William Brand

July 9, 1704 It was hard not to flinch every time part of the hull disappeared. William was now reassured that it was day from the daylight that greased its way into the bilge from the half dozen shattered entrances made from cannon balls. The last one had destroyed the overhead beam of the compartment in which he was kept. It had come down almost upon his head. "I'll be killed by my rescuers." he mused. He was now gently buried under leaning fragments of wood and cask remains. One cannon ball must have struck an overhead barrel of wheat, for a fine powder of grain was settling everywhere. The bilge water, already thick with filth and stench, was now becoming a foul dough sprinkled with splinters. "Pirate pâtisserie a..." Another blast shook the ship from stem to stern. William heard his captors answer with their own small arsenal.

William was in the midst of his captive routine. The days were long and this day had been as uneventful as the rest, not that he was sure it was day. It might be the middle of the night. He had long since forgotten which hours the bells were sounding. All was a darkness and a foul stench going up forever and ever. "I'm in Hell." he mused. Then it happened. The sounds from above and below had been so constant that there could be no mistaking the muffled boom and shudder of a distant cannon and a not so distant impact. The ship shuddered from what must have been a well placed hit somewhere along the bulk of the hull. The combined distress of many voices overhead confirmed the hit. "The Watch Dog...?" he wondered. "Would they fire on a ship they hoped to rescue me from? I pity them for Mister Youngblood's aim and Mister Lasseter's tenacity. They'll make mince meat of this prison barge. To say nothing of the others if they ever make it aboard." His thoughts dwelt on his own mortality then and the predicament that he was in, presently. Still, he smiled in the dark, lamenting only that he was not on deck to watch the action. "Would that I could watch the carving of the bird."

Nope. As long as the Earth is round and breakfast is always happening somewhere... I prefer breakfast at 11:30 at night.

This is my first year, but I also hear that you can add the following... There is a man that sells conch fritters at the aquarium. Captain Jack sells shark's teeth at sundown on Mallory. Dominique and his flying cats Mallory Square docks. A day tour of the Dry Tortugas.

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Crocodile tears.

William awoke in the dark. This was no different then his previous wakings in captivity, except that he was alone. Not that it mattered. They had left him alone, but so bound up was he, that it was no different than if ten of them were piled upon him. Whatever sailor it was that had tied him up was a man of many useful knots. ""What say you to it...?" he whispered through a bruised and bloodied mouth. "Will you again unknit this churlish knot of all-abhorred war?" He made an attempt at each and every knot that bound him, but to no avail. The smell of his captivity had grown strong. They had seen fit to bind him and secure him in a space that allowed for no liberty to empty his bowels. He was already in three days of night filth. It had not improved the bilge. "I was foolish to dare them to 'make captive my dignity'." he said, reproving himself once again for too much recent foolishness. "I was too approving in all my unknown choices. I should have been more careful in my acceptance of the crew. I accepted their loyalties as one does so many dogs, without knowing which ones bite and which ones can be commanded to fetch and stay. I should have known each man and woman better." He laughed then. "Aye. Then I should have known better...which men...were women." William rolled as much as the space allowed, to allow himself some respite from the stench. He wondered, and not for the first time, if the smell was covering the foul odor of some infection already at work in the many cuts and bruises they had given him. He might lose a limb in such conditions. He might have many a bleeding sore now giving over to puss and decay. He had seen his share of diseased convicts, hung up like rotting pheasants. Some had seemed too thin and wasted to bear down with enough weight to pop their own necks. They had hung...plucked, wasted specimens of men...making a sad and listless jig on air. What pitiful sport they had given when they had met their ends. "Better to hang skeletons." he had thought upon witnessing one such pointless hanging. "I shall not hang as a remainder of my former glory." he promised himself. "They shall hang all or none of me."

Aye...but no cannibalism. Today's Special is Veal.

William was in and out of consciousness for days, but he was only able to retain fragments from one waking to another. What he rediscovered each time was this, he was a prisoner. He had been taken off the Watch Dog by traitorous means into the waiting hands of greedy strangers. His captors had taken it upon themselves to beat him soundly each time he had awaken. He now bore the marks of at least five sound thrashings. His face was so badly swollen, that he couldn't imagine anyone would recognize him when compared to his wanted poster. This caused him to smile despite his situation, and his lip split an bled as it spread into a grin. "Vat is so funny?" William rolled his one open eye towards the sound of the voice. Muller was sitting on a coil of heavy cable smoking a pipe and looking both sullen and satisfied at the same time. Then William remembered it all again. Muller had come into the ward room to beg a favor of him. He had crossed behind the table then, and when he had looked up, Muller had a pistol on him. Muller had then said what was no doubt a rehearsed and often practiced string of threats and triumphant declarations. "You pulled a pistol on me..." "Ja." Muller smiled. It was the smile of a man with little imagination and almost no depth of personality. It was a smile dulled by pettiness and old grudges. It bespoke so much of the man and the druggery of his existence. "We've had this conversation at least twice before...?" William asked, already knowing they had. "Ja. You keep forgetting?" He said with mock concern. "Aye." William said, tasting the blood running from his split lip. "But I don't mind. Just as long as I get to insult your foolishness all over again." Muller did not smile. He made a kind of weak, scoffing sound that showed how poor he was at comebacks. 'Fournier would have eaten this man alive', William thought. He could feel the gentle sway of whatever boat he had been brought aboard. He wondered if he had been at sea for very long. He remembered being smothered under heavy sacks of grain in a hellish overland trip to some other part of La Margarita, though he could barely remember how he came ashore. That may have been the only wise decision that Muller and the others had made. Mister Lasseter was never one to let an absence go unnoticed. He was probably combing the island even now, unless he had already discovered the departure of whatever ship this was. If not, the ship could be days, even weeks at sea before they learned of this ship's departure. "How long have we been at sea?" William asked casually, as if discussing the weather. "Does dis matter?" Muller replied. "Am I tasking the limits of your conversation, Mister Muller?" William retorted, in a tone that was mocking in its sympathy. Muller seemed unsure if he should be angry or not. "It isn't being a captive that I mind so much. It is the company." Muller looked angrier then. He made as if to stand, but didn't. William couldn't help continuing. He hated being subject to small men. He often felt it was better to be dead or unconsious, then be subject to the dull gloating of a feeble enemy. He continued. "Give me the company of a dangerous and clever tyrant to that of a three legged dog that has choked itself once to often at the end of a tether." Muller did stand up then. William went on. "And give me the three legged dog before the avenging idiot that stands before me now." "You vill not..." "What?" William spat. "I vvvvill not what? Speak ill of my enemies? Speak ill of the dead? Mock the name of Van..." He was cut short then. Muller was already striking him. As he slipped back into the darkness he thought, 'Just as well.'

"Mister Youngblood." The Master Gunner collapsed his spyglas and moved amidships to where the Captain stood. He carried with him a tankard and sipped once from it as he went. "Aye, Cap'n." "It is high time you went ashore for some much needed relaxation. As you come and go, will you make note of the armaments you see in port. I should like a counting of guns, great and large from each of those ships of any size." "Aye, Sir. There are a fair number here. It may take me some time." William smiled. "Feel free to take whatever time you need to learn of all their weaknesses, but leave me an ample officer in your stead."

"Aye, Monsignor. They bare watching. Keep a wary eye on them and pass word to each watch to report any happenings." "Aye, Sir." William descended the shrouds and stood awhile watching each of the three vessels come into port. All were laden enough to ride low on the water, and if they meant to reprovision here, then all below must be cargo alone.

William was half an hour lost in thought before his memory was tickled by other things. He took up his glass and hat and going topside, he made his way aloft to where Diego was perched. "My apologies, Monsignor. My mind was utterly elsewhere." "Aye, Captain." William smiled at the quick agreement looking out over the water to the approaching ships, now near to making landfall. "Now, there's a pretty sight. What can they be gaurding I wonder, and do we dare sway what relationships may be made here? We dare not take on two frigates and a cargo ship at once, though I daresay that second frigate would be hard pressed to keep up with us. She is an old ship under all that new paint, I'll wager."

" Mon bon capitaine, tu fair les quatre cents coups..." The Surgeon scrutinized his expression briefly then stood away from the rail, hands clasped behind her lower back. " A bout in the darkness can prove a dangerous thing...But I speak in a manner of boldness. To answer your question, Sir...I am well and thank you for your concern. C'est bien aimable de votre part, a vous." The Surgeon gave a smallish nod of head. William nodded in return. He made as if to speak again, but instead, he excused himself from her company. "Doctor." He made his way below and began the necessary duties of cleaning his coat and brushing all of his gear with brush and polish. He did this all in a meditative silence.

"Dancing? The same could be said of your answers, though I would have chosen the word dodging." He smiled and leaned on the rail. "No, Doctor. I put the question to you because I don't know what it is that I should ask. I'm just fencing at night. Swinging hither and yon in hopes of hitting something. You often gently parry away any questions directed at yourself." He looked out at the cutter. He watched her watching it. "Take the cutter for example. You might be watching its progress to the dock out of concern for Armand. Understandable. You might have some secret longing for Mister Lasseter. Or those flirtations that pass between could be nothing at all. Your concern could be for our young Steward, Miss Smith. A young woman in a strange land. Or, you may only have your eyes on the craft itself while your mind is entirely off on other shores. One could speculate for hours on the many things which may or may not be occuring in your mind. I prefer the pragmatic approach. How are you, Miss Fitzgerald?"

All joking aside, some early Chinese cannons were fashioned out of thick sections of bamboo. The charge was often very light and more often used for the purpose of fireworks or infantry charges. They are far from the heavy ground shakers of later years, but they did exsist.

"Why, Doctor, that is no answer at all. While it may be true that you are not my greatest concern when compared to all of my present concerns, you are the concern I am addressing, as the others cannot be answered for the present anyway." She said nothing, and being in a talkative mood, he pressed forward. "I cannot speak of Noailles or Barcelona. I can only speak of matters within my own sphere. It is never fair of us to speak of things past when we are troubled in the present. We may travel by constant stars, but the medium of our locomotion is a fluid as we are."

"This is excellent news, Doctor." William's smile was wide and warm. He straitened a little as he stood and his shoulder, so recently recovered, audibly popped. His smile only widened, but whether it was from his shoulder or not, he didn't say. "How are you, Tempest?" He did not often call her by name and the question seemed more searching. It implied that he thought something might be wrong, or that he wished to be sure that nothing was by asking. "Sir?" "How are you, Tempest? You've been in the company of many wounded and sick individuals of late with little time on or off the ship." "I believe I am well enough." she said, answering too quickly it seemed for his tastes. He elaborated. "The health of my crew is of paramount importance to me. I cannot sail the ship without them, nor would I care to sail with men and women of poor health and failing morale. Since their condition is predicated entirely on your measure of them, you must occasionally be measured as well. Consider me the weights and measures man come to verify that you are an accurate instrument against which all others will be weighed." He paused. Then placing his hand gently on her arm he asked her again. "How are you, my good Miss Fitzgerald?"

As the cutter offloaded the first round of crew members fresh from shore leave, William questioned them at length, beginning with the conspicuous absence of the Mister Pew and Mister Franklin. No one could say what had become of the two and William was sure to admonish Mister Lasseter to find them while ashore. "Aye, Cap'n. I'll remind 'em of their obligations." "Thank you, Mister Lasseter."

A lone drummer sits in the corner rap-tap-tapping in the half lit surroundings of the Tsnami Kate. The proprietor removes his apron and walks out into the open room. He clears his throat and begins to wax poetic. "I call this one...Wellspring. "I was alone and infinitely so when the first light green gold spilled into my mind and taught my heart what living was before this night was a darkness and day pale now all is a firmament of revelations in a word a thought an action and every waking moment I can hear you living in me hidden water in a well that never runs dry why then am I ever thirsty every wanting when all satiation should be expelled with understanding one thing is true I'll never know enough of you even when I know all..." It's open mic night at the Kate.

The Captain thanked Mister Lasseter and then went below to the galley. Constance and De la Vega were hard at work preparing for the return of the first shore leave survivors. A strong meal of greasy meat and heavy bread was being added to a menu of cabbage, fruit and coffee. William filled a cup and stood conversing with the cooks at length, wondering again when Mister Gage could take up duties here in the galley. The man was having a rough time of it, and his recovery was slow. Meg Wardell passed from the companionway and asked what service she might make for the day. He sent her topside to assist Mister Lasseter with his offloading of goods. When William had filled a second cup, he went to the gun deck to receive those crew members returning from shore. He was anxious to learn all he could about the moods and customs of La Margarita.

Today's special is Bratwurst.

Re-enactor. Though, in truth, I am a combination of all. Of course you left off Scoundrel, Jester, Philosopher and Craftsman.

William walked out into the morning light and shaded his eyes with his hat. He took note of the signal flag and wondered who might be awake ashore to see it. Mister Lasseter was in the attitude of leaving ship and he stopped to converse with him. "Good morning, Mister Lasseter." "Good morn, Cap'n." "Before the day is over, I should like Mister Badger and Kendra to go ashore for spare sail and line. Perhaps we might also purchase some modest cannon for the cutter, if the chance arises."

"It is a lovely, warm night, don't you think, Miss Smith?" Tudor Smith jumped up so fast that she almost upset the barrel she was sitting on. She looked as flustered as he had seen her, and his casual smile and 'what-do-we-have-here?' look certainly didn't help. "Captain...I...I..." "As a privateer I don't expect a uniform appearance among the crew." William began, a smile still playing about his lips, "After all, we are no one's navy and cannot be expected to maintain a certain conduct of dress. While we all might share a certain esprit de corps, we are each allowed to dress according to our whims...still..." "Captain...I..." William smiled. "Aye. It is a very lovely and warm night." She was three shades of red darker by the time he stopped grinning like a cat. He gave her a wink and turned on his heel and began humming a tavern tune as he walked away along the dark deck, tapping swinging his cane and tapping it on the deck as he went. He looked more like a gentleman in a city park, than a captain then.