William Brand

How long have you been involved in pirate activities? Rape, murder and theft? Never. Well, I've taken an office pen perhaps, but never on the high seas. As for Pirate living history, the interest goes back many years but the activity starts more or less in 2003. How do you learn about activities, costuming and other things? I've learned about activities, costuming and other things primarily through friends and associates here on the Pub and at Pirates in Paradise. I have also learned my share of things by researching specific subjects of sailing, carpentry, ship draughts, canons, clothing and customs while working on the Watch Dog project and Mercury crew. What has changed in regards to getting the communication methods from when you first joined to now? Very little. There are so many ways of learning things about piracy from pure research to pure accident. Association with others of the hobby has proved advantageous in many ways and I often find that there are enough of us researching various aspects of piracy to teach one another. If you belong to other groups, listservs, etc., what has changed about them since you first started? They've become less important as reference sites as the Pub has grown, apart from a handful that have proven useful time and time again. I can usually find the information or link to the information I need right here if I pay attention and ask the proper questions.

Murin was passed a bolt of some bags or material for making such. It was heavy, being soaked through as it was, and it smelled of coarse cotton. After this came a crate , poorly abused. It was filled with smashed fruits that smelled primarily of apples. Then she was passing a loose bundle of clothing and then a mallet. The work went like this with every odd an end taken and passed along. "McDonough!" The call came from Alexander Sparshott, who stood balanced on the snow's broken rail. Murin was not accustomed to being addressed by her last name alone, but the man was in earnest. "Take up that line!" He was trying to free up the last of the grapples and the line was slack for only the moment. "Take it lass!"

With the unmistakable crash of the great gun, the time had come to depart. William ordered everyone out of the hold, for they were almost swimming now. They were surrounded by anything that would float, including dead Englishmen, but they made their way forward and up as best they could. William all but threatened some of the men to get them out, but out they went bearing the last of what would be saved below. William twice lost his coat but regained it every time. Owen And he were the last out, bearing with them a dazed Oliver Randall who had brained himself upon a timber. They arrived to hear Badger shouting 'Swing away!' with his usual impatience, and they witnessed a great gun of the snow cross the gap to the Watch Dog, but not before upsetting the rail with a force that sent splinters into the air. "The wind's up, sah!" Owen observed, but William was already moving to Lasseter's side leaving a trailing line of water. "What say you?" William shouted over the commotion. "Shall we abandon here?"

Preston had no where to go and little to do. He tried and failed to get Johan Stadtmeyer and Robert Jameson to engage in conversation with him, though they sometimes answered for the benefit of each other. They also apologized at times, respecting Preston for his office, despite being tied up. After a time, Preston satisfied himself with resting his eyes, though he did not sleep. On one of these occasions, Robert stepped back to Preston's blind side and began undressing himself from the waist down. Johan turned to him with the most unbridled expression of 'What in Hell?' inscribed across his face that Robert stopped, already exposed as he was. "I need ta piss." Jameson explained, just as emphatic as Johan was flabbergasted. Johan stared at him like he was a foreigner of such baffling customs that words failed. He gestured around and could not find any words but one. "HERE!?" Johan was not equipped with surpassing English, but even he could have found more words than that, were it not for his disgust and bewilderment combined. "There's them tha' piss below 'sides me." Jameson returned with equal surprise and Stadtmeyer cuffed him upside the head. Now whether Preston heard or cared about the matter, he remained quiet. Perhaps he was too amused not to hear this conversation to its rightful or wrongful conclusion. "Head with you." Johan ordered, but Robert wouldn't budge. Instead he made as if to continue, so Johan cuffed him hard enough across the back of the skull so as to make the man rub the smart of it. "I've orders..." "The head with you!" Johan ordered, and while Johan's five foot three was just overshadowed by Jameson's towering stature of five foot four, Johan was almost twice Robert's age and pointed in the direction of the bow. "Off with you. Heathen. Dog. Fool's bastard." Johan used as many good English words as he could find as Jameson wandered out, just as likely now to relieve himself anywhere but the head. This left Johan and Preston alone. It also left Johan to his thoughts, and they drifted to Captain Stoneburrows and back to Preston. 'I should kill this man and be done of him.' Johan thought, surveying the Ship's Master's wounds. 'He's wounded enough already.' It was as before. Johan was in a position to kill a senior officer of obvious liability, or at least possessed of some demons too dangerous to go untethered and perhaps get away with it. He wondered that Lasseter should not be grateful if he did this service, anonymous as it would be. No one had missed Stoneburrows. Johan could not now remember any mention of the man after his death, apart from some unfavorable anecdotes. It was different with Mister Whittingford, however, for the men seemed to like him and Preston had seemed affable enough before and after the engagement. It didn't matter. Johan was not so ready to kill as he had before, so he dismissed the notion and shook his head in disgust when Jameson returned too soon to have gone forward. "Dier..." Johan sneered. Robert mistook this for 'dear' and called, "Oh dear, yourself." They both laughed at each other scornfully, but for utterly different reasons.

"God in heaven!" Dorian looked up from the binnacle, where he and Jim Warren were salvaging every instrument stored there. They saw Harold Press in the attitude of moving the last of the prisoners across the gap to the Watch Dog. He was staring down between the snow and frigate. "Sahs!" They went up with haste only to discover the whereabouts of William's lost man. Christophe Lefevre, a Frenchman of Martinique that had served but a handful of days aboard ship, was discovered utterly mutilated between the hull of the Watch Dog and King's Fury. The poor man it seemed had fallen between the two boats during the engagement. Having not completed the leap between the snow and the frigate, or having been caught up in a line during the attempt, he had fallen between the two boats unobserved in the chaos of bloodshed. There he had remained, tangled up in some grapples of the 'Dog and rigging of the snow. It seemed as though he had been crushed and ground between the two boats this whole while. So savagely had the two ships pressed upon him, that had it not been known by all marines that he was missing, Harold would not have recognized him enough to mark the man. Jim allowed himself a long exhale of muttered curses before crying, "Grab him up." So horrified were those at hand at seeing a man so abused by bad luck and English Oak, that no man would follow the order at first. Christophe Lefevre had been reduced to a mean smear of a creature that stained both ships and his bones were ground and crushed throughout. Mercifully, as the snow settled in the water he was freed enough to fall, just as Harold would have grabbed him. one of the lines went slack and a smashed yard of the snow was carried overboard and down. It struck what little of Christophe's head and torso remained with a sound too profound as it carried him to dark depths. It was the first of many burials and not a few men, Spanish and Irish both, crossed themselves.

Durand arrived on deck, bearing up from below a satchel of bloodied cloth. He bore it to the Lucy's rail and dumped it over the side. Lasseter, unaccustomed to seeing the Frenchmen on his deck, chanced to see this arrival and the two men exchanged nothing more than a glance as Durand buried Thomas Ried's leg unceremoniously at sea. Then Durand went below again. He found Maeve so utterly spent, that she sat hunched upon a cask while at the work of sewing up Patrick Godfrey's arm. He was quite certain then that he had never known a woman more stunning in the moment, for there was a kind of ardent beauty in the way she persisted in fatigue, blood soaked and spattered. Even some ringlets of her hair bore the stain of her work, as she had brushed them back with bloodied hands more than once. "C'est art." he thought to himself, and wondered that artists should never catch such alien moments of mortality, when the curve and figure of woman was shown in all her persistence, surrounded by death. Then he noted a Jeffrey Elijah, bruised and most obviously marked by the bandage that covered the better part of his head. The lad had suffered the loss of his right eye, owing to a piece of shrapnel that had destroyed the orb. The sailor looked too sober for words and Durand passed him the dipper with a nod of empathy. "Never be coxswain or captain." Jeffrey said, voicing his concern at his diminished capacity. Durand simply tapped his all too valuable eye with a single finger and smiled, "A captain puts but one eye to the glass."

Such was the way of things at sea and in piracy. The tenuous engagement of canons too often claimed a worthy prize, and not a few lives. William himself was obliged to go below and witness the damage himself, becoming as drowned as the other sailors who were bringing up every bit of property to be had from the holds and berth. "That's it lads! Strip her to the bone!" William called, taking a cask in hand himself and passing it on up the line. He stripped his coat and hung it about his shoulders, wet as it was, and was surprised to find his hands covered in watery rivulets of blood. He had not thought to find so much carnage below, so much so that the water was pink in places. He chanced to look about as he passed another cask and was taken aback to see so many dead, and with no true explanation as to the cause. As he had not witnessed the engagement within, he dismissed the scene and continued to work. Up above, Lasseter was ordering every bit of the snow's canvas over the side to stave up the torn places of the King's Fury. Those within could just hear the sucking sound of the sea as it pressed hemp against the hull. It did little, but little was enough. The slightest slowing of the sea's progress was another cask of nails or a firkin of rum. It didn't hurt that as they worked they freed the snow of weight and William dared to hope that they would save her yet. A sodden Luc appeared then, wet from a fall. "Powder's all wet through, sah! Stores are flooded!" "Nevermind it! Save the swivels from above and all good arms off the deck!" "Such is done, sah!" Luc assured him. "But the canon are lost." "Cut them all away!" William shouted as he passed another cask. "A long line and a barrel or two to mark them." He knew that it was a fool's errand, for William could not be sure of the depth of the sea there, but to lose so much that could be sold ashore galled him. "Swing out the yards and haul away any that might be had!" "Aye, sah!" The ship heeled a little over to Starboard and William could hear the two neighboring ships grind upon the snow. William was thrown against Mister Gage, who was employed saving salt pork. "Sorry, sah!" "No rank in haste!" William shot back, and helped propel Lazarus in his progress. They were all working men for the moment. Cook and Captain alike.

With the threat of the prize lost looming over their heads, William ordered anyone not at work below or in the keeping of prisoners to haul over those goods aboard the snow to the frigate and cutter. As this was done, William was presented with the Master's Mate from the snow. "Sah, I present Randall Byington, Master's Mate aboard..." Jim began, but the man cut him off. "Lord Randall Arthur Byington." he corrected. "Of course," Jim returned. "Of the ship...What ship is this, Lord Byington?" Byington straightened. "The King's Fury." William almost smiled but didn't. Instead he looked about the shattered snow and repeated the name again, but with a foreboding meant for Byington. "Indeed. The King's Fury." If Byington caught the implication, his face did not show it. Instead the man was all business. He presented papers and ledgers of the snow and asked what would become of him and his men. He was altogether direct on this point, almost to the point of demanding answers. William assured the man that such questions would be answered in time, and the man was made to wait while William opened a ledger or two and read them by a light at the rail. He did not intentionally cause the man to wait, his questions all unanswered, but wait he did. After a time Byington began clucking his tongue impatiently. "Must you do that, sah?" William asked, not looking up, for the sound had begun to wear on him. Byington seemed unaware of the pretentious habit, and was first baffled, then embarrassed. "Come, sah. I will have an answer." William looked up at the man. Just that, but the look went on and on. It was the verbal equivalent of a senior officer's rebuke to a subordinate, though it utterly failed to touch Byington's well built sense of superiority. Byington was too well armed with self assurance as measured out by God and King to allow even one of Brand's looks to dismantle the island fortress of his dignity. William simply went back to reading.

...and so forth.

Did you meant to say that you are 'too hot for your coat' or that 'the weather is a bit on the hot side to be wearing a coat?' Either way, you're probably right.

Ahem. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Silkie, Murin, Mary, Anne, and so forth! Happy Birthday to you. And now, I'll wait for the owners of said song to sue the living daylights out of me.

Jim Warren came to the precipice between the frigate and snow and called for Captain Brand. His voice was not urgent, but it bore a little something which gave William a sense of urgency just the same. By the time William reached the rail, Jim was standing almost between both ships, his hand upon a grappling line not yet removed. "Sah, the snow is dashed in below. I must insist on a half watch of men at the buckets." William agreed of course, sending men of the 'Dog and Spaniards both to serve the carpenters above and below. "Use them as you will, Mister Warren." Jim turned with a nod and would have gone, but he turned about again, remembering another matter. "Sah. Mister Roberts reports that he cannot find Christophe Lefevre." "Cannot find him?" William looked about. "He's not lost over the side?" "I cannot say." Jim admitted, so William sent him away again, for the matter of the prize was paramount to them. Then he called for the marines of the watch to send word about for Mister LeFevre.

No, we'll haul you out to sea. Or at least throw you in from the beach and try and nudge you out a bit with sticks or something. Boogator is bringing bamboo poles. If we can't nudge you away we'll build a raft and set it ablaze.

More than a hammock? Send them all along and I'll see them posted.

I honestly think that you should bring as many as you can. We can build all sorts of temporary structures with them and the Bone Island Buccaneers will certainly find uses for them year to year. We'll cut them to size at PIP.

Those of you who ordered women's sizes, please check your messages. I tried sending one to McDrago, but it won't go through, so drop me a message and see if you box is full.

Done. Thank you for the update, and we could certainly use an extra tent.

We have close to 140 pirates in attendance on this list, not counting the Bone Island Buccaneers. Some of these are not camping, but we have nearly reached our limit if all of them attend. I have begun listing tent allotments next to names.

No, we'll haul you out to sea.

Jenny had only just gained the weatherdecks when she spotted Durand assisting the good Doctor to the deck of the snow. Each of them bore the boxes of necessary, albeit gruesome tools of the Chirurgeon. Durand had laid aside his usual heavy coat and was rolling up his sleeves, perhaps in preparation to assist, for only in stooping to surgery would the man fit below decks. Maeve looked pale and careworn. She had not troubled to change the bloodied apron of her trade, which had not effectively kept the blood from her skirts. Her sleeves looked dipped and dyed, but she went without word or greeting to Jenny, who had already turned on her heal to lead them both below, anxious to be ahead of Maeve, so as to keep her between herself and Durand. Once they gained the space that passed for a surgery aboard the Lucy, Maeve began to order everyone about. Unlike Brand or Lasseter, she was captain of any surgery in her charge and no one made any argument against it. Indeed, Marsh looked the more relieved for it, and Maeve was equally relieved to find him and the others already at work. Even Durand joined in, and it became apparent that he was there for the quick and tiring work of lifting or sawing.

William sent Jack again with a final nod and some unheard remarks. He reported that the ship's doctor would be made available as soon as possible. Meanwhile, he put his head in at the surgery door and was able to glean bandages and some medicines for use by the Lucy's wounded. these were pressed into the hands of Pierre St-Germain and James Standiford, with orders that the two lads should go with Miss Ashcombe and be aides to her until such a time as the doctor should arrive and say differently.

Mister Roberts and the Captain spoke at length, thought the conversation consisted of mostly pauses and nods on the Captain's part. Their conversation was not long to be certain, but Miss Ashcombe was made to wait while Durand watched her from where he stood. Durand was not so frightful in aspect as a man, apart from the disconcerting eye, but he implied a certain power and unknown that tended to give people pause. His face, while not unfriendly in any particular way, was not a face of many smiles. He didn't present the laugh lines of a joyful face, nor did he have the face of an angry man. His was the face of the deliberate and the calm, showing emotion when he wanted to or expressing nothing readable at all. At the moment, he was simply regarding her, completely unaware it seemed that such regard without expression implied too many unknown dangers to be friendly. Then, completely despite himself, he grinned a little. He simply couldn't help it. It was something about having a woman aboard ship, and more importantly, one that he had met before.

Durand noted the furrow which had spread across William's brow. It was something in the news of the man Flint and something else as well. Durand did not ask, and felt that it was not his place, though with Tudor about he smiled a little. She returned his regard with something cool that only made him like her the more. Aboard the snow, Jim Warren was calling the boarders to him and assembling them to go back to the frigate as they may. He kept a handful for himself, to do what duty they might. Jonah Greene happened then up from below. The man looked soaked clean through and bloodied besides, though Jim could see no mark on him. "She's stove in astern and taking on water, sah! Teeke's at the matter now, and Wenge is there, but she'll not be put right without more men and haste."

William, more sober than not already, sobered still. "You have them there." William pointed, for some were still aboard the snow, but he called the rest and marshaled them over sending word to Eric Franklin to see those prisoners well guarded. "John Clovely is my man lost. And Paul Mooney is twice shot or more." he called to Dorian, who was looking about still for Preston. "How is it with the Lucy?"

William was bound for the rail opposite when Captain Lasseter called him back. Durand and he went together standing very near to Miss Tribbiani and Argus. The dog gave Durand a single huff of a bark, but a steady look from L'Ours checked the pup again, and Argus was obliged to trade sides with the marine. "But one dead to speak of here, Captain." William called. "The Navarra is inbound, though her sails are set in a fashion unbecoming to a bosun."