her way into the ward room ahead of the Captain, turning up her nose in distaste at the choatic state the room was still in, despite her earlier efforts. Without thinking, she started moving about the room, working on sorting this and that trying to tidy the place. "What did you need Captain?" She shot a smile across the room as she asked.

[Silkie McDonough]

The deck clean now of all blood and nearly all sand Murin took a moment to look around. She was not one to shirk off work but the day was taking its toll on the lass. She stood straight, pushing her shoulders upward and back she held them tight in that position for a long moment then relaxed them enjoying the provided relief to her neck. She twisted her hips one direction and shoulders the other and switched them, finally she arched backwards, stretching the light wound on her side she felt it's sting as she moved. Lifting the mop she attempted to wring it over the edge of the ship but both the pain of the injury and the salt of the sea water in the wound on her hand, reopened yet again, would not allow it. Sheepishly she explained this to one of the lads she had been working with and asked that he assist her. The tall sailor looked down at her with a kind grin “Aye, yul’ owe me!” and winked. Smiling back she hoped that repayment would not be too dear.

What next? She straightened herself again and scanned the deck of the ‘Dog, though far from being in order she saw little that she could lend her single hand to. This seasoned crew knew what needed to be done, but she was not privy to that information. Scanning the Maastricht she could clearly see the damage and disarray. The Heron was damaged also but not so severely. The cutter was much smaller and lighter. She had seen how it could fly over the water. There was a ship she understood. The Watch Dog and the Maastricht were like the ships that use to come into port and leave. She had never stood on the deck of those larger ships as a child and as a woman she had only been transported as cargo. The Heron was akin to the ships that she knew well. Smaller sloops maneuver well in the shallows of the coast lines. They are swift and this cutter was well armed. She did not know if the Huron was taken out of action by skill or luck. She suspected that there was no small quantity of either involved. For a moment she thought to make her way to the Heron. She longed to stand on her deck, feel the sea undulate beneath her bow. Murin closed her eyes and traveled to a time when life was quiet, when she and Aiden had stood at the bow of his father’s cutter looking out onto a sea of endless possibilities. Opening her eyes she looked again over the seas, the possibilities were endless here, only much darker.

Breathing deeply she brought herself back to the moment. She searched the deck trying to decide who she should report to or who might know what she could do. She had been told to report to the boson before her watch so it seemed likely she should report to him now. He was not so easily found. Seeing no way to assist on the ‘Dog, she resolved herself to help with the remaining dead upon the Maastricht .

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian returned to the deck of the Heron and surveyed the change of crewmen on the deck. He also surveyed the line of bodies on the deck waiting to be prepared for burial. They needed to be moved, and the best way was to wrap them in canvas, ready for the journey to the briny deep. Would he release those men in the hold to do the deed, or continue the way things had been and leave it to those already doing so? No, the prisoners had proven themselves to not be trusted. Two men died when they attacked him and one of the pressed men aboard when insult had been issued on their deceased captain. No more physical dissention occurred, but much rumblings persisted. The dead would be taken care of by those already employed with such. He walked down the line of those departed, stopping at the end of the line where the former captain of this ship lay. He stared at the corpse for what seemed like hours, but was only fleeting seconds. His concentration broken as the crew of willing prisoners came aboard. He walked to the small cluster of men and looked them over.

“A’right you men… there be work ta be done… you know this ship… But, ye don’t know me, not yet… I ‘spect a fair days work… Show me what yer made of… “

He stood and waited for a response, none came.

“Very well….. we ‘ave little daylight left, get to work.”

Some of the men knuckled their brow, others nodded, and all of them took in the damage.

“Cap’n, sir… what would ye want done first?”

“Mister Wenge… As th’ carpenter, I need ye ta first repair th’ tiller… Take a mate on and start there.. th’ rest o’ ye… inta th’ riggin’… new lines, spare sails bent on… all else will be done in time… Make it ‘appen…”

Given direction, the men answered with respect.

“Aye-aye, Sir!”

[William Brand]

"What did you need Captain?" She shot a smile across the room as she asked.

"This is not about what I need at all. You have done enough today, in battle and in the aftermath, and you are absolutely relieved from duty for the present." His face was serious, but not angry. He brushed glass away from the stern bench and gestured for her to sit down. "The Doctor is presently employed with wounds more mortal than yours, but I won't have my Steward laboring with wounds untreated. That injury needs dressing until the Doctor can see to it."

William looked down at his own hand. "As does mine."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She looked down at her arm quizzically as she sat, almost as if she had not noticed her wound before. "Oh, that . . ." She said, a small laugh escaping. "Hardly worth mentioning. I've had far worse." She gave an impish grin, then flinched as she poked the reddened area on her sleeve. "Just one more scar to add to the list."

[William Brand]

"Hmm." William said, already rolling back the sleeve of her shirt. The closer he came to the wound, the more the cloth refused the skin. It peeled back slowly from the red and angry area, and while it wasn't a large wound, it was not small either. Fresh blood filled the injury once the linen was peeled away, and William let it run a little before he fetched water to the wound. Once rinsed, he covered it over with a clean dressing and bound it enough to keep it from bleeding too much again.

She winced a little as he worked, but no more than any patient. Most of the time was taken up by conversation, for she seemed anxious to speak, and energetic for one that had fought, bled and worked all in the same day. She regaled him with small talk on the subject of bloodshed and boarding actions. He was surprised enough by a few of her observations and fragmented anecdotes that he stopped to listen more than once. This was not the first or even the second significant engagement of her young life, and like many an eager storyteller, she was glad to have an attentive audience.

"I'm uncertain whether those wounded men who survived your assault today will be anxious or hesitant to speak of it." William observed as he finished the last of the bandage. "Imagine their reluctance. How will they begin a story that concludes at the feet of a woman of seemingly small stature?"

"Small stature...?" she returned.

"Seemingly small." he repeated, smiling. Then he changed places with her so that she might dress his hand better than he had done on the Maastricht.

She peeled away the dark cloth that Mister Pew had given him, and where it had been red before, it was now almost black with blood. Once removed, it revealed a cut that opened the second knuckle of his hand and ran just behind the first knuckle. It was not a deep cut, but the constant use of his hand in action and in conversation had kept the wound open. The scar would probably be a small one if the next few days allowed it time to heal properly, but no serious damage was done to the function or form of his hand.

While she bandaged it, he chose to pass the time as she had, choosing conversation about injuries past. Most of his anecdotes touched on his hands, for a life at sea had left many small scars and whirls in his fingers. There wasn't a sailor aboard that didn't bear at least one profound scar on his or her hands, and William's hands were no exception, but several of his stories were unique enough in geography and content, that Tudor stopped to listen as William had before.

"The day is going." she observed when she was almost done, and William nodded.

"Thank you, Miss Smith. Let a light supper be prepared by Mister Gage and we shall have it under the stars when the dead are buried. Ask Mister Lasseter to join us. Mister Badger, Mister Pew and Miss Fitzgerald may join us if they feel they can come away from other pressing matters. Otherwise, food may be brought to them at their posts."

She returned her thanks mingled with and 'Aye-aye' and went off to the galley to pass along the first of her orders. William went to the quarterdeck to watch the progress of the repairs.

He found that the Watch Dog had already been heavily tithed over the last half an hour as she gave up her spare hemp to the Maastricht and the Heron. Cables and lines of all lengths had gone over the neighboring bulwark rails to strengthen the crippled Maastricht and restore the Heron's rigging.

Rummy and Jacob were still being brought to task with the fluyt, for the fore mast was shattered just below the fore top. The mast could not be repaired here at sea, but between the Master Carpenter and the Bosun, they were rigging a shorter fore by lashing the fore top gallant to the remaining trunk of the previous fore mast. This allowed them a fore of stunted height, but sufficiently tall enough to employ somewhat weakened stays, and redundant ones at that. It also allowed them one sail on the truncated fore and a jib forward to the bowsprit. It was not the Carpenter's prettiest work, but the bosun agreed it would be adequate to move the Maastricht.

Meanwhile, Mister Lasseter had enjoyed much greater success aboard the English cutter, for far less wood was damaged there and the mast which supported all of the rigging was still intact. Repairs there were decided a rope at a time, for some where lashed and braid into one another, while others were replaced entirely. Most of the principle ropes which supported the strain and weight of the sails, where traded out for spare line off the 'Dog, but a great many others were spliced together in as many as eight or nine places.

Mister Morgan was no happier about this there than Mister Badger was about the fluyt's mast, but both men were also as satisfied that they would be able to wrangle these diminished sails into port.

The reports which came to him from the weather decks of both prizes pleased him greatly, for he was anxious, now more than ever, to bring his fortunes into port.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor made her way towards the galley, sparing a glance at her bandaged arm just once. She gave a grim smile, the stories of scars she had shared with the captain putting her in a reminscient mood. But she flinched to remember a few scars who's orgins she had not shared. She touched her back and felt the large ridge across the width of it through the thin fabric of the shirt she wore. She closed her eyes and let her finger's follow it's line, almost as if it were a talisman to ward against ghost from the past and the follies commited previously from leaving more scars.

She entered the galley to find Mister Gage already hard at work, knowing that all would be weary and hungry at the end of the day. Remembering the Captain's insistance at her relife from duty, Tudor smiled at sat herself atop one of the barrels and started to chat with the fine cook, speaking of the days events.

A smile crossed her face when the conversation was interrupted from grumblings in the corner, and she saw young Callie, largely unscarred from the battle, sitting in the corner, fullfilling her duties as cook's assistant and hacking her way through some apples set to accompany the meal. The effort and heart were there, but unfortunatly the skill was not. Some were pared down almost to the core, others had bits of skin still clinging on. "Here lass, lemme show ya. . ." Tudor spoke with a kindly smile, to which Callie turned up her pug nose, her pride smarted, but Tudor just laughed it off, pulled out the small knife she had stowed in her boot and demonstrated. Soon, both were making quick progress, and conversation continued. . .

[Dorian Lasseter]

Time passed, the orb in the sky sank towards the horizon, and the Heron became the fighting ships she once was. ‘Captain’ Lasseter surveyed the work, interjecting here and there, helping with a cable splice, hauling on a line, all the things the former captain of the Cutter would never lower himself to do.

Mr. Weers was at first seeming bitter, as he had been demoted from coxswain’s mate to able seaman, even though he knew they were prisoners assigned to a task. His feelings were slightly soothed as he witnessed the new commander throwing in helping with the work load, but several of the men of the Watch Dog did not, they remained as guards, standing with their muskets about the deck, occasionally looking down into the open hatch of the hold at those prisoners unwilling to do the bidding of their captors, no matter how amiable they were.

Dorian continued about the ship making sure everything was being done with speed and diligence… He felt the fatigue of the day creep up on him, but he tried his best to not let it show. At one point he had relieved himself of the deck, headed to his cabin aboard the Heron and removed his waistcoat, lightening his load. As he removed the garment, he felt many aches. The day had been quite strenuous, and now he knew he had many bruises and who knew what other injuries. He still retained the ships pistols and his sword. He also reminded himself he needed to see Mr. Pew about the repair of one of his dragoon pistols. Back on deck he again surveyed the craft, noting how much better she looked with her rig restored. He again walked to the line of bodies. Someone had put a large piece of folded canvas, probably one of the old, damaged sails next to the lost souls. Again he found himself in contemplation. And again, as usual, he was interrupted, this time by Mr. Morgan.

“Captain Lasseter, sir… All the rig has been repaired, an’ much of th’ hull… She be seaworthy as she ever was…”

Mr. Lasseter smiled at the man.

“Goode news, very goode indeed… Now to a more solemn task… far too long ‘ave these souls waited… gather those men not busy an’ begin ta prepare th’ bodies fer funeral services… Anythin’ ye find on ‘em is ta be laid at their heads an’ I’ll decide wot’s ta be done with it all…”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

Mr. Morgan went off with a brow knuckle and gathered those men required to follow the orders given. Dorian stood at the line for a time longer, until the men approached and began the business of the mortician. He nodded to them and stepped away turning his attention to the sky where the first stars began to appear. With all the goings on, not one bell or watch had been given. Time marched on unaccounted for to the crews of the ships lashed together. His stomach made protest that the hour was past the usual time to sup. He stepped over to the scuttlebutt on deck and doled out a dipper of water, sniffed it and tipped it to his lips. Then another, and another to follow. His thirst temporarily sated he hung the dipper in its place and crossed his hands behind his back, slowly walked to the small quarterdeck where the carpenter and mate had been repairing the tiller. He stood and watched as the repairs commenced…

[William Brand]

With the dead prepared aboard the 'Dog, ready to go down to the depths of their watery graves, William ordered all able seamen not employed aboard the Watch Dog to clear the debris from the Ward Room or gather at the galley to assist Mister Lazarus. The Ward Room was still a dismal wreck of glass and splinters and the galley was undermanned to feed three crews at once. Those gunnery crews which had cleaned the aft gunnery compartment were sent in to clean it again. All other sailors were sent to fetch and carry for the cook.

This done, William crossed to the Maastricht to examine the work there. Her found that much of the repairs necessary to move her would go on into the night, so he continued to the Heron where he found her repairs all but complete.

Once there, he and Mister Lasseter conversed on the subjects of repairs, funerals and prisoners. It was decided between them that the Heron would be moved away from the 'Dog and Maastricht to stand guard over the two ship once the dead were all sent off. "A watchdog for the Watch Dog", as William put it. It was also agreed that the English cutter should be unencumbered by troublesome prisoners, so that she might guard the small navy with greater ease. All of the prisoners would be brought aboard the fluyt. This would allow the galley help to serve all of the prisoners at once and employ more of the marines on one ship.

"Mister Badger shall have the Maastricht, with Rummy to advise him as they go. In this way they may both alter the fluyt as needed without the need to answer to any other officer. I'll send them Mister Pew or Mister Franklin. One or the other shall have charge over the marines to guard the prisoners and the charge over the gun deck there. What say you?"

[Silkie McDonough]

“Murin.” She turned to see Mister Bly hailing her. “Lass, you'r well!"

"Glad I am t'see yer well also." Noticing a large dark blood stain dried on his bicep, "I see someone managed a good swipe at ya'." She reached up and gently inspected the wound. "Ya best b'seein d'surgeon b'fore ya sleep tonight"

Oblivious to her words, delighted to see her Nathan continued, "I’m sorry we were separated and you were left open during the battle.” His eyes shown with the pleasure of seeing her up and about. "I hadn't seen you since their colors were struck. Feared you were in the surgery again."

"Tis no fear, my life was saved by m'mates on many occasion in d'battle but I've d'luck o'd'Irish lad ...ulways safe ya see." she winked at him. "I must admit I felt a bit safer wit ya next t'me." She continued to make her way to the gangplank Nathan walked with her. "I owe a debt to Billy, stopped an ax frum splittin m'skull, e'did. Ner' was I so glad t'see a man struck down as right den! A moment later n'I'd been dead!" Murin did not notice the mix of emotions flash over Nathans face. "N'poor Mister Mooney," she stopped and turned to Nathan, "seems t'ave lost someone close in det lad wot fell on d'Masstricht, near paralized wit greif." She began to walk again.

"Where are you headed Murin?"

"Oh, I ...I had in mind t'help wit d'dead on d'Masstricht. Seems t'be the one ting I ken do det no one else wants t'do." She looked solemnly at the fluyt.

"Aye, must be done I suppose." Nathan took it upon himself to help Murin climb to the gang plank. As she began to cross he called after her "We will sup together later?"

"As we ve been my friend." She waved and continued to the task she had chosen.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian listened as William spoke, nodding slowly at what was to happen soon, funerals, meals and such. He also smiled at the choices of who was to command and further run the other prize.

“I’m in agreement wi’ye, Cap’n… Fine men n’ women fer th’ task… Afore th’ Heron be set free, we’ll need ta see about me willin’ crew o’ prisoners… We must ask th’ questions… they sign th’ Articles r’ head inta th’ hold o’ the fluyt wi’ th’ others…”

[William Brand]

"I'll speak with all the prisoners together on the matter signing aboard once they are moved to the Maastricht. We'll offer them places among us on all three ships. I imagine that many will take to us rather than be taken in by French jailers. Until then, you may take any man at his word...but arm no new recruits for the present."

Patrick Godfrey rushed up to them then. "Beg pardon, Sah. Mister Badger says the for topmast an' fore top gallant is lashed in at the fore mast, Sah. He says he c'n set a fore top there, if you want 'im to, Sah, but she'll be dimish..dinimis..."

"Diminished...?" William offered.

"Aye, Sah. Diminished, Sah."

"You may inform Mister Badger that he need not waste the Master Carpenter's efforts on a lookout for the fore. We'll double the marines aloft on the main."

"Thank you, Sah."

"Have him report to me when the yards are placed, Mister Godfrey."

"Aye, Sah."

[Dorian Lasseter]

“Aye, Cap’n… On’y thing them’s on th’ Heron got r’ work tools… I ‘ad th’ marines I got bring aboard a magazine o’ ships musket, sword n’ pistol, for our men, I don’t know what shape their weapons aboard r’ in... not that there be much left o’ them…”

Dorian listened as Young Godfrey reported to the Captain, and nodded right along with him as heard the news. Once the boy had left He again turned to William.

“I wonder how many will join out o’ that fear, and not out of want… I know th’ Dutchmen who come from bein’ pressed will do so willingly, an’ I find there be an amount o’ Irish among ‘em as well… S’pose we’ll see soon enough…”

He stretched his weary muscles and drew in a quick breath as some sharp pains reminded him of his injuries. William gave him an inquiring look, to which he shook his head with an unworried look on his face.