William Brand

The only pipe I own is a broken one, which is so period appropriate. Please keep posting images. They're wonderful.

Wool.

Welcome back again!

This would be just one of many rapes committed by Harry Saltash. He thought of them as adventures, but only an animal like Saltash would. In fact, his entire vocabulary was on the slant, for he thought of nothing correctly, at least compared with anyone but other brutes. For Harry, abuse, assault and the act of rape were matters of course now, having learned them from a very early age. His father, a farmer by day and a drunkard by night, had carved and fashioned Harry with tools verbally sharp or blunt as boots. Harry had repaid the cosmos in kind by beating his sister, and when older, visiting her. The first of his true 'adventures'. Now, here in the half lit spaces of the 'Dog was a plaything for sport. One that could kick and hit in need of breaking. Here was an 'upstart' as his father would have said. Harry might have use of his knife before he was done. . . . On deck, everything was noise. Everything was chaos held in control. No one heard a thing below decks to send them running. The storm raged and so did the officers, so the world went on, but for one sailor who went below unbid. . . . William Dash was not a coward to be sure, but he was young. The storm was just too much. He had reasoned with himself that no one would miss a boy of thirteen if he just found a place to rest, to maybe even sleep. It wasn't the act of a selfish lad, just a very mortal and very tired one. Because of this, young Dash found himself standing at a sort of crossroads between the waiting promise of sleep forward and the discovery from those working aft to repair the sprung timbers of the frigate. It was here where, his earlier resolve and his loyalty to ship and sailors gave him pause, and in that pause he heard something he did not expect. A struggle? Carpentry? Dull thuds and scrambling that seemed too clumsy for work. Sometimes loud and then soft by degrees, so that he couldn't be certain what he heard. It roused him from his fatigue and his choices to some third course. William Dash found Harry Saltash in the very act of…what? At first, he didn't know. The huge man was half crouched half lying on someone that young Dash first took for another sailor. But then he saw something that woke him up more than the men he found there. It was something that Harry had removed from his clothing that was not a knife. Dash was shocked. "I…" young Dash began, thinking an apology might be in order, because here was some business unspeakable playing out before him. His young brain whirled a bit at the idea of two men so engaged, and at such a time, and… William Dash stopped just as he meant to retreat. That was no man spread out beneath the hulk of Saltash. It was the Captain's Steward. Her face was full of confusion, terror, and something else. Was it rage? Was it all the violence she wished to inflict upon her attacker, but couldn't for the fault of being smaller. It didn't matter. Young William Dash, formally of the merchant ship Red Helen and formally of no other place of importance all his life; a once messmate and now a yonker of the lowest place aboard ship, stood up to his full height. He was five foot nothing and still coming into a frame that wouldn't be great until years from now. He was slight, almost scrawny in the door frame, and not a third the size of Saltash, but his face of thirteen went cold. "You there. Get way from her." His voice cracked a little, belying his youth. Saltash, who had turned at the first sound uttered by Dash, smiled a little and pointed a meaty, mocking finger. "You can have her after." Dash's lip trembled. His guts went all sickly, partly due to trepidation, but in truth, it was mostly anger. Anger that such a man as this should be down here doing unspeakable things while men above toiled to save lives, to save everything. Dash was also trembling for the shame that he should be in such company, but he checked this thought, knowing his earlier weakness had led him here, now, where he alone could save someone. He almost vomited. "Back off boy. This is men's work." Saltash turned away from Dash with such indifference to him that the young man was suddenly enraged. Also, in truth, Dash might have loved Tudor just a little bit, as boys do, so he launched himself at Saltash. Now, an older man would have dared the field of Saltash with more care, and perhaps more reinforcements, but William Dash did not. Satlash caught him on the fly and struck him hard enough across the face to break his cheek in two places. William Dash went sprawling, completely unconscious before he hit the floor. Saltash only laughed, momentarily distracted by the fun of it all. It was then that Tudor blinked, surprised to find that she had taken Harry's knife from off his belt without knowing it. Suddenly everything was reduced to animal survival.

More pictures! ...please.

Are there any photos of this event?

The boats on deck are sometimes elevated on spare spars resting on a cross post or deck or an elevated post with a cross bar for this purpose. I have also seen evidence that they were stored perpendicular to the weather deck aft against a wall formed by the next rising deck, so that a small boat might sit on the main deck, just below the quarter deck, but this seems to be a rare exception.

Welcome back, mate! It's always good to see a familiar face.

Matty Bottles wants to go as well, so make him welcome!

I wish most versions of Treasure Island would slow down and keep the meat of the characters intact. For example, they always make short work of blind Pew. I mean, here's a frail, skeleton of a beggar, who is blind to boot, but manages to be one creepy, sinister fellow. Easily one of my favorite characters.

Sorry to hear it, Bo. It's hitting the hobby on many fronts, but we'll see you again. Meanwhile, fair winds and may you discover unexplainable bars of gold when you garden next.

I have seen some tooling, but it tends towards minimalist borders and blind tooling. Most of these are on leather bindings for books, but I've seen some on the flaps of hunting bags and other forms of leather bags.

Welcome aboard. You'll find yourself in the company of many writers here on the Pub.

Yeah, it's no Pub. And speaking of pubs, we must all agree to meet at the Prospect of Whitby in London some day. The place was a pub back when my forefathers were still in England.

I know it well. Speaking of authenticity...

Black Sails is still in the advertising stages, but I see it everywhere.

Aboard the Watch Dog Words went back and forth between the frigate and cutter. It was all reports of men lost and damages taken. William wasn't sure yet if he had lost more of the Company against the snow or the Navarra. He was so angry that his heard hurt on one side and he was trying not to lash out at each lagging sailor or task before him. Andrew Light was in an altogether different state, which like the Captain, effected his thinking. His head didn't hurt, but it floated a bit about him as he did his best to fill Badger's place. He chanced to laugh once. It was a short, report of a laugh, almost a hiccup, and no one heard it but himself. Just a nervous little sound as the shock of his appointment continued to sink in. It sank in better than he could imagine, for when one sailor refused his order in the confusion, Andrew thumped below the shoulder and spat angry correction into his face with words that Badger would have understood. Two men went down then as a low line parted and whipped across the deck diagonally. It caught Jean Dorleac across the shoulder and left ear as he was reaching out to grab Alexander Sparshott. Jean went down like a boy kicked by a horse, but Alexander caught the rope in the throat and it carried him backwards. One moment he was upright, and the next his head whipped back and his legs went straight out in from of him like a man that had run upon a stretched line at a sprint. He fell spread eagle on the deck, which probably saved his back and limbs, having landed so equally distributed, but the wind was twice knocked from him, so that he gasped for air some two full minutes. William spotted Tudor in the fray and pushed his way aft along what remained of the Starboard rail. He shouted over a rush of wind that filled a few of the sails that the Navarra had loosed. This caused the Watch Dog to heal over again at a weird angle as she fell into the trough of the first large wave they'd see over the next few hours. A man caught William's elbow as the frigate fell forward, and William almost shook off the hand in anger, realizing at the last that Jannes Kampaert had done so only to teary his Captain. William managed a nod as did Jannes and the two passed going to different task. When William reached the Steward his eye caught that of Mistress O'Treasaigh. She was braced in the doorway of the surgery wrestling for the handle of the loose door. "How there!?" William managed as a wind buffeted the weather decks again. Maeve had already seen enough of the decks and damage to know what the Captain faced, so she put on a face that she imagined courageous and returned, "We shall manage here." She managed to close the door then, which strengthened her remarks. William, finding himself with Tudor, suddenly realized that he knew not where to send her. He frowned more than once and then collected himself. "See yourself below. The carpenters may have need of you."

Oh it's shiny. It's the money the studio is dumping into Black Sails.

It's been awhile, but a lot of us are still here. Any pirate news from you part of the world?

I don't think that it's in decline, but it may have plateaued. One such culprit to the perceived demise of the hobby is the merger of many pirate events with other events. Rather than patiently allow a good pirate event to grow to what it can be, which often takes years, some events are impatiently merging with others and deluding their events in the process. I had several events on my calendar for next year, only to learn that they joined up with other science fiction and fantasy groups to such a degree that the 'pirate' presence is almost non-existent. I recommend that you play your own music when logged on. Even the most subtle music can be annoying to someone after awhile, unless their in the mod for it, and it can be a surprise to people logging on and not prepared for it. We actually had a chat room for the writers on the Watch Dog project that had the sound of a boat rocking and creaking gently on the water.

Aboard the Watch Dog Andrew Light presented himself to the Captain in short order, but William was involved in conversation across the waters with the Lucy, so that Andrew hesitated to make himself known. He did this long enough that William called for him again. "Send for Mister Li…!" William began, turning to find the man at his elbow. "Cap'n!" "Mister Light, you are promoted to Bosun. Get these men under control." Andrew Light blinked twice in quick succession and returned only a questioning, 'Sah?', quickly followed upon by a sharp, 'Sah!', collecting himself immediately. Within seconds he was louder, brisker and commanding as he turned upon the rabble. William was certain that the man straightened his posture enough to gain half a foot as he went. Andrew threw himself into the role the way that men do on fields or seas, taking up responsibility at once. William followed his course across the deck for only a moment before returning to his own surroundings. The rain was coming on again, hard. They'd soon be as wet through as anyone lost.

I blame Mission and the absence of live tavern music.

Okay, that's passing strange, because I almost posted this image last night instead. Chocolate French Toast...

Speaking of kites, it is believed that they were brought to Europe by sailors from Japan and Malaysia in the 16th and 17th century. While first regarded as curiosities, they were used as vehicles for scientific experiments throughout the 18th century.