GAME TURN EIGHT

The sunlight, reflecting from the water of Bermuda harbour, danced across the canopy that provided a tiny patch of shade on the quarterdeck of His Britannic Majesty's Ship, Watcher, 32 guns. It also reflected on the figure of her current Captain, The Honourable Sir Willoughby Ponsonby-Smythe, pacing back and forth and, occasionally, glancing first at the Willow for any signs of the Watcher’s new Captain leaving his current ship and then to the Willoughby's new command, HMS Buffonia, on the other side of the harbour. Willoughby's possessions had already gone across with his servant, Russell, and his cox'n Macdonald was waiting with the barge crew to ferry the captain to his new command. He himself was now just awaiting the arrival of Captain West to assume command, with all the pomp and ceremony that His Majesty's Navy required, before leaving. And as the heat of another beautiful Bermudan day grew more intense, and as the sweat began to slowly
trickle down Willoughby's back under his freshly-pressed Number 1 uniform, his temper, always somewhat shorter than his name, began to rise.

"Impudent young puppy!" (OOC Sorry, Tom, couldn't resist it!) he muttered quietly under his breath "if I thought for one moment he was dallying aboard his ship...." He turned at the end of his patrol of the deck and shot another fierce glance at the Willow. Still nothing. Then a small breeze, whipping up cats' paws from the water as it crossed the harbour, seemed to blow his bad temper away as he looked across at his new command.
Captain West must be as eager as he was to assume command and must, in turn, be awaiting his own relief. Fretting and worrying wasn't going to make things happen any quicker and the Watcher could not be any more ready to receive her new Captain. For a moment, as his eyes passed over the "bullocks" sweltering in their red uniforms in the full sun, he thought of standing down the side party. But one thing he had learned in his twenty years in the Navy was to always be prepared for the unexpected. As sure as
eggs were eggs, if he stood down the marines to stop them baking in the sun, Captain West's barge would be alongside as quick as a flash and his relief coming up the side. No, the marines would have to stand and bake a little longer until their new "Lord and Master" arrived. Sighing heavily, Willoughby recommenced his slow pace up and down the
quarterdeck. The gig slid alongside the Watcher slowly, neatly. "An excellent job," Ian
thought to himself. These men did their task admirably. Then, it was up the side and onto the deck amidst the eerily beautiful shrilling of the pipes. Bringing himself as erect as possible, Ian saluted the quarterdeck, where stood Captain Ponsonby-Smythe in a weltering blaze of gold bullion and lace, and the venerable Sir Harold Medicus himself. Striding--nervous beyond all belief--to the quarterdeck, he produced the neat Admiralty envelope containing his orders. Opening it, he proceeded to read:

"Ian West, Captain--
<ECT...ect...ect...>...you are hereby requested and required to proceed to
and assume command of HM Frigate Watcher, at the earliest possible...<so on and so forth>..."

At the end of these brief passages, it hit Ian: he was now the captain of the Watcher! Straightening himself a bit more, Ian looked about the quarterdeck and down into the waist, then back to the two stern, austere, dignified officers standing before him. The two did inspire a bit of awe in him: Ponsonby-Smythe was far, far senior to him on the captain's list, and Sir Harold was, well, Sir Harold. He saluted them both once more.
"Gentlemen," he said, hoping he kept the faltering out of his voice, "thank you. I would enjoy your company a whiles longer, but I fear I must not keep you from your other engagements. And I have a certain lady to familiarise myself with," he said, looking once more about the frigate.

Rear Admiral Medicus nodded, "Indeed we do sir. Congratulations enjoy these times for they may never come again" and several on the quarterdeck heard him wisper to himself as he was piped over the side 'command of frigate, what I would give for...' as the Admiral's barge pulled for the Buffonia a short distance away. Captain Giles could be seen pacing his own quarterdeck awaiting his return.

Ian stood behind his desk, reading the headline again with disbelief. "Boney's finished?" he grinned yet again to himself. Above his head, drifting in through his skylight, he could hear the raucous voices of the men in their celebrations. He could imagine the younger midshipmen, skylarking out there in the rigging. He had immediately ordered a spirit ration for the men, and given them their liberty for the day; standing only the obligatory anchor watch.
Then again, he had more pressing problems to tend to. The letter to Lord Rupert, for one. He had sent that along with the outgoing mail packet, assuring his Lordship that he would of course acede to his wishes and in no wise press the matter of Lieutenant Rhetnug. The absence of Lieutenant Harris had not escaped him, and Ian was quick enough to surmise the truth--it had been the Admiral's Flag Lieutenant that Rhetnug had duelled. Which made his folly doubly mad. But, then again, Ian could now leave this matter in the past, which he
had a firm resolve to do.
He walked over to the small stern windows of the Watcher, smiling broadly. Her cabin was positively spacious in comparison to that tiny closet the Willow reserved for her commanding officer. Then again, perhaps it was just that Ian had nowhere near enough personal belongings to fill the space. But even this matter could wait for a more appropriate time.
Ian walked over to the desk once more, perusing the maps unrolled upon it. "The American coast," he thought. Madness, he thought it. But it was not his place to question orders. Raising his voice, he bellowed to the marine
standing guard outside his cabin. "First Lieutenant to the Captain's Cabin!"
First Leftenant James MacDonald reported, "aye sir" his uniform looked hastily thrown on, see his Captain gaze, "my apoligies sir I had the midnite watch." "It is of course no matter," Ian said. "In truth, it should be I who am apologizing. At your leisure, sir, I should like the Watcher made ready to sail. I intend a brief cruise to ready her for operations. It should last approximately one week, and we will make way in two days. I shall give you further instructions as they are warranted. For now, ensure that the Watcher
is ready to put out of port. That is all." First Leftenant James MacDonald came to attention and left. By the next morning Watcher was ready to sail.

Captain Ian West stood on the quarterdeck of HM Frigate Watcher , scanning

the decks of his ship with a keen eye. They were returning to port in compliance with Admiral Medicus' orders, after a shakedown cruise of roughly five days; two days fewer than Ian would have liked, but more than sufficient to establish the ship's loading and trim, and Ian's practice of drilling his ship's gun crews daily paid their usual dividends. He was now far less nervous and doubting of his ability to fight the Watcher, if need be. And the need would most likely be there, as well, with the squadron set to put out within a day's time.

As they entered the harbor, his eye found the Admiral's flag, and he turned to the officer of the watch. "My compliments to the gunner, and he may begin the salute." And with that, the Watcher made way slowly into harbor, her saluting gun popping at regular intervals, until she found her assigned space, and lowered anchor. Moments after this, a ship's boat put over the side, heading for the flagship, bearing Captain West's concise report of the Watcher’s cruise, a report which concluded that the Watcher was ready to put to sea whenever the Admiral should see fit to order it.

{OOC}

Squadron Events:
>Boat Race 2
>Boxxing 5
>Fencing 5
>Marksmanship 8

{IC}

Twenty minutes after receipt of orders from the flag, two boats put over the side of the Watcher, making haste for the Janna and Willow, to deliver the following message to their commanding officers:

HMS Watcher
Captain Ian West, commanding

To the commanding officers of HMS Jana, HMS Willow:

Gentlemen--

Pursuant to Admiral Medicus' orders, the squadron shall weigh anchor and proceed tomorrow at dawn for the American coast. We shall assume a simple line astern formation; Willow shall take the van, followed by Janna and Watcher, in that order. Set all sail conformable with the weather. I look forward to operations with you, gentlemen. The admiral relies upon us, and we shall not disappoint.