William Brand

Which encampent would you like to be listed in?

today's special is Roasted Red Potato Bites...

Here's to immortality.

^ Yes and it went well. < I'm having a very good day today. Just an honest to goodness, blue skies day. V How many times have you mowed the lawn this year so far?

July 30, 1704 - At St. Louis The passing day had grown more hot with every passing hour, so that by the time they reached the prison, the shade of the Fort Royal walls were a welcome relief. The sudden respite of cooler stone and masonry altered their fatigue almost at once. The sweat each of them had carried throughout the day was turned to coolness by a steady breeze which crossed the walls of the fort as it traveled from the Cul du Sac Royal across the penninzula that the ramparts were spread upon. The day was a clear one, and even within the shadow of the fort, the sky was inviting. There was a small amount of commerce coming and going from the fort in the form of soldiers, citizens, and even a few prisoners, but for the most part, the place was quiet, like the day. William and the others were stopped a total of three times at various gates as the made their way into the bowels of the fortress. They were directed through gates and courtyards until they came at last to the place which served as quarters and office for one Bénédicte Dufour who served as an attache between Louis de Mallevaud, the commandant of marines, and the Ordonnateurs de la Martinique, the Intendant for all civil and justice matters for the island. William was not pleased to be told that he and his companions must tread across many more sun-baked roads, knowing that they would have to do so only to hike again to the fortress prison, but William was not surprised. He thanked Monsieur Dufour graciously, though his mood had soured a little, and the three of men went out into the heat of the day once more. William chanced to look at his pocketed timepiece as they stepped beyond Fort Royal's Northernmost gate. The afternoon was disappearing more quickly than he liked and it would be after second dog watch aboard the trio of ships in port before he was finished. "Beg pardon, Capitaine, but might we enlist a carriage for these...eh...unforeseen excursions." Claude offered. William nodded, and smiled at the idea, that for the present, he was a rich man. He sent Claude in search of the suggested transportation. While they waited, William made note of Bill's body language, for the man had been removed by some agitation all day. William almost asked him the reason, but then chose other conversation instead. "How are you enjoying the Bard, Mister Flint?" "Sah...?" Flint returned, coming back from his own thoughts. "Oh. I've not had the time, but for a little reading." "Any particular favorites?" "I like most of them in pieces, though King Lear..." Bill said, purposely trailing off with a gesture of his hand, as if the name of the play itself was enough to express the matter entirely. William nodded. "A particular favorite of mine. I saw some years ago performed by the great Call of London. He was, in a word, spectacular." "I've not had the pleasure." Bill returned, and he seemed grateful to be talking about anything but what was on his mind. "And I probably never shall." he added, bemused. "Aye." William agreed. "Though the performance that I witnessed was Call's last, so your privateering aside, you could not have witnessed any more of his work." Claude returned then with a carriage that was both fair and airy and they joined him aboard it. This reduced their travels significantly and William thought that he might pay a handsome price indeed to have use of a carriage for the duration of his time ashore. It was a foolish luxury of course, but he enjoyed it just the same and the men in his company wore their relief on their faces. The second bell of the First Dog Watch came and went just before they reached the house of the Intendant, a lavish and tailored piece of property located at St. Louis' Northern extreme. It was a vast tract of manicured land set with more than one building, including the main house itself. It managed to be austere and inviting at the same time and William was at a loss to say what it reminded him of, though it tickled some part of his memory. They were escorted only as far as the entryway, where they were met by one of the Intendant's secretary, who informed them that the Intendant was away to the other side of Martinique and might not return for some three days yet. William pressed the man politely to tell him how he might fulfill his business in the absence of the Ordonnateur, and he was directed to take the matter up with the Particular Governor, Monsieur Nicolas de Gabaret. William recognized the name at once. "Is not Monsieur Gabaret the Governor General of the Islands and...the Firm Ground?" William asked, unsure how to express the proper title in French. "Governor Gabaret served as this, oui, but only for a short time...and then with the demise of Charles de Pechpeyrou Comminge." "Ahhh. Thank you, Monsieur." "Je plaisir, capitaine." They left the Intendant's House then, and ounce more they boarded the carriage, this time in search of the Particular Governor's home. This proved to be more difficult than they would have expected, for twice they were given misleading directions, and the carriage driver seemed altogether void of any information as touching the official's whereabouts. Despite these wanderings, they were eventually lead to a stately structure which served as both a place of business for day to day matters concerning Martinique and a sort of second home for the Particular Governor, having additional apartments for long stays. It was overgrown after the fashion of the tropics, having some 5 different varieties of vine trailing up and under the various eaves. It was a proud place built after the fashion of France and the architecture of Europe, but it was also a style unto itself. They crossed a courtyard of paved stones and were met at the gate by several armed guards who informed them that they would not be permitted within thus armed. William had his pick of which man to take with him, and while Claude seemed an obvious choice, William chose Bill Flint instead. He did this, not for Bill's stature, but for his New World French, which he hoped would come across as charming and ingratiating, for William wanted English speaking prisoners very badly, and he hoped that by demonstrating that there were already English privateers among them who had embraced a loyalty to the French that he would win some favor. The irony that Bill Flint had so recently fought against the French was not lost on William as they stepped across the threshold. ~Larboard Watches on Duty~

I'll fetch a lantern.

Aye...thus the moniker. Well, I'd best tell you about the covered pit and the false barrel where we keep extra arms.

Now how did you find yourself down here...? I had thought that I was the only one who knew about the tunnel.

Beautiful pictures of the house in Bristol. We need more images of period buildings.

Aye, and we'll add to that some venison medallions with lime salsa.

I am interested in most, if not all, of the subjects that you mentioned. So please post away.

^ That is a tough question for me, but I might be able to narrow it down to three, including...pen and ink, watercolor and sculpting. < I enjoy digital artwork as wekk, but I can't replace the old school in me. V I'll pass this question.

Aye. Me neither. Oh how I miss the History Channel...

I believe you will out read me long before I learn sufficient French to read Le Morte d'Arthur in the original. Aye...by leagues.

^ Not so far, but the worry for PIP is that gas prices will drive up plane tickets. That would put a damper on my travel in a big way. < Still, I'm earning frequent flyer miles in spades this year. V What is the furthest distance that you expect to travel this year?

^ Blunderbuss. I'm an excellent shot with a musket and a decent shot with a pistol, but a scatter gun just has that special something... < I'd like all three, if given a choice. V I'll pass the question.

But of course. I'll add you to the sutlers camp.

July 30, 1704 - Martinique William entered the jeweler's shop where he found only Monsieur Molyneaux and the larger man who guarded the shop. The guard inclined his head only a little as did William. Monsieur Molyneaux stood up immediately and came out from behind the large table which served as a workspace and shop counter. He greeted William both cordially and with the formality of a man used to working with men of high stations. They both kept business short, though William made several inquiries as touching the Maastricht and the Fort Royal prison. Monsieur Molyneaux was careful with his answers, but William learned enough from the man to alter his course for the day by mere degrees. Once on the street again, and weighed down with more coin than the previous day, the trio continued on to other errands. William brought them to many places as the afternoon progressed, stopping at a total of eight establishments, including four counting houses, three taverns, an inn, a sugar baron's shop and a brothel. Two counting houses and the sugar baron showed real interest in seeing the fluyt, and William promised to meet with them at various appointed times throughout the following day. Only the brothel owner offered to buy the Maastricht sight unseen, but his asking price was so low that William glared at the man for such an insulting offer and the man shrank away, closing the door without a word just to be out from under such a look. With this business done, they made for the Fort Royal prison. . . . Elsewhere on the island a company of some few soldiers, a mixture of agitated mourners, a magistrate and a condemned slave stood about for a gruesome, but seemingly necessary ritual of death. The afternoon was thick with humidity there, though the night had been both pleasing and cool. The sun shone, but only where the canopy of the nearby jungle did not block out the sky. The sugar plantation was surprisingly quiet for a working day, apart from the sobs and soft condolences which passed among the living. Oduduwa stood apart from the pressing mourners. Proud, but heartbroken. He had come to the island by slave ship some two years back, alone among many, but for his younger sister. They had both survived a voyage which often took many in the passage, and while their life at Martinique had been neither too hard, nor too rewarding, they had enjoyed the small joys of one another's company. Slaves in the new world almost never enjoyed the privilege of family, for ties were often separated by distance and death, but these two had lived and worked side by side. Even the taskmaster of the harsh sugar trade had been kind to them, for fate had placed them in the gentler hands of these modest proprietors. Life had been good of late. Life had been almost bearable of late. The young master of the blossoming plantation had spoken openly of the kind alterations of freedom and position for the slaves. The young master had proved to be an idealist in this regard and Oduduwa could see that the young man had meant what he said, so life had been good of late, made better by the promise of change. Oduduwa had gone to sleep with a full belly and a laugh on his lips. Now Oduduwa stood on the grass in chains he had not worn in two years. And now Oduduwa understood that death would not go quietly into the night and forget him and his sister. No. Death had come to take them after all. Death was a patient taskmaster. Death had placed a bloodied instrument in his hand and stolen his sister in the night. Death had come and gone in silence and left him to pay the awful price from which no slave returns. Oduduwa's trial was already over. The whole of it had come and gone with only two witnesses heard. One man had discovered Oduduwa with the bloodied implement. The other had found the body of the fallen sugar baron. No one had been called in Oduduwa's defense. . . . The one and only witness to the slaying stood in a patch of shadow just outside the plantation. He didn't smile or gamble about, though he was as giddy as he had been since discovering Meg in the hold of the 'Dog. His face was as quiet as the trees, but oh how he danced inside. It had been many years since Tawny had framed an innocent so absolutely. He couldn't remember the last time he had watched a man stand condemned for his atrocities. It was heady stuff and Tawny stood transfixed with delight as they marched the unknown slave to a carefully selected tree in view of the road and the slave quarters. Tawny stared in fascination as they put the noose around his neck and hauled him up. One moment there was a man with faculties and feelings. And in another moment, there was a wild flailing thing with no thought but breath and oblivion. Tawny almost exploded from the jungle. He clapped both hands over his mouth to keep from screaming wild, foul, maddening things. He was so suddenly overcome with delicious obscenities that he almost couldn't keep them to himself, and he pressed his hands over his lips with as much force as he could muster. He wanted to run out into the open and cry "I've killed again! Tawny's killed him a man without his hands!" Still he clamped his hands over his mouth. He gripped his face to stave off this mad need to confess. He pressed so hard that he reopened his wounded ear and it ran yellow and red as he laughed into the muffling pulse of his palms. Still the slave kicked at nothing and Tawny was forced to sprint headlong into the jungle to keep himself from incrimination.

^ No, but I've done my share of cross country skiiing. < I'll tell you a funny story at PIP. V I'll pass the question.

Maeve says. "Niiiicely sewn and pretty colors." I agree.

^ Not necessarily. I've been known to picnic in pretty bad weather actually, so I'm not always motivated by blue skies. < It is an ongoing joke in my family to have picnics really late in the fall. V Have you ever been snow-caving?

Since people are beginning to purchase plane tickets, I will be changing the status of each person on the Roll Call to reflect their "confirmed" status at PIP this year.

Set aside $50 for at least one ride on the Wolf. I recommend one of the evening sunset trips.

^ I don't know how to answer that so I asked Maeve. She said I'm a combination of Peter Pan, Robin Hood, Darkwing Duck and Tarzan. She either thinks I'm eclectic, or she thinks I'm a childish, hairy, wild man with webbed feet. < I can live with that. V I'll pass the question.