William Brand

Ja, ma name ist Sven.

Three words...glutton for punishment. Like Hawkyns, I packed just the necessary. The ground cloth went into the same canvas bag as the tent. As did the flag. Rope was coiled into the same bag and a collapsible canvas bucket capped off the top. Everything else went into bags and duffles. I ended up with two check-ins (Tent and suitcase) and one carry-on if you don't count my tricorn hat. The tent was heavy and unpleasant, but it looked great on site. Furniture was lent to us from the fort in the form of wood benches. We didn't cook on site, so we had no cookware or utensils. We borrowed the poles from two different vendors. People were very kind to us. It saved us buying poles. Now Patrick...wow...Patrick brought everything in one very compact and period kit. Check out pictures of his kit and you will find a beautiful and portable camp.

As the sails filled with wind the familiar lurch and roll of the deck gave William one of the few comforts of the day. The lulling of the Watch Dog was so familiar to him now that he hated being ashore at times. He had spent most of his life aboard ships and the sea had ever seemed a vast spread of possibilities to him. It was ever changing. It was malleable. It was hypnotic at times. It was oft times lonely in its expanse. He went to the middle of the quarterdeck and stood watching the crew in the execution of their duties. He enjoyed the holy ground. He found it as familiar as kings find parapets and civil servants Parliament. It implied power, but he understood it was trust. The crew relied on him to be exact. As Captain, his duties were many, but in the end he was to lead, direct, and in times of despair, strengthen. William stood alone rehearsing those words that would soon send off the dead and restore the living.

"What...?" William came back again from the faces of Tempest, Tudor and Mister Badger. "Aye. You're right of course. Part of me is still abed. Please set a course North by Northeast until we have reached an adequate depth. We may require the use of the lead. Unless the Don has sent charts with you?"

When they reached the quarterdeck, William stood at the rail. Mister Lasseter joined him there and both of them were quiet a moment. William allowed this pause so that the Quartermaster could find his bearings amidst such unhappy news. "I was greeted with this exact blow when coming aboard this morning. It has been a terrible blow, and while I expected news of this kind in regards to the Monsignor, I am no less shaken by it. To say nothing of Jack." "Aye, Cap'n." was all that Dorian managed. William scanned the deck and found the face of a weary, unhappy Master Gunner. Mister Youngblood was making no attempt to look at anyone and seemed entirely lost in his own thoughts. William couldn't ever remember seeing his brow look more furrowed. William returned to the conversation at hand. "In your absence, I have made a few decisions. First, I have not upbraided Mister Youngblood. His conduct is as accidental as..." William didn't know where to go with this thought, so he spoke on other matters. "I've raised Mister Pew to the position of Master-At-Arms. Considering our close proximity to other ships of no small threat, and given our luck of late, I thought it prudent to move on the matter. I did not want to leave a void of such importance." The Quartermaster nodded, and William saw his approval mixed in with his still mingling grief. "He has already taken to the task of that office with an apt and able eye for the lists. I expect him to do well." "A good man." "Aye." They stood a moment nodding. William noted that Miss Smith and Tempest stood over the disposed comrades wrapped near the starboard guns and his guts twisted a little. Mister Badger stood with his hat removed and his look was worse. William quickly turned to another matter already revealed to the Quartermaster. "I shot Muller." "Aye, Cap'n." Mister Lasseter said. nodding. "'Tis best you did...and the other prisoner?" William looked at Mister Lasseter for a second before nodding. He had forgotten the women in the hold for the present and she might have remained so awhile before he had remembered her. He shook his head. "She is still below. I've not thought on her since returning. I admit, I shouldn't like to until later." "Aye, Cap'n." "Thank you, Mister Lasseter. When you are prepared, please inform the crew that I wish to hold a ceremony for Jack and Diego in an hour's time. Take what time you need for yourself then. You need not perform any other duties until the funeral. We will speak of all other important matters pertaining to the ship...after."

William stood hard by during the exchange, unsure what more he could have said. He had not known where to start or which fallen man to speak of first, so he allowed Mister Pew to explain the bare facts of each respective demise uninterrupted. Instead, he watched the faces of each returning officer. Tempest's expression faded from concern to understanding. Having seen her share of death in all of its forms, she was more sedate than the others, but she could not entirely hide the hurt of it just the same. Miss Smith's own face seemed locked in a duel of emotions that ranged from despair to anger. It was a terrible thing to watch in so young a face. Mister Badger looked more injured than Jack had been in death and William was reminded that they often kept company one with the other on their watches. Even Mister Pew seemed to fall off from speaking after a moment, unsure as to what else might be added. William turned toward the quartermaster. "Mister Lasseter, I'll speak with you privately on the quarterdeck, if you please."

The Captain stood at the rail while the ranks of the Watch Dog filled the gundeck. He looked about only once at the blinking crew members who were brought into the daylight sooner than they had expected. He marked their order, despite their fatigue. He also marked the still and silent crew members near at hand, already sympathetic to the surprise it would bring to those on approach. He placed his hands behind his back and waited.

We're trying to decide if we want to go to PIP or Fantasy Fest this year. For those who camped in the fort- 1) when were you allowed in? The Friends of Fort Taylor orginization allowed us in on Thursday. You should contact Harry directly at the fort to see how early they'll let you in. They are very accomodating. 2)what facilities (water, firewood, straw, bathrooms, etc.) were provided? Water is provided inside the fort for drinking and cooking. Bathrooms are walking distance. We did not have straw. Firewood was available in one of the cavernous rooms in the fort. Lots of wood. The showers are on the beach. 3)did they allow cooking fires? Yes. They dug a fire pit for us right in the grass and we replaced the sod when we left. Harry said the sod took so well that he cannot find the fire pit we had. 4)how authentic was the camp, ie was it done right or did they allow coleman lanterns and stoves, coolers and chairs with merely a throw over them, and more concerned with comfort than authenticity? Our camp was very authentic. We had wood furniture, period tents and a few extras. Oil burning lamps were hung everwhere. They weren't period, but they also weren't coleman lamps. The only thing unperiod was our luggage which was wrapped away in canvas at the back of our tents. Patrick's camp was entirely period.

Gnocchi with Roasted Garlic and Tomato Alfredo Sauce?

Ohhhh...flatterer.

"Thank you, Mister Pew. As always, your attention to detail is appreciated. I will look over those items and consider what personal affects may be auctioned before the mast. I should like to revue the arms lists later today. Also, I think a musket volley for the funeral is in order...given the sta..." Ciaran interrupted from overhead with the announcement of a boat's approach and the return of Mister Lasseter and the remainder of the ship's officers. William excepted the offered glass that Harold Press held out to him. William went immediately to the rail to scan the boat as it approached, glad to find each familiar face aboard. William cupped his hands and yelled up to the lookout in the rigging. "Thank you, Mister Ciaran!" Then he turned again, and after scanning the boat a second time he called for all hands.

I love no bake cookies...

William stood at the starboard cathead, spyglass in hand, when Mister Pew reached the weatherdecks. William was still taking in the harbor, and though he noted the arrival of the newly selected Master-at-arms, he made no show of it at first. Instead, he finished his survey of the docks and then collapsed the glass all at once, passing it over to Harold Press, who had remained hard by to refresh the Captain's cup. William had drained three cups already, reminded to much by the sunlight that he had celebrated and mourned with drink all in the same night. "Mister Pew." he said, greeting the man even though his face was still turned to land. "I trust the weighty responsibilities that have been shifted to you have not put you off of your feet." "No, sah. Still planted firm as they ever were." "Good. Good. Have you anything to report, Mister Pew?"

Tea it is.

That sounds really good right now.

The pepper steak has a kick.

Today's special is Pot Stickers...

(Aboard the Watch Dog - second and third bell of the Forenoon Watch) William rose during the second bell of the Forenoon Watch, expecting it to be much later in the day. He dressed, careful to brush his coat over many times, stopping occasionally to wipe away new blood with cold water. He did this in a meditative silence while seated in his room. He pondered matters both immediate and remote, his thoughts often wandering to La Blanquilla. By the time he was done grooming the third bell of the Forenoon Watch sounded and almost in answer to it came the rolling reply of a church bell ashore. Minutes later, William appeared above decks by way of the door aft of the quarterdeck wearing his coat and hat and bearing his mortuary sword and Jacobean pistol. He exchanged a cursory glance with those officers on deck, careful to note those able seamen at work and their disposition. Finding Mister Warren close at hand he asked to borrowed his spyglass, and going to the rail, he made a long and careful examination of those ships at anchor and the activities of the harbor. The sun was already high enough to make a coat warm at this latitude, but it went a long way to waking up bones that he had dragged from bed. In the absence of the Ship's Steward, Harold Press brought the Captain his coffee, and this too worked its magic. Before long he was in better spirits, despite the two men close at hand who still kept company with each other in death. But, he believed that he was restored enough now to make their departure worthy of them.

Today's Special is spider rolls.

Would you prefer a chicken salad?

How about Greek tomato pasta salad?

Well, well, well. The place is hoppin'.

I have not, so I can't attest to the quality. But it looks nice. You could buy me one and I'll let you know.

(Morning Watch aboard the Watch Dog) William removed his boots with a sigh that expressed all of his fatigue. He had walked, stood and danced in these boots for hours and was glad to have them off. He was more tired than he could have imagined possible, worn down by the days events. It had been a wonderful, terrible day and he was glad to see the end of it. In the air above decks, Rummy was playing a tune at once as mournful as it was uplifting. It was the perfect tune for sadness, for it neither lent or took away from the crew's grieving. Rather, it lifted them through contemplation. It soothed like a suave. It lulled. William twice drifted off in the Captain's chair before he roused himself enough to make the Herculean effort to put himself to bed. He was asleep even as he convinced himself he couldn't. Rummy was already playing a lighter tune.