The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

Mister Lasseter had headed foreward and below decks, finding his way through the cable tier, then aft to the other compartments. He emerged from the aft compartments to see Mister Flint on the foredeck.

“Mister Flint, I thought I left you on th’ Heron….”

“Aye Sir, Captain Brand and Mister Pew changed around the marines on the ships, sir…”

Dorian looked around with a critical eye, before he asked his next question, Flint continued.

“The Captain and Master-at-Arms have gone ashore with a shore party…”

Mister Lasseter scanned the water and saw them just reaching the docks. He gently shut the logbook in his hands and placed it behind his back.

“Very Well… As you were… I’ll be on th’ Heron checkin’ what we may need for ‘er…”

“Aye-Aye, Sir”

He snapped off a salute and Dorian nodded before heading to the side and over the rail down to the waiting boat. He gave orders to shove off and they headed to the Heron, where they all boarded. Mister Brisbane saluted the Captain as he came even with the deck.

“Cap’n Lasseter, changes have been made to the marines…”

“Aye Nigel, so I have found out… “

He turned to the men behind him.

“You men, go refresh yerselves… “

The order needed not be repeated twice, off they went to the galley. Dorian turned back to Nigel.

“Take a handful of th’ men an’ take stock of all aboard… I need ta add what we lack ta th’ list o’ supplies I’ll be gatherin’ ashore… Yes Mister Brisbane, we’ll be holdin’ on ta th’ Heron a while longer.”

Nigel smiled and knuckled his brow.

“I’ll be in th’ wardroom…”

Dorian turned and headed below. When he got to the room he laid the logbook and his hat on the desk, removed his coat and laid it over the back of the chair, found his tankard and a pitcher of water and refreshed himself. He poured a small amount into the basin and splashed his face with it. Feeling better, he headed back to the desk and sat. He tried to get comfortable, but to no avail. It was stuffy in the wardroom, so he stood and walked around the cabin, opening all the ports and windows that would open. Now there was a slight breeze coming through. With a smile, he sat again, moved his hat out of the way and opened the logbook to where he has last written. He retrieved the pen and inkpot and began adding more notations.

[William Brand]

Martinique - Fort Royal Docks on the Cul du Sac Royal

The first shore party

The longboat arrived at the Fort Royal docks where they were greeted by a small crowd of curious onlookers, a handful of dock hands and a few official men flanked by guards and secretaries. One of the more official looking gentlemen approached the boat even as they were tying it off.

"Jour De Dieu...Capitaine? Parlez-vous français?" He inquired.

"Oui, mais...mon homme le...parle mieux." William returned, gesturing to Claude Marchande. Marchande picked up the cue at once and began translating between Captain Brand and the Dock Master, one Jean Jacques Rousseau.

The Maître de Dock, Monsieur Rousseau, proved to be amiable enough. He was a weathered, middle-aged fellow who wore all of the simpler finery of a man of his position, but with the unusual affectation of a straw hat set with crow feathers, and William chanced to see a raucous number of these crows at the face of a caged man some several weeks dead, hanging just where the dock and the land met. Whether Monsieur Rousseau noticed William's notice of the condemned man, he made no outward sign of it. He simply extended his welcome and there was an exchange of dock fees and official papers, with Marchande confirming any confusions caused by the two languages.

The Dock Master was thorough in his questioning, leaving no stone unturned. William was asked to sign a dock ledger, which he did with the tall flourish indicative of his signature. In addition to the questions, Monsieur Roousseau took note of the crates, already made clear by the letters of Marque in William's possession, and finding nothing to give him pause, he waved them on to their business.

"Ask him, 'To whom would we go to deliver prisoners?', if you please, Mister Marchande." William asked before they departed Rousseau's company, never taking his eyes from the man's face as a courtesy, and Claude and Monsieur Rousseau discussed this at length. After a moment or two, Rousseau offered one of his aids to show them to the proper place, but with the business of the pistols to come first, William waved off the offer gratefully, informing Monsieur Rousseau that he would search out the matter at a later hour.

"Comme vous souhaitez, Capitaine."

"Merci, Monsieur Rousseau."

Their introductions to the Fort Royal docks made, the small band continued down the dock, passing the murder of crows dining amidst the mingling crowd.

~Larboard Watch on Duty~

[Dorian Lasseter]

Monsieur Rousseau and his party watched the newcomers gather their goods and make their way down the waterfront. He leaned slightly closer to the aid he presented for delivery of prisoners and spoke quietly in his ear. The man nodded and spoke one word.

“Oui…”

He departed the group and headed towards the embattlements. In a short time he was through the gates and into the parade grounds. He made his way to the commandant’s office and informed the commander what had transpired and the request to be relieved of prisoners. The commandant who had remained in a relaxed pose behind his desk leaned foreward and steepled his hands on the desktop. A slow smile spread across his face. He slowly rose from his seat and bowed from the waist.

“Merci Monsieur Pomeroy…”

“Vous êtes bienvenu…”

Monsieur Pomeroy returned the bow and retreated from the office and made his way back to the party on the docks.

“Il a été informé, Monsieur…”

Rousseau simply nodded and began to walk, his retinue followed.

The commandant sent for one of his officers, who was soon in front of him. Orders were given and the man was off. He approached the barracks and found a sergent and relayed orders. The sergent headed into the barracks and rousted out a drummer who came to attention with his instrument and beat out the order assemblée. Soon a company of soldiers were coming out of the barracks, some still shrugging into their uniforms and equipment. The sergent began firing off orders.

“À l'ordre serré, formez trois rangs!

Prenez garde À vous!

Alignez!

Fixe!"

The sergent walked up and down the ranks, inspecting the company. He made his way to the head of the unit and presented himself to the officer, reported the company all accounted for. The officer gave the next command.

“Prenez votre poste!”

Salutes were exchanged and the sergent moved to his place while the officer did an about face and drew his sword.

“Compagnie…. Marche!”

Soon the small company of marines, twenty five of them including the sergent, were marching down to the docks of Fort Royal, with orders to wait for the delivery of prisoners.

[Pew]

I lagged behind with Paul and Robert to see that the last of the crates were loaded onto small wagons. A few coins to the dockhands made sure that each was securly lashed for their trip into town.

"Easier than carrying them 'rselves eh Paul," Robert said as he leaned against wagon. Paul nodded as if he was preoccupied. He looked out back at the Watch Dog and realized it was his first time he had been ashore without his brother.

"We miss 'im too Paul," I said and hoped that was all that was on his mind. A small tear welled up in the corner of his eye and he turned quickly to brush it away.

"No, it's...it's okay...." he stammered.

The men loading the crates stood and wiped the sweat from their brow, "Fini monsieur," the elder of the three stated.

"Oui," said Robert.

I grabbed Paul by the shoulder and spun him around to lead him into town. We were still in sight of the Captain and noticed he had stopped and was talking with Claude and another man dressed in fineries.

"Gents, let's take care o' th' pistols and th' first bottle 's on me." Paul managed a weak smile and Robert slapped him on the back. With a brief clip-clop of the horses hooves, we had caught up to the Captain and rest of the crew.

"Welcome to Fort Royal," the Captain said to us with a wave of his arm.

[William Brand]

The shore party at Fort Royal on Martinique

The small band wended their way through the crowd of workers and tradesmen that spilled into the various streets near port. Many of the men, women and children they passed seemed to be in fair health and showed some signs of prosperity, and the general mix of individuals was broad enough to suggest that many of these people came from different cultures and backgrounds.

Still, there was no mistaking the continuous use of unmistakable French, for everywhere they went they heard the sound of it. At Desirade, French influence had been present, but it was much more self evident in Martinique. It was demonstrated in fashion, language and architecture wherever they went.

Everyone in the shore party seemed to enjoy the walk through the crowd, though they all walked slowly at first. Their sealegs took the better part of fifteen minutes to find the rhythm of the immovable Earth, but by then Mister Pew had led them into streets which spoke of trade and commerce.

William chanced to see a young thief attempt to pick the pocket of the Master-at-Arms. He was in the act of calling this to Preston's attention when Preston caught the young lad by the wrist and snapped the small bag back from him again.

"Vermine!" Mister Pew spat, and kicked the boy hard enough to send him sprawling.

William was amused to hear the Master-at-Arms use French almost without thinking of it and he had a chance to wonder if the majority of Preston's French would be limited to curses and choruses bent on more vulgar subjects. William smiled to think of him carrying on in taverns and alehouses, dealing out an abuse of French profanity.

Mister Pew chanced to look at William as he smiled on this thought. "We'll need to warn th' lads about that, Cap'n" he said, pointing after the retreating sneak-thief.

"Aye." William agreed, and then he thought on another matter suddenly, for the use of French had sparked an idea. "Mister Pew, we might have the advantage of the auction houses and tradesmen if we were to feign an ignorance of the language."

"Playact poor French...?" he returned, with a cocked brow.

"Aye." William agreed, then added, "Though I do not think it will be playacting for me. My French is...ridicule!"

"Aye." Preston agreed too quickly.

"By all means, Mister Pew. Flatter my poor French."

Claude laughed, as did William, but he pressed the matter, chiding Claude with no real feeling as he did so. "Mister Marchande might keep his use of most excellent français to himself while we pretend at it poorly. In this way we might learn their misgivings and secret understandings of the barterers as we go."

[Dorian Lasseter]

Onboard the Heron, Fort Royal, Martinique

It was les than an hour later when Mister Brisbane knocked on the door to the wardroom.

“Enter…”

The Captain spoke up through the door without looking up from his transcribing of notes. Mister Brisbane gently opened the door and stepped in…

“Cap’n, we done going through what supplies are aboard, an’ what we need ta restock the ship.”

Dorian sat up and looked at Nigel. He smiled a closed lipped smile and stood. Walking over to the small cabinet near his hammock he drew out a half full bottle and came back to the desk and picked up his tankard and a second that was turned on its side. He handed one vessel to Nigel and with some slight awkwardness uncorked the bottle, poured a gill of the liquid in each and clunked his tankard off of his Coxswain’s. Both men took a swallow, but only Nigel gritted his teeth and hissed a breath through them. Dorian chuckled.

“Irish whiskey… has a bite don’it?”

“Aye Cap’n…”

“Thank you for a job well done… Once Cap’n Brand comes back from shore, we’ll have a go…”

He looked at the list Mister Brisbane had for him and grunted slightly.

“Quite a long list…. Longer’n what’s needed fer th’ Dog… damn tha’ fool th’ last cap’n was… “

“Aye Cap’n….”

Dorian wasn’t sure if he was agreeing that it was a long list, or that the former captain was a fool, or both… He raised an eyebrow as he looked at his Coxswain, raised his tankard to his lips and took another drink.

[Pew]

"Right Cap'n, I meant," he put his hand up to stop my apology.

"No matter," said William Brand as he stifled his laughter. "As long as Mister Marchande can help us fetch a fair price for our wares, my français shall be none the wiser." The group laughed again as the carriage before us stopped.

"Zee shop for zee crates, no?" the driver asked.

"Oui." replied Claude. A few coins exchanged hands as the crates were unloaded and placed by the doorway.

The driver's helper walked in the small doorway and returned quickly with another, whom we assumed to be the shop owner. A brief conversation ensued between the two men, the only words understandable to myself were "Capitan", and "Brand".

[William Brand]

The shopkeeper emerged from the shadows of the shop. He was a man of two score years dressed in the simple clothing of a working man, complete with shop apron. He wiped off his hands and offered a simple nod by way of greeting, dismissing the carriage man in the same fashion.

"Hello, Monsieur." William began, and proceeded without any effort to hide his diminished French. In fact, he went to great lengths to abuse what little French he knew, apologizing on occasion as he went.

The stoic shopkeeper simply took over the conversation in English and they went immediately to the business of haggling, a sport that William had learned from an early age. Captain Brand stood back, allowing Mister Pew to ply the man with prices and pistols while he stood with his arms folded, sometimes nodding, sometime shaking his head slowly. The shopkeeper was joined by an assistant, so that he too might have a second during the duel of commerce.

The hour proceeded in this fashion.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Captain and Coxswain had finished their drinks, Nigel headed back on deck while Dorian continued writing in the logbook. He heard French and English being bantered about from the deck and the occupants of the bumboats that had come out to the small fleet. Haggling for food, drink, and wares was being done. He thought about heading on deck and putting it to a stop, but it would be of no use, as the bargaining would continue when he headed below again, just at a lower volume and at the bow. He knew the men would respect the standing order given about no women aboard, He gave reason as well that a better price and selection could be had once ashore. He chuckled to himself wondering what kind of trouble would be had by the men and women of the Watch Dog and Heron, both new and old hands alike, once they had their liberty. He knew fortunes would be made and lost, the highs and lows of a sailor ashore in an unfamiliar port. He wondered how many men might never return, or who might return worse for wear. He poured another finger of whiskey into his tankard and leaned back, looking out the stern windows at the other ships in cul-de-sac-royal and past them to the fortifications in the distance.

[Tudor MercWench Smith]

Tudor stood aboard the decks with Jean, calmly discussing a list of errands. Her attention shifted from him sharply when a sudden splash and the boisterious laughter of several of the crew. Excusing herself from her conversation with her temporary assistant, she stode with purpose to the rail, where she saw one of the crew members bobbing in the water next to the hull of the ship. "What happened." She asked of the chuckling witnesses.

"What do ya think miss? Ranst was to busy lookin' at the boat full o'ladies ta notice his balance as he sat on the rail." Woodington explained, shaking his head and chuckling.

Tudor's mouth twisted in displeasure. "RANST!" She yelled down at the man who was now treading water and still oogling the women and cat calling to them. He looked up as he heard his name being angrily called. "Get up here NOW!" She ordered, her tone giving the only translation needed, leaving no room for question and with one final glance and blown kiss to the boat, he started to swim for the rigging. "Dorleac? Run and fetch Casteel to translate for me.

When he found himself way onto the deck and shook off some of the water, Tudor was waiting for him. "And just what do you think you were playing at?" Her tone was chilled and more then slightly frightening. "Leaving the ship without leave? While on duty?" Her eyes never left him, her words directly adressed to Ranst even though they first went though Casteel.

"He says t'was naught but an accident miss." The sheepish words were translated to her, Ranst trying to excuse his way out of trouble.

"Tell me, would this 'accident' have happened if you had been seeing to you duties responsibly instead of shirking off and paying more attention to a bunch of whores that have been forbidden aboard." She stood not far from his face, her expression stoney.

"Geen, ma'am." He hung his head.

"I didn't think so." She glared at him. "Get back to work . . . now. You are now pulling a double watch." She said, upon which when was translated though to him, he was about to complain about, but quickly chose otherwise upon seeing the steel in her eyes. "And if you so much as even look in the direction of that boat again I will leave you to the captain for deriliction of duty." She warned with a pointed finger. "Well . . . what are you waiting for, get on with it." She nodded to him, then returned without pause to the instructions she was giving Jean before the interruption.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Wharf of Fort Royal

Lieutenant Bedeau paced back and fourth behind his men as Sergent Wischard stood at attention with the rest of the men. All eyes were trained on the three newly anchored ships in the calm waters under the great guns of the fort. The commandant had ordered the lieutenant and the compagnie to head to the docks to collect prisoners, yet there were none to be had, none being ferried from these ships. Bedeau stopped pacing and strode purposefully over to Sergent Wischard.

“Compagnie! Reposez-vous sur le fusil!”

The compagnie of marines went to parade rest, Lieutenant Bedeau nodded to the Sergent and headed into the nearest maison de rafraîchissement, into the shade for a drink while his men stood on the wharf in the heat of the sun.

[Pew]

Merchant District of Fort Royal

As we neared the end of the last crate, Claude stood by silently. For the last hour he had been behind the shop keeper slowly nodding back and forth if we were to agree or refuse the price offered. Several times the owner threw his hands up in disgust and walked inside briefly, only to return to barter. Claude had found it hard to continue his silence, yet took great enjoyment in watching a fellow countryman have such a hard time with the broken French of the Watch Dog crew.

After the last pistol was examined the small man mumbled something to himself and looked at the sky as if caluclating his figures. He threw the pistol back in the crate and walked back into his shop. Robert and Paul looked at each other. Returning with a small pouch of coins he thrust them into my hand,

"C'est chose faite!!", he spat. Claude nodded and we moved closer to the doorway to examine the final price for those weapons.

"Shall we find a place away from prying eyes, gentlemen?", the Captain asked as he placed his hand at his hip, reminding us of the small thief we first met. With a nod, we looked about and found that Miss McDonough had walked up the avenue to peer into the miliner's shop. "Meet us in a few moments Mister Pew."

"Aye sah."

Paul, Claude and I ducked into an alleyway as Robert stood at the entrance.

A large barrel stood by some crates and we dumped the coins onto the lid. Counting to ourselves as I placed the coins back in the pouch slowly, "what 'id you lot get t'" I ask.

[William Brand]

William walked up behind Murin, who stood bent over a little to peer in at the wide variety of women's and men's hats in the milliner's window. He watched her stare, almost longingly at several fine tricorns and wide brimmed stray hats. The milliner's work was spread out on wooden, head shaped stands all about the shop, and the milliner was even now creating another at his work table.

"Why not buy one, Miss McDonough?" He inquired.

She straightened up at once. "No...too...too fine, sah."

"Too fine...?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Too fine. Hmmm. Is it perhaps the cost?"

She looked back in the window again. There were so many choices, including a fine ladies hat tastefully decorated with bird feathers of the tropics.

"A woman could save half a year's wages for a hat like that one." he continued, and when she said nothing, he added. "You will have five times that at least by week's end."

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin had meandered up the street inspecting all manner of commerce; butcher, baker, tailor, cobbler, ...this was just one of many shop windows she had taken time to gazed at. She stared into the millinery shop window mesmerized, even when she was a free woman in Ireland she had never seen such things displayed so! So much to see and do just in this small length of street.

As she starred at the fine hats in the window she felt someone come up behind her and her hand slowly went to her valuables in the pouch that hung inside her shirt making sure they were secure, not that any one would be able to get to them without her knowing. She could not tear herself away. These "hats" such beautiful things.

The captain spoke from behind her startling her to attention.

"Why not buy one, Miss McDonough?"  He inquired.

She straightened up at once. "No...too...too fine, sah."

"Too fine...?" he said, raising an eyebrow.  "Too fine.  Hmmm.  Is it perhaps the cost?"

She looked back in the window again.  There were so many choices, including a fine ladies hat tastefully decorated with bird feathers of the tropics.

"A woman could save half a year's wages for a hat like that one." he continued, and when she said nothing, he added. "You will have five times that at least by week's end."

She turned to him again, her brow furrowed. "Aye?"

The lass had not owned anything in the past three years and never had she dreamed of owning such fine things prior to her enslavement. Her mind fogged at the thought of how much wealth she now carried, not all she possessed either, and her hand returned to the pouch that hung inside her shirt.

[William Brand]

She still seemed hesitant to purchase goods, and William found himself wondering how many other crew members would have been so hesitant. Half the crew would probably drink their shares away in a week.

"You have been through life, death and life again, Miss McDonough. You have faced down seasoned soldiers, sword to sword." he said still looking through the window himself. "Tailor...reward thyself."

[Silkie McDonough]

Looking past her reflection in the window she spied several hats that caught her fancy, what color, what style, how could she choose? Then focusing on her reflection Murin noted that she looked rather like a lad at the moment. The extra fabric of the waistcoat hiding her shape and the long breeches covering her legs, her hair pulled up and tucked under the rather large brown hat, and badly worn shoes on her feet. She stood there for some time looking from the hats to her reflection and back. She then turned to William.

"Tank ya Capn' I shall purchase a hat."

The Captain stepped back and motioned her to the entrance of the millner's shop.

She smiled softly, "Nay suh. When I've time t'shop. I wouldn' wont t'keep u'n Mista Pew frum ya business while I fuss or such a trifle." She interrupted Captain Brand before he could object. "N'I tink Ill wait til afta I've seen t'betta shoes."

Looking at her feet he smiled, "Aye, shoes," he looked up "and clothing that is fitted to you ...lad." He winked at the girl. "Then you will buy your hat." It was statement not a question. Her smile broadened, a smile unlike any the Captain had seen from her yet, as if a burden had been lifted from the lass. Her eyes, honey colored in the sunlight, brightened, her lips usually full and a bit pouty pulled open to reveal a row of bright white teeth and she laughed. She actually let out a laugh in the presence of the captain. There was no tension, no feeling of stepping out of line. The laugh of a woman free to do as she pleased with her life her possessions.

She looked directly and intently into the captains eyes, "Aye suh. Den I will buy at least one hat!"

[William Brand]

Standing there, looking at Murin, William was suddenly reminded of something he didn't want to remember, so he set it aside at once. He turned his attention in the direction of the small alleyway.

"Come. We should return to the ship."

They went back to the alley, where Mister Pew and the others had finished their accounting. Preston was wearing a smile of satisfaction and he seemed content that a goodly sum had been raised for the outfitting of the marines. William did not ask how much they had. He left the matter entirely to the Master-at-Arms, knowing the money would be used frugally and to the last penny, or in this case, Denier. Preston was nothing if not loyal to his marines. He would never allow them to be short of clothing or arms, so William gave no more thought to the matter.

With the shadows of the day growing long, and the pressing matter of the Maastricht prisoners, they set out for the docks again. As they approached the docks, William scanned the wide bay of the Cul du Sac Royal. There were many ships lying at anchor, and William had given little thought to them upon first arriving. Now he watched them with interest until his eyes fell upon a ship he knew all too well.

He was amazed to discover that he had not noticed her before and he wondered if the Frenchmen he knew there would have already gone over to the 'Dog to welcome them to Martinique.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Marine detachment, on the Fort Royal Docks

The men had been standing at rest for some time now, the Lieutenant gone for as long. Smalltalk had broken out, some of the men admired the local women, some commented on the weather, and others just remained silent, staring out into the bay. The sergent had stepped a short distance away and produced a flask from inside his uniform and had a tipple or two. He slowly looked around the port, also enjoying the women and the occasional breeze that did not smell of fish. As he tipped the flask to his lips, he spotted a motley group of foreigners coming towards them. They had to be the group from the new ships anchored in the cul-de-sac Royal. Sergent Wischard quickly closed the flash and shoved it into a pocket. He swiftly paced over to the nearest soldier and whispered to him to go inform the Lieutenant that he needed to return to the docks. The man almost ran into the building that the officer had disappeared into. Sergent Wischard then straightened his uniform before barking an order.

“Copmagnie! Prenez garde À vous!”

The men, as if jolted awake from a sound sleep, jumped and quickly organized themselves into their former ranks.

“Alignez!”

Just as Wischard barked the second order, the soldier sent to inform the lieutenant emerged from the building and quickly took his place in the rear rank. The Sergent waited to see Lieutenant Bedeau emerge from the building soon after the soldier, but he did not appear even after a minute had lapsed. He was about to reprimand the messenger he sent when the lieutenant finally appeared. He slowly stepped into the doorway, his hat in hand. He looked out into the wharf, looked at the dressed ranks of marines. Slowly he placed his hat on his head and walked out into the late day sunlight. He walked to within five paces of the compagnie and turned about, looking around. He then centered his sights on Sergent Wischard.

“Sergent… Là où sont ces hommes, où sont les prisonniers?”

Wischard pointed to the group of people heading their way, lead by a red haired gentleman.

“Les voici qui viennent maintenant, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Bedeau turned and looked where the Sergent pointed. A sigh of exasperation escaped his lips. He nodded to the Sergent and took up a place of command in front of the marines and waited for the foreigners to come to him.

[William Brand]

The shore party from the Watch Dog approached the docks. They're gait was a casual one, though both William and Preston had noted the waiting ranks of uniformed men. William could not tell what his Master-at-Arms was thinking, but he noted that Preston's posture changed ever so slightly.

William chanced to wonder if the Dockmaster had sent for the armed troops for the purpose of assisting them with the prisoners. Being a cautious man, William also had a chance to wonder if the Dockmaster had not sent for them for an altogether different reason. William was about to say something to the small band under his charge when Mister Pew beat him to it.

"Steady lads..." Preston whispered, his voice losing none of its casualness. "...staaay sharp."

They closed the distance between themselves and the soldiers, and there could be no mistaking the attention the armed men gave to them as they closed.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The group of foreigners closed the gap steadily, Bedeau noting some small attitude changes of several of them. When they were within ten paces, the Lieutenant spoke in a commanding tone.

“Lequel de vous est le capitaine de ces bateaux?”

He pointed towards the English built frigate and cutter, and the Dutch Fluyt. He waited for a response for barely a breath, then asked the question a second time.

“Lequel de vous est le capitaine de ces bateaux?”

He said it in a slightly annoyed tone, wondering if these foreigners did not speak French. His brow furrowed. The French flag hung from the flagstaffs of these ships, surely they had the decency to speak the language. When no answer came, he dropped his arm to his side and sighed in exasperation, a drip of sweat ran down his left temple.

[William Brand]

"Je suis." William said, pausing a moment.

Some many weeks back, the ship's carpenter had crafted a cane for him. It was long, made of hard wood and capped neatly with the skull of a dog. The carpenter had crafted it with an eye for the dramatic, recognizing how the Captain often turned such items into affectations. William had brought it ashore, not because he needed it for support, but because he had in fact made it into more than a walking stick. Besides the blade that Mister Hawks had secreted within it, it lent William an air of nobility which he sometimes played as a weapon.

William stepped forward and let the hard tap of the cane emphasize the deliberate, slow and practiced walk he employed as he closed the distance to Lieutenant Bedeau. William's face was calm and curious.

"Est-ce que à qui je parle?" William asked, uncertain his grasp of French would carry as well as the cane did.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The Lieutenant’s lips twitched slightly before he spoke. He bowed slightly while touching his hat.

“Lieutenant Bedeau de ses soldats de marine de majestés plus catholiques…. Vous êtes capitaine..... ?”

He waited with a look of annoyed question on his face, while Sergent Wischard looked slightly uncomfortable as he stood at attention, watching his commanding officer. Bedeau was not a bad officer, however he had been roused from a lazy day to attend to matters of prisoner escort. And who knew what he was doing when he was in the tavern that he had been interrupted from. Here he was, taking out his annoyance on these foreigners whom he had no knowledge of, save that they had prisoners to turn over to the commandant of Fort Royal.

[William Brand]

"Lieutenant Bedeau." William returned, offering the gesture again, and having lost only a few of Bedeau's words in the translation he continued. "Je suis, Capitaine Brand. Capitaine du chien de garde."

William called for Claude Marchande without taking his eyes off of the Lieutenant. Claude stepped forward to William's side. "Monsieur Marchande, please ask Lieutenant Bedeau if he is here to take custody of the Dutch and English prisoners in my possession."

"Oui, Capitaine."

[Dorian Lasseter]

“Capitaine Brand… très bon…”

Before he could say more, Capitaine Brand called one of his men foreward, they exchanged sme words, then the man turned to him and began to speak in fluent French. Bedeau’s face relaxed some, a slightly more cordial look upon his face. He conversed with the speaker over why they were here and what was expected.

Marchande bowed his head to the lieutenant and turned to Captain Brand.

“Capitaine, they are indeed here to take the prisoners off our hands. Lieutenant Bedeau’s orders are to escort them from here, so we must deliver them from the ship. He also asks what is the number of prisoners?”

[William Brand]

William did not turn to Marchande as he translated, but did the Lieutenant the courtesy of facing him the entire time. Even when Marchande explained the Lieutenant's intentions, William spoke directly to him.

"There is a considerable number of wounded prisoners aboard ship, Lieutenant Bedeau. If none have passed on since I left the Maastricht, then there will be some 250 prisoners to transport, with some 28 wounded who cannot be brought ashore at this time. I will consult with my physicians and begin the ferrying of prisoners immediately. I thank you, Monsieur, for you promptness in this matter."