Silkie McDonough

Murin woke with a start as her chin nearly touched her chest. Blinking, she recalled her surroundings. She sat at the table next to her empty plate. She needed sleep. "Monsuier ?” She turned to Chanalt. "I’m finished eatin’ Now thet m’belly is less empty I do need sleep. If you please, would you help me t’m’cot? I fear that I’ve not m’sea legs yet n’my hand bein injured I nil wish t’ fall." Chanault Rose to her request and led her to the waiting cot. She sat and thanked the silent man again. Without waiting for him to leave the room or any pretense of propriety she laid herself down. In her hand she clutched at the linen handkerchief that Monsuier Chanault had loaned her, the soft scent of the man still cling to it. It was not a gift of affection but a show of respect and a vivid reminder of her restored freedom. It was this thought that she embraced as she fell asleep.

I will be there whichever weekend woorks. Looks like I'll be spending a bit of time up there this year. I have also made an offer to host someone on whatever weekend they choose to come so I am waiting for them to finalize their plans so that we may coordinate. Halloween weekend I may not come as a pirate ...I love creating new costumes.

Probliem with meeting on pirate weekend is that the Maryland faire pirate weekend is the same weekend! Half of our numbers will be headed that way. I still have not made up my mind which way I am going!

Bunny from what I can tell there will be at least 6 of us 'ladies' at PiP ...I'm sure there are more that I have not counted. I am equally sure that there will be no lack of 'protection' from unwanted advances ...and plenty of welcome advances as well! Perhaps those of us flying in could coordinate flights, meet at the airport, and travel to Key West together. Finding the Keys is easy, go south until you start crossing bridges. Key West is even easier, the road stops. Finding the fort will be no problem, it is a small island and ...ifin ya ken read, there are signs.

^ Callenish Gunner. Hugh has been a friend for many years. Shared news of the site with me in August of 05' but I had no access to the internet save public places prior to February 06' ...You are stuck with me now!

Your past life diagnosis: I don't know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation.You were born somewhere in the territory of modern Ireland around the year 1525. Your profession was that of a seaman, dealer, businessman or broker. Your brief psychological profile in your past life: Bohemian personality, mysterious, highly gifted, capable to understand ancient books. With a magician's abilities, you could have been a servant of dark forces. The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation: Your task is to learn, to love and to trust the universe. You are bound to think, study, reflect, and to develop inner wisdom. Do you remember now? I know this is just for fun but ...you have no idea how much this relates to my preasant life! :)

Mmmmmmmmm! Nice photo! errrrr ...well done. Phill, I think you have been watching too many Seseme Street skits again! You may want to cut back a bit!

This site focuses on the "Golden Age of Piracy" (GAoP) From approximately 1680 to 1730. When I first became interested in piracy (strictly from an entertainment standpoint) I did a web search and came up with several sites. The biggest difficulty is, as has been stated previously, separating fact from fiction. I was directed to so much information when I started that it was overwhelming. I found this site to be helpful and simple enough for the beginner ...I don't vouch for its authenticity but ...it helped me gain a bit of knowledge of the GAoP. http://www.piratesinfo.com/detail/detail.p...p?article_id=91 Try "No Quarter Given" an excellent source of information. http://noquartergiven.net/ There are additional sites that I have heard mentioned often here in 'Captain Twill'. As to what are pirates here ...sometimes I think those of us who participate don't even know! Basically it is entertainment. Historical or not it is something that the majority of us pursue for the sheer pleasure that it brings.

Aye Matt, you are! Arrgh is simply a sound used (some say over used) to sound ...well ...piratey. I guess it is an interjection. I'd suggest a few pirate movies. Like "Treasure Island" that's a good one to start with.

No, that's Aye! "Do you want a Rum?" "Yes!" American English. "Do you want a Rum?" "Aye!" Pirate lingo.

Each place was set with a steaming bowl and a ships biscuit. Murin helped Ana to her chair and then dropped into her own. To see her face one would think a feast was set before her. She leaned into the bowl and ravenously began to spoon the broth into her mouth. She took no notice of the savor. Abruptly she grabbed ships biscuit, tore into it and started shoving that in her mouth with the soup. The hot food in her mouth a luxury she had not been afforded in weeks! She stopped short looking at those in the room. Her bowl was near empty before she noted Ana gingerly eating her soup, ever the lady, even in this state. Chanault appeared to be looking out of the porthole, but Murin felt had seen her unmannerly display. Embarrassed she nearly wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Instead she found a napkin at her place and wiped her mouth while still chewing the last of the biscuit that filled her overstuffed cheeks. As Ana gracefully finished her meal Murin sat silently sipping the drink provided her. Her mind reviewing the events since they found themselves washed on the shores of the island just outside and wondering that they were able to survive as long as they had.

::Innocently:: "What got his shorts in a bunch?"

Bring that light here. ::Inspecting the print:: Now this is a good print! The registration is perfect and the artwork sublime! Notice how the artist was able to capture the feeling and not just the form of the evil one. You can almost feel the dread oozing off the paper. Look at it! His eyes follow you! ::She sets the print on the table, debates with herself if the print is really so good as to serve as a coaster::

Silkie leans into the others at the table. "I just come here to vent, this guy has taken self pitty and made it an art form ...and I like it about as much as I like Jackson Pollock's work."

"Ana?" Murin spoke her friend's name softly. "Ana dear." She touched the lady's arm lightly, her eyes fluttered and then opened with surprise. "Ana, they've brought us food." Her friend sat for a moment, her eyes glazed with sleep, blinking to clear the confusion seen there. Understanding rose in her eyes and the corners of her mouth turned up as recognition surfaced. "Come Ana." Murin held her hand out to the highly fatigued lady, Ana's slowly brought her hand to rest in the outstretched one in front of her. Murin gingerly took the handkerchief that lay in her lap in her left hand as she stood helping Ana to her feet, then to the table where the meager but warm meal waited.

I'll be there ...in tow! My first pyrate festival! Anything I should know ...other than watch out for pyrates?

^ any place I can enjoy nature < just started back to work after two surgeries (nearly four months) ...I like not working better! V how many years have you been a Pyrate?

An uncomfortable smile momentarily brightened the golden glow in Murin's hazel eyes as she accepted the delicate handkerchief. She marveled that such a thing would be offered to her. This simple gesture sparked the smoldering embers that remained of her independent free self. A reminder that she was no longer a servant, free will was hers to give and receive. Using her right hand she dabbed the salty water from her cheeks and eyes with the lovely linen square. She lingered momentarily in the gentle scent, inwardly dancing with the unexpected pleasure it brought her. Her sunburned cheeks now dry she tenderly laid the elegant cloth on her lap making note to ask Ana, given the opportunity, what the proper behavior would be; wash and return it when she could, or return it immediately while still damp with her tears? "Go raibh maith agat." Masseur Chanault turned to her, the slightest hint of misunderstanding in his pale green gaze. That, she noted absentmindedly, was the only place his expressions, if any, could be read. Misunderstanding… she mused to herself distractedly. “Oh! Pardun m’sur!" Understanding sudenly flashed across her thoughts, she had used her mother tongue! "I ment, tank ya vedy moch.” Her knowing expression mirrored his understanding as she observed aloud, “D’language uv ones home ramains in ones heart ferever, as duz d’home.” Her mind wandering to the shadows of her life in the northeast reaches of Ireland she turned her attention to the task of mopping the freshened wounds. Holding her left hand above the table she lifted the damp cool cloth in her right and gingerly trailed it back and forth across the inner surface of her left hand. Wincing at her own touch she continued the unpleasant task. Turning the cloth so that a clean patch was used after every few passes she allowed the water to do most of the work the cloth barely touching the flesh. When the majority of the blood had been washed away and the soft cloth pink with the diluted crimson she set it on the table where it had rested previously. Her strength waning still, she presented the palm to her physician with a graceful but confidant gesture. She smiled softly. “Yer touch is nil so wicked sur. N’um grateful fer your attention.”

Aye, no doubt he spends much of his time in hot water!

The pain in her hand in these last moments had been nothing compaired to those inflicted upon her back by the ‘work foreman’ at the plantation after she had refused Mister Edward Hodges unwanted advances for the final time. That time he had cornered her in the study as she was dusting. He backed her between a book stand and the corner book cases, his body pressing against hers, trying to kiss her lips. She had managed to thwart his advances in the past but he persisted, claiming that he owned her. No person could own another! She would not be taken by a man she detested! She twisted out of his grasps and knocked the book stand to the floor. He attacked again, grabbed her around the waist, turning her to face him, his hands grasped at her skirt, trying to lift it as he pinned her against the desk. She stopped trying to block his hands and simply slapped the man’s face with all of her might. That had the desired results but it also brought his wrath down upon her. The bright red welt remained on his face long enough to be noted by the others in the house and for the stories to reach the field before the lass herself; earning her some respect and trust from the other field workers. Kate had begged her father-in-law not to have Murin beaten, urged him not to send her from the house but the master of the plantation’s pride had been wounded. The bookstand had been damaged and the mark on his face would not be gone when Lady Chittenden, who was due soon, would arrive. He wished to wed the old widow and gain her lands to further expand his wealth. He had been courting her for some time and was confidant that she was won now that his son and daughter-in-law were on the island assuring her some refined female companionship on the estate. He would not be able to explain away the handprint on his face and was forced to send word that he would not be available for that days visit. Murin was immediately handed over to the ‘work foreman’, given a severe lashing, and sent to the cane fields. The fresh wounds had stung, salty perspiration running over her back and only a light linen shirt between the broken skin and the sun. She had taken great satisfaction in knowing that the old letch’s face and pride were stinging also. That was the day she began plotting her escape, the escape that brought her to the deck of the Watch Dog.

"áigh!" Murin's hand pulled instinctively back from the pain but Chanault held firmly and continued his work. She tried to mentally detach herself from the appendage with some success. She took her mind to the floor of the surgery ward studying the tight grain of the oak at her feet. Each time the steel points stabbed at the inflamed tissue searing like a hot poker her body would tense. She noted how the planks joined tightly. Unconsciously, she began to bite her lower lip. She visually traced the grain around a small knot in the wood. The discomfort increasing with the pressure on her lower lip could not mask the torture Chanault inflicted upon her. She followed the grain to its end where it joined the next plank. Bringing the back of her good hand to her mouth she silenced herself before any sound escaped. Following the next line of the grain back she noted a gash in the wood where some blade tip had left its mark. She inhaled sharply and held her breath! Her eyes closed tightly against the attack on her hand! Her mind seemed to wrap around the excruciating pain. Tears began to flow from her eyes but she would let no sound distract the Frenchman's concentration. The intense pain gave way to a throbbing and the free flow of warm blood washing the wound as the metal instrument was withdrawn. Murin looked at Chanault through tears. He held her gaze for a moment. His pale eyes held a deep kindness that she had not expected to find there. Silently he continued.

Mr. Nash, truely a fine photograph but happy? Your lovely wife has the true expression of a pirate who is none too happy with her audience! Nice looking couple ...the blades that is! Congratulations! Many more to you both ...years that is!

John, What state? Anything on the web? Photos and such?

“Tank ya sur.” She turned back to those in the galley but their attention had been drawn away from her again. Murin gingerly took the arm offered her, feeling a bit weaker than she had initially thought and allowed him to lead her back to the surgery. She continued to talk as they walked, “M’concerned about Ana. She is as if walking dead yet I ken see notin wrong save fer need of food and rest. She is made fer d’life uv’a lady, I’m afraid our time t’getter on the island has been too much fer her.” A silence fell between the two as he took her to the chair she had been occupying for what seemed like an eternity now. Yes, food and rest ...and the throbbing hot pain in her hand.

Mate, I was once a Macintosh Witness and some day when I have the funding I hope to retun to the fold but until then, a Windows environment and lots of security will have to do.