William Brand

William draws up a chair with no more greeting than a nod and a plate of buttered orange and currant scones, content to eat in the silent company of Syren and her companion, the bad mood.

I'm not walking the plank again. Once is enough.

"What is it with you people and your meat?" - Mission "It's like an aspbergers convention." - F.B.II "If I get all wet do you think it would look...indecent?" - Mary Diamond "Maeve gave me permission to sleep with the Quartermaster." - Silkie Anything sounds funny quoted out of context.

The event would be greatly diminished in my estimation if you were not in attendance. And yes, I did get your PM. I'll be posting stuff about the Mercury by day's end.

My deliverance was inevitable. Besides, Patrick didn't want to interrupt me while eating.

We should all spend a night at Fort Jefferson next year. That would be a great adventure inbetween the End of Hurricane Season Party and the rest of the Festival. Thanks for the link.

In the end, this is why I have Patrick on my side. He sidesteps all of the finery and frippery of courtly manners and finesse and goes straight to the heart of the matter with a cudgel. My man, Patrick. Willing to get his hands dirty.

In review, the shoes looked wonderful. For a costume shoe of man made materials, you will probably do no better. The look for the money is perfect, and since shoes are always difficult to come by, I can recommend them as a first time shoe for those who cannot afford the more expensive alternatives. That said, get a cushioned insert. An insole is a must. You don't want to find out at the end of a very long day that you needed one. Just get one. That's an order.

At Le Chateau Anse... That night at Le Chateau Anse was not unlike any other night. It was certainly no more or less quiet for the disturbance at Miss McDonough's table, though the proprietor watched the interchange between Monsieur Taggart and Luigi with rising trepidation. Monsieur Taggart was a powerful man and a regular patron of the inn. Monsieur Taggart himself had saved the inn from financial ruin not once, but twice in it's history, and while the innkeeper hated the association with such an often unpleasant man, he was obliged to treat him as well as any other guest, and sometimes better. Pepin Rossignol Ferland had always been an innkeeper. He had owned two establishments in Paris, though neither of them had been more than fours walls and a roof. In his estimation they had been poor houses with a keg or two of bad beer and mattresses as old as Methuselah. He had left them and Paris for Martinique and had traveled to the Caribbean with the express purpose of building the consummate inn. A place of sound security and comfort where any weary guest could sit, drink, eat or sleep without want or need, provided that they could pay for each perquisite offered by the inn. His dream had become a reality in the acquisition of a large, stately home on the main avenue of the St. Louis. Here he had built Le Chateau Anse, the inn of inns. It had been a grand enterprise then and the inn had enjoyed its first great prosperity when it opened. It was visited by the wealthy, who often escaped with their mistresses to the upper rooms of the inn where they enjoyed privacy and the innkeeper's discretion. It was also visited by the lowly, who spent too much at once and left as poor as they would ever be in life. The high and the low had ever congregated in the common rooms, where common and not so common mingled in song and drink without a care for status. It had always been so and Monsieur Ferland could not have been happier. Until now. "Fichus imbéciles, tous", he muttered, as Monsieur Taggart signaled to a pair of brutish looking fellows near the long counter which served as bar and clerk's desk for the inn. They came over wearing the smiles of men who find sport in hurting weaker people. They smiled all the more upon seeing Luigi, who was a full foot beneath either man. They imagined together with their combined, but small intellect, how easily they would hurt this short, unremarkable looking man. Their quick estimation of Luigi was as removed from the truth as Columbus had been from China. One moment both men were standing. The next moment, both men were in a state of rest that Pepin Rossignol Ferland had never imagined for his guests, though fights of this kind were often the rule more then the exception. Luigi put one man under a table with two swift kicks and one well placed left hook. The other man was undone with a solitary jab at a solitary, but gender specific target that was even smaller than the man's intellect. This might have ended the fight if not for Monsieur Taggart's stubborn misunderstanding regarding his own place in the world. He stood at once and drew a small sword with that practiced agility which exists among those raised in places of station. He did this so suddenly, that even Luigi was taken unawares. Try as he may, Luigi could not move his whole frame faster than Taggart's flick of the wrist. In a few seconds, Le Chateau Anse was reduced to the sound of so many toppling chairs as some eleven dogs of the 'Dog stood up at once, even as one of Luigi's fingers hit the floor. Monsieur Taggart survived to the door only because Pepin Rossignol Ferland stepped between one patron and all the rest. In that moment, he was the innkeeper absolute. He stood toe to toe with some of the angriest sailors ever to cross his threshold and stood his ground as ably as an veteran soldier. One moment he was the shrinking but affable man of two score years and three chins, and the next he was the lord of his house and his word was gospel. He ushered the foolish Taggart all the way to the door without concern for his own safety, all the while plying the angry patrons with promises of drink and recompense. It was one of his resounding moments as host of Le Chateau Anse. They reached the porch together, he and Monsieur Taggart, and the sugar baron was just foolish enough to spurn the innkeeper for saving his life. Pepin Rossignol Ferland was just honorable enough to take the blow unreturned before turning again to his own house that he might put it in order again. Aboard the Watch Dog... William paced the Ward Room of the Watch Dog for several minutes, not out of irritation, nor agitation, but out of habit. He mused aloud on several subjects, as was his want to do when alone, and he spoke openly to himself regarding those subjects touching the frigate and the cutter. The morning would bring the promise of several great changes. Some hoped for. Some assured. Some inevitable. Several crew members, laden with Maastricht shares and their own plans for the future, would depart the Watch Dog for new lives ashore at Martinique, leaving him with less crew members, even though he had planned for more. The imbalance of proven men over new recruits would soon come into play with all of the politics and unpleasantries associated with such changes. He would have a new carpenter, a new blacksmith, and a plethora of new able seamen. He would also see some new marines armed, the establishment of a Master-at-Arms and the requirement of a new Quartermaster. William sat after a time. He drank enough water then to stave off the effects of all the drinking he had done that day. "Too many toasts for one evening." he said aloud, already dozing a little in the chair. He told himself three times to go to bed, but he utterly failed to follow his own orders and was asleep in the great chair some six or seven deep yawns later. On a cart road... Tawny limped, fell, crawled, staggered, stood and limped again in a dance of unbending determination. It was by will alone that he kept the pace he set for himself, leaving a little of himself behind with every other step. Every movement cost him a little blood and a little of the madness which had driven him his whole life. Now, wounded as he was, the brushfire was almost gone. That bright burning insanity which had fueled so many nightmarish acts of cruelty was all but spent and soon Tawny would be as silent as the brazier once burned out. He would cool, dim and go cold and no one would ever light a candle in his memory. For the present, he limped, fell, crawled, staggered, stood and limped again. In the Village of Crows... There are few men in this world who can honestly say they have fought the devil and won. Monsieur Binet Gaubert lay in a pool of sweat, blood and swelling gratitude on the floor of his home and thanked God some two dozen times at least that he had ignored his sister's protests about the 'mangy dog' he had brought home three years previous. That dog...that mangy dog...now stood over him and added its share of blood to his own. Their blood mingled there in the dark, making them blood brothers ever after. They had fought the devil together and prevailed and Monsieur Binet Gaubert would say afterwards that no brother on Earth would ever have such a portion of his love as the mangy dog, Mercier. Mercier licked his wounded master and whined, not for his own wounds, but for his love of Binet. Eight bells of the First Watch. The Midwatch begins. August 3, 1704

I had a compact flash card go bad. My brother is retrieving the pictures, so I'll have them soon. "P" bucket and all.

Thank you, but for the record... Never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never jump in wearing a wool waistcoat lined inside and out with linen. It was like swimming with a dead guy on my back. I'm just glad we were firm with the guy who wanted to jump in wearing bucket boots. He never would have made it.

A huge thanks goes to you and Tony for buying the flag materials. I couldn't have made it without your generous donation.

I can just see you saying it with a straight face, and mind you, few men could. "The morning after...wearing the dress..."

Welcome aboard, James.

Gracious to a fault, my Miss Ashcombe. You were sorely missed at PIP.

Just cut off from the world for a time. And now...some biscuits. In honor of the sword biscuits we enjoyed twice daily at the Archangel camp.

I said... "Oh the things I could have done to you when I had you in my clutches. What joy I should have had cutting you into very small pieces. And what joy I should have had making jerky of those pieces. And the things that I could have done with said pieces. Eating such pieces. Serving such pieces at a banquet in your honor. And what further joy I might have known passing the pieces afterwards." It's the last line that really sells it, I think.

As far as I know I was the last re-enactor to depart the event, not counting the local lads and lasses of the Bone Island Buccaneers. Tuesday saw the departure of the Archangel crew and many individual pirates from various hotels and campsites. The Sacred Heart Crew (Callahans and company) departed over several hours of goodbyes...no one wishing to depart. By Tuesday night, Harry had retired to his trailer to relax and I met the Bone Island Buccaneers at the fort after one of their crewmembers graciously drove me about the Mercury encampment for one last look over the grounds. Once inside the fort, we sat in the Captain's tent on the parade grounds talking about the various plans and expectations for next year already being discussed in these forums. It was colder than it had been at any other time during the event. A strong Northerly wind blew over the empty fort. After a time I bid my goodbyes to the Bone Island Buccaneers and they drove home in with many props lashed inside and outside their vehicle. I walked about the fort for a short while in the dark. No pirates. No Yellow Fever Ghosts. I walked down to the encampment areas with no more light than the sky itself. It was cold, to be sure, but not unpleasant. There was so much wind in the Australian pines that it sounded like surf over my head. I chanced to see a diver with a head lamp going about the shoreline. At one point I fell asleep on the beach near the snack bar and woke up so chilled that I was forced to retire to the tent that the Callahans had left behind for my use to warm up again. The next morning I woke up early, owing to a night that was colder than expected. I broke down the tent, though it was wet and I was forced to drape it over the picnic table to dry out. My lovely wife called about then and we spoke for a short time. I took a shower and put on some street clothes that were clean but for a smell of being stored in camp all week. Then I called 5 Sixes Taxi Service... ...Begin long day report now. I called the taxi service and explained that I was at Fort Zachary Taylor. The dispatch man asked if I was at the gate. I carefully explained that I was at the 'locked gate' beyond 'the booth'. No one showed up. Again, I called and carefully explained that I was in fact at the large, chain-link gate at the end of the road before the fort. I told them to drive past 'the booth' and go on to the 'locked gate'. No one showed up. To make a long story short, they finally picked me up some forty minutes too late and I missed my flight. The taxi ride cost me $15.95, plus a $50.00 ticket change fee at the Delta counter (which they eventually waived), and I missed a chance to see my friend Marvin for lunch in Salt Lake City who flew out from there Wednesday afternoon. Still, my delay afforded me the wonderful opportunity of exploring the Key West airport. And for those of you who haven't seen it, it amounts to little more than a glorified bus terminal, although the biscuits and gravy at the Conch Flyer were quite nice. Still, several connecting flights later and one very choppy landing I arrived home and my wife, Liam and I all drove home together to the waiting company of three attention starved cats. Myyy feeet! Fast forward a few days...and I'm home with a mild flu bug. My brother managed to recover the images off of the damaged compact flash card I used at the event. I've completely unpacked and put my pirate things away in the other room. My internet is up and running again and I'm a digital pirate for another year until the next PIP. I want to extend my special thanks to everyone who joined us in the encampments. I had a glorious time. It was a pleasure to meet each and every one of you and to spend time talking to all of you collectively and individually. I didn't get the opportunity to speak with you all as much as I would have liked, but I had a grand time. A hearty thanks to the Bone Island Buccaneers, the Callahans, the crew of the Archangel, the many people who made up the Mercury, the park rangers, the Friends of Fort Zachary Taylor and those individuals who came so far by themselves to participate in the fun.

I left my bamboo cup behind. Drat. I think it was on the ramparts of the fort when I had it last. More's the pity.

Cheese, hard rolls, and venison. I have seldom been so well fed as a captive guest as I was in the Archangel camp. My many thanks.

This is one of seven attempts I made at escape. I actually slipped the chains at one point.

You were missed. We'll do the group shot on a Saturday next time and we'll schedule the other photo shoots on any night other than the big party. Too much to do at the last minute. We learn by doing.

I'm not about catching worms or anything like unto it. I require men for the working day.

It has been an interesting week, fraught with delays, disconnections and the flu. Still, I am well enough and glad to be back.

"The perfect solution" In a pig's eye.