William Brand

Thank you. Today's special is steak with blue cheese and crispy onion strings with cooked vegetables and a side of garlic bread.

And you have yet to attend a single Baconfest... It's criminal.

Yer too cool. You need a whole birthday week.

Thank you, all. Everything is on track for tomorrow. We'll be meeting early in the day and I hope that all will go well.

August 5, 1704 - The inland road from St. Pierre William smiled, bemused by his own fatigue and made a point of lolling his head to one side dramatically, before taking the cup. He sipped only a little of the stuff and made a face. "I'm ravenous." Dorian nodded and made mention of several Irish dishes he would gladly sample by the plateful. William made a face at this, eyes closed. Then the two of them launched upon a lengthy journey of comparisons between the fares at every roadside tavern and country pub they could remember. They tortured themselves in this fashion, sometimes smiling, sometimes groaning for want of shepherd pies, spoonbreads, puddings and meringues. "We shall eat the horses when they drop." William announced, after a pause came in the discussion. "Aye." Dorian agreed. "Quiche cheval..." William chuckled. "Or perhaps the coachman." "Too course." Dorian said, shaking his head. The sound of horses on the road ahead woke them from their revelries.

August 5, 1704 - The inland road from St. Pierre Second bell of the First Dog Watch had come and gone, but whether or not any church bells rang the half or quarter hours, such a sound was lost far behind them and under the hoof beats of their horses. They flew along the road at speed, sending up mud and spray as they did, til the man at the back would have been wet through, if not for his coat. For Jack, the ride was hard. Even if he had not recently quit the prison, the ride would have been uncomfortable, for he had not ridden in a very long time. His joints, muscles and all his framework, still waking from the dead life of prison and tested through work aboard the 'Dog, now reminded him that he was a long way yet from returning to that strong and able man he had been before his capture. Only time would make him so, and this journey was a sore reminder. Jack chanced to turn his head Westward as he stood a little in the saddle. They had reached a point in the road where he could not make out the sea for the encroaching jungle. The sky was of little use in this regard, for the road seemed dark in the shadows, but he was certain that night would overwhelm them soon. All the business of Ajayi would be settled in darkness it seemed. - - - Not far ahead of them and Southward bound came the carriage bearing the weary and the wounded. Dorian had managed a song or two, but these were born of boredom more than spirit. He sand them more to himself and sometimes with his face part way out the window as he watched the passing landscape. William fell asleep twice, but for no more than three minutes together. He was not trying to rest anymore than he was trying not to, but he allowed it as it came in brief, truncated moments. The rest of the party were asleep in more absolutely or wide awake. - - - As the hour waned, the two parties drew closer still.

Today's special is a thin slice of Spam fried up and served on toast. My Grandma would make it for me whenever I saw her, and when I was young, I thought it was the best thing in all the world. A moment of silence for my Grandma. At only 5 feet and maybe an inch or two, she was one of the tallest, most noble women I ever knew.

I don't often feel the need to write about personal things to a known or unknown public, even the Pub, but if anything that follows might remind us to cherish what we have and be better to everyone about us, then it will have been worth the effort. About ten years ago my sister went to see my Grandma with her husband and children. They were all excited to see her, for they hadn't been to her home in years, due in large part to geography. They walked up to the door with all of the happy expectation one generally feels when seeing a beloved relative they've missed. My sister was extra anxious and happy for the moment, because my dear Grandma would finally get to see great grandchildren that she had never met and others she had not seen for almost a decade. Then my uncle Gary answered the door. I have often heard them describe what followed as one of the most frightening experiences of their entire lives. My uncle Gary came screaming and cussing out of the house. He threatened them with all sorts of violence. He violated their ears with every insult and accusation imaginable. So horrible was he that my nieces and nephews, still quite young at the time, clung to my sister and brother-in-law in abject terror. Even my brother-in-law, a man who towers over everyone, was alarmed by the assault. They still talk about it to this day in a hushed and unbelieving tone. This experience, and similar ones had by a few other cousins and siblings frightened everyone so much, that no one would go to see my Grandma for fear of Gary. Still, despite his abuse to anyone who dared the porch, he proved a fairly good caretaker to my Grandma, though she was made to believe the most outrageous lies about everyone else who cared for her over the years. He has sewed a thread of discord that has all but destroyed most of my Dad's family. I hate to admit that I could ever hate someone I had once called Uncle with affection, but I was not alone in my hope that he would die before my Grandma. We would often speak of his passing, knowing that if my Grandma passed first, there might be hell to pay in the end. You see, my Dad is the arbitrator of my Grandma's will and things being how they are between my Dad and his siblings, not to mention Gary, we've feared the possibilities of this day for years. Today, my Dad and Mom went to see my Grandma. Gary 'opened the house' to everyone because she has been very ill and it was believed that she would pass away very soon. My parents drove three hours to see her, but she died while my Dad was parking the car outside her home. He didn't get to say goodbye. He didn't get to say anything. My Mom said he just stood in the living room next to the bed they brought in to help her recover from past sicknesses. He just stood there and wouldn't talk to anyone. A man of profound wisdom and words, too torn up to speak. To add to this, his callous siblings informed him that his aunt died in July and no one had bothered to tell him. They told everyone but him and my Aunt Sherri. What kind of people wait to tell you news of that nature while you're standing in the horrible silence of a loved one lost? I have trouble imagining that kind of casual and careless disregard. It pains me to think of it aimed at my Dad. I didn't cry when I heard that my Grandma died. When my sister called and gave me the news, I didn't cry, but I did when I imagined my loving father standing in his mother's house like a stranger. I cried to think of his unimaginable siblings giving him the news of his aunt's passing some six months after the fact as he stood over the body of his mother just minutes dead. I cried to think of him parking the car as she died. Then I cried because my Grandma never got to see my two children. Not once. I'm feeling a lot of things. Grief, frustration, worry, pity and not a little shame. Still, despite what has come before and what may yet come after this, I'm clinging to the small hope that everyone will take stock of their lives and come out the other side better people. I want my Dad's siblings to be fair and kind to him again. He's never once done any of them harm. He's watched out for them, kept in contact with them and has done all that a person might do to be worthy of another's respect, if not affection. If you're a praying person, pray for my Dad. His mother died today while he was parking the car. Pray for Gary too. He's been very sick of late and they don't know what it is. Gary loathes the whole world with a senseless anger and no one should die feeling that way. Blind hatred is one of the worst poisons we brew for ourselves and others.

Aye, though I'm too removed to be one of the transporting members. Please take pictures of the whole ride from start to end with pictures of the meeting parties in between.

It looks sharp. How do you plan to test it? Are going camping with some large pirates in bad weather?

They're serving pheasant in Washington today, so we'll make that the special of the day...

It looks like apple juice, but if you say it's a pint, it's a pint.

Is anyone attending Dundracon in San Ramon in February?

A very happy birthday to my Steward, Miss Tudor Smith, whom you all know as Mercenary Wench. A finer lady, sailor and soldier I couldn't ask for. I hope the day finds you well and suddenly and unexpectedly wealthy.

No newsprint...? Where was that picture taken? Long John Silvers?

Silkie is right to say that I was never one for powdered wigs of any kind, being far too vain about that color awarded me at birth. While I will certainly leave the world crowned with but a remainder of my hair, and while that remainder will most certainly be ghostly white, I have never worn a wig that did not match my own hue. Also, the days in question did not include any other member of my crew or that of Captain Sterling's crew. We were, for this one misadventure, alone unto ourselves, though, as often as I have seen his man 'Dogge in a dress, I find myself believing that he was there and dressed in such a manner. This might be due in part to the passage of time or the fall which took place on the second evening. I cannot say. I can say, and with assurance, that Mistress Lilly McKinney was not there, as we changed lodgings some six times over the course of the events and I do not recall having seen here at any of the locations visited. Unless she came in at a window during the hours of noon and six of the evening on the second day of our tale, a feat that even the baboon would have found difficult, she was never once a part of the disaster as a whole. It should also be noted that the "baboon" played the smallest of parts in the overall scheme of things. I just like mentioning the baboon often, as the very idea of its presence tends to spark the imaginations of all. See every other post in this thread to mark how true this is. Also, the mention of it tends to send the good Captain Sterling into fits of embarrassing denial and I have never tired of this over the years.

In defense of Silas, he could certainly argue that silk is for colder climates than Key West.

I'll fall back on that then and take the secrets of the adventure to the grave.

Broadsided...wow. I'm glad you're well enough to narrate and take pictures. That says a lot. I was ejected from the bed of a pickup in a crash once, so I can appreciate the favorable side of luck. Rest up and mind the knee.

After what can only be described as the consumption of suicidal amounts of various fermented flora, the good Captain's recollections of events are...enigmatic at best. After having repeatedly explaining the events of that night to Captain Sterling over the years, I am quite convinced now that no amount of narration will resurrect the deceased portions of memory that were temporarily acquainted with Sterling at the time. Sterling now relies on the worst conjecture, rumor and falsehoods to knit together what happened that night. So certain is he that some horrible event took place involving the baboon, that no amount of reassurance can set his dignity aright as it touches Barcelona. It should also be pointed out that even the "Night in Barcelona" is a misstatement, for the event as a whole covered the better part of two days and began just prior to noon of the first day. The representation above, for all of it's failings, does manage to show this by the demonstration of light through the window and the absence of candles.

Has it been reviewed in a very absolute way for balance, quality and the like? If so, is there a write-up somewhere?

Black Powder is the lighter fluid and gasoline of the re-enacting community, at least among the inexperienced. I've seen people dump copious amounts of gasoline or lighter fluid on wood to 'start a fire', forgetting that the basic principle of fire is the initial spark and control more than the volume. I've seen the same thing with black powder rifles when people are going for the boom and blast of 'the real thing', or at least the real thing as they perceive it should be. We should keep a running thread of failures and mistakes to demonstrate all that can, may and will go wrong when someone isn't properly instructed.

Thank you for taking the time to photograph so many little details, especially the finishing details of the original tailor/seamstress. I was wondering about higher, domed buttons, and if they were period, so this is a great example.

Be sure to order them wrapped in a copy of the London Globe or the Evening Standard. If there isn't a hint of newsprint it ain't fish and chips.