The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

William nodded, rolling his shoulder a bit, for the wound from many weeks back was troubling him a bit this evening. He also flexed his hand gingerly under the new bandages.

"If you are ready, Captain, we'll bring your prisoners and undeclared men over to the Maastricht now to witness the burial of their fallen. Have the dead borne across by the prisoners. I will take word to the Dutch officers."

[Dorian Lasseter]

“Aye Cap’n… no time like th’ present… they should be done dressin’ the lost souls by now…”

Dorian knuckled his brow and headed into the waist of the Heron, sure enough they were just finishing the last man’s shroud of canvas. At each man’s head lay a small pile of belongings. Mr. Morgan saluted.

“Mr. er, Cap’n Lasseter, sir… th’ bodies are ready… what we gonna do with their belongin’s?”

“Hmmm… go into th’ magazine, collect enough powder sacks to put each set of things into… then take ‘em into the wardroom o’ th’ Heron. I’ll see to them from there…”

“Aye-aye”

Dorian turned his attention to those men on deck, and stepped to the hatchway into the hold. He put his foot onto the hatch combing and looked down to those held within.

“All you men… I give you leave to come up ta ferry yer dead onto th’ Maastricht fer a proper burial, then we’ll all ‘ave a talk…”

He pushed off the combing and headed to the ladderstairs into the hold, waiting for those prisoners to come up. Slowly the men ascended to the deck, some still with a scowl, others more complacent. The Marines from the ‘Dog watched as they crossed the deck to the canvas wrapped bodies, watched as they lifted them on their shoulders and crossed the deck. Some went ahead and received the lost souls on the fluyt. The procession took little time. As the last of the prisoners departed the Heron, Dorian motioned for the remainder of the men to follow, leaving only the marines assigned to the Heron aboard. He then followed the procession onto the Maastricht, nodding to William that he was the last.

[William Brand]

William returned the nod to Dorian from where he stood on the Maastricht as he waited for the dutch officers to assemble. Captain den Oven was first to arrive, having lent little if any help to the wounded. He seemed relieved to be on the quarterdeck again, even as a prisoner, for it was his element. He had little or no understanding of anything below that elevation and William found the man again unlikable. Still, William was cordial out of respect for the man's office. He made a place for the Dutch officer as the First Mate made his way up to the quarterdeck.

"Gentlemen. Your dead and living are assembled. Please see to your own with speed. You may have the quarterdeck for oration. Then, to the sea with your dead. We shall see to ours after."

Den Oven was just as formal in his return, thanking Captain Brand for the opportunity to dispose of his dead with dignity. Den Oven went to the rail then with all of the ceremony of office and called out for attention. Those able to stand, did so, coming to attention at various parts of the ship, mostly forward. Mister Pew and Mister Franklin allowed the prisoners to enjoy a limited movement out of respect for their mourning, but no more. No prisoners, apart from those who had come over from the Heron, were allowed to go down into the waist. The few remaining officers of the Heron still alive gave over their duties to dispose the dead to den Oven.

William passed a look or two to all of his officers scattered about the Maastricht to render their silence for the time being and Rummy's crew ceased their tinkering at once.

Captain den Oven requested the use of a bible and one was granted to him from the Maastricht's ward room. He turned the all too recently dog eared copy to a passage from Psalms, which he read aloud. First Mate, Bartel Raymer, was conscientious enough of those English subjects aboard to translate as he went.

"De HEERE is mijn Herder, mij zal niets ontbreken."

"De LORD is my shepherd; I shall not vant."

"Hij doet mij nederliggen in grazige weiden; Hij voert mij zachtjes aan zeer stille wateren."

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still vaters."

And so they went, one following the other until they had passed in echoes through the 23rd Psalm. Then den Oven motioned for the first body to be brought forward to the rail. The name of the dead was passed to him and he again began to speak with carefully practiced ceremony and again Bartel Raymer echoed him in English.

"Lord God, by the power of your Word you stilled the chaos of the primeval seas, you made the raging waters of the Flood subside, and calmed the storm on the sea of Galilee. As we commit the earthly remains of our brother Tymen Sanders to the deep, grant him peace and tranquility until that day when he and all who believe in you will be raised to the glory of new life promised in the waters of baptism. We ask this through Christ our Lord. R. Amen."

The amen was solemn, but as well pronounced from the whole company, even among the wounded, as any 'aye-aye'. The hatch was tilted up and Tymen slipped from beneath the flag which shrouded him and his hammock. The splash followed hard upon and the next body was borne to the rail.

Tymen Sanders was followed in death by Koris Matthys, Robert Clemming, Peter Norsk, Hans Barhydt, Harmon Wetherwax, Arnoldus Schermerhorn, Richard Carver and many others. One after another they went into the sea with an amen until all were gone.

William had time to wonder then how many more wounded would join them by morning.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian stood in silent repose, hat in hand as the ceremony continued, as the bodies were given to the deep. He responded automatically with the rest of the crowd of humanity, respectful of all those around him and of the departed. He found himself whispering in his native tongue a tribute to those departed, some of which were by his own hand.

“Go n-éirí le séitéireacht, gadaíocht, troid, agus ólachan!

Má dhéanann tú séitéireacht, go ndéana tú séitéireacht ar an mbás,

Má ghoideann tú, go ngoide tú croí mná;

Má throideann tú, go dtroide tú i leith do bhráthar,

Agus má ólann tú, go n-óla tú liom féin.” *

When the last of the crews of the Maastricht and Heron were over the side he smoothed his hair back and began to place his hat on his head when he noticed something amiss with it. He looked at it and ran his fingers over it, finding not one, but two, three, four holes in it. Holes from musket shot… He placed it on his head and smiled, looked heavenward and winked…

*Here's to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking.

If you cheat, may you cheat death.

If you steal, may you steal a woman's heart.

If you fight, may you fight for a brother.

And if you drink, may you drink with me.

[William Brand]

With the Dutch dead buried, William turned to den Oven and Raymer. He reminded them of his 'destroying angels' aloft and said that he would brook no treachery while he saw to his own. Then William called for the marine captains to alter the lookouts aloft, so that Miss Tribbiani might be employed on the deck of the 'Dog. All the hands of the Watch Dog who where not employed in guarding the Maastricht were ordered over to the Watch Dog to see the fallen off. As they gathered, William fetched his copy of Tyndale from his quarters and returned to the quarterdeck to stand with Mister Lasseter. When all were assembled, he took out the book and thumbed to a page in Psalms, as had den Oven. Then, after a moments thought, he set the book aside. There were just too many denominations, too many different men and women aboard the 'Dog, for one translation to be adequate for all. Instead, he looked out over the gun deck and began.

"Where is the number of our English dead...?" He asked, and he waited for the phrase to find its way into the memories of those who would understand it.

Bill Flint nodded at once from his place among the ranks, as did a half dozen or more.

"I am as Henry was in the field of Agincourt, for a boy lies dead among the luggage and another man has fallen also." William paused again for a moment looking down at the shrouded shapes which had been mortals before, then he continued. "And, but for these two too precious dead, we are left almost unscathed, while the Dutch and English, recently heavy with departed, have been greatly diminished. Seldom have so few...sacrificed so few...to gain so much at once. As Captain, I may only hope that our future taxation...this dreadful, auspicious tithe...will be as kind to us when even greater numbers are assembled against us."

William chose to leave the quarterdeck then, for he found he did not like the elevation of it, for den Oven had made such a platform seem vile for the present. Instead, he went to stand between the two hatches which bore Thom and Lawrence and he spoke of them there.

"Lawrence was a man of no guile, except that which was asked of him when pressed to a cause. I never witnessed any hurt of him. He was strong and of good character. His manner was inviting to any not possessed of witlessness. Like Paul, many would have called him brother, and I should have know him better had time permitted."

"Aye." Paul added, unable to keep from interjecting this amen of his own. William continued.

"Thomas Fitch was a young man, not yet old enough that any fault might have been found in his character, though I believe that time would have made him as good a man as any and better than most. He was brave for a youth and like a new star...he burned brightly." William smiled as he said this, for he had been fond of Thom. The young Fitch had demonstrated a curious and eager nature. He had been a wellspring of questions from the day he came aboard and few aboard had escaped his many inquires.

"Do we all holy rites..." William continued, borrowing from the Bard a second time, and he turned towards Miss Tribbiani and Miss McDonough. "Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum".

Both women were unprepared for this and the two of them hesitated for a moment, but only a moment, for neither of them new the words to either song. Treasure realized it was not so important and she started with another of her own choosing, followed by Murin. Soon they were singing a song from Old England which most of the company knew and the music was as it had been before. Beautiful.

William nodded as they sang, and Paul Mooney bent to the ear of his departed friend and whispered some private words, and whether it was a prayer or farewell, no man could say.

When the song was over they sent off the fallen and the sun followed them below the waves.

[Alder]

Take a mate on indeed, Alder had pondered, easier to select a time worthy tool than to lathe a man’s spirit to a task not of his natural design. This had been the vexation of his own father and now the task rested upon his aching shoulders, though by all appearances his position and that of his chosen “mate” would be temporary. With quiet resignation, Alder sought out his tools, a willing and congenial crewmate and had set about the task.

Mahogany and ash strips had been layered for strength and artistry to form the tiller. The barrage of grape shot had mangled the serviceable grip but left the union intact. With abbreviated force at his disposal, Alder urged his able assistant to challenge its range while he inspected hinges and rudder.

“Enough, Lad, enough.” he thoughtfully encouraged. “We shall make her true in little time.” Levers and all manner of advantage had been taught in his years away at school and were well learned. Modifications to convention, though tantamount to heresy aboard the Master Carpenter’s service; in the shipyard, design and placement defined the craft and the craftsmen. A true craftsman, his master droned was not content to repeat but sould strive to improve. The incongruity of his idealism and daily drudgery had gnawed at Alder’s psyche even as the Teredo ate away at the seafaring wood’s very heart. Having overheard the astonished rabble who spoke of a Captain working alongside crew the fates may present opportunity to realize visions he had long suppressed.

Reabsorbed in the joining of shaft and base, Alder was oblivious to the brief presence of Mister Lasseter who had made his way to the quarterdeck and nodded in appreciation in the general direction of this one who needed no approval. Even so, this consideration was met warmly and later shared at a moment of reflection on the job and events of the day by Mister Wenge’s assistant.

The task and day at a close, Alder and his crewmate reflected upon the loss of grand mates, the forging of new and what the dawn may bring.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

When Tudor surfaced on the gun deck from the galley, she went straight to where the table and chairs had been dropped when brought up from below. With a sigh and a shrug she palced the stack of dishes she carried up with her on the center of the table, and started to space the chairs out evenly and straight. In short order, all was ready. table and chairs were in place, and the table set in as good order as any of a fine banquet.

[William Brand]

The funeral finished, William sent the men and women of the 'Dog back to their respective labors. He now turned his thoughts to negotiations and the dispensement of duties touching on the officers of the two prize ships. He would have to decide what would be done with all and when. He reminded those officers, previously invited to dinner, to consider the invitation weighed against the work to be done. Neither of them was required at supper, but could join him and the Dutch if they wished.

Then, he walked to the waist of the ship where Miss Smith was finishing preparations for the promised dinner. William examined the table, and found it well prepared for their guests. He thanked the Steward and invited her to join them there for dinner if she wished to be served rather than to serve.

"Your service today certainly has earned you a respite from the labors of table."

[Pew]

I dwelled on the Captain's offer. Long it stood, and I had much work to do. The arms from the Watch Dog needed to be restocked, the arms taken from the Maastricht and the Heron needed to be logged, the Marines needed to be redivided and rearmed at their posts, damages from all of the hand weapons needed to be marked. Much to do with daylight falling.

"I'll take but a handful o' bread an' a fill o' me tankard Cap'n. Much to do wit the Marines now spread apart. Thankee for the offer."

[William Brand]

William excepted the Master-at-Arms' reason for departure to duties, and Mister Pew was not the only one to decline the invitation to table. Duty would also keep away the Doctor and Bosun. There was too much work yet among the wounded men and wounded ships to draw either of them away from their callings. William understood this, and made certain to inform the galley that food should be brought to all members of the 'Dog at their respective stations on the Heron and Maastricht.

Then he went to his quarters, to assess the damage there. Apart from the officer's head and the ward room itself, his narrow sleeping space was untouched. The windows were almost entirely intact here, but for a few cracks. His belongings had escaped unharmed and he was able to bath his face and hands at the water basin within his small room. He changed into a fresh shirt, breeches and stockings. He fetched his coat from the Ward Room and spent time dusting off the splinters of glass and wood. His cutlass had been thrown clear from the blast and it seemed unharmed. He put it away in trade for his mortuary sword. Then, taking up his hat, he went up to the quarterdeck to await the arrival of the Dutch and English officers.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian nodded to William that he would attend the dinner. He headed to his quarters on the Watch Dog and freshened up. He had taken some of his clothes aboard the Heron, so he had a limited cache here to work with. He disarmed himself and pulled off his well worn shirt to reveal some green and purple bruises on his arms and chest, he took care washing down and drying himself, then donned the best shirt in the lot he had. Fresh stockings were in order as what he wore were bloodstained. Upon removing them he found that some of the blood was his own. His right shin had a gash in it that was now a dark scab of blood. His left calf had a long brushburn, from what he had not a clue. Again he took great care washing down his legs, trying hard not to disturb the healing wounds. He carefully donned a black pair of stockings and put his shoer back on after giving them a bit of a rub, trying to clean them up in short order. Satisfied, he pulled his black coat out and brushed it down. He dropped his baldric over his shoulder, shrugged on the coat and adjusted it, finally hooking the ships pistols onto his belt. He had taken his mirror onto the cutter so he hoped he looked reasonably well. Stepping out of his quarters he walked foreward and into the waist where he placed his hat firmly on his head and walked to the table set with food. He looked around and saw the Captain above him on the quarterdeck.

“Cap’n… should be a fine evenin’ I would think…. “

[William Brand]

"Aye, but I'll take foul weather. Foul weather over defeat. It was a good day to die, but a better day to live."

As he said this, those officers of the fluyt arrived at the gang plank which spanned the distance between the Maastricht and the Watch Dog. The guest list included Captain den Oven, First Mate, Bartel Raymer and the Master Gunner, Joseph Aretineson, with only Mister Lasseter to represent the concerns of the Heron . William greeted each of the men in turn, introducing his Quartermaster as the newly appointed Captain of the Heron as they came aboard. Then William gestured for each man to sit at their respective places at the temporary table.

Captain den Oven looked about, and surprised by what he saw, he begged a question. "This is not as private as I had hoped it would be . Might ve discuss our arrangements in more private surroundings, Kapitaine?"

William shook his head. "The determination of your bow chasers makes this impossible for the present, Kapitaine, and for the time being, you will find that our gun deck is just as airy as our ward room. As to privacy, nothing you say may not reach the ears of my crew. I answer to them as much as they answer to me."

Captain den Oven did not look pleased at this and he remained standing longer than the other guests. However, as William and Dorian remained standing also, allowing for the long silence to continue while they waited for him to sit, den Oven eventually acquiesced and took his seat.

Lazarus Gage himself served at table. He brought out dishes favorable to the palettes of English and Dutch alike. This favor showed on their faces as they began to eat, and with the day's business, everyone was hungry, captive and captor alike. Everyone seemed grateful for the food, especially those who might soon dine in darker places. Captain den Oven did not eat. He seemed as uncomfortable now, as he had on the gun deck among the wounded. The man looked profoundly distracted, so William gave him leave to speak his mind.

"How shall you dispose of us, Kapitaine." he asked with an air of formality.

"I shall deliver the Masstricht as prize at Martinique. The French there shall dispose of you how they may. Perhaps you will be returned to the Dutch as a courier for weightier matters. Perhaps you shall languish in prison for a time. I cannot say how they might treat you, sah."

"And my crew?"

"In a likewise manner, I am sure. Please. Eat. Mister Lazarus serves a fine dish."

Captain den Oven continued with his inquiry, ignoring the fare before him. "And the Heron?"

William was about to serve himself, but he put his fork down again. "Mister Lasseter shall sail with her to Martinique. It may be that we shall sell her a prize there, though I might prefer the company of a second ship when I go to Trinidad to investigate some holdings of ours located there. And...Mister Lasseter might not wish to give her up by then." William said with a smile towards Dorian.

"Shall ve all go to prisons then?" den Oven persisted.

"That eventuality should not have escaped any who serve in war." William said, a little impatiently, for his own food was growing cold out here in the open. "One who is willing to die for one's country should be willing to languish, but to answer your question...No. Not all of your men shall go to prison at Martinique. I require replacements."

"You vill have none." den Oven said, sounding astonished at the idea that any Dutchman would serve under an all too recent enemy.

William exchanged a look with Dorian.

[Dorian Lasseter]

As the dutch captain spoke his words of finality, that no man under his command, no man of his nation would serve aboard the Watch Dog, William’s eyes met those of Dorian’s as the QuarterMaster wiped him mouth on a cloth and took a drink of wine. He then cleared his throat.

“Cap’n den Oven… Ya may be right that many of yer men and those of the Heron will decide not to serve on this ship, with this crew. But that will be fer them ta decide… Whom shall serve whom will be decided by th’ man, not th’ monarch here…”

Den Oven gave the Quartermaster a look of incredulity and his hands curled into fists.

“Nr, dey promised demselves… Dey vill not fight for you… dey will not…”

Dorian again took a drink from his glass before speaking again.

“I find that several of th’ men aboard were pressed into service… this time, they’ll have a choice for whom they will fight and if needed, die…”

This last statement caused the Dutchman to sit like a statue and do no more than blink several times, completely at a loss for words while Mr. Lasseter turned back to his meal.

[William Brand]

"Some of them have already joined Captain Lasseter aboard the Heron." William added, curious to see what effect this news would have on the Dutch captain.

"English. Perhaps...Irish..." he began, but William was already shaking his head. "Vat have you bribed dem with, I wonder."

"Life." William said, chasing the cook's fine cooking with wine. "And fortunes. They know what it is to be a privateer rather than a prisoner. I need not explain it to them."

"I believe dat you mean pirate."

Lazarus Gage was never one to waste food, but he was never more moved to pour hot gravy into anyone's lap as he was now. To speak in corrective terms to a host was as unseemly to the cook as was any man who refused good food offered in polite company, and den Oven was doing both. Mister Gage's food continued to go uneaten before den Oven, and the cook was compelled to help the Dutch captain to a scalding second helping where it might do the most good, but since William himself kept his patience in check, Lazarus simply made his rounds.

Bartel Raymer made an attempt to steer the conversation into more general avenues. He made a point to compliment the cook's many dishes, and indeed, they were genuine compliments. Agreeable echoes came from all quarters, except for den Oven, who only sipped the wine.

Joseph Aretineson was on his second glass of the evening, and it was serving him well by dulling the pains and aches he had sustained earlier. Mister Lasseter was kind enough to refresh his glass.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Bill Flint strolled about the deck making his rounds. From time to time he glanced at the other ships nearby. Four of The Dog's Marines had been sent to the Heron, and suddenly he was struck with inspiration. Why not take this opportunity on the trip to Martinique to help hone the skills of those marines? Looking about for the Captain he could not locate him nor the Master at Arms. However he did spy his friend Eric Franklin who was The Dog's Sergeant at Arms.

"Eric, I'm gonna cross over to the Heron and keep Mr. Lasseter company enroute to Martinique, and use the time te drill tha Marines that 'r aboard...." he caught himself mid-sentence "...er, request permission to do so"

The Banshee scratched his chin in thought for a moment.

"Don' see the harm, worse ken happen Mr. Lasseter sends ye back, permission granted n' I'll account for ye."

Redlegs knuckled his brow and made his way to the cutter which was in the process of transferring some powder from the ships magazine to The Heron

[Pew]

William excepted the Master-at-Arms' reason for departure to duties...

I nodded to the Captain and went below to fetch the logbook of the armoury of the Watch Dog. “A long night indeed,” I said to myself.

I pass several members of the crew quick about their work on the berth deck. Stores were being brought aboard the Watch Dog in as quick a fashion as possible. I talk briefly with those crew members who were able to pause for evening supper and a tankard of rum. Many still asking if we are still on passage to Martinique. A wink and a smile assures them of our destination. Those men from the Heron working alongside our crew question the conversation. Luigi assured the men they were “goonna finda outa soonah enough”. Finding Luigi’s brogue a bit too hard to discern the men shrugged and continued to unload the goods from the Maastricht. I smiled and laughed at Luigi who looked back at me in all seriousness and opened his hands as if to say “whudda I say?”

I move down the main passageway and open the door to the cabin. Sighing, I pull from the tankard and look about the cabin. Several things had been knocked off of the small desk and the shaded lantern had been flung upon the floor. I pick up the shaded lantern, light it and place it back on the desk. Popping the lock to the armoury, I find the room itself also in disarray. I spend a few minutes straightening the arms crates and uprighting the small barrels of powder. What arms were left had been fling upon the floor and I had trouble finding the second crate of flints. “Damn,” I muttered.

I hadn’t heard the bells toll for change of the watch, but figured that most men and women of the Watch Dog were on watch, voluntarily or by rule since the sighting of the Heron. Spending the next several minutes writing down what had been left in the armoury, I also tried to make some assemblance of the weapons that were still laying about the room.

Finishing, I locked the door to the armoury but kept the lantern with me. The light flashed briefly at my waist and I caught sight of the pistol that the Captain and Quartermaster had given me what seemed like many years ago. Placing the logbook under my arm and holding the lantern in my hand I made my way back to the main deck of the Watch Dog.

I raised the lantern and looked about the deck. A small pile of the muskets and pistols that had been used by the crew of the Watch Dog laid to the side of the larboard gun’le. I placed the lantern on the deck, and in between Scarlet and Bertha, I knelt and began counting. Marking the number in the log I closed the book and began to look over each weapon. Finding several that needed a new lock or barrel, I set those to the side and notated those in need of repair.

I collect the lamp and call for Jean Dorleac. Within a matter of seconds he arrives and knuckles his forelock. I ask for him to find Eric Franklin and have him report to me aboard the Maastricht. “He is, sah.”

“Very well, I shall meet him there then.”

“Aye sah.”

I collected my things and began to make my way to the Dutch Royal Navy Ship, now steadfastly in the control of the Watch Dog and it’s crew.

Mister Lasseter and I cross paths, each on our way with much to do. A conversation ensues and he informs me of those Marines he is taking aboard the Heron to see it’s way to Martinique. He tells me to find one, maybe two more to take the place of those aboard his new ship, and one to take the place of Lawrence Dinwiddle. We shake hands and continue about in the early evening.

“New marines,” I said to myself. I immediately begin running down the list of those crew available in my head. Suddenly the list stops. Tudor Smith. “Why not,” I think aloud. Eric Franklin approaches me and shakes my shoulder, “Talking to yourself eh Preston? Why not what?”

“’ow would you feel ‘bout Miss Smith taking th’ place of Lawrence Dinwiddle on th’ Starboard Marines?”

“Take her away from the Captain?” he asks intrigued.

“Not take ‘er away,” I pause, “a reassignment as ‘t were.”

“Don’t ask me mate, ‘ts the Captain you need t’ be asking,” he laughs washing his hands of the inquery.

“Ask ‘im I will,” I laugh. “ In th’ meantime, grab someone t’ help ya wit’ th’ log ‘ere.”

“Eh?” he can barely state before I toss him the armoury log book.

“Log th’ arms ‘ere aboard the Maastricht inta our log. Find th’ Master-at-arms, ‘f he’s still about. ‘Tis a navy ship mate, she’ll be well logged an’ armed.”

Eric shakes his head and rolls his eyes as I make my way back to the Watch Dog.

The Maastricht being lashed to the side of the Watch Dog, I reach the gun deck in a matter of steps. Many men are seated on the Quarterdeck, some imbibing the wine in front of them, one man sitting stoic, showing no emotion. The table had suddenly become quiet. Odd for a group of this size. Stepping to the Captain of the Watch Dog on the quarterdeck overseeing the evening’s meal, I step to him quietly, “Begging your pahdon sah, a word sah, ‘t your leave.”

[William Brand]

William drained his glass and excused himself from the table. He made his way over to the bulwark rail with the Master-at-Arms and they stood awhile in discussion, and while the subject of the Steward becoming a marine was surprising, it was not unreasonable given recent events.

"Miss Smith is both courageous and tenacious." William admitted. "You may present the position to her. Do you have enough men to watch over so many prisoners?"

[Pew]

"Aye sah, a bit thin, with Mister Lasseter using the some of th' Starboard Watch marines aboard th' Heron, but we c'n 'andle it." I glanced over the rail and saw the marines making preparations for their departure aboard the Heron. "If Mister Press is available, I'd like t' ask 'im along 's well. With your permission o' course, sah."

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor sat at the end of the table, out of the way from all and keeping her peace during all discussions, just simply enjoying the well prepaired meal. It did gain her notice however when the Captain excused himself and left the dining area to go and speak to Mr. Pew. She wondered silently to herself what that could be about.

[William Brand]

"Granted. He may be aboard the Heron even now." William said, looking along the Heron's line for the able seaman. "Take whomever else you need and assign sufficient numbers to Eric on the Maastricht. Choose a second for each of you from among the marines."

"Aye."

"The Watch Dog will keep the rear guard, while the Heron scouts out the sea ahead. We should reach Martinique unhindered"

[Pew]

The Captain and I spoke for several minutes. He noted that Mister Press was already alongside Mister Lasseter in the Heron, but suggested that Paul Mooney might be a goode choice to replace his best friend. We discussed the use of his steward as a marine. Many times heads were shook over the prospect of a steward becoming a marine on the Watch Dog. Often we glanced back at her and saw she was intently watching us but continued to look away appearing to be disinterested. With a single nod the deal was done.

"Miss Smith, a moment please," I asked in the middle of her meal.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

She nodded breifly and stood from the table, pushing her food away. Making sure that she pushed her chair back into the table so no one would trip over it, she followed the master-at-arms to where he had a moment past stood with the captain. "What can I do for you, sir?" She asked, her tone that of a soldier at attention.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The QuarterMaster enjoyed the meal, being cordial to the men at his sides, making small talk with the master gunner of the Maastricht, the first mate as well. But every time he looked at captain den Oven he refrained from making conversation as the man seemed determined to be aloof, to be unliked. He watched as the Master-at-Arms of the ‘Dog approached and took away Captain Brand, then later the Steward, Miss Smith. He entertained the idea of excusing himself as well, but decided it would be rude of him to do so, until William returned. He was the ranking officer at the table, even above den Oven as he was no longer captain of the fluyt, but a prisoner of war, stripped of his rank, even if he was still addressed as such out of courtesy. Dorian let his mind wander some, thinking on what was next in line for the Heron. What the crew he had picked would do, if the men from the ranks of the prisoners would gladly sign the articles or sign them out of fear, to escape imprisonment under the French. He was brought back to the present when Mister Aretineson returned the gesture of earlier and filled his glass.

“Thank ye, sir…”

“Not at all, captain…”

Dorian gave the man a look to see if he was jesting. Joseph wore a grin that was serious yet had a hint of amusement in it. He let it pass and nodded in thanks, clinking his glass off of the bottle still held by Aretineson.

[Pew]

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"You did a fine job during th' engagement. Th' Cap'n should be proud t' 'ave a steward like yourself." I didn't want to continue in front of the officers' company. "Much work for me to do Miss Smith, I'll find ye later." I nodded short and stepped away from the deck back to check on Eric Franklin's progress on the Maastricht's armoury.

[William Brand]

William held out Miss Smith's chair as she returned to the table. She looked at once flattered and befuddled. Perhaps she had expected more from the Master-at-Arms, and indeed she wasn't wrong to, but the Captain offered her no explanations as she took her seat. William returned to his own seat, and before he could take his fork in hand again, den Oven picked up the conversation as before.

"I 'ave a proposal, Kapitaine." den Oven began and William nodded for him to continue, for the man would not be blocked by wine or food. "Ve are not yet at Fort Royal. You 'ave command of me and my men. Perhaps you may be persuaded to put in at port on Bermuda."

"The English occupy Bermuda." William replied, matter-of-factly, narrowing his eyes a little.

"Aye, so dey do, Kapitaine." den Oven agreed. "But dis fact is not in dispute. I 'ave vithin my prevue de ability to grant pardon to criminals."

William and Dorian exchanged another significant look. William had expected negotiations, certainly, but not an offer of amnesty from a fallen opponent. To say that his curiosity was at once aroused was and understatement of the effect which den Oven's words had on him then. It amused him to hear such an offer.

"Go on."

"You might join de English now. Join vith your countrymen once again. Fight again for you country and its peoples." William said nothing, so den Oven continued. "You vould be free to valk again on English soil. Free to fight in an honorable fashion again."

"Do you mean to imply, sah, that I fight dishonorably at present?" William said, curious to understand what den Oven thought of him and his ways. Indeed, everyone now at the table and within earshot of him, was curious.

"You vill 'ave your good name again, Kapitaine. Your reputation."

"I have always had my good name, sah. Even in infamy." William said with a smile. He had waited so long for an offer of pardon, for any vindication, that now that the opportunity was laid before him, he found the idea almost ridiculous. "As for my reputation, sah, it is a thing of fog and speculation. I have enjoyed the dispersions cast upon me by the English crown for some eight years now. The Dutch have added more than a little to it themselves. No one understands my reputation better than I do. I have crossed swords with them on many occasions. Do you honestly believe that they will embrace this prodigal after so long an absence?"

"It is var. Friends become enemies. Enemies become friends."

Den Oven was not wrong. Governments often pardoned, hired and embraced old enemies for the sake of alliances in times of conflict. One's enemy one year could become one's declared brother the next. William was a condemned man due to a mistake of alliances. They were born and reborn as often as kings and queens. Den Oven continued, and perhaps he did so thinking he was making headway.

"How many of your men vould velcome pardon? How many of dem would except dis offer, Kapitaine? Dere must be other pirates here."

"I could not say." William said, and his tone was darker than before. "Moreover, I would not say. There may be, as you say, pirates aboard this ship, but who made them such, sah? How many of these pirates were given such a title by men who where not privy to the acts attributed to them? A man might commit as many acts of patriotism in a year as he may, but let one captain, let one statesmen call that man a pirate, and all acts which came before and after become treacheries."

It was den Oven's turn to say nothing, so William continued. "I was never a pirate, sah. A patriot lost along the way, but no pirate. Exhile? Yes. Outcast? Yes. But no act of Parlament can change me aught. Let them rewrite their histories. Let them publish liable to the heavens. I was never a pirate and their believing can not make it so."

"You fight for Spain." den Oven returned, as if this and this alone was enough to legitimize any definition of piracy aimed at William.

"Under marque, den Oven. Under marque. For which I also fight for France." William added with emphasis.

"England vill not remember your documents if you are brought...by compulsion...to England. Your papers are as fragile as your life."

William marveled then that den Oven should adopt a threatening tone, no matter how idle it was. He marveled that den Oven should think such arguments were compelling, coming as they were from a man who could not prove that such powers were available to him.

"I am well aware of the definitions of time and place, sah. One man's privateer may be another's pirate, but I am a Captain. The marques do not make this so, but they do recognize that I am such. I am a privateer of the present and most Catholic Majesty of Spain. And if fortune favors the fool, I will be so again for that majesty which follows after. And were I not so favorably favored by Spain, there is still France, of which I have more friends than England."

"Marques of a pretended Majesty." den Oven returned, and his tone did not hide his disdain. The man was not stupid, but he demonstrated with each passing minute that he lacked the experience or talent to adapt to unfamiliar ground. He showed no creativity at conversation. He blurted when he should hold his tongue and held it when he should conjure.

"That may be." William agreed at once. "Who am I to say that one pedigree outweighs another...my own, being as it is?"

"Vill you not consider dis offer den, Kapitaine? For your crew?" den Oven asked, and his tone was superior in a way that William liked not at all. "You vill condemn dem to the noose?"

"England condemns them. I do not." and before den Oven could counterpoint this, William continued. "The cook prepares for me that same food which he sends down to the berth deck. It is an equality of shared understanding and shared possibilites. An equality exists here which cannot be given to us or taken away from us by England. You use the title of pirate too freely, sah. You discard pardons just as easily. I could go to England on your promises, but England might yet forget them as easily as William of Orange forget three hundred and seventy-four patriots. But no matter, I will not except a pardon from you or from England. The hour comes too late. I am wed now to Spain and France. I will not exchange my dignity or my friends for freedoms as you define them. To except a pardon now I should become the pirate I never was, for I was never a pirate. To except a pardon would be a confession to crimes which never took place. I have nothing to confess to England, except this only, that I once loved her enough to serve her causes and fight with her enemies. Furthermore, that you might understand me better, should any man or woman aboard this ship wish to except such an offer of pardon, I will let them return to fair England of their own free will, for free will have I in droves. I will put money into their purse and send them with my blessing."