William Brand

^ I will likely have a small get-together. I am not entirely certain, as I've been sick. < I am almost finished with a drawing I have been working on forever. I love finishing projects. V Do you have any long term projects you just can't seem to complete?

An honorary title indeed. I shall place it next to my previous titles. The SnowPack's Secretary of Propaganda Baconfest Master of Ceremonies Royal Order of Mumblers - Keeper of the Sacred Cheese And of course...Captain

"Ahoy the deck!" Siren called from aloft. "Small boats on approach!" "Thank you, Miss Tribbiani!" William returned and made his way forward. The St. Christopher and Patricia were making slow and deliberate progress in the direction of the Watch Dog. William cupped his hands together and called to the men in the boats across the still and quiet water. "Mister Woodington. What news?" Alan laid aside his oars as Cobus and Pascal continued to row the longboat, with the cutter in tow. He stood at the bow of the boat and called back. "Cap'n Lasseter sends his regards by way of supplies and goods for the 'Dog and Heron, Cap'n! I also have news of an attack on his person!" William and Ciaran exchanged a look amidships, and William cupped his hands again. "Where is Captain Lasseter?" "I'm told that he is recovering at an inn, Cap'n." "You've not spoken with him then, Mister Woodington?" "No, Sah!" "Very well. You will report to the Ward Room when you come aboard!" "Aye, Sah!" William gave Ciaran the deck for a second time and sent Jean Dorleac to fetch up Eric Franklin. Then he disappeared into the passagway to the Ward Room to dress for shore.

I believe I am tired enough again to attempt sleep in some form. Goodnight, and mind the larder.

The worst illness I ever had occured in 1995. I ran a fever so high that many of my friends dropped by to remind me that I didn't have permission to die. In fact, one friend, Audrey, sat next to my sick bed and said many times over, "Don't die, William. Don't die." I had to reassure her many times that I was not going to die anytime soon, what with so many projects left unfinished.

^I'm wrapped up in a blanket that was a recent birthday to my wife. I'm quite cozy. I do own slippers, but I have no idea where they are right now. < I'm also feeling quite inspired for being awake at 5 of the morning and coughing. Little bits of art and literature keep passing through my mind at present, including... "Is Brutus sick, and is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed To dare the vile contagion of the night, And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air, To add unto his sickness?" V Have you had your tonsils removed?

I never kill food bearers as a rule. Besides, I'm not strong enough to kill and it might throw my cautionary appettite a little too much. Thank you for the soup.

^ Bless you. I thought I was quite beyond any laughing in my present state, but that produced a good natured chuckle or two. < I never attempt math. I accomplish math. I subdue math. I do this to remind myself that my high school math teacher, an utter dolt who taught advanced algebra with hand puppets, that I have achieved a certain knack for math despite his ridiculous curriculum. V Did anyone else have horrid math teachers?

I would murder an elderly relative for a bowl of soup right now. Aye. Cold blooded murder for a little warm broth. Vile sickness.

I'll take company, and no tea, please. You may not be aware of this, but I despise tea and always have. My mother gave me this rather nasty tea whenever I was sick as a boy, and I have never forgiven the boiled leaf since.

^ I coughed myself wide awake, and in the interest of letting my wife get some sleep, I have left the bed to cough at the computer. < I can't remember the last time a sickness got me out of bed rather than into it. V I'll passs the question again, since my brain is addled.

July 29, 1704 - On the Cul du Sac Royal The night had been a long one for Alan Woodington, for he had kept the rigid schedule of the continuous bells aboard ship, despite spending much of his time ashore guarding the boats there. Most of the crew had maintained a somewhat relaxed view of the bells, for even the officers had allowed men and women to rest and rise for work when they were most able, disregarding the strictness of the watches. Discipline in general was gentler than it had been anytime before, but Alan, enjoying his new found duty as a marine, had kept the vigil of the small boats. During the late night, he had come across the water to man the watch of the tiny craft along with Pascal and Cobus, and his one true sleep of the night had been interrupted by Bill Flint, who had arrived unexpected to see that the Samson had arrived. Alan and Bill had exchanged some news, though there was far too little to be shared between them. Tawny was either dead or still abroad. The search party had circumvented the whole of Cul du Sac Royal with no reward but the company of Jean. Bill informed Alan that Mister Pew and the others were to take their sleep ashore that morning, and having no news himself, Alan sent Bill again with the comfort that the Samson was secured and guarded and that he would send word of their journey to the 'Dog at first opportunity. Had Alan known of Captain Lasseter's predicament at that time, he surely would have sent the search party to his immediate aid, but the bay had been dark and pocked with stars when they conversed. Indeed, much might be going on ashore without their knowledge, but spread wide as the crew was, news had to come to them. . . . Now, some five hours later, and in the growing heat of the morning, Alan, Pascal and Cobus prepared to shove off in the heavy laden boats to bear Captain Lasseter's goods to the waiting ships. The hired hands employed along the edge of the docks had been fastidious in their efforts and the boats were filled to brimming. Alan would not have risked a crossing with so many goods aboard, but the weather was quite calm, the water lying almost flat. The three men had little difficulty rowing across such a surface of glass, and they made their way very slowly, finding no need to hurry themselves. Birds as similar and different to Alan as any found off the docks of the Thames, circled about the small boats as they made the crossing. Their raucous cries filled the morning air, and perhaps the birds understood that food stuffs lay among the many other items crammed within the vessels. They made many attempts to land, but Alan staved them off with some shrill whistles he had perfected as a boy. This caused Alan to reflect on the tavern he had lived and worked in as a young man. It was a proper Tavern with all of the trappings of a drinking house near the docks. It was decorated in the loving, but altogether ramshackle way that many establishments are, filled wall to wall with gifts, trophies of the sea, personal effects, antiquated objects and an ebb and flow of human traffic like a tide of salt, which came and went at all hours of the day. His father had called it The Guildhouse, in honor of that guild of watermen that had ferried men and women up and down the Thames for generations. Prior to this, it had been simply called "Southbend", and some still called it such from time to time. "He's probably renamed it the Wayward Son by now." Alan thought with a smile made of one part regret and two parts satisfaction. Between two and three bells of the Forenoon Watch ~Larboard Watches on Duty~

Truth be told, I have been wondering about the two handles for quite some time now, but never enough to ask or research the question. It simply never occured to me that the cup was meant for "sharing". I imagined all sorts of reasons, mostly centered around holding it, but sharing never entered into my mind. What does that say about me? 'Pirate' I suppose.

William stumbles into the Kate at 3:45 of the morning to ply his sickness induced insomnia with a little food and a large chair in front of the fire.

^ What you see is what you get. < Even my pirate "persona" is fairly autobiographical in personality and history. V Anyone else up from sickness at this hour?

Alan nodded at this, gesturing to the many goods being ferried into the small boats. A paid gathering of dock workers was still passing down rope, nails, wooden bowls, cutlery, hammocks, and all manner of mixed items down into the boats which were sitting very low in the still morning waters. "Cap'n Lasseter's goods began arriving just a little while back. We'll be crossing over presently and I'll deliver the message to Cap'n Brand." One of the laborers employed among the French interrupted with a question and Pascal was forced to turn aside to see to a matter about supplies. Cobus joined him in translating and Alan smiled and explained. "Our interpreters." "Ahhh." she replied. "Has Cap'n Lasseter been abed long?" "Twas four o'clock before we got 'em ta bed." Alan raised an eyebrow at this, though he meant nothing by it. He looked up towards town and seemed to spend the next moment or two in thought. He twice turned to look out towards the three ships and back again. "I should see these boats back to the 'Dog. Will you come again to the docks in an hour's time?" She didn't know what to say to this and he was quick to explain his question. "I should like to be shown the way to the...Torvel Grand?"

Alan Woodington looked up with a start. "Good, God!" he exclaimed, before he could stop himself. This created a hush among the many men employed at the frigate's small boats. Alan jumped up from the boat tied against the docks and rushed forward past the bales, barrels, staves, sailcloth, blocks, cables, and boxes all being loaded into boats bound for the 'Dog and Heron. The men there, three from the frigate and the rest from shore, watched his progress as he went. He marched right up to the inquiring woman and said, quite unabashedly, "Say that again..." Maeve was quite taken aback, and had considered retreat from the rushing, armed man. He looked a little wild, but he smiled. He made a rolling gesture with his hand as if insisting that she repeat her request. "I’m lookin’ fer someone...from th' Watch Dog...who might take a message to Captain Brand...” "Wonderful." Alan returned. "Another Irish lass in as many weeks." This made Maeve smile, for as he spoke, his London accent belied his origins. "Alan Woodington. Larboard Marine of the frigate Watch Dog."

July 29, 1704 - Aboard the Watch Dog The eighth bell of the Morning Watch came and went and they were almost to the first bell of the Forenoon Watch when William made his way out into the sun. He was dressed in very simple attire when he gained the quarterdeck where he found Ciaran standing his first duty as officer of the deck. "Good mornin', Sah!" Ciaran said warmly, snapping off a smart salute. "I trust you slept well, Sah." "I slept...and didn't sleep...alone." William returned, already looking about the weatherdecks, and Ciaran almost smiled, but the lookout was quick to spot that the Captain might not have meant this to be humerous, so he squelched the smile at once. "Report." "The Larboard crews have revolved out for sleep and duty in turn...all night, Sah. No disturbances to report, and no news from shore." "Thank you, Mister Ciaran. I have the deck." "Aye, Sah." "Mister Ciaran." The Larboard lookout turned on his heel. "Sah." "Any word from Captain Lasseter?" "No word, Sah." William waved the man off with a nod and the captain was left alone on the quarterdeck for a time as he watched the crews at work. The amount of laborers about the frigate numbered very few, with the Larboard watches split aboard, but the 'Dog was in good hands. The rail amidships was already mended and a fresh coat of paint was being carefully applied by a nervous Jean Dorleac. With Alder gone ashore, Rummy was on the 'Dog applying her trade to the quartergalley and much of the crew was employed there. Petee Youngblood was still gone ashore with the Starboard crews and a few of the Apollo guns, so he would not return again with the others before noon, unless he had already sold those great guns ashore. There was no sign of Eric Franklin, having gone to bed for a long rest into the day, but many of the Larboard Marines were awake and laboring alongside the able seamen. Lazarus, vigilant as ever, was at the task of steaming up the galley with fish and meal cakes. Already the morning was was warm, and the day promised to be warmer still. The Cul du Sac Royal was so still now that the air would probably be stifling by mid day. Not a single crew member was fitted for stockings or shoes in expectation of the day's heat. The only lookout aloft was Miss Tribbiani, as shoeless as the rest. William went to the taffrails and drew out his spyglass to examine all that lay about them. The docks were wide awake with the morning commerce and many ships around them were taking on or hauling out their cargos. Having seen all that might be seen within the scope of the bay's limited horizon, William stood a long while in the sun with his eyes closed, trying to burn off the mood which had pervaded the night. First Bell of the Forenoon Watch ~Larboard Watches on Duty~

Pilfer away!

I like to see the list growing so well already, but I could stand to see it doubled or tripled.

The Chandler noticing the improved mood and the lingering generosity of Capitaine Lasseter, urged his son to follow them with a second lamp, and he spilled out the door into the night. He joined them not ten strides from the entrance and the three of them went in procession down the paved streets, enough company then to stave off any who might have threatened, though to be frank, most of the town was asleep by this hour. When they reached the Tourville Grande, Captain Lasseter pressed another smaller coin into the boy's hand and sent him with assurance that he should return home post haste. Maeve saw him into the receiving company of a very tired looking kitchen boy who was set to watch the inn's door that night. He promised to see the wounded captain to a sufficient bed with a locked door and Maeve gave up her charge for the night. "Wait...Miss...?" Dorian called after her, forgetting her name yet again. "Ms. O'Treasaigh." she said again, unperturbed. "Aye. Might you see a message to th' docks for me?" She nodded and he delivered a short message about his arrival, purchases and subsequent assault. She assured him that the message would go down to the docks and waved off an additional offered coin. So it was that they parted ways, Dorian to a grateful sleep, and Maeve to a grateful wakefulness, three coins heavier for half a night's sleep.

(entry moved below)

I had a fine St. Patrick's Day. We stayed over with friends on Friday night and spent the day traveling, at the movies, at dinner with all of my family and a night of games and film at my sister's house. A very nice day indeed.

The questions are a little general, but answering them in a general sense, my answers are as follows... a. 0 b. I portray one, but there are a number of subcharacters which I employ in my writing. c. historic d. escapism

Tempt me not. Okay. Tempt me. Tempt me more.