The Watch Dog

[Bloody Bill Flint]

As the darkness gathered many of those aboard The Maastricht found themselves wishing to be ashore. Longing for the delights to be found there. Bill Flint was not among that number. He'd never really cared much for towns and cities having spent most of his life living in one Mohawk village or another. It was there that his thoughts now wondered. Vividly recalling the days spent hunting in the forest, taking long walks absorbing the knowledge of his mentor, the great chief Ongeswasgone, but most especially of a lovely dark skinned girl whom he bitterly wondered if he would ever see again. He was so lost in his thoughts that the query was repeated before he returned to the moment and even then he so shocked that at first he couldn't answer.

"How'd you get them?"

Bill hadn't heard Manus Hingerty utter so much as two words to anyone before now.

Bill's gaze followed to where Manus' crooked left finger pointed and realized he was inquiring about the tattoos that covered his forearms.

"Indians", he replied.

"Indians?" Hingerty returned

"Aye" said Flint

"You mean the red men, you've seen them?...I mean up close n' all?" Manus' excitement was palpable.

Flint shifted weight back a step and cocked his head to one side unsure of what to make of this development.

[William Brand]

Stories continued about the table until William was satisfied that the shore party had enjoyed their time in port enough that they would not mind the much needed return to the Watch Dog. There was business aboard the three ships at anchor that could not wait while they spent and drank ashore, so William ordered a final round of drinks and they set out into the Martinique night.

They walked the lamplit streets of the French colony and were greeted and ignored by their share of individuals all the way to the docks. The weather was fine and the air, both sweet and rank, as is common along shores, greeted them warmly as they walked.

Claude sang a tune that was familiar to all, though only he knew all the words. Preston and Paul tried to join him in the chorus more than once, and their failure to pronounce any one word correctly, owing to a few drinks in their bellies, caused considerable laughter. Claude was unperturbed, and by the fifth round of the chorus, he took to butchering the words on purpose so that the result was a slur of very poor French and very good English laughter.

William did not mind the din or the behavior and even he took to walking backwards on the last round of the chorus, that he might conduct their butchered chorus with his walking stick.

So it was that they came to the docks again in good spirit and filled with many good spirits.

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin found herself wandering the deck of the ship feeling a bit edgy. She was tired because of the hour but her excitement about being in a new place with so many new experiences had not let her mind rest when she went to her hammock. At home, yes Ballycastle in Ireland would always be her home, there were only a few shops that lined the main walk and no competition for commerce. In Barbados Murin had attended Mrs. Hodge while the lady shopped but to have coin of her own and not only the freedom to spend it as she chose but also the blessing of the captain and those whom she was accountable to! Her spirits hung, suprisingly low, her freedom had come at such a cost and so far from home. She leaned on a four pounder on the forecastle, arms folded she leaned on the rail, her head resting on her arms, starring at the flickering glow of the city.

“Won’t ever go away.” came a voice from behind, a voice she had grown to know over the past two weeks but ladened with melancholy to match hers. “Ow long you been away frum ome?”she responded. “So long I can barely remember their faces.” Murin rubbed a tear from her cheek. Nathan laid his arm across her shoulders resting his hand on her far shoulder he stood for a moment gazing at the city with her. “All the dreaming in the world won’t bring it back.” After a moment he squeezed her gently then released her to continue his rounds. Murin looked after him as he walked away, almost afraid to consider him a friend for he too could easily be plucked from her life.

Her attention was drawn to the shore as a rather rowdy group of men made their way to the dock. She laughed out loud at the realization that these were her crew mates and the conductor of the off tune was none other than Captain Brand! She did not know the tune they sang ...then again, she may have not recognized their poor rendition of it. What they sang brought to mind a tune from home. Miss McDonough sang to herself. The sound blowing away on the cool breezes that tossed her locks across her freckled nose. Still pensive she sang the cheerful tune hoping it would raise her spirits. Unfortunately the usually cheerful tune was ladened with wistfulness even as she watched the spectacle of Captain and men climb, some better able than others, into the cutter.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The evening went on, all the valuables were sorted and put back into the satchels. The men headed up on deck in the darkness to take in the fresh air and go about their business. Only the Captain stayed below to finish up some paperwork. He was just writing the last notations when Mister Press knocked on the wardroom door and announced that the lookout had spotted the shore party returning. Dorian thanked the man and stifled a yawn, stretched, and stood. He rolled his shoulders a couple times before retrieving his waistcoat, sword and one pistol. Once settled, he grabbed up his hat and went topside. The breeze was cool on deck and he breathed it in deeply. Turning to shore, he dug into his pocket and withdrew his spyglass, drew it open and sighted his brethren in the dim lights from the wharf. He could tell they had had their fill of drink and chuckled to himself, wondering if they were able to make it back to the ships without incident. Collapsing the glass, he walked to the gunnel and peered down. The jollywatt remained fast to the chains.

“Mister Tucker… Pick two men ta man th’ jollywatt… I need ta ‘ave speaks wi’ Cap’n Brand… AT yer leasure… dunno when they’ll make it back to th’ ‘Dog…”

Lucky Tuck had been two steps to the side of Captain Lasseter, having quietly drawn up to that spot as Dorian looked through his glass. He knuckled his forehead and turned to the deck.

“Stadtmeyer, you and Brant… make ready the ships boat, captain’s to be heading to the Watch Dog…”

Two voices echoed one another with ‘aye-aye’ and they made their way over the side into the waiting boat. Dorian remained at the rail for a time, watching the progress of the cutter being rowed out into the bay. Light occasionally glanced off the blades of the sweeps, which were not doing a good job of being in sync. Again a slight chuckle escaped from him. Once the ships cutter had gotten close enough that he could hear the sweeps groaning in the tholes, he retreated to the wardroom and took up the ledger. Returning topside, he walked slowly to the rail and over he went into the sternsheets of the jollywatt, took up the tiller and bid the men to shove off.

“Take yer ease lads… no hurry ta get there…”

“Aye Captain…”

As they began to make way from the Heron, Dorian looked back at the English Cutter, saw Mister Tucker standing on the small quarterdeck looking very much the man in charge. He swung the tiller over, delaying their time to reach the frigate. He did this two more times, making the jollywatt move across the short distance in lazy arcs.

28 July, 1704

Three bells of the MidWatch

~Starboard Watch on duty~

[William Brand]

Aboard the Watch Dog on the Cul du Sac Royal

The small boat bumped against the Watch Dog in the darkness and the shore party was still coming aboard as the jollywatt arrived at the frigate. Captain Lasseter came up the onboard stairway and Captain Brand met him amidships. They retired to the Ward Room to discuss the business of the day, and while Dorian drank, William abstained, having had his fill of drink ashore.

Dorian led the conversation with an inventory of the many catalogued items from the Heron and Maastricht. Shoes, sea trunks, hammocks, hammers, clothing, bibles, and all matter of specie had been gathered and bagged on the Heron for sale or use as shares.

William nodded at each detail as Dorian read from his perfect ledger of memory, complimenting him on the absoluteness of the lists. No nail, no cup, not even stockings escaped the accounting. Any worthy item that might be exchanged for coin or goods spilled from the Quartermaster turned Captain.

"A most decisive list, sah." William said, nodding his head in an abbreviated bow from where he stood at the open shutters of the Watch Dog's damaged stern.

"Thank you, Cap'n." Dorian returned.

"When morning comes, we shall gather the whole company together on the Heron and on the 'Dog. I will speak to each crew in turn and we shall divide the watches for the purpose of going ashore. We will then draw lots to see which watch goes ashore first. The losing watch shall have the privilege of visiting Martinique in the morning hours for a short duration before all else, while the winning lot shall have the whole of the afternoon afterwards and all of the first night to spend as they will...and sleep abed in whatever place they shall find themselves. In this way, the losing lot shall have a short respite before returning to the long duty of...waiting."

William said this last part with a smile, knowing that the first great revelry ashore was always the most coveted.

Four bells of the MidWatch

~Starboard Watch on Duty~

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian smiled just a touch and nodded. Every man, woman, and boy aboard the ships were fevered with the thought of heading off for shore-leave. Even he thought himself slightly impatient to be ashore, but not for the drunken revelry that most were after. Business first, there were goods to be sold, then supplied to be purchased and sent back to the ship, so even those not on shore-leave may end up visiting the docks, even if only to transport necessities back out to their floating homes. Once the business had at hand had been dealt with, then his mind could turn to more personal business ashore… replace some clothes, maybe even have a coat fit for a captain made for him. A new hat might also be in order. He brought himself out of his internal conversation and bid William a good evening, and that the men of the Heron would assemble on the Watch Dog not long after first light. Captain Brand again nodded in agreement and walked Dorian to the door leading out of the Wardroom, bidding him a good night. Heading into the waist, Dorian looked the ship up and down as he was apt to do any time he came on deck, he touched his hat to those men on duty and headed over the side, back into the Heron’s Jollywatt. Soon the sweeps were pulling the small craft back to the Cutter, and soon those aboard would be informed of the happenings for the morning. A morning that would come too soon for some, and not soon enough for others…

Five Bells of the Mid Watch

[William Brand]

Aboard the Watch Dog

Six bells of the MidWatch

William remained in the Ward Room, passing word to the officer of the deck that he was retiring for the night. He sent word to Miss Smith to bring breakfast by six bells of the Morning Watch, and with the business of the day done, he went to his hammock.

The night passed easily in the shelter of the harbor. The Watch Dog, Maastricht and Heron kept silent company like slumbering cattle on their feet. They moved but little, resting at anchor in the gentle surf of the port. A half dozen ships of similar size bobbed on the dark water of the Cul du Sac, and but for the shared sound of ship's bells, all was quiet.

Down in the 'Dog's cable tier...a rat stirred.

This was not one of the many garden variety rats found about the ship's bilge and holds. This was an altogether different rat. This was the lowliest of the species. Tawny.

The man was cut of strange cloth. From an early age he had delighted in the most macabre sorts of sport, often destroying the lives of many a poor rat himself in varied and unsavory ways. He would trap them in barns and corn cribs for the purpose of skinning them alive or dipping them in oils or pitch to make sport of them burning.

By the age of thirteen, Tawny had graduated to more profound mutilations, doing to dogs and cats, what he had done to mice and rats before.

It was during this downward graduation of evil that a cousin of Tawny's chanced to visit Tawny's home and was unfortunate enough to spend a summer with the sadistic boy. The cousin, a young man by the name of Christopher Daniels, came to the remote country home of Tawny in his fourteenth year. The two cousins were separated by only three weeks in age, but by a vast gulf of conscience.

Tawny despised his cousin at once, for Christopher was fair and well spoken. Tawny's father took to his visiting nephew so immediately, that Tawny was forced to paint on a smile to cover the murderous thoughts which crept up in him almost hourly. He visited his cousin with smiles and cordiality every day, but all the while he was plotting against him. His unnatural imagination conjured deeds so unworthy of any mortal soul, that had his parents even suspected but a portion of his ambitions of destruction, they might have locked him up from the public eye.

Unfortunately, they and Christopher learned all too late what Tawny was capable of.

Now, here in the dark of the Watch Dog, and so very near to so many sleeping throats, lay the rat who had once done to his cousin what even the Devil might not have done. Here in the dark lay one of creation's broken mechanisms. A man beyond redemption and civilization, though practiced in the art of patience.

It was this patience which Tawny had called upon to slip the ingenious knots of Owen. He had slipped but one hand free so many hours before, and all the while moving like a waking snake, trying not to scream from the pain Ajayi had inflicted upon him. With every passing minute he had gained an inch. Tawny felt like he had crawled a thousand miles or more, but the journey which starts with a single step had finally freed his second hand.

He slipped soundlessly from the coil of ropes which held him and allowed them to pool into a pile on the floor. He was instantly moving about the tier in slow and careful circles, seeking any opening to peer through. He managed to watch many a sleeping man and woman through the seems of the door, and he made an accounting of any tool or device within reach once he was freed. He bloodied his fingers a bit in loosening one or two nails from the surrounding beams. He took the longest and most slender of the nails and began to bent and hook the end a little. This effort cost him one finger nail, but it was worth the price, for though a single nail might do very little damage in the hands of some, a nail was a cutlass to a Tawny.

"Kill a Christ, kill a mortal." Tawny thought to himself as he examined one of the long nails by the sliver of light which came in from the berth deck, and this thought made him so giddy, that he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. Not a single sound escaped him, but he shook a moment just the same. Once this inner laughter was gone, he made his attack on the door.

Now the cable tier had never been fixed with anything more than a simple latch set with a ring. The marines had placed a lock upon it, but the small door was not made with prisoners in mind. Especially not Tawny.

The man pressed his thin fingers through the crack in the door. The seam in the jam was not wide enough for fingers, or at least for anyone who favors his own fingers, but Tawny could care less about what damage he might make of his own digits. He simply pressed them through until he had quite stripped the skin from all the knuckles on his hand. A sliver slid under one of his finger nails and Tawny did not draw his hand back. Only when his fingers touched the back of the lock did he begin to move the tips around. He pushed his hand so hard against the jam that his hand was already purpling. He ever so carefully lifted the lock upwards on the ring until the key hole was facing him through the slit in the door. Then he inserted the hooked nail into the keyhole and began the subtle attack on the locking mechanism.

Several times the lock slipped and bumped back down on the numb tips of his fingers. And several times he worked to flip the lock up again. After almost a quarter of an hour, he had lubricated the thin space between the jam and the door with a veneer of slick blood. His injured testicle had swollen to such a size that his left hip ached from crouching over to work the lock, but still he fiddled.

When three quarters and then an hour had almost slipped by, and his shoulder, hand, wrist, hip, back and everything else that might hurt had nearly undone him, he heard the soft click which promised freedom.

Jean Dorleac woke in his hammock near the front of the berth compartment. He did not like sleeping next to the cable tier, and could not forget the look of the man who had been put there. Jean had a knack for seeing the good or the utterly bad in most people, and Tawny was no exception. In fact, Jean remembered the laughter of Tawny the first time he heard it. Jean had assumed then, and still felt now, that he would rather hear angel's call out in pain then ever hear that awful thing which passed for laughter in Tawny.

Now, awake in the near darkness of the berth deck, he swiveled his head around to look at the cable tier. The door was closed fast, and the lock hung upon the ring of the latch. Nothing seemed amiss, and but for a foreboding in his guts, Jean could see nothing out of place.

He turned away and he was in the act of closing his eyes when he turned himself about once more to look. There, set in the jam, were four dark dowels he had never noticed before. They were almost uniform in size and he wondered that he had never noticed them until now. He tried to focus on them, but he could make out little detail in the dark. The lantern burning nearer the aft companionway did not illuminate the space well.

"What are they?" he wondered. "Pegs...? But for what purpose?"

Finally, he decided they were nothing, and he turned to sleep again, though sleep escaped him. Then he woke, with a start, but with little real movement. In point of fact, Jean Dorleac, who had witnessed the accidental shooting of Jack St. Anthony, the brutal execution of Augustus Muller and his share of necessary atrocity in the taking of the Maastricht, froze in his hammock.

"Fingers." he thought, and almost said it aloud and he did not want to turn then. Jean's young imagination raced. He suddenly wished more than he had ever wished before that someone else would wake and look where he could not. "What manner of man could force his fingers through such a space?" he continued thinking, and this thinking led him to thoughts of the lock. "Was it there? Had it been there?" And suddenly he thought, "It was open when I looked last. I'm certain of it."

Jean Dorleac would regret this cowardly, but perfectly understandable pause, for the rest of his life. His last words on his death bed some thirty years later would be of the devil,Tawny, though no one there would understand his lament.

Tawny, killer of dogs and cousins, was standing amongst the hammocks. Jean saw him like a shadow in the shadows out of the corner of his eye. Tawny was standing there, soundless but for a lone heartbeat Jean heard pounding, not realizing it was his own. Tawny stood wraith like, moving ever so slowly through the unsuspecting slumberers.

Then the Watch Dog herself, almost like a living thing in fear of the crew within her, rocked a little on a solitary white cap traveling across the Cul du Sac Royal. The cable tier door closed just hard enough to make a dull thud on the jam, but it was loud in the small space.

Jannes Mijnheere, so recently taken on as an able seamen, died in his hammock a breath later. The thud had awoken him and four others in the dark, but Jannes was unfortunate enough to be too near to Tawny. Tawny was just attempting the stair when the seamen began to wake and Tawny just escaped the grabbing hand of Claude Marchande, who had retired to bed just a little while before. Claude was still a little removed from his dexterity, due to drink, and the thin man slipped his reach. Jannes was in a hammock near the stair and Tawny planted his right heal in Jannes' face with such force that he drove the bones of the Dutchman's nose right down into his brain as he pushed up against the hatch of the forward companionway and into the night.

Jean Dorleac found his voice then and cried, "The prisoner! The prisoner!"

This was overlapped by yells of all descriptions and a chaos so lively that it overshadowed the solitary twitch of Jannes as he slipped his mortal coil.

The Starboard Watch, spread about in the rigging and among the weatherdecks had little warning of Tawny's escape, for he exploded onto the gun deck through the forward companionway so quickly, that the hatch was flung up against an unsuspecting Patrick Hand. Patrick reflexively thrust back at it, just missing Tawny, and the hatch almost fell on Willem Tuygertgen who was trying to follow after him.

Tawny passed by Nathan Bly who just missed striking the prisoner with bucket as he went by. Tawny's course brought him past Reind Halster, who had to duck a blow sent by Tawny. Miss Tribbiani, who had swapped watches so that Paul Mooney might catch some sleep, was forced to stay a shot from her musket for fear of hitting Lukas Stoir, for Tawny had almost gained the rail when he was tripped by the young powder monkey who had had the presence of mind to barrel into Tawny's legs. Still, the prisoner kept his feet. Eric Franklin, a veteran of his share of brawls and battles, leveled his musket at the taffrail and pulled the trigger with perfect ease and aim. The powder, which had been sifted some three dozen times at least puffed dully in the pan, failing to carry the ball from the barrel. Tawny, who had escaped every attempt of capture reached the rail amidships when he was attacked on two fronts. Miss Constance, coming from the galley, threw hot coffee into the man's face even as Robert Thatcher closed from the other side. Tawny tried to turn away from the Mess Mate's assault, but was badly scalded. Robert Thatcher had already discharged his musket, with no success, so with the firearm discarded, he lunged upon the prisoner with a weapon he was far more used to, having been a skinner in his former life. He flicked out his seaman's knife with quick precision, slicing Tawny's arm just above the wrist and then removing the upper half of Tawny's right ear, cutting him to the bone on that side of his head.

Still, that good fortune which oft times follows bad people, lent itself to Tawny awhile yet. Robert Thatcher, steady on his feet despite the drink from early that evening, was tripped by Lukas Stoir, who had mistaken him for the fleeing prisoner. Lukas had been truck by Tawny 's foot as he passed over and was dazed from the blow, but still feeling brave beyond his years, he had reached out and grabbed a fleeing foot, which was not the prisoner's. Robert Thatcher stumbled and fell, almost upon his own knife.

Tawny took this opportunity to struck Constance across the face so hard he she lost her famous well earned name of "Sealegs" and collapsed. Then Tawny slipped over the side in a movement that was part dive, part fall. It seemed in that moment that he had escaped the greater harm intended for him.

High aloft, Treasure Tribbiani, born of a courtesan and wealthy tyrant, and a woman who had sometimes doubted her place, her calling and her own true aim, shot Tawny in the back even as he fell into the dark water of the Cul du Sac Royal.

Seven bells of the MidWatch

~Starboard Watch on Duty~

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin had just managed to relax enough to slumber when shouts arose on the far side of the berth deck. Luigi, nearest her was on his feet shouting, using words unknown to her. She heard the trailing end of Jean Dorleac call "the prisoner" and the name Tawny uttered by crew in shouts and curses. For a moment she froze where she lay, her thoughts on what his last attack had brought to Meg and Aija. She jumped from her hammock to see chaos all around. The trailing shadow of whom she could only assume to be Tawny through the forward hatch was followed by a dutchie, nearly knocked back into Miss Smith and Mister Ciaran fast on his heels as the hatch swung back at him.

Murin heard a strong dutch accent cry that Jannes was dead, weather it was Kampaert or Mijnheere she could not know. Crew rushed up through the forward companionway to the weather deck, she was too far aft to assist then it dawned on her, the aft companionway behind her, was unused. She and Luigi clearly had the same thought as they turned in unison and ascended the stairs. They reached the weather deck together as the shot rang clear above them and collectivly the crew held it's breath hoping that the devil would be seen next floating face down in the water.

[William Brand]

July 18, 1704 - Aboard the Dog

Seven bells of the MidWatch

The Master-at-Arms reached the deck only moments after Tawny had flung himself into the sea. He was dressed in slops alone, but armed with a blunderbuss. He had awoken, unrested, but suddenly alive with adrenaline at the noise from above. He had grabbed up the blunderbuss in haste, worried that some treacherous boarding had accured, and he had failed to even pause on the Berth deck before going up only to find none but the Starboard Watch on deck.

"What th' de...!?" he began, and cut himself short, for down below, many screams of terror mixed with anger came rushing up to him. "What is happening?" he yelled, angry at the confusion that greeted him.

Captain Brand arrived then on the Quarterdeck via the stairway off the Ward Room. He too was dressed lightly, arriving only in slops and an old shirt. He held his cutlass in one hand, still sheathed, with the baldric dragging behind and he too looked suddenly awake with alarm. He ran forward to the rail to look down on the excitement below.

"Mister Pew, Report!"

"Sah, I..." Mister Pew began, not knowing what to report as yet, but Robert Thatcher was rushing to the Master-at-Arms and already yelling up to the Captain, forgetting all protocols.

"It's Tawny! Bastard's gone over th' side!"

"Are ya hurt, man?" Mister Pew asked, noting the knife slick with blood in Robert's hand, but even as he asked this he went to the rail. The water below showed no sign of disturbance. Tawny had not yet surfaced, if he would at all. Across the way, the Heron was waking with activity, with many lanterns appearing along her side.

"Siren got off a shot." Robert said, joining Preston at the side.

William ran to the facing rail, where Eric Franklin stood, having already loaded additional powder in his musket pan. "Call for Mister Lasseter!" William yelled across the water, forgetting in his haste that Mister Lasseter was in fact Captain Lasseter. "Tawny's escaped!"

"He was laughing." A bewildered Constance said quietly as she was being helped up by Murin McDonough.

"What...?" Nathan and Luigi said together, already climbing the rail to look down over the side of the frigate. Nathan looked relieved to see Murin on the deck unharmed.

"Laughing. He laughed as he went over," she said, too surprised not to say so.

"Laughed?" Murin echoed.

Robert Thatcher did not want to believe that he had heard Tawny laugh. He was just then deciding to forget he had heard such a thing even as the Mess Mate made her declaration. Robert had cut the man almost to the bone across his right forearm and he had robbed the prisoner of half an ear, and yet Tawny had laughed going over the rail. Laughed? No, not laughed. Giggled. The man had tittered like some crazed hermit. Bloodied and bruised, the man had tittered.

"Muskets, Mister Pew!" William shouted, still waiting for sign of Dorian across the waves. "All able marines to the deck and the Starboard Watch armed if you please!"

"Aye, Sah! Pe'mission t' shoot on sight, sah!" Mister Pew shouted back, looking as if he meant to go over the side himself and drown the escaped prisoner that very minute.

"Aye, Preston. You may empty the armory with shooting that devil!"

Ciaran came aft along with several others from below, including Tudor, Claude and Alan Woodington. They were armed with awareness, cudgels and knives. Ciaran went up the rigging at once, taking Robert's discarded musket. Claude and Alan joined the throng at the rail. Tudor ran up to the Quarterdeck to bring word of the dead.

"Tawny's escaped." she began, knowing this was probably obvious by now, but unable to keep from saying it. William nodded, and tried not show impatience at this. "Sorry, sah." She said at once.

He nodded. "Are any wounded?"

She shook her head. "I believe one of the Dutchies is dead, Captain."

William's heart sank at once, and while he felt bad for valuing one man over another, he hoped against hope that Jacobus Casteel was not the man lost. "Who?"

"Jannes, I think." she returned, even as Jacobus gained the gun deck below them.

"Aye." William said with a nod, though he wasn't at all certain who Jannes was, and then not knowing why he said it, he added. "Fetch the doctor down there to be certain."

[Silkie McDonough]

"As do chiall." Murin uttered, noting the blank stares that faced her she translated the obvious. "Eez demented." No one disputed that.

Mister Bly and Miss McDonough exchanged a quick glance that said much before he looked away into the dark water below.

Constance was shook up by the mad mans glee at his escape. A trickle of blood came from her nose, her eye was already swelling from the blow. Murin tried to convince her to go to the surgery but Sealeags would not hear of it as she advanced to the rail looking for any sign of the escaping rat.

The rail was lined with crew peering into the dark looking for the escapee. Unable to find a place at the rail Murin stood back looking apprehensively about the deck then at Treasure in her nest above. All that could be heard was the water against the ship and the creek of the Dog.

All on deck were startled as the door from the surgery opened and the surgeon escorted to the berth deck. Again, the crew held it's breath as the search over the water continued.

[Black Syren]

She watched from high above as the ship swayed to and fro gentle as a babe in arms making a mockery of the recent events of violence and mayhem. One hand gripped her smoking musket and the other was gripped tightly upon the rail of the nest as she too peered seeking any sign of the prisoner.

Had she shot him? If so he seemed the sort for revenge, would he know who had shot at him, or hit him if indeed she had? Now on land he would be unstoppable and many women would be in great danger. Women that may have no clue how to defend against such an attack, would shrink away in fear and lose themselves in a web of fear and rage. To be held down and forced to submit, to lose their innocence in more ways than one.

Her long hair whipped about her and as she scanned the decks her eyes moved past then paused and returned to the eyes locked upon her person. Murin stood below and Treasure inclined her head in acknowledgement before once more returning her keen gaze to the sea and what may or may not be seen.

[Bloody Bill Flint]

Bill Flint found through the course of their somewhat stilted conversation that Manus was not a bad man, just somewhat rough around the edges and a little more unapproachable. They were so wrapped in talking that they entirely overlooked the commotion on The Dog and Siren's shot jolted them like a thunder clap. Manus' only observance was a long string of entirely unrepeatable oaths. That something was amiss was lost on neither man and the two searched in earnest for some sign of what was going on. It was then that Manus saw him.

"Man in the water he said", elbowing Flint in the ribs to gain his attention.

Bill quickly found the point Hingerty indicated. Having been aboard The Heron at the time of Tawny's capture he was wholly unaware of the man's existence. He was sure the last of the prisoners had gone ashore already, yet here was someone trying to make good an escape from their company. Mr. Pew had given strict orders regarding attempted escapes......

Tawny continued laughing as he made his bid for freedom. He planned to simply slip aboard one of the other ships at berth nearby as he had The Dog. Unfortunately in the dark and unfamiliar harbor the ship he chose was The Maastrict. An uncharacteristic sea bird's call momentarily drew his gaze skyward where he chanced to see a shooting star.

"This be a good sign Tawny, a good sign indeed."

With a loud war whoop that startled even Manus Hingerty, the Redlegs let fly with the modified boarding axe he'd taken to carrying.

Tawny realized with a start that the shooting star he'd taken as providence was headed directly for him and dove below the water.

When he didn't resurface Bill Flint was satisfied that his aim was true. No body floated lifeless below but neither was there a fleeing swimmer. Something gnawed at Bill that perhaps not all was quite right, but he could find no evidence that his attack had failed. Grudgingly he turned from the rail and consigned the man's soul to the deep. Hingerty made final pronouncement by spitting a large lump of something disgusting over the side and nonchalantly returning to his duties, his conversation with the big marine now entirely forgotten.

[Silkie McDonough]

The cheer went up and fingers started pointing towards the Maastrict. Murin heard the name "Bill Flint" several times along with "Tawny", she knew by the altitude of the crew that it was Tawny who fell and not Billy yet she pushed to the rail in hopes of seeing Nathans friend, and hers, well and alive. She looked towards the other ship to see Billy focused on the water.

Murin looked to that spot where Tawny had been. This man that was lost, this fiend got better than he deserved! Yet he was a man, a human life had been lost, was there no value in that? Again, she reasoned with herself, what of the men from the Maastrict that she had killed or worse yet, wounded and had suffered for days before dying. Some that may be suffering still. She pulled her eyes from the water and turned to the deck, leaning on the rail, eyes downcast she swallowed hard against the churning of her stomach. Perhaps this business of privateering was not for her.

[Dorian Lasseter]

The musket shot had awakened Captain Lasseter from something he had not gotten in some time, deep fitful sleep. He dropped out of his hammock and was drawing the Mortuary sword from it’s scabbard when he heard his name being called out across the waters. He put the sword into his left hand and yanked open the door just as Maurice Roche was about to knock. His knuckles swiped at air and he stood dumbfounded for a half second before his wits caught up to him.

“Capitaine! Tawnee, he ‘as escaped!”

Dorian didn’t even verbalize a reply, he just slid past the man and out onto deck. looking to the Watch Dog, he saw the commotion and all on deck looking into the water.

“To Arms! To Arms! All men on deck!”

The small crew of the Heron swarmed like angry bees on to the deck, all armed with pistol and musket. He watched as fingers were pointed to the water near the Maastricht, a call went up, sounding like an Indian cry. Movement on the deck of the Fluyt caught his attention. He watched as Bill Flint threw something down into the water, then a cheer went up and soon was followed by a lower, horrified hum of voices. He shoved his pistol in his belt and went to the binnacle for the ship’s glass. Once in hand, he turned it towards where fingers were still pointed. All he could see was some choppy water that looked greasy. As things seems to calm, he shifted his sight to the frigate and found Captain Brand in the waist with Mr. PEW. Lowering the glass, he tucked under his left arm and cupped his mouth with his right.

“Captain Brand! What news?!”

[William Brand]

"Tawny!" was all that William yelled back at first, for Jacobus was on the gun deck now just below William, and the Dutchman had blood on one hand. William leaned down over the side, but did not have to ask the obvious question.

"Jannes Mijnheere...sah." Jacobus said, his voice cracking a little on the 'sah'. He cleared his throat and elaborated. "Face is...crushed in, sah."

William nodded. He watched Mister Pew ordering all his marines aloft with muskets. Eric Franklin was still scanning the water down the barrel of his firearm for any sign of movement.

"Mind you don't shoot too high, Mister Franklin." William said, for the Maastricht was also in the direction of his aim.

"Aye, sah." Eric returned, unperturbed by the reminder.

William cupped his hands and called back to the Heron. "Jannes Mijnheere is killed! Any sign of the prisoner, Captain?"

~Starboard Watch on Duty~

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter listened intently to William across the waves and clenched his jaw upon hearing of more death, and the still unknown whereabouts of the escaped prisoner. He turned to all those men on deck, armed for battle. Those who knew Jannes spat curses and gained a hard look.

“You all heard Cap’n Brand… keep a sharp eye fer Tawny…”

He spit the name out of his mouth with venom. And all around him noted the dangerous look on his face. He swept the surrounding waters with his gaze, then shouted back to William.

“Nay Cap’n! Not as of yet!”

He lowered his hand from his mouth and addressed the crew without turning his gaze from the waters.

“A crown to the first man who may spot th’ prisoner, a second to who may kill him… I want th’ body... Someone bring me a musket…”

He shifted his sword into his right hand, blade down and stabbed it into the deck with a dull thud.

[William Brand]

The crew of the Heron 'Aye-Ayed' the orders and offers of Captain Lasseter in unison, except for a few who were already scanning the water.

Over on the Maastricht, all of the crew there had gathered near the rails, but for Manus.

"You missed 'im, i tink." Simon Dunwalt, said to Bill Flint, though if he meant this as a slight it didn't bear out in his tone. He was looking over the side as he said this and Bill Flint did not confirm or deny the remark. Instead, Simon was answered by a surly looking Jonathan Hawks, who was still rubbing sleep out of one eye.

"You best smile when you say that." Jonathan said, pushing a hand into the younger sailor's shoulder, and Simon did smile, reflexively, nervous of the blacksmith's glowering. "When Flint here means t' kill, he kills. Best ye remember that."

Simon leaned away from Jonathan a little, though he kept his feet, and the blacksmith seemed satisfied when the new recruit said nothing in reply. Bill said nothing either, though why Jonathan should say anything in his defense left him wondering a little. Perhaps Jonathan had merely taken the opportunity to put a new crew member in his 'proper place'. Whatever the reason, Jonathan gave Bill a neutral nod and Simon moved to another spot along the rail. Then, Mister Hawks leaned in a little, as if in confidence.

"Did ye kill 'im, Flint?"

~Starboard Watch on Duty~

[Dorian Lasseter]

All eyes were scanning the water around the Heron, the Maastricht and the Watch Dog. Dorian had wondered if Tawny was a good swimmer and might make it to a near by vessel, but he would be noisy no matter, as their nearest neighbor was some five or six cables distant. He was about to sight the ship in question when Nigel touched him on the shoulder and held out a musket to him.

“Aye, thankee Nigel…”

“Welcome, Captain.”

Dorian propped the musket on the rail and sighted through the glass, the water remained calm, an occasional bit of chop here and there, but no signs of a person in the water. Lowering the glass, he shoved it into his belt near his pistol, hefted the musket and checked the pan. Satisfied he thumbed the cock, then decided not to pull it off the dog to full cock.

[William Brand]

Written by Capt. Pew and William Red Wake:

Mister Pew heard a splash, leaned and looked over the rail. The Watch Dog's jollywatt had remained chained to the side.

"Permission to take Samson wit' some marines t' find th' bastid sah?"

William considered this, still watching the water between the Maastricht and the Watch Dog. The fluyt and frigate were much closer to each other than the Heron was to either of them, but it was still a considerable swim to either. If Tawny was alive, and the cheers on the Maastricht suggested otherwise, he'd have a good swim to shore.

The current would work against him if he went North, but if he swam to the South it might carry him all the way to that shoreline.

"You'll take cutlass, Mister Pew. I don't want that Tawny coming over the side at you while you are in the water."

"Aye, sah. I'll feed 'im twenty-five inches o' steele if 'e tries it."

"Then permission granted." William pointed due South to the nearest side of the Cul du Sac Royal. "Put straight into shore and leave an armed band on the beach. Then come again to the 'Dog in wide arcs."

"Aye, Sah! Jollywatt crew to the Samson!"

Eight Bells of the MidWatch

All hands on duty

[Dorian Lasseter]

Patrick O’Hara and Robert Jameson were in the bow of the Heron, looking into the night and pointing out any disturbance on the water they saw. Every time, it turned out to be nothing. They spoke in harsh whispers and occasionally drew looks from other crew members. At one point Robert pointed to the Watch Dog, drawing Pat’s attention to the men climbing over the side into one of the ships’ boats.

“Wot they doin’ ya think?”

“Huh, dunno… think they seen ‘is body floatin’ and are going after ‘im?”

“Oh, I ‘ope not… I’d like a chance ta be a crown ‘r two richer….”

As Robert said the last, he elbowed Patrick in the side, causing him to laugh a bit, which Robert took up. This produced hisses from others to ‘put a lid on it’, and they stifled their laughter.

[William Brand]

(Written by Capt. Pew)

Preston turned to the sergeant at arms, "Mister Franklin, fetch us several muskets." He pointed at the powder monkey standing next to Eric, "Jean, go an' help." He turned and found the Captain's steward standing on the quarterdeck, "Miss Smith, a brace o' pistols an' yer cutlass, join us ifin ye please..." The young woman nearly lept down the stairway and met

the crew in the waist.

Eric Franklin returned with the young boy each carrying a load of muskets. Eric handed them to waiting hands.

The full compliment of the crew were now lining both rails of the watch Dog. Mister Pew returned his gaze to black harbour and growled, "Alan, Owen get your arse in the Samson, we got r'selves a rat to catch."

Alan and Owen went over the side first, followed by Drewes, Willem and Ranst to man the sweeps. Miss Smith, and then Eric, followed by Mister Pew. Lanterns were handed down from above on half-pikes. Mister Franklin arrainged them in the Samson as to hang over the water as if it were daylight.

As the Dutch pulled the small craft away from the Watch Dog, Mister Pew yelled above the commotion, "QUIET!!" Owen and Alan knelt on one knee in the bow, muskets both in the small of their hip. Tudor stood with her cutlass on the gun'le of the jollywatt. Mister Franklin and Pew both stood, pistols in hand, half-cocked ears perched for a simple ripple in the harbour.

(Written by William Red Wake)

As they rowed away from the 'Dog, William called out in a harsh whisper. "Mister Pew!"

Pew looked back, but maintained the silence of the Jollywatt.

"I don't need the body recovered. The head should suffice."

Preston returned a nod as they floated further off.

[Dorian Lasseter]

When Mister PEW yelled ‘quiet’ all eyes on the Heron turned to the shout, then realizing it was just a call to order, the continued their own personal vigil. Captain Lasseter continued to scan the waters with both his naked eye, and the glass, an angry sigh escaping his lips every so often. Nigel felt slightly useless, as his injured eye would tear up quickly, breaking his concentration easily. He tried not to rub it, but couldn’t help doing so. Lucky Tuck climbed into the rigging every so often, trying to see as far as he could. Many others murmured here and there. Fingers shot out and heads turned to look, but nothing came of it. Young Kalfkin almost fell over board as he stood on a gun truck and pointed at a disturbance, luckily, Mr. Johnson was close by and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back. Snorts of laughter burst from Godfrey, and he was cuffed by Johnson’s free hand. Many watched as the Samson was pulled across the bay, lit up like a pleasure yacht as it headed towards shore

[William Brand]

Robert Thatcher was not happy to be left behind, though he thought he understood well enough. He had been awake the better part of the day, and though he felt wide awake now, the Master-at-Arms had chosen "fresher" marines than he so he stood watching them move away from the frigate. Then he felt the presence of Lukas Stoir beside him. He looked down at the powder monkey and raised an eyebrow.

"What is it, lad?"

Lukas, who spoke little or no English at all, seemed to be in thought a moment before he said, "Pardone", hoping Robert would understand his use of French instead.

"Ohhhh. The tripping. It's alright, lad." Robert said, clapped the young recruit on the shoulder. "Ye did well back there. Yer brave fer a boy."

Lukas smiled then, though he understood nothing of Robert's words. Then he gifted Robert with a gruesome trophy which rather surprised the older marine.

It was the upper half of Tawny's ear.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian had patience most of the time. Usually he could be patient for days. But, at this moment it failed him. He began to pace the deck very much like a caged wolf. Even in a shirt and slops, barefooted, he looked ever so dangerous. The set expression on his face didn’t help, his jaw set, brow furrowed. As he passed by, those of the crew near got quiet and very still until he was at the least a fathom away before whispering and looking out into the water. He paced the length of the ship, at one point setting the musket aside and pulling his mortuary sword free of the deck, carrying it with the blade over his shoulder. He looked from the Heron to the Maastricht, then to the Watch Dog. As he passed by the binnacle, he stopped and took a step back.

“Nigel… a word please…”

Mister Brisbane blinked twice before making his way to the captain’s side, his injured eye twitched again. He stopped an arms length away.

“Nigel… “

He said the man’s name then seemed lost in thought. Nigel stood for a time, then very quietly cleared his throat. Dorian looked at him.

“Ah, yes, Nigel… would ye be so kind as to fetch m’ weskit n’ scabbard for this… “

Without so much as a moments pause, Nigel knuckled his forelock and headed below. When he reappeared, Dorian was staring at the sandglass, as it was about to run out. Mister Brisbane stood and waited. As the sand ran out, Dorian turned it and placed a hand on the lanyard of the bell, he struck it once.

First Bell of the Morning Watch

[William Brand]

William watched the crew go over and begin their journey in the dark. He watched as the Samson crew arrived and fanned out along the beachhead looking for signs of Tawny's escape, if any were to be found. The dawn would come soon, and that was good, but the light was poor to see by and would not improve for an hour or more.

William noted that several neighboring ships were regarding them, having heard the shots fired in the night. One ship even called out to see what the matter was, and William was grateful of a few French speakers aboard the 'Dog. Tempest came up from below deck while he was in congress with the French. He raised a questioning brow in her direction and she simply shook her head. Jannes was indeed dead. William nodded and Tempest went to the rail to watch the search party ashore.

As time passed, and with little to do but wait for word and watch the water, William chose to go down to the galley to order up food and drink for the tired double watch, but he found Lazarus Gage already at work there making food and hot coffee. William was glad again of the fortune which had brought Mister Gage to them, though it had come at a high cost the the Warrington Hart.

Lazarus was a good man and attentive to the needs of a hungry and tired crew. He stood at the stove in a long night shirt and stockings, frying up the last hearty stores of fish and pork. He seemed as cheerful and happy to work as he ever did. He whistled over the cook fires like a man in an airy and open kitchen, though the small and often cramped space of the galley would fill with smoke off the stove. As he cooked, the smell wafted out into the night and he sent hard rolls and rum to still the appetites stirred by the odor. These temporary libations and fare came by way of Sealegs Constance, who was still ignoring the dried blood and swelling eye from Tawny's assault.

William stopped her in her rounds.

"Some food, sah?" she offered. He smiled a little at her for putting all else before her injury. Then, taking the tray and jug from her, he passed it Jean Dorleac and urged him to continue with the distribution of fare. Then he brought Constance to the masthead where a bucket and dipper hung. He tore off a bit of the old shirt he had worn to bed and dipped it, bringing it up to her face where he wiped the blood away. "Thank you, sah."

William simply smiled and she returned to duty.

Second Bell of the Morning Watch