William Brand

I will call them again tomorrow. I want to see if we can get the manufacturer to do a run, since we have a garaunteed interest and the money. They might be willing to make some more for us.

Patrick won't slow down long enough for me to catch up.

We should also politely ask some of those who are bringing a trailer if they could bring straw with them, but I will ask Harry at the next opportunity.

Bad news. I left a message with Historic Enterprises today on their voicemail system. They were gracious enough to phone me back a few hours later, but informed me that that item is no longer available. Sorry folks, I apologize for not pursuing this matter with more fervor early on, but we were waiting on a few confirmations and I did not expect the item to disappear as an option. I will do my best to research anoher option immediately and I will let you all know. -William

It is sometimes referred to as a "Donkey's Breakfest", which is little more than a bag stuffed with straw. I hear that straw is hard to come by in Key West, but for those of you who are driving... "This was the sailor name for the straw-stuffed bag of hessian which up to the Second World War was the only sleeping paillasse used by merchant seamen. It is even referred to in an early sea-ballad of 1400; "A sak of strawe were there right good." As the seamen headed toward his ship on sailing day, with a seabag over one shoulder, he would call on a dockside chandler, buy his donkey's breakfast, and hitch it up over his other shoulder. If it were pouring with rain, he'd sleep that night on its sodden straw, and before the voyage was over the straw would have wormed itself into great knotted lumps and possibly become the home of vicious bedbugs."

I'm going to bring a large canvas with loops and rope to put it around the showers on the beach. Then at night we could take turns using a shower that actually is enclosed. The bathrooms are very nice and within walking distance. Flushing toilets and sinks with running water. I second Patrick on the two blankets. I brought just the one in 2005 and we had colder nights then. The grass on the parade ground in the fort doesn't require a pad or mattress. I used a rolled up bit of canvas over a coat for a pillow. As for lighting, Key West has its degree of light polution, so it isn't too dark at night. The beach is a little darker, so a small period lantern would be great if you can come by one. We were going to have a group buy on lanterns, but they've been out of stock.

The festival draws closer and closer, but each time I go to finalize our group buy...well... The lantern is still currently out of stock. We're getting down to the wire, but I'll call them on Monday and see if these lamps are even possible by PIP. We all might have to consider alternatives. EDIT: I left a message on the voice messaging system, so we should know about these on the morrow.

Meh. I can forgive a great many things. I can...but this thing is flat. No high points or low points. It is a flat open road through a long stretch of desert and my interest is flatlining.

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.

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~

"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.

"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..."

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.

"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.

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...?"

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~

I'm half way through it. Give me strength. So far I find it campy and predictible.

August 1, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog Two bells of Second Dog Watch "Shall I choose from among the new men as well, sah?" Eric asked. William refreshed Eric's cup a little and replaced the bottle in the stern bench, then he walked about a bit, saying nothing. He crossed the room twice before he turned back to Mister Franklin. "I am hesitant to give advice either way except to say this, that the new men are unproven. Still, a show of good faith on our part might not be amiss, so I leave that decision to you and Mister Pew." "Thank you, sah. Have any of them...experience?" "Lefevre has none that I am aware of and speaks but French, so I cannot recommend him. The Standifords were Hatchelers, so no knowledge there but the flax. Andrew Light of the Providence has experience. He was First Mate of that ship and a blunt, straight forward fellow." William paused a moment and then fetched up parchment and ink. He sat down and began making notations as he spoke aloud. "Richard Tollervy was a marine and a keeper of hawks." "Hawks." Eric repeated, shaking his head a little. "Hawks." "His companion, Brenton, is too plain a man. Robert Hollis...you would only want for conversation, and I have designs on the rest that came with him, so you cannot have William Dash, Thomas Crips or John Kine. These men have skills I can employ elsewhere." "Aye, sah." "Anthony Dyer knows a good musket, but mind him. He was press ganged and a might bitter for it." William paused. "He'll be for the Heron. Gabriel Edward and David Henry seemed amiable, though I have nothing from them about their experience with boarding or the firing of guns. I asked few questions touching anything but seamanship..." William admitted. "...but Robert Elmer said he was good with a cudgel." "A brawler, then." Eric returned and sipped his glass. "Might make use of him." "Aye. Jeffrey Elijah and Zachary Howard will both go over to the Heron. Good able seamen by their report." William looked up from his scribblings. "We also have a German fellow. One Ulrich fon Sandt-Thorvald." William said, careful to pronounce the name in a sharper tongue. "A professional soldier by trade. You may want him for his languages alone." William paused, then edited his comment with a smile. "Or...you may not want him for his languages. You'll never have a secret in front of him." "And the rest, Sah?" "I could only recommend Martin Gadd or Francis Roundtree. Not too many of the fighting trade in this lot and I mean to have Mister Greene for a carpenter. My apologies to you and Mister Pew." William said with a bemused look. "I was after able seamen." "Aye, Sah. We might find a fowler amongst 'em." "Aye. We might at that. And do consider Owen. I was wrong to forbid him when we last chose marines. If he straightens out he might make a good marine. Again, I leave that to the both of you." William continued to pen several notes, sometimes on one piece of paper and sometimes on another. He looked up at one point and said, "Do not use Oliver Randall." William did not elaborate on his reason for marking the new recruit, but he pointed his quill at the Sergeant at Arms and repeated. "Do not use Oliver Randall." Eric nodded and William finished the last of his notations. He passed two slips of parchment to Eric with the following lists: Assigned to the Heron: Brenton Coles John Kine Anthony Dyer Jeffrey Elijah Zachary Howard David Leigh Godfrey Bicknell Francis Thomas Roundtree James Abraham Sandefur Assigned to the Watch Dog: Larboard- Robert Hollis Gabriel Edward Oliver Randall Samuel Standiford James Standiford Brenton Lund Moses MacTigue Blaise Wallace Gavin Montgomery Christophe Lefevr Starboard- Richard Tollervy William Dash Thomas Crips Ulrich fon Sandt-Thorvald Jonah Greene David Henry Robert Elmer Andrew Light Martin Gadd Keven Norman Eric perused the list once with a cursory glance. "Thank you, Sah." "Thank you, Mister Franklin. Make yourself known to the new recruits." "I shall, Sah." "And Eric..." "Sah?" "Pay my compliments to Miss Tribbiani." "Aye, Sah." ~Larboard Watches on Duty~

We were limited on time. It was during a layover at Amsterdam and I needed at least a full ten minutes to stand in front of the Night Watch by Rembrandt and the model of the William Rex. "Two things distinguish the William Rex, a 4 1/2 meter long model of a Dutch warship, built in the late 1600's: first, the incredible level of detail, and second, the fact that there was never a ship called the William Rex, the model was built to show off and pay homage to William of Orange." Four and a half meters long...

Designated helmsman.

I've read about half of the PB thread on the subject. I was just suddenly concerned that they were right out. The baldric is my preferred way to carry a sword out of sheer pragmatism. I like to be able to remove all of the deadlier aspects of my kit in one fell swoop. But I digress. This thread is about the Whydah box. I have to tell you this though. While I was in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam we couldn't take any pictures. I passed so many dutch paintings showing life at sea and dock workers ashore. It was pure torture to have so much evidence of the period before my eyes and not have a camera. They wouldn't allow them in the museum. Pure. Torture.

If I hear of any more, I'll let you know.

Wait...what thread? Are baldrics out?

Miss something...or get pressganged.

Four hour watches, Captain Sterling. No one sleeps!