The Watch Dog

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - The docks

Several members of the Larboard Watch gathered there at the docks were wearing newer clothes. Some were sporting new hats and few had had even purchased shoes, the old ones tucked into bags about their shoulder to be used for working watches. Even those Dutch crew members who had little coin and who were not privileged enough to have shares yet, had spent money ashore. Marinus had bought himself a ridiculous pipe. It was too large to be practical, but he puffed it with great relish. Jochem Roggenbroet had also spent money he didn't have, borrowing from Ciaran to buy a good seamen's knife. Patrick Hand was busy testing the weight of it and he gave Jochem an appreciative and approving nod before handing it back.

After a time, Miss McDonough made here way into town accompanied by Patrick Hand, who, having found a a pint of rum already, was prepared to walk anywhere she cared to take him.

"I have no pressing appointments". he explained, and off they went.

Six bells of the Forenoon Watch

The recruitment of prisoners went very well at first, for within the first few minutes William had secured some six men, with several others under consideration. The first recruit was not Robert Hollis, though he followed hard upon.

The first men to join were Richard Tollervy and Brenton Coles, the last of of a handful of survivors off the merchant ship Anne Marie. A spanish ship of some sixty guns had come upon their ship in the night and had had fired so many shots on the poor vessel that they had cut her almost in half. Most of the Anne Marie had gone down in seconds and Richard and Tollervy had only been left alive due to the great excess of debris which floated up from the shattered holds. All the other survivors had been riddled with enough of same debris that all but the two had perished within days, succumbing to their various injuries.

Richard Tollervy had been a marine in his former life. He had also proved to be an exceptional accipitrary, having kept some 17 falcons and a number of carrier birds for two different regiments. This put ideas into William's head that he had not considered so he agreed to take the man at once. He had took Brenton aboard merely as a matter of course and as a favor to the marine.

The next recruit, was of course, Robert Hollis. Hollis was a boatheader of fifteen years, having served on seven different vessels. He had survived two shipwrecks, twenty-seven engagements and two wives. According to Hollis the two wives had been the most harrowing adventure of his life and he was lucky to be alive. William liked the man for his veracity of wit and his willingness to answer all questions put to him, but after a time Hollis began to regale William with so many tales and observations of William's own past that he was forced to put up a hand.

"I know myself well enough, Mister Hollis. That will do."

Robert Hollis came from the ship Red Helen, and three others from the ship followed, including William Dash, Thomas Crips and John Kine. William Dash was a boy of 13. Although young, he had seen service as a powder monkey on two vessels and had proved a qualified messmate on the last merchant ship. Thomas Crips was blind in one eye and had poor sight in the remaining one, but his fellows vouched for him as a good rope mender and the 'finest fiddler that God had ever put to sea with'. John Kine was an able seamen of good strong hands who had worked as a spallier in his younger years. William would have taken him aboard for his seamanship alone, but the idea of having a tin laborer aboard didn't hurt either.

After these came seven prisoners from the frigate Carolina. Anthony Dyer, Jeffrey Elijah, Zachary Howard, David Leigh, Gabriel Edward, David Henry and Robert Elmer. They had come from different ports from England to the colonies, but every last one of them explained that they had been press ganged into service. Shortly after leaving port at New York the ship had been captured by a French privateer. There Captain had surrendered so quickly that it was passed among the men that the Admiralty had given him a Letter of Surrender for just such a purpose. Not one of them had a kind word to say about the Navy, the press gang recruitment not withstanding, for their former Captain had ransomed himself and all his senior officers back to England, leaving all else to rot.

"I bin twice kidnapped by da Navy", Anthony Dyer explained, "I'll gladly g' 'board da Watch Dog just ta willin'ly sign 'board a vessel fer once."

The first baker's dozen were all moved to one cell, while those who would not sign aboard were placed together separately. William assured the first recruits that he would take them out of prison that very day, but he made it clear to anyone else within the sound of his voice that he meant to take only thirty with him from this first visit for the ease of outfitting less men at one time. And with this said, he continued down the line.

~Starboad Watches on Duty~

[Bloody Bill Flint]

A solidly built man of some thirty years with a highly pronounced scar bisecting his face from left eyebrow to right cheek pressed forward. He called out to William in a thick German accent

"Mein Herr, perhaps I may be ov zervice"

[William Brand]

William was in the midst of questioning one Samuel Standiford and his nephew, formally of the merchant vessel Providence Prize when a solid looking gentlemen stepped forward. William appraised the man.

"I'm after men of English origins where I can find them. What languages do you speak, Herr...?"

[Bloody Bill Flint]

The man snapped sharply to attention and knuckled his brow

"Ulrich fon Sandt-Thorvald at jour zervice Herr Kapitan, I speak Englich, Dutch, German ov course, Franch, pazzable Spanich, unt zome ov de dialectz ov Araby. Alzo I vread in dies lankwages."

"Mozt unvortunately Mein Herr I do not meet jour virzt reqvuirement az I am not Englich, but Prussian." he added merely for Williams amusement as well as his own with a wide grin that shined of gold.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Just before Eight Bells of the Forenoon Watch

Even with the weather pending, Dorian could not make haste to the Surgeon’s residence. Between running into crewmen returning to the docks for the change of watch, and stopping into some shops along the way just to take refuge from the growing winds. He knew he would be too late. He knew he would not make it his destination without getting a soaking. His recent wounded temple throbbed, telling him the storm would be upon the town at any moment. His ache was right. A great bolt of lightening, followed by a thunderclap announced the deluge of rain. The Captain had left the shelter of one shop and was headed diagonally across a street when the downpour fell from above. It actually stopped him in his tracks, it hit so hard, so fast. Grabbing the brim of his hat he stepped lively, trying to avoid the rapidly forming puddles and streams in the streets.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Fronds slapped against the adobe of the small inn, which was darkening as the sheeting rain soaked into the plaster. A gust rattled sturdy shutters against their latches and what portion of it that made its way through, blew across the bed. Jenny unconciously pulled the woolen blanket close and turned her face into the softer nap of the pillow. She slept a deep but restless slumber. Hunger had been eased only with a modest meal of fruit and cheese. She'd indulged in wine as well to help calm her nerves and ease the aches and abrasions now pricking at her slumber. In the small Ville du Fort Royal the temper of nature threatened the usual peace of the ports sleepy neighbor. As she slept Miss Ashcombe dreamed of arriving on the docks later in the eve and finding the Cutter and Frigate gone. She stood looking out to sea but seeing no familiarity in the ships which plied the currents there. She dreamt of Daniels sleeping face tucked in close to his sister's golden locks. Voices sounded in the Inn's hallway and she grasped the blanket tighter, images of Martin Garaud obscuring any peaceful scene.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - The Fort Royal Prison

Just prior to eight bells of the Forenoon Watch

William was surprised by the sheer number of languages to be certain, but he was still of a mind to say 'No' simply because this was the mindset he had brought with him. Every man had to prove himself enough to step from one side of the bars to the other.

"I have a men who speak English and Dutch, sah. I have some who speak both English and French. Some English and Spanish. I even have some who speak English and Deutsche. And...I speak Araby, yet it could be argued that what I have in all of them might be had in the one of you. It could be argued this way, but I also need sailors. My men are laborers who give me a good working day. Where were you employed that you should speak so many languages, sah?"

~Starboard Watches on Duty~

[Bloody Bill Flint]

"I em a Soldat by profession Mein Herr und am much traveled. I haf been in die employ ov die Sultan of Incirlik qvelling ooprizings on his behaf in his holtings in Araby as well as protecting his lands against die Cossacks. Ov late I vas die employee ov Die Margrave auf Ansbach-Bayreuth ins Hesse. At mein Lord's behest I und my Kompanie ver enroot to die kolonees to Fort Oranj of die Dutch holtings in New Amsterdam. On die vay ve ver most mercilessly attacked by die Frankreichers, only mein self und a Herr Thomas Halsey, ein Englichermann were spared. He vas ransomed back to die Englich vhilst I vas brought here."

Seeing a small look of doubt on Williams face he continued

"Mein loyalties are not changed easily Herr Kapitan I am a provezzional. I am not seeking vealth, I am seeking to be ov zervice as a good Soldat must. I hav no doubt been vritten ofv as a loss in mein Lords accounts and must now seek employment else vere. I vil be your man until you no longer hav need ov me.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Fort Royal Prison

"I cannot promise to make you a soldier at once, sah...your experience notwithstanding. I weigh my marines in the balance of work and loyalty aboard the 'Dog and Mister Pew must have his say before any agreement might be made. You may sign aboard as an able seamen and I promise, at the very least, that I will use your understanding of languages to further the distribution of English among those who know it not. Perhaps in time we may come to another understanding. Agreed?"

Ulrich fon Sandt-Thorvald, once and always a professional soldier, but now a prisoner, agreed to the terms. They did each other the respect of clasping hands, and William hoped that this contract alone would be as binding as the articles Ulrich would sign later.

[Silkie McDonough]

Patrick Hand and Murin McDonough set a quick pace from the docks. His long smooth stride translated to a near trot for the lass. Murin was out of breath when at last they reached the inn that she would be boarding at once again. The proprietor smiled as she saw the lass, her face was now known here and welcome, but looked quizzically at the man with her. Patrick lifted his bottle to the proprietor then turned to go, this place was clearly not accustom to the likes of him and he did not wish to make things difficult for Murin. “Padrig stay please, I’ll be buot a moment.” The inn keep gave Miss McDonough a key in exchange for coin; she added a small coin to have her small duffel taken to the room. “Tank ye.” She never addressed the woman by her name simply because she could not pronounce it properly. Taking her leave she gathered Patrick and the two headed into the emptying streets once again.

They were less than twenty paces away from the hat makers when a flash of lightning lit the street, thunder clapped overhead and the sky opened pouring enough rain at once to nearly soak the two as they sprinted for the cover of the hat makers shop. Laughing at their slight misfortune the two shook what water they could from their outer layer as they were greeted by the merchant. “La bienvenue, bienvenue, ce qui apporte deux que le monsieur ici dans un tel inclément survit à ?” Murin and Patrick looked quizzically at each other hoping the other would speak French. Each shook their head in response. “Par-le vou anglish ?” Murin attempted to say what she had heard others say many times before. “Oui” the merchant smiled at the lass in appreciation of her attempt at French. “I make a fair attempt awt et.” Murin brushed the dripping red curls from her face. “I was here with another man just two days ago we ordered hats for our marines.” The man’s smile broadened further. “Oui, Oui, I do recall!” The hat maker laughed at nothing, ushered the sailors in and offered the two a seat before conducting any further business.

[Pew]

Aboard the Watch Dog

Eric had been awake for some time. The thunder had sounded in the distance and was making it's way towards the harbor. Each clap echoed off the hills and reverberated around the harbor like a 18pdr with double powder. A smile formed when the thoughts of heavy arms fire wandered through his mind.

By the time Eric made his way to the galley, only a few biscuits were left as well as a half mug of lukewarm tea. Tucking breakfast into his pockets he made his way topside. The rain had just begun to fall and he could see sheets of it falling across the countryside. Once on Holy Ground he could see the crew had rigged the tarred canvas to get out of the impending rain. Eric reached for a biscuit as Jean arrived on deck.

"Good Morning Meester Franklin."

Eric nodded with his mouth full.

"Any word froom Meester Pew?"

Eric shook his head side-to-side as he finished chewing. "No. I'm sure we 'ad 'eard should Mister Pew taken worse."

"Ah oui. Zat ees good news, non?"

Eric simply raised an eyebrow in some sort of agreement. With another clap of thunder and a shot of lightning, the deluge began to fall. A few of the crew scrambled to the canopy in the waist to at least retain some form of dryness. Lukas and Jacques played in the rain like two schoolboys dismissed early from their chores. Only when a bolt of lightning struck nearby did Ajayi grab each by their collars and drug them under the canvas. Laughing at the scolding the African gave to the boys in his native language, Eric and Jean hurried to the Ward room. Each shook off the rain and watched the storm dance across the water.

Eric leaned on the newly timbered frame around the stern windows. He did not face jean when he began.

"You were th' Quartermaster aboard your ship aye?"

"Quartermaster? Non. A Lieutenant under Captain Beaulieu," Jean replied. He took a seat at the table. Jim Warren had left several charts on the table with various notations penned in a small log book. Jean tilted his head to the side to read them.

Jean continued to describe his duties aboard the ship and those men he worked with and lost during his time aboard his vessel. Eric eased his guard and both began to trade stories of places and wars they had shared in. Jean smiled to himself, the ruse was working.

[Alder]

The day was well underway; Alder and Robert had long since retired their hammocks, liberating additionally workspace. Robert set off into town seeking sustenance and the necessities essential to accomplish the Captain’s requests and make their stay ashore more comfortable. Robert proved not only wise but also an invaluable assistant. He outfit Alder with the flintlock pistol he advised be kept at the ready, and also offered an innate understanding of nautical engineering. He had most certainly secured shelter from the impending barrage of weather. Alder observed that the storeroom seemed suited to the climate even as the skies rumbled overhead.

From the very hint of dawn, the carpenter had grasped each ray of light that streamed through long neglected panes of the chandlery; the storm would not best him now. He closed his eyes as powerful flashes pried past his eyelids. Alder endeavored to perceive the spirit in the carved timbers of this woodland goddess. He pictured her face in the shadows of his memory. Was this betrayal; to allow the likeness of his shipmate to supplant that of his beloved long lost to him? He shook the vision from his mind and opened his eyes.

Alder looked down at the Captain’s directions upon the meticulously folded note in his hands. The carving, he would renew according to Dorian’s design. Her tresses he would deepen. A delectable shade of cinnamon, he imagined, though he would offer samples to the Captain from which to choose before the final call. Fashioned from his skill, she would be reborn of his touch. He smiled at the irony of a childless man bringing forth life. The request to transform her gesture and add an ornament; however, would pose more challenge. Alder considered not only the manner of attachment, but also the pairing of like wood limb to the original paring in both grain and density. The direction requested of the craftsman created a puzzle in wanting a lone piece; a pastiche in the making that would assume harmony. He pondered feverishly. Hardwoods of elm and oak posses properties to withstand relenting exposure and the buffeting of heavy seas. Either would do nicely. Alder planned a return to the stockyard to make his selection.

Exploring the carving, the nature of her maker was revealed through each winding curve. Running his hand along the drape of her gown Alder’s sensitive touch discovered an unlikely imperfection. Tucked in the fold of the grain as it followed the fabric’s crease was a mark. Leaning in and over, a minute “C” with a blaze bolting from its center became recognizable. This was an unmistakable signature obvious to the fellow carpenter. Not as brazen as a painter or boastful as an author though a signature nonetheless. And surprisingly this mark was similar to his own; a large and small triangle stacked upon a still smaller triangle, resembling a tree. Three well placed strikes and it was set, smaller than a fingernail, just as this one.

Alder drew a breath deep into his lungs and released a sigh. The reflective repose was suddenly interrupted by a sharp knock resonating through the window pane.

[Captain Midnight]

An unusually tall man of solid build stepped from the shadowy depths of one of the prison cells to the barred door. His face was unshaven and his clothing disheveled, but it was evident from his closely cropped hair that he might have once worn a wig, perhaps belying a past that might have once been better than his present. He stood at the bars with a straight, dignified stature, and peered through. In a deep, unfaltering voice, he called out in an accent which was English, but evidently not from England: "Captain, could you use another good seafaring man?"

[William Brand]

William stepped away from the Prussian and his cellmates and walked towards the darker end of the corridor. One of the French marines fetched a lantern to light the faces there and more than a few men squinted away from it as it fell on their varied faces. Some were lean. Some old. Most of them wore beards of a sort, and as with all beards, it was impossible to judge how long many of the men had been there. William found it easier to judge them by the state of their clothing and the tall man looked to have been here since the previous summer.

"You look well preserved, sah." And William thought to ask how much longer his clothes had been interned here, but he didn't. Instead he asked, "How long have you been a prisoner here, and where do you hail from?"

[Captain Midnight]

Although he squinted from the light of the lantern, the tall man shot a look of extreme disdain towards the French marine, who, catching the look from the tall man, lowered the lantern a bit so that it shone not so brightly in the man's eyes. The tall man turned to Captain Brand: "Sir, I have been imprisoned here for nine months. I was captured as I came ashore with a few friends seeking supplies for our ship. I am from the colony of Rhode Island in America."

[William Brand]

William looked at the other men in the cell and something in their body language said that they were not the friends he spoke of. He looked at the tall prisoner again.

"Where are your shipmates, sah?"

[Captain Midnight]

The man looked closely at Captain Brand, examining his features for any glimpse of trust he could grasp, and lowered his voice a bit. "I know not where they have been taken, sir, but they were never confined with me. I know not whether they are dead or alive...my hope is that they are alive, as they were good men, every one. I would imagine that they were purposely not placed here with me because I was their captain aboard the sloop Fortune, which was my ship."

[William Brand]

William thought of the Hamer Hoen. He tried not to, but it was pointless. Despite the years which had passed, she had been the first ship that he had captained and he was doomed to remember her upon occasion. He nodded sympathetically.

"Welcome aboard, Captain."

[Captain Midnight]

The tall man eyed Captain Brand with a look of sincere gratitude. "Sir, I have been imprisoned here since November. My men are gone, my ship is gone. I have an inevitable date with the hangman. If you have a place for me aboard your ship, I am simply one of your sailors, and am grateful to you for my life. I am called Jonah Greene, but to most of my friends and my enemies in these waters, I am simply called by the name "Midnight".

"I can serve you well. I am a trained cordwainer and blacksmith, or at least I was in my former life, and I know quite a bit about carpentry as well."

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Fort Royal Prison

To say that William smiled would not have done the expression justice. He did smile, but it beamed a little on his face and he looked delighted.

"I am in need of those very skills and would gladly have you aboard, Mister Greene. I'll not turn away any tradesmen. We shall see you outfitted for such work. The Watch Dog is possessed of good tools and we took additional mallets, augers and the like from the Maastricht."

They conversed a moment on the trade of carpentry and shipwrights. They also spoke of the larch, oak and other woods of the frigate. After a time William remembered himself and he ended their discussion abruptly, mindful that noon was almost upon them. Then without asking for additional details, he took Samuel Standiford, a Hatcheler from the colonies, and his nephew James Standiford who had been an apprentice of the same trade. Both of them had joined the service at the start of the war and knew the sea life as well as the other nine men of the Providence Prize. William excepted every one, taking on Andrew Light, Moses MacTigue, Martin Gadd, Godfrey Bicknell, Oliver Randall, Francis Thomas Roundtree, James Abraham Sandefur, Blaise Wallace and Gavin Montgomery, able seamen all.

The last two men to be added were Brenton Lund, a man half Swede and half English, and his friend, Kevin Norman. They were both survivors of the Rounder, an ill-fated merchant that had run aground near the Grand Turks. They had survived by a combination of outrageous fortunes and no small amount of work on their part, having seen as many follies as they had turns of good luck. All in all they seemed a very pragmatic pair and William found that he could not refuse them.

These two brought the total number to twenty-eight and William was satisfied that this was enough for one day, especially given the clothing and supplies they would require before nightfall. He asked the marines to bring the selected prisoners out into the corridor and on to whatever fortunes awaited them.

Eight bells of the Forenoon Watch - The Docks

Even as William marshaled the new recruits out into an unexpected downpour, the Larboard Watches gathered in the small boats of the frigate and cutter to return to their duties aboard ship. They were a wet, jovial lot, having spent much of their coin in anticipation of the larger sums owed them from the Maastricht. As they laughed, filled the boats and swapped stories of shore they were joined by another.

Christophe Lefevre arrived at the docks at precisely noon of that day. The bells from several churches were still peeling away when he stepped onto the docks and began asking after the "Witch Dog". This mispronunciation attracted the attention of Ciaran and Claude Marchande, who both had a good laugh about it.

"Witch Dog...?" Ciaran repeated several times, enjoying the sound of it. "I'll be weeks getting that out of my head."

Claude was still laughing as well, but he had heard it differently. He was thinking 'Which Dog' and it reminded him of something his brother had always joked about. Still, when he heard the obvious French in the man's accent, he explained that he and Ciaran were members of the 'Watch Dog' crew.

"Ce s'appelle le chien de garde."

"Ahhh..." Christophe returned. "Un chien pour garder..."

Claude and Ciaran explained many more things to the Frenchman as they pushed off from the docks to bare the last of the Larboard Watches back to the 'Dog and Heron.

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Silkie McDonough]

To Murin’s relief Patrick had corked the bottle and stowed it someplace on his person before they had left the inn. The hatter nearly danced around the shop. “Le démuni I a exécuté votre commande encore, là est beaucoup de travail à faire sur un ordre si important.” Before Murin could utter a word the man stopped in his tracks he wore a look of disdain on his face and commented to himself “L'anglais que vous dupez. Vous devez leur parler dans une langue qu'ils comprendront.” His attitude changed again and his words directed to Murin and Patrick, “excusez-moi, ze order, she is going to take some time but I would like that you see wot ez tu look.” He flitted across the candle lit room singing and returned placing a hat that was clearly meant for a larger head upon Patrick’s. Patrick did not move he left the hat that covered his eyes where it sat; this delighted the hat maker for a moment. Then in a flash his mood changed and he was once again scolding himself. “Non! Non! Vous ne pouvez pas traiter un patron de cette façon, vous les irriterez !” The hatter plucked the hat from Patrick’s head and presented it with a bow to the red headed sailor before him. Patrick chuckled at the antics of the man and his laughter was joined by that of the hatters. Murin inspected the craftsmanship. The color looked good but it was hard to tell in the candle light, the trim as ordered and nearly seamless at the joining. “Aye, tis goode.” Murin handed the hat to the merchant who giggled with delight as he returned the hat to its perch.

“Zayre are many like it prepar-ed but zuch a large order, we ave others in town assisting. Es zayre more I can do pour vous ?”

“Oui.” Again the hatter laughed to hear his native tongue used by the sailor before him.

“Oui, oui. Ow may I delight you?”

“I am in need of a at for my own use.”

“Oh, oui!” he laughed at himself, “What chapeau ave you in mind?” His hand swept wide indicating the shadows of many hats dancing along the shelves and walls behind them.

“Green. I would very much like a dark green hat, something practical.”

“Piratical?” He stood before her stunned at what he heard.

“Nil! Practical!” She was both upset and embarrassed and had the lighting been better the men with her would have seen the blush rise in her cheeks. “Sometin t’keep d’weter frum mae ead!” she lifted the drenched lock that was tied at the back of her neck.

Patrick interjected here, “You got a name wot to call you by?”

The merchant laughed at Patrick and nodded, “Henri”

“On-reeee, now that’s a frenchy’s name ef ever I eard one”

Murin bit her lip waiting for the shop keep to take insult but he laughed. He laughed a laugh that was some place between amusement and …madness. This man was beginning to unsettle her. Why hadn’t she noticed his behavior before?

“On-ree, the lass needs a hat with a wide brim wot ken be cocked if she wants t’”

“A ladies hat?”

“No, a hat to keep me dry.”

“Oui, oui” he scurried off talking to himself.

Miss McDonough looked at Patrick with trepidation in her eyes and Patrick shook his head and smiled a wry smile as if to say the man is harmless.

Henri returned from the back room with both hands full in the one he carried a hat, in the other three glasses and tucked beneath his arm he had a corked bottle. He handed the lass the hat, placed the three small glasses on a nearby table and began to pour from the bottle.

Murin held in her hand a leather hat dyed to what appeared in the lamp light as a deep forest green. The brim was broad and had not been cocked. She sat it upon her head and to her delight it fit well. Henri then lead her to a looking glass, what light was available illuminated her dampened locks with fire and the contrast to the green atop her head pleased her. Trying not to smile too broadly with the pleasure she felt she took off the hat and began to barter with the hatter. His price was much lower than she had imagined, she could scarcely offer less than he asked but could not allow him to simply set the price. Henri winked at Patrick, “I willingly give you zis at at zee price you ask” He paused, “but I inzist zat yu share a drink wiz uz.” Murin laughed and nodded her head, “Ya drrive an aard baargain my goode man.” He handed a glass to each of the sailors and toasted, “Tou ze last sale uv ze day.” The small glasses made a delicate sound as they touched each other and all three drained the contents in a flash. Henri lifted the bottle again and offered another drink to the sailors.

Murin covered her glass with her free hand and shook her head, “I ave otter tings to attend t’tday.”

“Meereen, taint gona get no more business done today.” Patrick objected.

“Who said aneeting bout business?” She winked at Patrick.

Tugging at the drawstring of the pouch which she wore around her neck she pulled it from its secure place and counted the coin for the hatter who had poured her yet another dram despite her objection. Shaking her head the three toasted the rain and the liquid was quickly gone. This time she placed the small vessel upside down. Patrick on the other hand was not one to turn down a drink so when the merchant offered yet another he was contented to sit. Murin bid the men good bye, replaced the pouch, placed new hat upon her head and headed out into the wind and rain hoping to make it to the Chandlers before the weather became violent again.

[Black Syren]

The long boat soon bumped against the side of the Dog, the wind and rain and frequent flashes of lighting had her hiding her face against all the rain. Argus huddled miserably at the bottom of their boat and Ciaran and she took turns rubbing his ears. All the while Christophe who traveled with them eyed the large dog with befuddlement.

All the others climbed upwards and she looked to Argus and then up as Alan and Ciaran returned to the rail and made a quick sling to hoist Argus upwards. Once it was lowered she quickly fashioned it about the dog and signaled for them to lift him and watched squinting against the rain as they did so. As he was safely aboard she slung her bag over her shoulders and quickly climbed up herself pausing once or twice as the swells made climbing with her bag difficult.

Argus wagged his tail as she came aboard and she smiled thanking Ciaran and Alan for their aid and moved to place her things in her sea chest below then made her way back on deck and was thankful for the braid which was now soaked through. Seeing the others beneath a tarred canvas upon the holy deck she too made her way over and sat upon a coil of rope Argus laying at her side watching the others play and laugh. She blushed as Ciaran teased her about the kitten left behind and Alan soon joined in causing the others to soon follow and soon she was laughing and trading quips and jibes causing the others to laugh. And through it all the rain continued to fall…

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian found it to be useless to hurry through the rains. Instead he chose to pick his way slowly by continuing to make short trips between shops. This proved to be both good and bad, as each time he stopped into a shop, he ended up looking about and finding some item he might like to purchase. He restrained himself from purchasing large items, but small wares that might fit into pockets. His progress was very slow, and his stomach protested at the hour. Asking the proprietor of a shop where the closest ordinary was, he made his way there for a meal.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Fort Royal Prison

William, Louis and Owen stood in a tight circle at the head of the corridor as the men were lined up from their various cells. William questioned Owen and Louis about his decision and the men they were bringing back with them. Louis could find no immediate fault with any of the prisoners, but Owen complained that Robert Hollis smiled too much for his taste.

"He smiles more than you, Mister Monahan." William agreed.

"Beg pardon, sah, but 'e smiles more 'en three of me." Owen said, wincing a little from his wounds which were far from healed. Despite this, he conceded. "The men seemed good enough for a day's work."

William turned again to the former prisoners and invited them to follow him out into the sun, which proved to be utterly hidden and drowned behind a day that was nothing but rain. The deluge soaked almost every man to the bone before they had crossed the courtyard to the offices of the Commandant and his clerks. There was little room for them inside, so the new recruits were made to wait out in the rain. William almost apologized for this, but when he saw how delighted many of them were to stand up straight with their faces turned up to the sky, he checked himself and simply watched.

Many of the men laughed and held out grateful hands to the weather. Some sighed the sigh that only other former prisoners can understand. There wasn't a man among the throng that did not delight, or as some did, dance a dance of sorts. They stomped a little in the rain and many seemed glad to have the water on their faces. Godfrey Bicknell stood under a rain spout off of the guard's quarter's roof and let it wash him down thoroughly.

William chanced to wonder what a fool he might have looked like to feel rain after such an absence of light and life.

Jonah Greene was standing all by himself in an attitude of pure meditation. He looked like a man who had walked out of a pit and shed the weight of some two hundred plus nights in Hell. He shrugged a little in the rain and turned his face up toward the showers and for a time he was nothing but silence and stillness. It took some time to arrive, but a smile of sorts eventually spread across his face. William thought he might understand some of that smile.

"Only the English stand in the rain..." Louis observed aloud, but he wasn't really poking fun at the men. It was perfectly understandable that they relished the out of doors. Even the rain, cold and wet, was a change from the damp of the prison.

Then William and Louis joined Owen inside to help the clerks tick off the names of the released.

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[callenish gunner]

With heavy rains and a rising sea; a small schooner, heavily laden, sails into a cove on the northeast side of the island. The sails are furled and the crew tries to batten down as best they can against the storms. They drop anchor and set about securing the ship such as it is; she's riding low in the water, under a heavy cargo.

The crew consists of an Arowak named Chetzl and 2 tall Africans the tallest one with a large scar on his left cheek is Oluwole; his younger brother who was missing his right hand was Oludayo their dark skin glistened like polished ebony in the driving rain. The captain of this small ship is a broad powerful man with shock white hair and beard. He is not the tallest of men but there is an understanding just by his look that he is not a man to be triffled with. His bright blue eyes are quite steely as he gives the orders to his crew to secure the ship in the relative safety of this cove. From his speech he can only be a Scotsman, with the burr in his voice as he tells the men to "lash doun the canvas o'er the hold t' keep the cargo secure."

His voice was gruff and loud but there was no sense of anger behind it. It's just the way he is. He obviously is used to being in charge.

The four man crew make quick work of the task at hand. Not much is spoken between them but they work almost as one. Hand gestures and looks seems to replace words between them.once secure they head below to weather the storm, the captain remaning on deck to gauge the sky and to assertain what the next fer hours will bring. The headland gives them pretty good cover from the direction of the winds, as long as it holds they should be fine to pass the storm in this quiet cove. Tomorrow they see about fresh water and some game for provisions.... perhaps they can trap a few wild pigs to bring aboard for food over the next couple of weeks, but that's a concern for tomorrow. Tonight he must concern himself with the safety of his ship and his crew and the cargo that swells the hold.

The tiny ship rocks in the storm and the crew will ride it out as best they can....