William Brand

Army

In the sea Despite his rough exterior, unsettling gaze and not a little disregard for the niceties of society, Durand was still a romantic in his heart of hearts. He often saw his own brutish acts as purposeful and important. His decision to fling himself from the evil purchase of the Navarra had seemed brave, openly defiant, and maybe even…what? Righteous in the moment? He imagined the deliberate act of passing his sword and dislodging himself from his heavier garment would be remembered after with sobering reflection and admiration. A statement against tyranny. Durand was now certain that departing the Navarra in such a fashion was the most foolhardy and wasted act he had made in his time, and he was just as certain that he might not live to see one worse. He knew then that his departure would remain no more in the memories of anyone aboard the Navarra as poignant as he might remain alive in the sea for ten minutes together, but was certain now that it had just seemed foolish to all who witnessed it. It was just a wasted demonstration. He also thought on how he had come aboard the Navarra to better serve the purposes of all three ships. He believed under the circumstances, that this had been his second most foolhardy decision. The third worse was now taking it's first turn in his innards. He thought all this in the two seconds between the deck and the sea. When he surfaced sputtering he realized another thing. He had never been a good swimmer, and even the 'bear' for which he was so aptly named in all other respects, was better in this element than himself, for it could bear up its own weight and coat in water. He was now too heavy for his poor experience and even the thin shirt was a sea anchor. Still, he surveyed his surroundings in that instant perspective lent to the suddenly desperate. Adrenalin had flooded all parts of him, as had the shock of the cold. He turned first to the Navarra as she was bearing away. The merchantman slowed no more for him then she had for anyone else. Durand had applied many adjectives to ships in his time, but now a new one occurred to him. The Navarra seemed…Indifferent. Indifferent as the sea. Durand turned his attention to his only other hope, Patricia, for she wasn't so much bearing towards him as he had hoped she would, but past him, and he would have missed her altogether if not for the most certain way in which some sailor had taken a recent order aboard ship. Just as the Patricia would have slipped past him, the line which dragged her went slack. The poor passenger who clung at her was at first carried up out of the water by act of stalling, and then drowned again as Patricia tried to right herself. 'Corks'. It was the only word Durand could think of in the moment, and nothing in his life had ever made him feel so small.

I see travel posters in the background, don't I? There's a story to this picture.

Fleas

Welcome aboard. Have you built a custom 'pirate' bike?

The only pirate mention that I know of from Dogtown... "Black Neil, also known as Cornelius Finson, was another freed slave who lived in Dogtown. Neil was a clerk for the fisheries, as well as a hog slaughterer. He lived first with Molly Jacobs, . in the cellar where he thought money was buried - perhaps by the pirate Captain Kidd. Later he moved in with Judy Rhines. When the roof collapsed, Neil moved his quarters to the cellar. Black Neil lived in the cellar-hole for some time. It was in the winter of 1830 that the Town Constable found Black Neil with his feet literally freezing, and he was taken to the poorhouse. He died a week later. He was the last resident of Dogtown."

Maiden

Now, regale us with tales of adventure.

And I see that we all had a few minutes to kill today. I am soundly corrected. I'll fetch something that's had a few minutes to kill since it was laid up eight years ago.

An incoming anthracoid maybe. Anthracoid (ˈænθrəˌkɔɪd) adjective 1. resembling carbon, coal, or charcoal Word of the day...and probably the first and last time I'll ever use it, but I had a few minutes to kill.

Baseball

We'll keep them and a bucket brigade in stock.

No, I mean the internal and more specific activities of the body that are happening in addition to the narrative. I would love to have a modern surgeon agree or disagree with the flow of symptoms and the procedures. See what a pathologist would make of the information as it was described.

"This Observation I thought fit to insert in this Place, to let you understand how such Patients may sometimes be cured, contrary to all Opinions and Expectations; to the end that the Chirurgion may not despair, but use all possible endeavours for the Recovery of his Patient.” That's a great line and a good addendum to the narrative. I would love to have a modern doctor interpret these very visual explanations and symptoms.

I've always imagined that it's highly stylized or simplified. 'Implied' rather than replicated exactly. A great many skulls of the period are not drawn realistically, but this might be attributed to the varying talent of one artist to another and the lack of a good reference in the moment. I wish we knew who created the image. Rackham himself or some other person that was persuaded by Rackham.

Gordon

Brigade

pants

That is an awesome, very detailed account, and having known a great infection in my jaw from a tooth that cracked at the roots, I empathize with her Majesty.

Hold

Shot

Halloween evening. Tracy snapped off a picture of me between trick-or-treat duties.

Welcome to the Pyracy Pub. This is the definitive pirate community for discussions and topics covering reenactment crews, history, ships, food, drink, music, events, writing, craftsmanship, costuming, trade goods, and miscellaneous odds and ends outside the hobby. If you have an interest in pirates on one or all subjects, this is your one stop shop for life before the mast. We come from all walks of life and each of us has a different reason for loving the pirate trade, so don't be afraid to explain what brings you here. Introduce yourself and ask as many questions as you want. We pride ourselves on knowing a thing or two about pirates, and if we don't have an answer, we love a good discussion and the hunt for proverbial buried treasures. You can introduce yourself here or in a new thread. It's traditional to offer a symbolic drink and a little information about yourself. If you belong to a specific crew, please let us know where you all stem from and how others can join your group. For example... My name is William Pace. I live and work as a graphic designer and photographer out of Logan, Utah. Yes, I'm a thousand miles from the sea. Yes, I recognize the contradiction of my hobby versus my location in the high desert. Yes, it doesn't matter, because I love maritime history. I've been on the 'Pub' since June of 2004. I attend only a handful of events across the U.S., but I consider myself lucky to know my share of pirates on and off of pyracy.com. Some of my closest, life long friends come from here.

Aboard the Watch Dog Twice, the Captain of the Lucy had called to William, and twice, William had not heard him. There was too much of a din aboard the 'Dog at present. It was a confusion of voices that William couldn't understand at first, for even in battle, the Watch Dog had never been so noisy with voices. He had joined the crew at hauling where Badger and the two crewmen had gone over when the cacophony finally distracted him enough to turn his head about. He chanced to wonder why so many different calls and exclamations overlapped one another when it occurred to him that Badger had never allowed so much loose talk and confusion. The man had been religious about too much talk and would correct any gathering of men that made it hard to hear about the working parts of the frigate. William admonished himself for thinking of Jacob in the past tense then as he hauled upon the line. He also did what Badger would have done under similar circumstances. "Silence!" William yelled, and more than once. The command did not first quiet anyone, but it was repeated like a contradiction as it rippled out to all parts of the ship. When a kind of silence finally did settle, the true and necessary words about the ship could be heard. Peter Youngblood was calling from somewhere forward for assistance at those guns which had moved from their purchase. He was not careful with his disdain. Eric and Luc were directing their men to all points of the frigate. Luc's accent was heavy in his urgency. Jim was at Brand's elbow suddenly. "We've no bosuns!" Aboard the Navarra Durand had reached the deck of the Navarra in a rush of surprise, dismay and now a rising anger. He came up half naked, but for his coat and a sleeping gown comprised of an ill-fitting shirt. Most of those sailors who had been abed and all those sailors (so careless in their duties awake as to be abed in duty) were already at the rails as the last trailing lights of the damaged ships disappeared behind the Spanish Merchantman. Durand threw himself to the rails and stared back along the Navarra's wake. He could just make out the frail thread of line that dragged the Patricia, and the even frailer man that tried to gain purchase on her as she plowed upon the sea. He took in everything. He digested all. He heard…silence? Then he turned back and looked into the faces of the Navarra's crew and found that not one of them mirrored his own urgency. Instead, they seemed cow eyed. They looked past past Durand with a kind of passing interest that made Durand's stomach go cold. They were street gawkers who looked upon the castaway with a pedestrian interest. "Why do you stare and do nothing?" Durand said, trying to keep his voice even but failing, for he was staring into the faces of a crew worn to the nub by the politics of the Captain's tyranny mixed with the indifference of his officers. They were ghost sailors but for the smell of sweat. The Navarra had become less a ship, and more a failed government. The callous wealthy and the street raised poor lived here together of course, but divided by a caste system as real as a wall. Durand tried to wake something, anything in them. "A line! We have but t…" Durand began again, but he was cut off. "Cut away that sea anchor!" the ship's bosun commanded from under the cowl of his oilskins. Durand's Spanish was not as well tuned as his English, but he understood the order well enough. Understood it like a closed fist across his face. He also understood that he could not stay aboard this ship and look at himself in a mirror after. He gave the Lieutenant one last nod, even as the young man was joining the bosun to protest his order. Then Durand plucked out his false eye. The act made one unprepared sailor vomit, for the man had not know Durand's eye to be fashioned of anything but flesh. Durand chanced to smile reflexively at this as he tucked the eye soundly in his cheek. Then, rethinking its safety there, he swallowed it. Another sailor almost joined the first, but Durand took no notice. He tossed his sword, sheath and belting to the Lieutenant, who caught it easily enough. Then Durand shed his one good coat and went over the side and down in shirt tails and bare feet.

It's been a grand day. My resolution is to enjoy more pyracy.