Ransom

Sorry, but I haven't heard a bloody thing from them in over a year. No one has PM'd me about this since this thread started, so I'll be believing when I see it. Like I said, a year ago I e-mailed them, called them on the phone and spoke to someone who assured me all would be taken care of, and that's as far as it went. Since then, nothing! And Patrick, thanks for the back up!

R.A.N.S.O.M. = Reveler Adeptly Needing Sensual Orgasms And Massage! Sounds good to me!

Nay, the best part is the stuffin' and the smashed potatoes and gravy! I like the pumkin pie the next morning for breakfast, along with a nice pot o tea. And Jack, isn't whip cream the most versatile stuff! No telling how many fun things you can do with it.

Trilby and Souris had resorted to stuffing rags and rugs against the sills of the doors, as water seeped in from the street. Within an hour, they were sodden messes, and the water crawled across the tiles, seeking the easiest route of escape. With dispare, he watched the level rise, until the two were splashing around ankle deep. He glansed at the floating globes, hoving in their beeker of oil, and was encouraged to see they had risen slightly since the previous night. "Well, maybe we won't be washed tae the devil after all," he mumbled. Cleopatra, perched on the stairway to the roof, yowled her disagreement, while keeping an eye out for terrified mice. Trilby looked up at her. "Sorry, Queenie, but I hae nae control over the weather. Yea must suffer along with your servants, till the tempast be past." At that moment a gust of wind hit the house, and a roof tile crashed to the street. Trilby smiled at the cat. "And Queenie, yea might put in a good word with those heathen gods of yours, since it appears ours be a bit out of temper at the moment." But Cleopatra was too intent on the mouse that was running up the stairs thinking it had found save haven from the water. In a blurr of ginger fur, she pounced, sunk in claws, bit into the back of the creatures neck and raced off to the upper floor, the mouse screeching like a banshee.

Since having to leave the Pub Thanksgiving party for a family one, I return to find a table full of leftovers and groaning pyrates holding their full stomachs. Wistfully, I wish I'd been able to join in the fun. Red Cat is back to snoozing, but I notice she has a new necklace and earings. Chole is asleep in her chair, an empty mug dangling from one finger, Jacky sits at the head of the table, sound asleep, but he has a smile on his face. The others are still only half awake, but starting to rouse. Under Eyes chair is a pile of sand and an empty pie plate. The inflatable pilgrim is listing to larboard due to a lack of air, and all that is left of the turkey is a picked-cleaned carcass. There is, however, a bit of pumpkin pie remaining in the dish. I ask Ray for a cup of tea, grab a fork, and stand at the bar eating pie for breakfast, waiting for the others to wake up and start demanding turkey sandwiches.

Well, though my name be not mentioned in your list, Jack, I still wish you and yours a wonderful Thanksgiving - and all else on the Pub as well.

Striker heard someone say behind him .He turned around and saw Ioan . "Aye , we will be needing help to finish repairing the rigging ." As Ioan noded and walked by Striker put his right hand on his shoulder and said with a smile upon his face , which nearly would be lost in the darkness if it was not for the shine of his tetth . " Ye did a fine job at organising the men cleaning up the debris , with or without knowledge of Danish!" Caught off guard by the compliment, Ioan could only nod his thanks before joining the other men in repairing the storm damaged rigging.

Africa looked at the contents of the bowl Goose handed him. "Was dis?" Goose bristled. "Stew, wha'd ya think?" Africa probed the bowl with his knife and came up with an unrecognisable morsel. "Was in dis? I don see anythin' I be wantin' ta eat." Jimmy Cox and Tunny both took tentative tastes from their own bowls. Jimmy wrinkled his nose. "What'd ya do to that fine coney I brung from town? This taste like sumthin' I'd swab off the deck. I can't believe you wasted my time makin' me stir this swill." "I cooked that coney proper, I did. Just like me ma used ta." Goose retorted, then to prove his point, swallowed a large spoonful of the gutinous gravey. "Nuthin' wrong with this stew." Tunny speared a rather grey-looking bit of potato, hesitated, then with a shrug, ate it. "I've had worse, I guess. But I don't know why the captain keeps you on, Goose. And if this is how yer ma cooked for ya at home, I can see why ya looks the scrawny bastard ya are." Goose stood and glared at the topman. "I'll be havin' no bad words spoke about me ma. A saint, she was." Jimmy grinned. "Well, yer ma may have been a saint, but you and yer cookin' can go to the devil!"

The cold mutton had turned in his stomach, and even the watered-down grog hadn't helped warm him. Ioan thought of the man who had been swept overboard, and shivered anew. He hadn't known the man, but the idea of drowning terrified him. And it had happened so fast. One minute the man was there, going about his business, and the next he was gone, sinking into the depths of a cold sea. Ioan stood, finished the last of the grog, then returned to the weather deck. It was pitch dark, with no moon or stars showing in the cloud-covered sky. The wind still blew, but he thought the fiercness of it had slackened somewhat. Striker came up on deck, the woman, now dressed in sailor's togs, with him. As she whipered in his ear to be heard, Striker then barked orderes to the crew. Ioan came up behind the Captain and waited until he was finished giving orders, then said, "You'll have to translate that, sir, if you want me to help." Ioan decided that, if he was going to stay on the La Maligna for a time, it might be a good idea to learn a little Danish.

I posted last year to beware of this company. They cheated me out of a T-shirt, which I sent back because it was too small. Said they would send another, and that was the last I heard from them. I got no response after repeated phone calles and e-mails, and demands to have the cost of the shirt credited to my card. I would NOT recomend buying ANYTHING from these people!!!

"Now, Red Cat, don't be teasing the poor man. Tis only fair that you give him a hint or two, sos he can have a better chance at guessing."

Ioan and five other crewmen ran forward to excape as the yard crashed to the deck in a tangle of canvass and sheets. Fortunatly, no one had been seriously injured, and the crew set to work clearing away the mess. They were hampered by the rolling ship, the howling wind, and heavy rain. They barely got things squared away before dark. Soaked to the skin again, and shivering, Ioan finally was able to go below and get something to eat. Cold mutton and biscuit, as no fire was allowed due to the storm. He hunched in a corner and chewed the waxy, fatty meat, wondering if the ship would survive the gale. He wondered how the Rakehell was taking the storm. Had she got away soon enough? When he'd come up on deck that morning, she had been gone from the harbor. He'd been angry at first, still feeling unjustly tossed aside by the Captain, but in the end had shrugged it off. The La Maligna was his home now, better make the best of it.

I kept busy on board, hard work leaving little time for thought. It felt good to empty my mind and do something physical. The Rakehell was my home, and she deserved all the attention she got and needed. With a crew of only six, there was no job that eveyone couldn't manage, even if on the short term. And despit my touchy mood these days, I liked my crew, faults and all, and I knew they liked and were loyal to me. So we oiled wood, polished brass, mended sail, scrubbed decks, replaced worn sheets, and by the end of the day, tired but pleased, I returned to my cabin for a short rest before supper.

I eye the inflatable pilgrim with sceptisism, hoping there's a hole in it and it won't inflate. It has a goofy grin on its face, like it just stole a turkey from the Indians. I look at Red Cat, rummaging in the box for more decorations. "What about candles? They're nicer than oil lamps and don't smell so bad." Ray pulls out a large punch bowl and starts mixing liquors, then adds sparkling water and orange juice. I could swear I see wisps of smoke curling from the serface. He puts a big metal dipper in, fills a cup, and hands it to me. I take a sniff, and my eyes water. "Jeeze, Ray, any stronger, and it would melt nails." I take a cautious sip, and instantly understand what the Indian's meant when they called booze Firewater.

I like that one alot, and to tell you the truth, I never have to read your name, because the moment I see your flag I know it's you. The same goes for Bill Flint and Captain Jim. I will probably change my avater back to my ensign sometime soon. Why, thank you sir! And I must tell you, I got the idea from your dog skull! I like horses (I have two) and I have a real horse skull I used as a model. But, your flag was the inspiration. Thank you, Ransom. Have you begun a large scale version of your ensign? No, not yet. It's on my long list of things I need to make. I don't have much kit, as there aren't any pirates where I live. Most of my pirating I do on the Pub. But I'm working on it, and may try and attend some of the So. Calif. events next year. Hope so anyway.

I peer at the items on the floor and scratch my head. "Isn't there supposed to be one of those cornicopia horns full of fruit? Maybe some bright fall leaves? And Indian corn, gotta have that pretty indian corn."

Thanks to you both for the info. Coastie, I have been on the Lynx and the Lady Washington, and loved them both. It was the Lynx that first got me wishing for a schooner. Yeah, the raked mast looks really cool. Looks like you both answered my question. Gramercy! BTW, in your web surfing, have either of you come across anyplace that would give a cut away schematic of a schooner? While on the Lynx, we were only allowed on the deck, or in the gift-shop room. I'd like to get a better idea of the construction and layout below deck.

I've been reading "Sail Tall Ships - A Directory of Sail Training and Adventures at Sea" comparing the various rigging configurations of schooners. Ransom's ship, the Rakehell is a gaf-rigged schooner with raked masts, mainly because I like the look of it. In this book it gives specs for the various ships, such as length, LAWL, beam, draft, total sail yardage, minimum crew, maxumum day passengers, etc. But it does not make a distinction between raked masts or straight. The choice doesn't seem to be tied to sail configuration, as gaf-rigged, gaf topsail, or square topsail can have either type of mast. So, besides the obvious, what is the difference between raked vs straight masts? Is one more advantageous than the other?

I've caught myself using the tem "belay" for all kinds of stuff. "Hey, belay that idea." "Oh man, belay that, it won't work." "Belay!" (as in Stop!) Etc.

Fleetwood Mac - Say You Will. For Jacky Tar.

Goose, mumbling under his breath, left the Captain on the rail and returned to the galley. Jimmy Cox, one of the Rakehell's topmen, was stirring a pot of stew, and looked up when the cook entered. "Where you been, eh? I aint the cook on this ship, and I got better things ta be doin' than mindin' yer stew." Goose shook his head, and a doleful expression settled on his face. "I been tryin' ta talk ta the captain, but she'll not heed a word I say. Bit my head off, as usual. Don't know what happened over on the Relentless, but it musta been sumthin' God-awful bad." Jimmy handed the heavy ladle to Goose. "Here, mind yer stew, and quit medlin' in the captain's business. Like as not, in her current mood, ya get her too riled and she'll have yer skinny hide tossed overboard. And mind, ya burn that stew, and the whole crew will toss ya over the side."

. I like that one alot, and to tell you the truth, I never have to read your name, because the moment I see your flag I know it's you. The same goes for Bill Flint and Captain Jim. I will probably change my avater back to my ensign sometime soon. Why, thank you sir! And I must tell you, I got the idea from your dog skull! I like horses (I have two) and I have a real horse skull I used as a model. But, your flag was the inspiration.

"Men..."They're a good thing."

You start calling people Mate, and ending your sentences with "eh." "So, mate, had a rough ride to work, eh?"

My flag is my avatar. I kept it rough looking, so it would look like it was painted on faded canvas. It's a horse skull with a black heart under it. Means "Your worst, blackhearted nightmare come true." I picked a red background partly because everyone else was doing black, and because it could mean "blood" or "bloody." In the original drawing I did, the letters F and R are made to look like folded scraps of canvass, but the avatar is so small you don't really see that detail.