The Watch Dog

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian took some time to write in the Heron’s logbook and other ledgers. His thoughts wandered on occasion to those on shore, it had been an interesting day. As he was in the midst of recording the heavy weather in the log, noting he didn’t think it would let up til morning, as was often the case, a knock on the door brought his head up.

“Enter…”

Young Liam Rowan opened the door just enough to slide inside, as if opening the door further would fully interrupt the Captain’s privacy. He crossed the short distance and with a quick movement knuckled his forelock.

“Cap’n, Mister Brisbane sends his compliments, says there be movement on th’ Watch Dog, says he thinks a boat from ‘er might be comin’ over to us, ah-th’ Heron, sir.”

Dorian could not help but smile at the lad in his oilskins and wet hair. He stood and straightened his jacket.

“Thank you Liam, I’ll be on deck presently… send m’compliments ta Mister Brisbane…”

As the Lad knuckled his forelock again, Dorian tousled his hair.

“Young man… find yerself a hat, gonna get a chill wi’out one… Have some coffee an hot cocoa brought on deck for Nigel an’ myself… Make sure you get some too… “

The boy smiled and nodded vigorously and was off like a flash. The Captain chuckled and stretched, walked to the hook his oilskins were hanging from and dressed in them again. His hat was still quite damp and he almost left it there, but after what he told Liam, he dare not. He turned back to the table and realized he hadn’t his pistol, as it lay on the table. Checking the powder, he hung it on his belt and made sure his oilskins covered it well. With a final stretch he resigned himself and headed back on deck.

[Red Cat Jenny]

Le Chateau Anse - Martinique

Mister Wenge did his best to allow Miss Ashcombe dignity in her state while also providing her support as she clutched the blanket to herself. He assisted her with some care to her feet and offered a sturdy arm as they headed awkwardly at times down the small hallway to Miss McDonough's room. She was occasionally unsteady and they stopped midway for her to readjust one overlarge, borrowed stocking and again gain her balance. "Will you be needing anything else ?" the carpenter inquired, his eyes the window of concern. "Do you wish me to wait until Miss McDunough returns?" Realizing how she must appear and feeling again the want to be alone despite the fear of such, Jenny raised her chin and offered the man as curteous a smile as she could manage. "Nay Mister Wenge, don't you worry over me now. I thank you most kindly for your help, but assure you I'll be fine." She paused realizing she still had eaten little and drank even less in the past several hours. " If you would Sir, please ask for some small food and wine to be brought here. I am able to pay for it" Alder watched the young woman a moment to be sure she was steady enough to be left. With a nod he assured he would do so straight away and closed the door waiting for her to latch it from the other side as he instructed. Alder placed the key in his wesket pocket and headed back towards the common room and the waiting Murin.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704

Just after two bells of the Second Dog Watch

"AHOY THE HERON!" Pascal called from the jollywatt.

"AHOY, THE SAMSON!" Dorian returned.

"Permission t' come aboard, Captain Lasseter?"

"Permission granted! Prepare to receive th' Samson!"

The jollywatt crew, made up of Pascal, Casteel, Luigi, Olyslaeger, Kampaert and Tuygertgen came alongside the Heron. Pascal went aboard at once and called for hands to receive a large box which was passed up by Casteel and Luigi from the smallboat. The heavy chop and the rain made this otherwise simple task a difficult one and Jonas McCormick almost lost his hold on one side of the box as it reached the rails. Pascal's eyes went so large and round and then so narrow that Jonas clutched at it at once, especially when he felt the weight of the thing. This did not keep Pascal from cussing in two languages.

"Merde, vous dupez...damn gatward!" Pascal cried, his French suddenly showing. "Drop ze shares an' go a swemming!" For all of Pascal's rebukes Jonas did not look apologetic. He did not like being abused by language deserved or not. There might have been further words between them, but Dorian over shadowed all of the men clamoring forward.

"With Captain Brand's compliments, Maastricht shares for ze Heron to be...distribués...at your leisure."

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Black Syren]

The rain felt cool upon her skin, her braid was soaked and lay sodden against her clothing, in fact she did not think there was a dry place upon her and this caused her to girlishly giggle. A familiar bump against her legs had her looking down and blinking at the rain which ran down her face in rivulets. Sneaking back under the tarp she patted Argus who sat upon her foot and raised one massive paw scratching upon her thigh.

As his body weight shifted and he sought to rise he pushed her backwards and she found herself shoved into another. “Argus Down!” she commanded sharply then spun to quickly apologize only to come face to face with a new person. For a moment she was speechless as blue green eyes roved his face then finding her tongue spoke quickly “Forgive me, I was unaware of another behind me…and Argus is quite heavy when he pushes.” She gave a lopsided though fetchingly polite grin and spoke to the dog that now sat at her heels. “Smile.” Then the dog did, pulling his lips back from deadly canine teeth. “And this is Argus” she introduced. So caught up in her apology and introducing Argus she forgot to make known who she was.

[William Brand]

Robert Hollis was a tall man of some forty plus years. His smile was forever bent to one side and his face was made of some ten thousand laugh lines forever burned into his face from a long life at sea. He beamed and threw out a hand at once. Then, looking down at it, he seemed to ask himself if this were the right gesture for greeting a woman aboard ship. Concluding that it was, he thrust his hand further forward, ignoring Argus altogether.

"Robert Hollis of Rowner at yer service!" And added hastily. "Miss...?"

[Black Syren]

At once at ease by his jovial attitude she quickly shook his own hand, her grip firm and sure. As he cast forth his name she blushed and then laughed “Forgive me..Tis Treasure, Treasure Tribbiani. Most call me Treasure though my friends call me Syren.” Her tones were kept open and friendly not wishing to give a bad impression of either herself nor the Dog.

“Tis a pleasure to meet you Mr. Robert Hollis of Rowner.” Her smile grew as she leaned towards him and whispered over the din “Where is Rowner if I may ask?”

[William Brand]

"Rowner is near Portsmouth of...Where is Rowner?" he suddenly looked very appalled at the idea that anyone should not know Rowner. His entire disposition changed and Argus became slightly agitated. Then, just as quickly, he was all smiles again. "Sorry, Miss Tribb..."

"Tribbiani."

"Tribbiani. Aye." He nodded and his face went all business like as he presented his hand flat out for Argus who had grown impatient. Argus spent several seconds snorting into it and drawing from it a catalogue of color that only dogs understand. "He'll be smelling French hospitality in them wrinkles." Robert said, and though he smiled, there was a tired bemusement and reflection which underlined the statement.

[Black Syren]

She had meant no offense and merely sought to tease and make him more comfortable and yet he seemed slightly perturbed. Hastily she sought to ease the tension and as Argus snuffled and sniffed and took his time about deciding to accept Mr. Hollis or not she spoke “I grew up in Italy, was born there and my mother married an English Lord and we moved to England when I was around nine or ten. Now I live on the Dog and I have found I quite like to travel.” Again her smile came, gentle and yet her eyes were bright with curiosity as he spoke of the French.

“French hospitality…I hope the food was at least appetizing.” Not wishing to make the man distraught she tossed back her wet braid and Argus finally sat on Mr. Hollis’s foot. “It appears he likes you…So what do you think of the Watchdog so far, and our wonderful Captain?”

[William Brand]

Robert just looked at her for a long time and said nothing. After a time he nodded. "Well..." he began, still amused by the flow of random details which had gushed from her. "Havin' been aboard a single watch..." he spread his hands and he let the sentence drift.

Treasure nodded and a pause settled.

"It is a fine ship, it is." He observed, then while scratching Argus behind one ear he added. "Good company."

He did not talk about the French.

[Black Syren]

She mentally cursed herself as the silence seemed to thicken and lengthen, sought for a way to get the conversation going then decided that it was not a strained silence, but much like the ones with Alan…companionable and reflective.

Argus quickly thumped his tail about clearly liking his new friend and seeing this she bit her lip and shook her head muttering about him being a ham beneath her breath. Robert hearing this arched both brows high and her blush tinted her cheeks farther as she pointed to argus..”I meant that to him not to you by any means.”

As thunder again boomed she shivered with cold and listened to the men behind her singing wildly and with great cheer. Peering up at Mr. Hollis she remarked quietly “I did not mean to offend, my apologies if I have done so..my tongue oft outraces my brain and I have come to grow fond of the taste of crow.”

[William Brand]

"I know the carrion dish. I've eaten it by th' gross. I've had crow three meals a day and for tea. A delicacy." Robert was looking about the ship. He seemed removed for a minute "Over a hundred tons, or I'm an eggler."

Treasure nodded. "She's a merchant frigate. Once a blackbirder."

Robert nodded, pursing out his bottom lip with a nod. "I had a larger ship in mind...Not that she isn't fine." he amended. "Just..."

[Black Syren]

“Smaller Mr. Hollis but with a rabid bite if it comes to such, let not her size fool you.” She looked about catching sight of all the new faces slowly mingling with the still singing crew. Keen eyes managed to find most of them in the shifting crowd one blind in one eyes, but his fingers were moving against his leg. A musician? Again her gaze roved and came to rest upon a tall figure and as he grinned and winked at her she turned away as if she had not noticed.

“Mr. Randall.”

“Im sorry?” She asked, looking back up to her companion.

“Mr. Randall, the one who winked at you.” He pointed out the man who still lingered in the crowd not at all put off by her slight rebuff.

“Ahh..I shall keep a weather eye upon him..perhaps I should introduce him to Argus?” she asked softly. “What say you to that Mr. Hollis?” She asked with a wickedly mischievous grin.

[William Brand]

"You there!" Alan Woodington called suddenly from atop the companionway. A few of the straggling recruits turned at once, including Robert. "Bring yourself below, lads! There's gear to stow here. Be quick about it!"

"Aye, sah." chimed a few and Robert gave Treasure a smile. "Off I go." He trotted to the companionway and went below, all the while answering every shout from the marine with a hearty 'Aye, sah', despite the difference in age and height.

[Black Syren]

Treasure jumped at the shout and turned to catch Alan standing in the companionway and smiled at him, he nodded curtly and as Mr. Hollis offered her a smile and left she moved to sit atop a barrel and drum her fingers upon her leg. Argus whining as he sat at the base of her seat. She peered out into the rain and slowly grew mesmerized by the waves…Then did her daydream begin….

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Ward Room of the Watch Dog

William called Miss Smith to the Ward Room. He was employed there separating shares into parcels and piles. He looked up and invited her to sit, still mouthing the numbers of his last calculations before making a notation in the ledger. He looked up and with the feathered end of the quill he tapped a large round purse near her side of the table.

"There."

Tudor raised an eyebrow and tried not to smile. She failed utterly, especially when she opened the small bag to reveal the heavy coins within.

"Your share of the Maastricht. At least until such time as we sell those goods taken from her."

"Sah..."

"I know. A golden elephant was the Maastricht." William said smiling. "Your portion well deserved...and shares for striking the colors."

Tudor nodded at this, for she had forgotten the extra shares owed to those for that act. She lifted the bag from below and let all of the contents slide out across the table in a bright pile. Then she leaned in with her chin on her crossed arms and just looked at it. One wet curl of hair lay over one eye and she seemed not to care.

William appreciated the smile that warmed her face. "Send the crew down in turn to receive what is owed them."

"Aye, sah."

Three bells of the Second Dog Watch

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Silkie McDonough]

Le Chateau Anse - Martinique

Miss McDonough claimed an empty table and sat herself down with little grace. The serving wench came to her and listed today’s offerings. Her stomach was growling and she would not presume to order for Alder so she ordered without waiting for her dinner companion. She looked about the room; there were several familiar faces from the crew that signaled her to join them with her pointing to the other chair and trying to indicate that she was waiting for her dinner companion. Alder came quickly down the stairs, stopped at the bottom looking for Miss McDonough, spying the cinnamon locks from behind nearly trotted over to the girl. “Miss Ash…” Murin took in a gulp of air as she jumped in her seat. “Alder!”

“Forgive me my lady.” He bowed his head in a gentlemanly manner and any reproach she may have wanted to hand him faded into laughter. “Ya startled mae.”

“That was apparent.” He smiled back as he sat.

Murin’s tankard was set before her full of grog; she lifted it and took a long draft from it while the serving repeated her speech for the second guest at the table. Just then the bell chimed. “Is that the time?” Alder looked at Murin in disbelief.

“I would think that the ringer in the tower keeps good watch on the sands. Wouldn’t you?”

Alder shook his head at the lass for her quick retort. “Where has the day gone?”

“Into the sea, like so much rain.” Murin took another drink.

“I can not stay.”

“You must eat something.”

“Aye.” Alder ordered something quickly, Murin told the girl there would be an extra coin in it for her if she returned with the meal in short order and the girl scurried off in the direction of the kitchen. Conversation had barely started between the two when the serving wench drew up to the table burdened with both meals on one arm and a goblet of wine for Alder on the other. They ate with little conversation and were quickly done with the meal.

“May I escort you to your room my lady?”

Murin smiled at being referred to as a lady but was flattered just the same. “I would prefer that you sit and talk a bit but I know you are anxious to return to your work.”

“Yes I am, the captain’s project needs to be finished with haste.”

“Aye, I was opin t’ave d’marine uniforms completed for d’ unveiling but now det I’ave been relieved o’duty and sent ashore I doubt dat will appen.”

“Relieved of duty? You said nothing of this before.”

“Tis m’and.” D’Captain is nil pleased wit mae fer workin it so ard. Tis why I was ashore so early.”

“I had wondered but failed to ask.”

“Now goode carpenter, I nil wish t go too soon t’ disturb Miss Ashcombe. Ya go on t’da chandlery n’I ill make m’way t’bed soon enough.”

Mister Wenge took the lass’ hand, bowed to her and kissed it ever so lightly and quickly. Her cheeks became rosy as the carpenter turned to gather his oil skin and hat. Before he opened the door he turned once more to the lass and bowed a shallow bow and was gone with a blast of wind and rain.

Murin sat only moments after he left then stood, testing her bad leg and slowly carried herself up the stairs.

[Captain Midnight]

Mr. Hingerty led Jonah to the cable tier. As they approached, Jonah could see two people examining the door and speaking quietly to each other. One was a good bit taller than the other, and as they neared the figures, the shorter one looked up. Jonah could see right away from the delicate and soft features that the shorter one was a woman, and a rather attractive one at that.

Mr. Hingerty cleared his throat. "Rummy, Captain Brand has given me instructions to deliver this fellow to you. Fresh from the prison in Martinique, he is, and claims to have knowledge of carpentry and blacksmithing."

Rummy studied Jonah under an arched brow. "Welcome, sir. I am Rummy, the Master Carpenter here." She held out her hand. Jonah took the hand, and was surprised that though it was quite a bit smaller than his own, the grip was firm, and the hands rougher than he would expect a woman's to have been. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Rummy. I am Jonah Greene, but most call me Midnight."

"So, Mr. Greene, you know a bit of carpentry and blacksmithing, eh? How much do you know, and where did you learn?" At this, the other figure looked up and eyed Jonah intently. "I am actually a cobbler by trade Rummy. I apprenticed to my uncle William Greene in Coventry, Rhode Island back in the colonies until I was sixteen. During my free time, I enjoyed visiting with William Wright, who owned a carpenter's shop in the village, and Hugh Morrison, the blacksmith, both friends of my uncle. Watching them work while they told me tales and legends that they thought might enthrall a young boy taught me a lot. Little did they know, what actually enthralled me was watching their hands ply their trades, and seeing what developed from their efforts."

"So you actually learned the trades from watching others? Hmmm. You must be a quick learner, Rummy said. Jonah smiled. "Aye. I am that. I am no expert in either field, but I have learned enough to get by. I am pretty much self taught in those fields, and my skills do not come from myself alone. I was blessed by the Almighty with them, and I do my best to use what I was given. I don't question the reasons why I have them."

"Well now," said Rummy, "what do you think of the damage done to this door? It was damaged when a certain Tawny made his escape, the knave that he is...tearing up my beautiful woodwork!" Jonah studied the damaged door. It was splintered a little in some areas, and a few of the iron nails had been torn out. "I think it can be repaired easily enough. It should be a small matter to smooth out the splintered spots with a plane and a bit of pumice. Is there a blacksmith aboard, or would we need to send ashore for some nails to replace the damaged ones?

"My apologies, Mr. Greene", Rummy giggled. "We do indeed have a blacksmith. This fine fellow is Jonathan Hawkes, our smith. He and I have been discussing replacing the latch on this door with a heavier one. The original was never meant to secure a desperate man, as you can well see."

Jonah stuck out his hand to Mr. Hawkes. "Jonah Greene, sir. Nice to meet you." Jonathan Hawkes peered at Jonah with a look that couldn't be discerned whether it was one of scorn or suspicion, or both. The fellow did not take Jonah's outstretched hand. "Hmmmph! We shall soon see what you are capable of, "Midnight". With that, he turned and stormed away.

"Don't mind his ill manners, Midnight", said Rummy. "He doesn't mean any harm. He's actually a decent enough fellow if one takes the time to try and know him, he's just a bit rough around the edges." Jonah shrugged. "I hope so," he replied. "I don't want any enemies aboard. I am just happy to be free and at sea again."

Rummy winked and patted Jonah on the shoulder. "I think you'll do just fine. Now let's go stow your gear and get you into some dry clothes. You look pretty chilled. Are you hungry?"

Jonah's eyes twinkled and he smiled. "Aye! So hungry I could eat a whale!"

Rummy laughed at the new man's sense of humor. The thought of Jonah eating the whale rather than the opposite made her giggle. "Aye. I think I will enjoy having you around, Midnight, if for nothing else than to make me laugh. Say, I have this sole on my shoe that is torn loose at the toe. Do you think you could take a look at it?" "Certainly!" said Jonah, their voices trailing away as they headed back out the door.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704

The sick ward of the Watch Dog

"You're wasting food."

"Pardon...?" Meg said looking up from one of two beds which ran along the sick ward wall. The room was lit only by one guttering lamp and Meg had to look about to find the ship's cook by the light. No one else appeared to be in the room. Ajayi was gone. So was Murin. Constance was ashore.

"You are wasting food." Lazarus repeated, impatient.

Meg had not even heard him come in, and for a moment she though she was dreaming. The thrumming sound of the rain and the strange sounds of wind, song and muffled laughter from parts below combined against her for a the moment. She almost laughed, but she was too disoriented in that moment to measure her own emotions, so the laugh never surfaced.

"I...I don't understand." she said, and she couldn't remember what had brought her here for the moment. 'Where was I before?' she wondered. Lazarus took a step closer and then Meg was struck by how large he was. He was a broad man in the shoulders. Tall for a cook. He loomed against the low ceiling and he looked cross, his hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry..." she said, and she truly was sorry, because she couldn't remember what had started this conversation. This...argument?

"What are you doing here?" Lazarus asked, and his tone was aggressive. Commanding.

Meg's mind began racing. She stared at him and wondered how he could ask her that. She had been attacked. She was here in the sick ward because she had been attacked. She was...what? Recovering? Yes. That was it. She was recovering from the assault. From Tawny. She was...

"What are you doing here?" Lazarus repeated, his tone harsher than before. "You're wasting food!" He pointed at the bowl of untouched stew and the heel of bread next to it. He pointed at the untouched rum.

"You know why I am here, Mister Ga..." she explained, but he cut her off.

"What was done to you, then? What?" His voice did not seem to care what her answer might be. Indeed, he didn't wait for an answer. "Did he rape you?"

This question came as a slap in the face, and like a slap in the face, it seemed to wake and stun her a little. She stared, surprised that the once jovial, always amiable cook should accost her in this fashion. She tried to find a voice to protest, but the she couldn't remember which words to use in her own defense.

"I bring you food and you waste it. You let it spoil here in this shut up room while you hide. Tawny's gone over and drowned and you sit here in the dark. The food goes cold while you keep the chamber pot and the bed warm."

She tried to protest. She tried to speak. She wanted to scream at him and tell him not to use that awful name. That name which was like a seventh seal, a Pandora's box, a satanic lodestone to something even more sinister. She tried to turn away, but his angry face would not allow it. It commanded her attention. She shrank a little and wondered, 'My God, what is he? Why he's no cook at all'.

"How many days at sea did we survive? How...many...? No food! No Water! How many days did we shrink within our skin for want of bread? How many days, Meg? How many?"

She stared at him with a look of dawning wonder and horror both, as if remembering a previous life. A previous death.

"What promises did you make in your heart of hearts then, Meg? What prayers did you wake with and sleep with day after day while we withered under the sun and begged to die. Begged to be rescued? And now you waste food. Sit idly by...as meat and bread go uneaten. We were starving!"

She leapt a little in the cot as his voice jumped suddenly.

"Days of feasting on despair and vain hope that someone, anyone, would rescue us! The Warrington Hart was in her grave with a hundred souls dead and still we feasted on nothing but will and will alone!" Lazarus looked so angry now that his face went red. His hands were balled up in fists and he loomed more than ever. "How long must I sit by and make food that will go uneaten? Not one grain goes wasted in there!" And he pointed then through the closed door in the direction of the galley. "Not one drop spilled since they gave us shelter here! I'll eat the fallen crumbs before I see food wasted again and you lay here in a grave...of what? Pity? Fear!? For what? A rape that might have been? Fear of a man dead these many days?"

She looked sorry then. Genuinely sorry. Some part of her from before Tawny looked genuinely sorry, but it Wasn't enough for the cook. Lazarus had seen too much in his lifetime to be satisfied then. He was incensed. He was beyond the pity and caution everyone else had shown her.

William would have understood. Dorian would have understood. Many of the men and woman who had survived worse than this would have understood.

"I could kill you for surviving the raft only to die in the comfort of that bed ten paces from the cook stove!" He snatched up the cold fare and the mug. The bread he left and even when it seemed like he was finished he turned again. His voice was softer when it came next, but it was still laced with rebuke. "How could you?" He looked down at the bowl and mug. "This is a week's food to those men who came ashore today. Those man, torn from ship and livelihood. A week's food for them that have none and you sit here in prison you make out of fear.

'Wake up Meg. You're on the raft again."

He closed the door and she wept the first bitter, grateful, mortal tears since Tawny had clutched her in the dark. Real tears from a real awakening.

[Alder]

Murin was accurate in her assessment, Alder had been anxious to make his way back to the chandlery. His concern for Murin’s twisted ankle had not been resolved to his satisfaction and left him reflecting the fate of another woman whose life intersected his own. The tailor’s steadfast determination awakened him to the realization that there would be no second opportunity for salvation for this all too compassionate man. Murin was of her own mind as was his dearly beloved and she too he must let go. He had blamed himself all these years for her loss. Had he insisted more, cajoled her more relentlessly that she seek medical attention, she might be with him yet.

As Alder trudged on, his troubled heart dictated Passion for any but the oaken heart and soul of the love he called “The Heron” would fade away even as the tapping of the rain that had long since lost his attention. Making his way through the dwindling drizzle, small ferrules of water careened off his oilskin. Ignorant of the climate of such a place, Alder wondered to himself, how long the inert storm would linger and if the transport of the carving would be impaired. He hoped it would not and estimated the work time brief once all necessities were assembled for the task.

Arriving at last at the chandlery, Alder stood alongside and slapped the back of friend and shipmate Robert with whom he was well pleased. The carpenter grinned wide and nodded his overwhelming approval for the supplies that tumbled from Robert’s satchel. In their brief station, the sailors found their hardworking nature and attention to detail common ground for men with dissimilar origins. A friendship born of necessity was forged with the sharing of drink and anecdote. Robert led Alder to the corner of the storeroom where he had neatly propped the lumber he had requested to make the modifications to match the Captain’s demand. After some discussion, a meeting of the minds cemented the decision of which to use and the stage was set.

Within hours, the ensuing rhythm of muscle and utensils had transformed the floor to a bed of aromatic wood chips and sawdust. Tools, an amalgam of vintage and contemporary, were offered as Alder coiled his frame around the sculpture. Alder cursed, in loud but mumbled breath, when the brittle steel of a favorite gouge gave way under the relentless confrontation of the mallet. Robert’s ear raised. The carpenter was quick to apologize for the offense.

“Nay, Alder, ya’ve held that tongue far to still fer yer own goode.” Robert lent a jovial smile “a man needs ta give voice ta ‘is spurn now ‘n again.”

“Aye” Alder smiled back, and sighed robustly at the loss. At this remarkable juncture, Alder felt he had at last found his place among the crew and he had earned equal standing.

‘Time to give our hands and tools a rest.” The carpenter added collecting the shards of steel, returning the canvas, errant tools to their place and the floor to it’s former state.

He took one last look at the cloaked figure, satisfied with their progress he urged Robert toward a welcome respite in town. This draped lady would offer a face to his love. She would herald good fortune for all aboard and hold aloft a symbol of light and protection for Neptune and his minions to behold.

The men turned heel and set forth into town.

[Pew]

Eric knew the task that lay before him. He watched a moment as life continued on deck of the Watch Dog, in the rain. Many of the crew continued about their duties as if it were a fine day. Several of the new recruits helped out offering a hand where they could. Eric smiled as if it were a boon of good fortune. He saw Alan Woodington stare down a new seaman and then offer his two shillings on current matters with Miss Tribbiani.

Shaking his head, he went below to gather his things for a trip ashore to Mister Pew.

He was brushed aside roughly by Luc before the Russian could see him.

"So sorry Meester Fronklin. May I have verd vith you sar?"

Eric could see the big Russian was troubled. "Please, Luc," Eric led the way with a swath of his hand towards his cabin.

[Dorian Lasseter]

Dorian ordered the chest be secured in the wardroom and he would soon do as recommended with what was held within. All those within ear shot, and soon everyone else, would be talking of more shares to be had. As if what they had already received wasn’t a fortune already. Grinning faces were seen all around as the Captain asked those in the jollywatt news of the new recruits. They could not say much except that they numbered around thirty able looking men. Dorian nodded and bid them well, as they shoved off. Turning amidships he saw Liam there under the weight of a heavily laden tray of steaming mugs. Smiling at the boy he walked over.

“Very good Young Mister Rowan… Nigel, coffee or cocoa?”

Nigel stepped over and looked at what was offered.

“Coffee fer me, Sar… Thankee.”

Dorian handed him a mug of the dark brew and took up one of cocoa, then the other as well. He set one on the peak of the quarter and relieved the tray of the final cup of coffee and set it aside as well. Liam looked confused until Dorian offered him the one mug of cocoa back, knowing the lad was wanting it. The lad smiled and gratefully took the hot mug and carefully took a sip.

“Off you go young man… just return the tray to the galley…”

“Aye Captain!”

He said through a chocolate grin before scampering off. Both Dorian and Nigel chuckled and shook their heads at the boy. Dorian picked up his mug and before Nigel could react tapped it against his.

“To fortunes made an’ spent… shall they never end…”

Mister Brisbane gave him a sideways look and chuckled again before offering his mug up and drinking. They stood in silence as the weather beat about the bay. In short time he finished his cocoa and set the mug beside the untouched one of coffee.

“I’ll be b’low… countin’ out shares… should be int’restin’ with th’ movement o’ th’ ship…”

“Aye Sar… interestin’ alright.”

“Very well… As always, you ‘ave th’ deck Nigel… Keep me informed o’ any happenin’s...”

“Aye-aye, Sar!”

Dorian turned and headed below. There in the only open corner of the Ward Room was the chest of shares from the sale of the Maastricht. As Dorian removed his oilskins and hat he looked at the coffer, remembering the amount William had said he let the ship go for.

“Almost six thousand… ya dog…”

He stepped over and worked the latch, opening the lid to reveal several canvas sacks and a roll of parchment inside. Taking the parchment to the table he unrolled it and read what William had written. He had already divided up the shares on paper for Dorian to distribute, and also informed him the names of those new recruits the Heron would receive, with some notes by each man as to their abilities. The Captain nodded at the list and opened a ledger to copy in the names of the new, yet unseen crewmen.

[William Brand]

August 1, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog

Shares from the sale of the Maastricht were passed out in quick succession, owing to the exactness of coin in weight and denomination which had come from the accounting house of Goddu and Charpentier. The purchasers of the fluyt had been mindful to bring mixed coin from both France and Spain, for William had requested both specie in preparation for their journey to Trinidad. William hoped that the two currencies would keep the crew in coin a bit longer than Martinique, since the men and women of the two crews might be less likely to spend Spanish coin here when it would fetch more in Trinidad. It was a vain hope, but he hoped it nonetheless.

Surprisingly enough, several of the men and women aboard had guarded their shares jealously already, keeping a significant sum in reserve for various personal reasons. Still, not all of the men were frugal. Manus Hingerty had spent nearly all of his Ilex shares on women and rum and Pascal was decidedly poor from similar sprees ashore.

"May I ask where our lookout spends his shares?" William inquired as Ciaran came in to receive his portion.

Ciaran smiled and said. "Drink. Diversions."

William nodded as he counted out Ciaran's four shares into a neat little pile. "Nothing else...?"

"A good glass." Ciaran added. William smiled at that and Ciaran gathered up the coins. "It has good lenses and a fine casement. I mean to have Owen cover it over with some good knotwork and braiding to protect it against the sea and much use."

"That's a very good idea..." William said, wondering why he had not thought of it himself. "A very good idea."

"Thank you, sah."

"Send in the next man or woman."

A steady line of crew members came and went as did the shares. The piles of coin disappeared into so many eager hands and William was glad to see it dispersed. With portions of the Ilex fortune still locked away in the Ward Room and so much cargo from the Maastricht still waiting to be sold in the holds, William was glad to see this extra money from the fluyt sale pass on to other hands. Let them do with it what they would, if only to be rid of the responsibility of so much extra fortune.

William had seen larger sums of coin than this, and the Maastricht was not the largest prize he had ever taken, but with so many new recruits and previous prisoners of war serving on the 'Dog, the inequality of fortune might spark fights, theft or worse.

William tried not to imagine worse.

Elsewhere on Martinique

It was dark in the small shop, but for the solitary lantern. The rain continued unabated outside, but inside it was dry. Quiet. The two men stood about a work bench of significant size, littered half with wood shavings and tools, and half with the body of a young girl, muddied and still.

"Where did you find her...?" the older of the two asked, peering over the wet, half frozen girl.

"She was in the cart road..." the larger man began. "I almost went over her...cart and cargo...but the horses shied."

The older man peered over her with a lamp in one hand, bending to check her wrists and ankles. "She's a slave, no doubt...and by the look of her wrists, recently brought over..." his voice trailed off.

"Oui." said the larger man who stood hard by wringing a wet hat and dripping on the earthen floor. "Come from the Tonnant...or the Ville de Varsovie!"

"Oui." The older man continued, never ceasing his examination. He pressed back the unconscious girl's lips and checked her teeth. He felt her arms and thighs. He also checked her for cuts or bruises, and finally, to the larger man's embarrassment, he even checked to see if she was 'intact'. He leaned back, nodding. "She'll fetch a good price...should no one come looking for her, that is."

"A good price...?" the larger man said hopefully. "Do you think so?"

"Oui. She's sound and should grow up straight and strong. She has been fed well enough."

"Can't be from the Tonnant then." the larger man observed.

"Try not to think so much, Gaubert." the older man scolded. "We shall keep this one and see what becomes of it."

The larger man simply nodded.

~Larboard Watches on Duty~

[Pew]

Eric moved to the small desk in the cabin and offered the small stool to Luc. The man was troubled and Eric had a bit of work ahead of him, but he pried.

"So?" Eric stated, continuing the conversation.

"Meester Fronklin, I'm noot a zailor." Luc abrupted stated.

"Aye, Nor a housemaid. Ye dinnot 'ave a corset 'n a petticoat 'n ye things, d' ya?" Eric smiled. A touch of Preston had worn on him.

Luc smiled. "No."

"Do you want t' b'?" Eric asked as he rummaged for one of the bottles he and Preston kept hidden. "A zailor that is," Eric said, emphasizing Luc's heavy accent. He pulled the corked and offered the bottle to the Russian.

Luc took the mocking well. "I ave been zoldier, blahcksmith, und cooper. Not zailor." He shook his head and drew from the bottle.

Eric thought for the moment. Luc had already begun to waver on whether he had made the right decision to join the Watch Dog. Eric did not want to lose the Russian's shot nor size alone. Eric had already decided to make the man a marine under his watch. The sergeant-at-arms was not about to let the brawler go.

Eric stood from leaning against the desk. He slapped the man on the shoulder, "Join me f'r a bit. I've t' go ashore t' see Mister Pew. Several errands 'n town n' all."

Luc nodded. Eric collected a few things in his satchel including the Armoury log he still had to discuss with Captain Lasseter. He made a check of his belongings and set his pistol in his waist. Eric turned and unlocked the armoury door, retrieving a musket for Luc and a small cartridge box. Immediately, Luc's mood changed. Eric knew he had found his purpose.

Twice today he was to set responsibility on Preston's new recruits. Jean Doublet was next.

[BriarRose Kildare]

London, England

He had finished his meal and now sat by the blazing fire drinking deeply from his cup. His green eyes glinted as he thought on her. He vowed to himself that he would find a way to bring her back. He would speak with Johnson in the morning. He continued to drink mulling over his thoughts. His lips twisted in to a smile as he thought on what instructions he would give to Johnson.

Below stairs the servants talked in hushed tones for it would not do to upset his lordship. Murdock had forewarned his underlings that their lordship was in one of his infamous moods. Murdock, being his lordships butler, took his job seriously especially when it came to protecting the servants beneath him.

[Pew]

New faces continued to pass the two armed men on their way to the main deck. Jean Doublet was found easily near a group of recruits rapidly conversing in their native language, French. The men slowed their conversation when the weapons appeared.

"Mister Doublet, a word." Eric pulled the man's elbow slightly.

"Ah oui, Monsieur Franklin." Jean tipped his hat to the recruits and followed the sergeant-at-arms to the rail out of earshot of the crew.

"Luc an' I 'ave several things t' take care of ashore. Might I b' able t' leave th' armoury 'n yer stead sah?"

Surprised, Jean tried to keep his composure. He hadn't expected to come this far this soon.

"Ah oui, I would be zee privleged to be on zee watch for zee Sergeant." Jean stood straight and saluted. Eric returned the salute with Luc close behind. Eric and Luc made their way to the Ward Room. A steady line of crew made their way in and out. The sergeant slid his way through the throng and told the Captain of his plans. He wanted to get ashore and have the marines and new recruits set by morning. Jean was to act in his stead while he was ashore. The Captain nodded. The Marines had not drilled nor fired a weapon since their arrival at Martinique. Eric and the Captain both knew it was time to hone them again.

With the Captain's permission, he rejoined Luc in the waist. Jannes and Willem each had gone over the side to load the jollywatt. Luc was next, followed by Eric.

The sergeant-at-arms took the tiller, and spoke quietly, "T' the Heron gentlemen. I've t' meet wit' Captain Lasseter yet." Luc unhooked the chains and pushed off. The storm had slowed to a drizzle and then a fine mist. Grumblings that they had not been ashore yet led to a swift THUD!! from Luc, slamming the butt of his musket on the hull of the craft. Both men looked at each other and continued to row. Eric smiled, but continued to look to the Heron.

"Ahoy the Heron!!"