The Watch Dog

[Pew]

The boats made the short trip across the harbor to the waiting frigate. Small talk continued until Eric's voice was heard across the water. My head felt warm and I dipped my hand in the cool water to wipe my brow. The proper ackowledgements were made and we were soon latched to the chains on the Watch Dog. Luc helped Pierre grab the rope ladder and Tudor soon followed. I made my way to the deck and met Eric at the railing. As I brought my other leg over, I soon felt very faint and had to catch Eric's shoulder to keep from falling to the deck. Eric grabbed my baldric and stood me upright.

"What's gotten inta you?" Eric asked.

"Dunno. 'aven't felt right. Threw up this morn' an' 't wasn't pretty," I told him.

"Too much ashore eh?" He smiled.

"Hope..." I tried to say and a torrent of vomit flew over the starboard railing.

Eric called for one of the powder monkeys to fetch some fresh water. At once, a bucket and ladle appeared. Taking a sip, I spit it into the harbor and tried to stomach a proper drink. Again the regurgitant spills over the railing. I rest my head on my hands at the rail. I feel two strong hands raise me up by my shoulders and turn to carry me below. Looking up, I see Claude and Luigi grasping my jacket collar and helping me to my feet.

Below deck was the familiar smell of oakum and tar. The mustiness had all but aired out and the smell of fresh spices and vegetables now permeated the passageway. The door to the cabin was open, but my hammock was stowed. Luigi propped me against the door and helped Claude set the hammock up. I was able to undress myself as the cabin door closed. I layed in the hammock as it gently swayed. I closed my eyes, muscles now aching....

[Alder]

The music of brass on brass of the married hook and eye pierced into the wind. The sign that they bound to the wooden arm swung to and fro. Such a meticulously detailed carving of a book made Alder imagine that any moment a page would tear from its bindings. He mused quizzically that a bookseller would not simply inscribe “book”, French “livre” or better still comparable Latin “libri” instead of the classic icon. Stepping inside, he could make out only shelf after glorious shelf standing just taller than his head lined with quaint and curious volumes. A stool resting near the base of the towering cases allowed access to upper shelves; an accommodation the carpenter found unnecessary. Where among these soaring barricades hid the shopkeeper who might offer the sought after virgin folio and writing implements? Alder heard the rustling of motion within the shop. He did not wish to disturb a fellow patron, choosing instead to select a book and preview it’s text until stumbled upon by the elusive custodian of this collection.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Jenny opened the door of the shop and was immediately ensconced in the quiet within. The smell of parchment, leather and dust seemed to give life to the aura of quiet study and learned men. She had meant to call out for Murin but stopped herself, overcome by the towering shelves and volume of books. As Miss Ashcombe wandered through looking for her friend, she passed heavy tomes bound in leather and smaller texts arranged by subject. Some were medical, some Geography or craft. Many on history and war. She then came to a section which was more familiar to her, despite never having set foot in this partiular establishment. Here were children's books. Smaller for the benefit of little hands and bearing illustrations upon their pages to keep the interest of young minds. Nearby were fictional stories of all kinds. Jenny found Murin staring at a variety of books. Seeming to study the lettering upon and within with difficulty. Yes some were in French, but the book Silkie held was in English. She wore a perplexed look of concentration and was running a finger along the text, stopping often to silently sound out a word.

Miss Ashcombe suddenly realized the lass hadn't been schooled and likey couldn't read. Possibly write. She stepped back a pace not wanting to embarass the girl so enrapt in the pages. Jenny called her name from a short distance away as if looking for her. In the quiet midst of so many silently printed words, her few, barely more than a whisper..sounded like a roar.

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin jumped, startled to hear anything in the silence of the shop let alone her name. Her hand still upon the book she had just been considering she looked up. She did not see Miss Ashcombe as she had expect but Alder Wenge among the stacks opposite her. Her heart skipped a beat and she stood frozen her mossy green eyes locked with his of amber, gold and green. Again she was struck by the mountain of a man before her, his dark unruly hair lay in untamed locks about his face, a face that Murin had been unable, nay, unwilling to release from her mind. She dare not breathe, for if she did, this moment would be ended like so many that were allowed to pass since he came aboard the Watch Dog.

[Pew]

Eric Franklin

Eric watched as Preston was led below. Something wasn't quite right. He'd seen Preston completely damaged several times from a go 'round the morning after and never did he act as ill. He made a note to have Jean check on him within the next set of bells.

Jean and Luc's things were promptly deposited in the waist and Eric made the call for some of the hands on deck to carry them below. The weapons they had on them had to be logged into the Armoury. With Preston away and himself the standing officer, he made a mental note to keep the men topside until he could safely store their arms. He called over the rail down to the longboat to have them offload the remaining hogsheads on the Heron.

"Give 'r best to Mister Brisbane," Eric smiled.

They watched for several seconds as Tudor climbed the short stairway and entered the Ward Room. He bade the men to follow him to the Quarterdeck. Eric decided to give the grande 2 shilling tour of the Watch Dog's working deck.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Captain Lasseter had scrubbed himself as clean as he could, taking special note of the wound on his temple. It wasn’t as angry as it had been earlier and he nodded to himself, glad that it remained happily on the mend. He dressed in the clothing he had brought with him, leaving what he had worn into the room laid over the back of a chair. He groomed himself nicely, could use a shave, but no time for that, plus the added roughness might come in handy. He looked at himself, now dressed more like his station than he ever had been. He then laughed at himself…

“Bloody fool… Cap’n’s on’y as good as ‘is crew an’ the ship ye keep…”

Again he nodded to his reflection. He smoothed out the front of his coat and shrugged, took up a small ledger and patted his pocket full of coin and headed for the door. Out he went, locking the door behind him and made his way out into the street, heading in the direction that the Master Gunner had shown him to the Chandler whom he purchased the brass guns in exchange for those of the Apollo.

[Alder]

The sound of her name came to him with a delicate voice that sailed on a waft of the fusty air. Contemplation made corporeal, what spell is this? Alder stood puzzled, prying his glance from the text in his hand turning in the general direction of the utterance.

A torrent of warmth flooded his being in realization that the illusive creature who graced the melodious moniker stood just across the aisle from him. Lips poised to speak froze on the pair as they drank in wholly the vision of one another. Such a tender lass, Alder absorbed every nuance wishing to engrave the vision lest she fly from him yet again. His eyes traced delicate shoes; feminine and ideal for this setting but biting a blush into her unaccustomed feet. How like her, he smiled, devoting such industry and determination to every endeavor be it aboard the ship or this requisite camouflage of her true self. A skirt flowing with all the hues of the sea, cascaded from her tapered waist framing her femininity. A feminity unmistakable even in her conventional slops. The thin fabric of a blouson chemise; ideally suited to the tropical climate, revealed the tan of her flesh though barred any further, improper view. Forcing his trace upward, Alder lauded the amusing disguise with a smile and was captured within the sparkle of her bright eyes.

“Murin, ‘er Miss Mcdonough. . .forgive my familiarity.” he stumbled over his words as he spied another lass coming into view over Murin’s shoulder. By her trek, it was clear the two were clearly foraging together. Better this, he thought than she and Bly, but still not alone. Perhaps this paring may provide a catalyst rather than a chasm.

He could only hope a shared understanding of the sexes may bridge the impasse of emotion he sought to cross.

His mind vaulted to the future. What of the expected decorum aboard a vessel? Long before he laid eyes on the captivating woman, Alder envisioned the struggle to balance service and passion on a ship shared by such company. Perhaps Murin would remain aboard the Dog and he the Heron, meeting on occasion as chance would have it. He neither wanted to forsake this opportunity to be acquainted with Miss Mcdonough nor threaten his position and loose the respect of his Captain or his comrades. He was a carpenter first and foremost with allegiance well rooted within The Heron.

Alder stood dumbfounded, grasping for ideal words that would not present themselves.

[Silkie McDonough]

Transfixed by the man who with no effort managed to monopolize her waking thoughts she was, as had often been the case lately, at a loss for words. Nothing she could utter would be the proper expression and yet saying nothing she would appear the fool. They had been formally introduced, Nathan, to his later displeasure, saw to that. Not that Miss McDonough ever leaned on formality in her previous life but this man, this man of letters of knowledge some years her senior why would he wish to spend time with her? Handsome and strong. How could she deal with the feelings that stirred inside her? Was he having the same conflict? Closing the book in her hand the other hand dropped to her skirt and a graceful curtsy was accompanied with bashful smile and a nearly silent "Mister Wenge." What more could she say? What more should she say? She tried to think back on the many conversations she had heard in the company of Mistress Kate Hodge at the plantation and drew a blank. She could feel the blush in her cheeks rise, or was the color washing from her face? The pause was drawn out and notable in the silence of the book shop. In unison they began to speak once more and once again and embarrassed hush settled over the two.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe remained in the spot where she stood. Her voice had attracted the attention of more than one patron. She watched as Murin slowly closed the book in her feminine hands and spoke in a voice almost too low to hear. Her friend stood staring at a man whom Miss Ashcombe assumed must be another of the ship's crew. He was quite tall, his head adorned with a thick shock of brown and chestnut. His eyes expressive, hazel flecked with green and amber. Which sparked when he recognized the lass bringing a smile beneath mustache.

Witnessing the silent exchange between the two. Jenny quietly retreated around the corner feigning sudden interest in books about languages and customs. She wondered if the man filling Murins eyes spoke English..or if he were just speechless..

[Pew]

Eric Franklin

As Eric and the new crew spent a few minutes discussing the operations of the watch Dog, several noises emanated from the Ward Room. Several slams and a general banging around of crates and books was heard. The men paqsued in theri conversation and saw Tudor Smith jolt from the scuttle.

Eric looked at her confused, "Miss Smith is ahhh..everyhting a'right?"

"The Master-at Arms, where is he?" she demanded.

"'e's below. Not doin' so well," Eric replied.

Tudor promptly continued down the short stairway and below deck.

Eric quickly tried to persuade her from her destination. She was already out of sight before he could reach her. "She'll find out anyhow," he chuckled to himself.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian had walked the streets slowly, being wary of those around him as many passersby noticed him dressed as he was. Many greeted him kindly, to which he returned the greetings, but some cast a measuring glance his way. He stared each of them in the face, causing them to avert their eyes and look elsewhere. After making one wrong turn and being put back on course by a smithy’s helper, he found the Chandlery he was looking for. The warehouse was rather large and open. Piles of used canvas, spars and what not were everywhere, along with some new equipment. The Captain slowly walked through the piles and palates, seeing items of interest in many locations until he was finally approached by one of the many young men employed in the Chandlery. Pleasantries were exchanged, along with some mild tripping over language barriers. Dorian walked about to the different areas and pointed out what he was interested in for fitting out his ship. The young man made some notes on a slate with a stick of lead and jotted down some numbers as well. Questions were asked back and fourth, Dorian finding that it was possible for him to trade the Heron’s 4 pounders in iron and all the shot for them as credit for items he had on his list. His luck was with him today, as he overheard another who he presumed to be a ships officer on a merchant talking to an older man, presumably the Chandler himself, about acquiring some cannon, but nothing so big as he had in his warehouse. The Chandler was making promises to the other captain that he would find cannon for him and not to worry. Dorian filed the conversation in the back of his head to use to his advantage later, once the haggling for prices began. More time was spent finding needed or wanted items until his list was filled to his satisfaction. They walked to the back of the warehouse where a desk and counter were against the back wall, along with a fine table, chairs and glass fronted china closet, which was more of a liquor cabinet then anything else. The young assistant pulled several sheets of parchment from the desk, along with quill and inkwell. Dorian have his name and that of his ship to which the parcels would be delivered. Soon the proprietor made his way back and was introduced and business began in ernest. Drinks were poured and toasts to ones health were drunk. News and gossip was interspersed with the dealings. All was settled before long except for the great guns Captain Lasseter had wanted. Of what six pounders were available in the warehouse, five were from one ship, three from another and four more from a third lot. Dorian was interested in eight brass six pounder guns. He suggested he actually purchase the lot of four and the lot of five, giving him an extra and a reasonable matched type, but since he could not have a full matched set of eight… the price would be less. He got a dark look from the Chandler, but it passed quickly and more deliberations and libations flowed. Once the last glass was drained, the Chandler was silent for a time, the calculations he did in his head were almost visible on his face. Now… now was the time to play his trump. Dorian offhandedly mentioned that in purchasing these great guns, he would be replacing what he had, eight four pounders or iron. The range of expressions that passed over the Chandlers face was extraordinary, and took only an instant. His final expression was a calm one, slowly he made some calculations on the slate and nodded. Yes, he would take the iron guns in trade for the four brass guns, the other five would demand their asking price. Dorian agreed to this after taking time to look at the revised figures. After the deal was struck, the assistant wrote out in detail all that was to be delivered to the Heron. Monies were exchanged, along with a note written by Captain Lasseter to the officers onboard his ship, giving instruction to hand over the iron guns when the brass were delivered, along with full exchange of shot as well. The chandler did not have an abundant supply of six pounder round shot, but it would do for the present. Dorian would have to go elsewhere to procure a full measure. All said and done, the deal sealed with a final round of Cognac, Captain Lasseter left the Chandlery in search of an ordinary, he needed some food to soak up the drink from the dealmakings…

First bell of the First Dog Watch

[Alder]

As quickly as the specter behind Murin appeared, she surreptitiously vanished leaving Alder dumbfounded that Miss McDonough’s companion would abandon her. His mind simultaneously grasped for ideal words that would not present themselves.

He tugged the whiskers of his mustache twirling them between his thumb and forefinger in nervous habit. Would this sweet vexation not whisper more than his name? The silence was deafening.

“What ‘ave you there lass?” he smiled in gentle query. Alder reached for the book in her hand, glazing tender flesh as he sought only to urge the text to inspection. Startled by the contact verbiage blurted from a shaken Murin

“Dis book…nae, I wus jus ere wit mae…” She spun around looking for Jenny who might rescue her from this dilemma. What to do now? What if he expected her to read?

Her evident panic was familiar to Alder; he had experience similar anxiety from lads dragged from stable and field by his father to serve as companions. Joyously sharing play and folly, he became acutely sensitive to the lack of formal education and the unnecessary burden felt by those who learned life’s lessons, not secondhand from text, but from the shaping forge of life itself.

“Lass forgive me for being so meddlesome, have you seen the shopkeeper?” he delicately changed the conversation not wishing to reveal the likelihood that she was similarly challenged by text. He did notice that the book, though a simple primer, was in English. That would offer some opportunity for exchange.

“I have need of a new journal and writing tool” he handed his worn book to Miss McDonough who set the text in her hand aside and took the journal tenderly, opening it apprehensive that a barrage of script would taunt her. Instead, a smile flooded her expression. Murin melted as she looked again into his eyes.

“I ‘dint know ya bae an artist Mister Wenge.” Murin looked back to the tomb flipping page after page to reveal intricate details of leaf and unfolding flower. The shading of tree and even sunsets urged memorized colors though there was only the stark black ink and faded gray of graphite.

“You tease me good woman,” he smiled; the double entendre apparent to both, then paused with a request for informality “Alder, please.” “Mayhaps,” he quickly continued “I could read my scratch to you sometime, tis far too untidy for anyone else to comprehend.”

“Aye. . .” she hesitated “Alder” and taking his lead added “I wod much like dat.”

Alder was rewarded more handsomely by this response than he would dare imagine.

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - At St. Louis

The passing day had grown more hot with every passing hour, so that by the time they reached the prison, the shade of the Fort Royal walls were a welcome relief. The sudden respite of cooler stone and masonry altered their fatigue almost at once. The sweat each of them had carried throughout the day was turned to coolness by a steady breeze which crossed the walls of the fort as it traveled from the Cul du Sac Royal across the penninzula that the ramparts were spread upon. The day was a clear one, and even within the shadow of the fort, the sky was inviting. There was a small amount of commerce coming and going from the fort in the form of soldiers, citizens, and even a few prisoners, but for the most part, the place was quiet, like the day. William and the others were stopped a total of three times at various gates as the made their way into the bowels of the fortress. They were directed through gates and courtyards until they came at last to the place which served as quarters and office for one Bénédicte Dufour who served as an attache between Louis de Mallevaud, the commandant of marines, and the Ordonnateurs de la Martinique, the Intendant for all civil and justice matters for the island.

William was not pleased to be told that he and his companions must tread across many more sun-baked roads, knowing that they would have to do so only to hike again to the fortress prison, but William was not surprised. He thanked Monsieur Dufour graciously, though his mood had soured a little, and the three of men went out into the heat of the day once more.

William chanced to look at his pocketed timepiece as they stepped beyond Fort Royal's Northernmost gate. The afternoon was disappearing more quickly than he liked and it would be after second dog watch aboard the trio of ships in port before he was finished.

"Beg pardon, Capitaine, but might we enlist a carriage for these...eh...unforeseen excursions." Claude offered.

William nodded, and smiled at the idea, that for the present, he was a rich man. He sent Claude in search of the suggested transportation. While they waited, William made note of Bill's body language, for the man had been removed by some agitation all day. William almost asked him the reason, but then chose other conversation instead.

"How are you enjoying the Bard, Mister Flint?"

"Sah...?" Flint returned, coming back from his own thoughts. "Oh. I've not had the time, but for a little reading."

"Any particular favorites?"

"I like most of them in pieces, though King Lear..." Bill said, purposely trailing off with a gesture of his hand, as if the name of the play itself was enough to express the matter entirely.

William nodded. "A particular favorite of mine. I saw some years ago performed by the great Call of London. He was, in a word, spectacular."

"I've not had the pleasure." Bill returned, and he seemed grateful to be talking about anything but what was on his mind. "And I probably never shall." he added, bemused.

"Aye." William agreed. "Though the performance that I witnessed was Call's last, so your privateering aside, you could not have witnessed any more of his work."

Claude returned then with a carriage that was both fair and airy and they joined him aboard it. This reduced their travels significantly and William thought that he might pay a handsome price indeed to have use of a carriage for the duration of his time ashore. It was a foolish luxury of course, but he enjoyed it just the same and the men in his company wore their relief on their faces.

The second bell of the First Dog Watch came and went just before they reached the house of the Intendant, a lavish and tailored piece of property located at St. Louis' Northern extreme. It was a vast tract of manicured land set with more than one building, including the main house itself. It managed to be austere and inviting at the same time and William was at a loss to say what it reminded him of, though it tickled some part of his memory.

They were escorted only as far as the entryway, where they were met by one of the Intendant's secretary, who informed them that the Intendant was away to the other side of Martinique and might not return for some three days yet. William pressed the man politely to tell him how he might fulfill his business in the absence of the Ordonnateur, and he was directed to take the matter up with the Particular Governor, Monsieur Nicolas de Gabaret. William recognized the name at once.

"Is not Monsieur Gabaret the Governor General of the Islands and...the Firm Ground?" William asked, unsure how to express the proper title in French.

"Governor Gabaret served as this, oui, but only for a short time...and then with the demise of Charles de Pechpeyrou Comminge."

"Ahhh. Thank you, Monsieur."

"Je plaisir, capitaine."

They left the Intendant's House then, and ounce more they boarded the carriage, this time in search of the Particular Governor's home. This proved to be more difficult than they would have expected, for twice they were given misleading directions, and the carriage driver seemed altogether void of any information as touching the official's whereabouts.

Despite these wanderings, they were eventually lead to a stately structure which served as both a place of business for day to day matters concerning Martinique and a sort of second home for the Particular Governor, having additional apartments for long stays. It was overgrown after the fashion of the tropics, having some 5 different varieties of vine trailing up and under the various eaves. It was a proud place built after the fashion of France and the architecture of Europe, but it was also a style unto itself.

They crossed a courtyard of paved stones and were met at the gate by several armed guards who informed them that they would not be permitted within thus armed. William had his pick of which man to take with him, and while Claude seemed an obvious choice, William chose Bill Flint instead. He did this, not for Bill's stature, but for his New World French, which he hoped would come across as charming and ingratiating, for William wanted English speaking prisoners very badly, and he hoped that by demonstrating that there were already English privateers among them who had embraced a loyalty to the French that he would win some favor.

The irony that Bill Flint had so recently fought against the French was not lost on William as they stepped across the threshold.

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Silkie McDonough]

For a moment the man before her appeared as perplexed as she herself had been and her heart suddenly leaped for joy knowing that he too was at a loss for words. The awkwardness felt was from as much his insecurity about her as hers about him. He spoke, his rich baritone's again caressing each word, and when his hand brushed hers ever so lightly her she remembered to breath. For a brief second she was torn between the spark that passed between them and the her inadequate knowledge of letters. Jenny had left her and again the duality of her situation raced through her mind. Miss Anhcombe could help but could also impede the long awaited exchange with the man whom she had longed to converse.

Miss McDonough was honored that the man would share the tome that was seldom out of his hands. Murin opened the worn book with trepidation, how would she ever be able to give justice to the mans effort. Her tensions eased as she looked at each page with heightened admiration for the carpenter. She had no doubt of his skill as a craftsman but too see the world displayed so wonderfully on the page as he had done. Drawings of such depth and detail were meant to be shared. Her face lit with the pleasure of what she saw on those pages, what he shared with her. Again she was speechless not out of fear or modesty but of awe.

“You tease me good woman,” she blushed, her smile growing in confidence and her eyes sparkling with laughter at the play.

His words urged her to take comfort in his presence. The invitation to such informality. His invitation to read some of his passages to her.

“Aye. . .” she hesitated “Alder, ...I wod much like dat.”

Murin stood for a moment the journal open in her hand nearly forgotten, again looking into Alders eyes, yes indeed she would like nothing more than to share his thoughts his joys ...his touch. She stopped herself, taking her eyes again from his looking at the pages in her hand. She gently closed the book and handed it to him the blush of her previous tought still warming her cheek. "I've nil seen d'shop keep buot soon will need service also. I ave some needs to attend to ere and a friend wot will bae elpin mae" She glanced around for Jenny again. "Wod it bae too ferward of mae to ask ye' t'wait den perhaps escort mae t'd'inn?"

Holding her breath she waited hoping she indeed had not been too forward. Her nature and her lack of knowledge often conflicted with what was considered "proper"

[Alder]

"Would it be too forward of mae to ask ye' t'wait den perhaps escort mae t'd'inn?"

Alder’s eyes gazed upward ever so briefly in thanking his maker, he then bowed gently and with all earnestness toward the lass.

“It would be my honor and good fortune to escort you Miss McDonough.” Standing full upright again he dwarfed the gentle soul before him.

“But first, my goode woman” he smiled at nary more than the blossom of such, I shall summon the shop keeper . . .” relieved by her conversation, and now more comfortably animated, he spied the room, one brow playfully raised “from whatever hiding place he has found that he may serve you.”

Alder bade a measured retreat past the rows of shelves and stacked supplies in search of the keeper. He repositioned his rattling bag of timber samples higher over his shoulder and closer to his form as he pressed into narrow passages. The sooner the keep was found, the sooner the carpenter would be on his way; ideally, with the lass, perhaps with two.

He did not wish to steal Murin away from her friend, though he hoped the seemingly sophisticated lady in her company may take her leave by choice. With or without, either scenario suited. He did not wish to tempt the fates by being too demanding. As he narrowed his search to the last potential vestiges of isolation in the shop, his mind wandered to the moment when they might sit opposite one another. Alder could scarcely wait for the intoxicating opportunity to have her scent and sound all to himself.

“Good day Sir, may I assist you?” came a voice from behind him somewhat agitated from repeating the echoed query. Lost in the moment, Alder was oblivious the pretentious keep had skulked up behind him. He spun, thunderstruck and paused calming his addled mind.

“Yes, why yes you may. I have need of a new journal, and some writing tools.” he began, “But there are two other patrons in need of your assistance straight away.” Alder gestured toward the entrance to the shop and bade the man follow him.

Wanting not only to remain close, but also to shield Murin from any ignorance the pompous vendor might present, Alder awaited the presentation of her needs before busing himself with his selections.

[Pew]

Eric Franklin

"MISTER FRANKLIN!!"

The tone of worry and utter shock could be heard throughout the ship. Eric lept from the quarterdeck and bounded down the stairway for the voice.

"MISTER FRANKLIN!!"

The call was heard again, but this time Eric could track the shriek to his very own cabin. "Dammit, Preston," he muttered.

He reached the berth deck to see Tudor with her hands on the frame of the door, unblinking. He peered into the room and could see Preston huddled in his hammock with a pool of blood on his chest dripping through the hammock and onto the floor. "Dammit Tudor, move!", Eric pushed her to the side. Blood was nothing new to Tudor Smith. She had seen quite a bit growing up and in battle, but not like this. The shock of seeing the Master-at-arms lying in his own blood was unnerving.

Luc had followed Eric, and Jean was close behind. Several of the crew had also gathered trying to get Preston from his hammock. He was not responding to Eric and could only stifle a muted groan as hands were placing him into a canvas tarp. Jean Dorleac tried to ladle water to his lips, but it only ran down his face into the dried blood on his beard.

"Make way!" called Eric as the crew carried Preston to the main deck. Eric began to send orders among those on watch. Cobus and Luigi were to go ashore in the jollywatt immediately and send word to the Captain with utmost haste. They clambored over the side and swiftly made way to the wharf.

Jannes, Teeke, Drewes, and Luc were to accompany Eric and Preston to town to find the doctor. "Tudor, you have the deck," Eric said sternly. As Preston was passed into the sternsheets of the longboat, Eric looked back to Jean Doublet and Pierre St. Germain. "You're in good hands gents," Eric said nodding towards the young mercenary. Tudor had a look of worry on her face. It wasn't the command she was nervous about, she didn't want to lose another friend this way.

[Silkie McDonough]

As Alder went in search of the shop keep Murin frantically looked for Geneveve Ashcombe. "Jenny?" she ventured to say the lass' name. "Jenny?!" Alder was speaking to someone, he would be back any moment! Miss McDonough searched the books including the one she had been inspecting when Alder had caught her attention. This would be a good starter but on her own how quickly would she move? She would need paper and a writing implement. Jenny quietly approached, "I'm only jus learnin"

It was then the shop keep came up behind the two women. "Comment est-ce que je peux vous aider?" *

"Ummm, d'ye'speak English?"

The keep looked down his nose past the spectacles that perched on the tip across to the redheaded wench who was butchering the English language. He could speak English, and five other but this woman clearly spoke none of those. Why for the life of him would such an uneducated, wench dressed as a lady be perusing printed text? He continued in French.

"De quelle sorte de matériaux avez-vous besoin? Un lecteur de base?" **

"I um, well, det was what I wuz hopin' you wod bae ...." She trailed off realizing that the keep was paying her no mind. Closing her eyes for a moment she calmed herself. There were other book sellers in this city if this one choose to turn away her business she would go elsewhere.

"Monsieur." The man looked up from his books and down his nose again. "If'n eh'tis yer wish det I make m'purchaces elsewhere I ken do so."

"Pardonnez-moi." his adiditude changed little but his focus remained on her now.

"I m'in need of books fer educatin n'fer entertain'n a begainin reader. I needs books on writin n'numbers too."

Murin managed to hold her own with the shop keep asking Jenny for her opinion on occasion. The book seller was unable to supply her with anything much, The book she had found on her own was "Asops Fables" and was laid aside for her purchase. He could not supply her with an English primer and after some discussion with Jenny it didn't seem likely that any of the smaller shops in the city would have it either "The New England Primer, if you could find it would do you well." He suggested that she purchase several blank books to work in suggesting that a tutor would be best suited for her requirements. When she had finished she had a stack of 5 books and journals. After haggling for a price, again with some assistance from Miss Ashcombe, Murin counted out the coin as the bookseller wrapped and tied the books. The led, and quills he wrapped separately she tucked the smaller package and the ink she inside the basket she had been carrying but the books were too large. Satisfied with her purchase she stood with Jenny waiting for Alder to make his selection.

* How may I assist you?

** What sort of materials do you require? A basic reader?

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe had stood near enough to not leave Murin alone with the handsome man who had approached. It normally wouldn't have been proper to leave the younger woman in his company unchaperoned. However, she understood this was another crewmember and so had stood just out of sight but not earshot..feigning interest in other texts.

She felt for the lass as she heard the stumbling admission of illiteracy against the haughty tones of the shopkeep. All the while, the man called Alder stood patiently by. He seemed to posess a gentleness despite his size and she suspected bore no judgement against Murin for her lack of schooling.

Jenny had approached them speaking only when necessary to assist in translation..aware of the bookseller's deliberate lack of attempt at English. Once the selections had been agreed upon and purchased, she took Murin aside while Alder shopped for his needs.

In whispered tones punctuated by a giggle or two, she asked after the crew member who was obviously taken with her friend and likewise.

Soon Alder was finished and headed towards them where they stood in the late afternoon sun, which shone through the dusty windows of the shop, throwing dainty silhouettes of the two women across stacks of compendium and leather bound musings of long dead authors..preserved forever in ink and parchment.

[Pew]

The trip to shore was moving much slower than Eric had wanted. Several times he knelt in the thwarts to feel the breath barely escaping from Preston's lips. The crew pulled as if Poseidon himself was laying within the small craft. Luc watched Eric remove himself from the tiller repeatedly until once he himself could check on Preston.

In an instant, he was gone.

[Silkie McDonough]

Murin was surprised when Jenny said it was obvious that the man was taken by her. He was mature and learned, what interest would he have in her but she giggled at the thought, for as Jenny had pointed out, it was obvious that Murin found the man very attractive in many ways.

Murin smiled up at Alder as he approached. "Miss Jon-v-eev Ashcombe I am pleased t'introduce one of our ships Carpenters Mistar Aluder Wenge."

Jenny curtsied towards Alder as he in turn bowed to her. "I'ev asked Mista Wenge to escort us to d'inn I ope det wern't too ferward uv mae?" Murin looked to Jenny for an answer. Miss Ashcombe, thinking perhaps it might have been, had never worked in such close proximity with a man, this was a new experience for her as well. She was at a loss on what would be considered proper.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Aboard the Heron.

The crew had all taken time to look at, touch, and make comments about the two brass guns coming aboard the Cutter. Soon after the delivery of the second carriage, The Master Gunner came aboard. He instructed the crew to do as Captain Lasseter had said and they began polishing the swivels while He and Mister Johnson took stock of the iron four pounders of the ship. In an hour’s time Mister Brisbane called their attention to yet another barge making it’s way towards the Heron, with yet another brass gun in it’s hold. Again the boat was given way and bumped alongside, this time a packet of parchment was handed up and much was revealed. Petee damn near laughed his pipe out of his mouth as he read what Captain Lasseter had written. More heavy work was to commence. As each new brass gun was brought aboard, an iron gun would be lowered into the barge in it’s place. All new cables would be made up to secure the new guns as well. Also once the guns were all delivered, shot would be traded out as well. The amount of teeth showing on all the officers’ and crews’ faces was incredible. Not one wore a frown, even with all the work to be done. They would toil into the night until all was set, and the morning sun would shine. It would shine off the new and freshly polished brass great guns of the Heron, showing all around her that she was not to be trifled with.

Four Bells of the Second Dog Watch

[Pew]

Luc had seen this behavior before. Many times at his saloon had patrons, rum drunk and debauched, fallen over and landed face up in their own vomit. Only when breathing stopped did the innkeep feel the need to dispatch Luc.

Luc stood uneasily and grabbed the gun'le's. He reached Preston and saw the panic on Eric's face. Luc rolled Preston to his side with little effort. The sweeps suddenly stopped to watched the giant Russian.

"DAMN YOUR EYES MEN!! Pull away!!" Eric roared.

The oars hit the harbor with a slap and each man pulled a full stride in turn. The Russian watched Eric Franklin, but held his ground and landed a solid punch to the Master-at-arms back with his open palm. The blow had dislodged whatever had prevented Preston from staying on with the crew. Bile and blood erupted from his mouth and into the canvas shroud Preston lie in. The color returned to Eric's face and a slight nod from the Sergeant-at-arms spoke volumes to the Russian cooper.

[Alder]

Alder had smiled to himself at the distracting echo of girlish giggling behind his back and still bore the remnant of his delight as he was introduced to Miss McDonough’s companion. A polite bow sanctified the meeting of Miss Ashcombe, who had unknowingly endeared herself in the caring she had shown his favored crewmate.

"I'ev asked Mista Wenge to escort us to d'inn I ope det wern't too ferward uv mae.?"

“Nay, Lass,” he interrupted, turning to acknowledging Miss Ashcombe and then fixed his gaze on Murin “Tis my good fortune to be guardian of such striking company.”

Speechless, Murin looked into his eyes awaiting the next steps of her journey; steps that were to be accompanied by one doughty, carpenter poet. Her delicate arm neatly tucked through the handle of the basket of newly acquired ware. A neatly tied stack of text burdened the other.

“May I?” he asked looking at her pack while tossing his bag handily over his shoulder leaving his broad arms free to carry.”

Nodding only, Murin leaned toward Alder offering her purchase. She gasped slightly, nearly dropping the books, as the wool of his forearm brushed firmly against her skin.

Thankfully his spry nerves, piqued by present company, fired without missing a mark, retrieved the package in comfortable manner.

Detracting from the instance for the benefit of both ladies, Alder initiated casual discourse of the texts in hand. Ignoring the obvious instructional text having no desire to vitiate her intent; instead, he was thrilled at the prospect of feeding her desire to learn, he began as he took the first steps toward the Inn.

“Aesop’s Fables, some of my favorite tales.” Alder opened with a pause.

He wondered which of the fabled beasts best suited the role he now played. What myriad of moral dilemmas would the slave-author Aesop reveal to them both, were they to share his verse? How alike the writer of humble fate and this gentle creature beside him. She who struggled with lexis though so wonderfully naïve as he the learned fool agonized, awaiting each word that dripped from her sapid lips.

Murin looked toward Jenny as she returned a capricious smile. Her confidence, bolstered by that of her companion, coupled with her determination to attain greater understandings, transformed her stride with a self-assured bearing. Alder couldn’t help but noticed as his posture aligning to match her own in the realization that this lass held within sufficient wisdom to parley amongst the greatest breadth of humanity.

Mere inches apart, the three strode ever nearer the Inn. Alder’s restless heart beat with the resounding rhythm of mallet striking well-placed iron. How like the caulk, imbedding deeper into the seam with each shift of the vessel, this satisfaction was bearing fully into his soul.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Miss Ashcombe met Mr. Wenge's courtly yet humble acknowledgement of her presence, with a shallow curtsey and a slight bow of her chin. Briefly her eyes searched his, only the hint of question shown upon them. His own reflected that his intentions were noble and his attention returned to the younger Murin, as he relieved her of the texts which burdened her tanned but dainty arms. Jenny felt almost as an older sister to the young lass as she walked sighlty apart from the two.. who seemed to notice little else around them. The light cool of an evening breze brushed the trio as they stepped into the lane and discourse of fables began accompanying matched footsteps along the road to the inn. Jenny smiled content to take in the very fable unfolding as they walked.

[William Brand]

July 30, 1704 - The House of the Particular Governor

The surroundings in which William and Bill found themselves were astonishing, not as much for their decorations, as for the austere lack of them. There was an unexplainable wealth expressed by the magnitude of emptiness that greeted them in the outer chambers of the Particular Governor's place of work. The place was decorated with a few works of art, to be sure, but many of the walls in the building seemed "underdressed" in William's estimation, though part of him appreciated the minimalism of the surroundings.

They were led through several rooms, some occupied with secretaries, personal attendants, and servants of the house. They were greeted only by a few, and then only with a nod or a polite truncated bow, for they were seen as what they were. The relative newcomers in the game of local politics.

Finally, they reached a room which made all of the others pale by comparison. It was a sort of carpeted hall with a vaulted ceiling rising two thirds as high as the rest of the building and faced entirely with large windows on one side. The glass alone was worth no small penny-weight, not to mention the view of the garden that the windows afforded. This wall of glass faced Northerly, allowing significant indirect light and a view of the sunbathed paths of a manicured garden to rival Versailles. William and Bill were left standing in this room facing the view, and only when the secretary who had escorted made his retreat, did they turn to see the real wealth of the room.

A smile, large and revealing, spread on William's face, for the entire Southern wall of the room was spread with books and paintings. Several hundred volumes at least were present along the shelves which complemented the opposite windows area for area. Huge framed works of art filled the overhanging spaces of the room, washed with the afternoon light reflected off the gardens.

"I would enjoy pirating this place, very much, Mister Flint." William said very quietly.

"Aye, sah." Bill returned, smiling less than William, but no less distracted.

William's first reaction was to walk directly to the bookcases and begin perusing titles by theme and author, but decorum suggested that this was both forward and that it might be considered an affront to the privacy of the collection, no matter how public the house might be. William allowed himself to drift only a foot or two, pulled forward by the gravity of the volumes before him, and this allowed him to see a few titles printed along the spines of the inviting tomes.

Many of the volumes were bound and numbered as sets, having no titles at all, and it was obvious at a glance that most were comparative sets of information or ledgers. Some were uniquely bound and worn almost to decay. Others were new editions which still bore the fine gold and silver of blind-stamping. Most of these bore French titles or the names of French authors, and William thought that the marine at his left might enjoy any of these more than he might. Still, had he been offered such a treasure of words, he would have spent another month at Martinique in happy translation.

William was again considering a drift in his location on the rug, when a door to the room opened and closed again with the arrival of Monsieur Nicolas de Gabaret, Particular Governor of Martinique.

Monsieur Gabaret stood almost the same height as William, but well below Mister Flint. For a man of high station, he was simply dressed, though his clothing was as well tailored as might be found in the New World. His face showed the lines of a man careworn by the weight of many offices and even more responsibilities, but his smile belied the charm necessary to remain in office for so many years.

"Bon après-midi, messieurs."

"Bon après-midi, gouverneur." they returned.

"I am to speak with one...Captian Brand, oui?"

"Oui." William returned, and they exchanged a nod.

"S'il Vous Plaît." the Governor said, gesturing to two of several empty chairs. "What brings you now to Martinique, Captian?"

"If I may..." William began, and he retrieved several documents from the satchel he had brought with him. He passed these to the Governor. "As you can see by these documents, I have come to Martinique by way of His Grace."

The Governor examined each document with the practiced art of one who has read thousands of such certificates. He nodded almost at once, having sighted the signatures of each marque above all of other words before him. He looked up again with an expression which said 'Continue'.

"I have come on an errand of the utmost importance to me and to my crew. We are seeking your permission, Gouverneur Gabaret, to take from your prison some dozen or more men to serve aboard the Watch Dog and Heron, two of our ships here at Martinique." William explained, and he looked to Mister Flint for clarification in French. Bill repeated all and William watched the Governor closely as he did so. The governor simply nodded, and perhaps he smiled a little to hear the regional dialect made obvious in Bill's voice, but William couldn't be certain.

"Zees men are prisoners of France." the Governor stated matter-of-factly as he now read each marque with a more discerning eye. "I trust I need not translate...?"

"Non, Gouverneur."

The Governor continued reading and there followed a long silence as he read each Marque in full. He was still reading when he began asking several questions in quick succession. "You have with you some hollandais...ehh...dutch?"

"Oui, Gouverneur."

"Also, you have some Anglais et Français, non...?"

"Oui, Gouverneur. We have in our company some several Frenchmen...and English and Dutch in equal parts."

"Noirs?"

"Oui. We have but one."

"Only one, Captian?" he returned, somewhat surprised that the two ships should have but one among so many.

"He is large enough to be counted as two." William said by way of explanation, and the Governor smiled a little, watching William with the focus common to his office.

"Zeez prisoners...zeez enemies of France...will you maintain zem? Can you guarantee control of zem?"

"Non." William returned with simple honesty, and this above all else, conjured a nod from the Governor more absolute than any before. He fixed William with an appraising look and neither men spoke for a long time.

"You have brought us many prisoners already, Captian." And William could see that he had secured a foothold in the Governor already, but he played the game of questions with his usual frankness.

"Oui." William agreed. "Let me exchange for them a dozen from your prison whose loyalties to England have faded in the dark. I will alter them by...fortune."

"Prison sometimes hardens a man's...résolution."

William nodded. "We are possessed of an excellent cook."

This made the Governor smile more than anything William had said before. "You are pragmatic, Monsieur."

"I live on the sea, Gouverneur."

The conversation continued, but the argument was won. Assurances passed between the two men, with Bill Flint sometimes translating the particulars of the arrangement. They were also joined by several secretaries who documented the proceedings in a more permanent fashion. When all was finished, William and Bill left the House of the Particular Governor with some seven documents in their possession that would allow them to hand pick their share of recruits from the prison of Fort Royal.

First Watch Begins

~Larboard Watches on Duty~