Red Sea Trade

The food was absolutely otherworldly! My heartiest thanks to all the cooks. It was a great event, and there is nothing else like putting America's Oldest City to the torch. Now if my clothes would just dry out... Thanks to all who planned the event. It really is a highlight of my reenacting year.

The magnificent beast in my avatar is Calico Jack, one of my basset hounds. They say that owners come to look like their pets and...well...let us just say that there is something in that.

I have worn a moustache since I turned 19, but had to shave it off for the two years I worked at Valley Forge. They made it clear--either choose the moustache or the job. I grew it back when I transferred (started doing programs on the 1890's, so a dense Sam Elliott brush was completely appropriate). I now face a similar dilemma--a Rev War unit I wish to join has strict policies concerning facial hair. I don't mind shaving for the occasional event, as I know it will grow back. Still, my lovely wife has never seen me without it, and so I may be risking my marital bliss...

I have always felt that there is a good reason that Blackbeard cultivated a beard along with his fearsome reputation. Facial hair and barbarism went hand-in-hand in the 18th century. I myself wear a moustache, but I know it is wrong for the period. I do it because, when one looks like I do, one does whatever one can to disguise it.

Today is the patronal feast day of St. George, patron of England, slayer of dragons and all-around excellent fellow. Raise a glass of the good, nut-brown ale in George's memory and punch a Spaniard, if convenient.

I have only once been fortunate enough to partake in a whole, slow roasted pig. It was at a Rev War event in Virginia, and that beast was roasted for a full day, mopped with a mixture of melted butter, red pepper and molasses. The cook, seeing me eyeing the mound of crispy, fatty skin he had trimmed off, knew me at once to be a kindred spirit. "Nobody wants the fat, but its the best part", he said, as he heaped my trencher with huge slabs of indescribably delicious, crackling cholesterol. Washed down with a dark beer, it was probably the finest meal I have ever had.

I always loved that song that Garfield sang in the Halloween special, when they were out on the boat, but it was usually cut out of the show in the following years that it re-ran. Tried finding the lyrics for it but never did. "Fifty men all lost at sea, all of them drunk except for me, it was I alone to brave the storm, with nothing on deck to keep me warm, (This part is conjectural) Yo ho ho ho, over the (something) waves we go Yo ho ho ho something something something"

I made a giant Salamagundi for a museum dinner once. Threw in everything but the kitchen sink, but the crowning touch was when we garnished it with edible flowers from the kitchen garden--nasturtiums and chive blossoms, if memory serves.

Hoping to be there, if work allows!

One of the greatest breakfasts of all time--and a period correct one, to boot--is Indian Pudding. There are many recipes, but all call for milk, cornmeal, molasses, spices and butter (some call for eggs, but those might not be on your menu). It is wonderful for slooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow cooking, so a Dutch Oven is ideal, especially if you can leave it overnight with just a bit of heat all around. Delicious, and enough iron to fortify any vegetarian's blood.

I used to work at Fraunces' Tavern in New York City, just a few doors down from Captain Kidd's old digs. They made a bread pudding with whiskey sauce that would make an archbishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. Oh, what bliss it was...

Wow! Them would be fighting words these days for any poor youthful boy at high school level. Any example/proof of this, Red Sea Trade? You can find it in any good dictionary that includes word origins. I think I found it in the Oxford Abridged, but a quick online search turned it up in a couple places. It is from the Middle English gurle or girle, a young person of either sex.

I love to confound people with strange, archaic word meanings. Want to really blow peoples' minds? Point out that the word "girl" could originally mean either a young woman or a young man. Think today's teen boys would like to be called girls? Oh, the possibilities of deviltry are endless!

Not a supernatural story (although one participant might disagree), but a spooky nautical yarn regardless: My father was in the US Navy in the Second World War. He had not been to sea before, but his father had been a sailor and he had read about nautical history extensively. His ship left Norfolk for the long voyage to the South Pacific. My father was a Gunner's Mate, and one of his gang was a big, mean, swaggering bully named McCoy. My father was no match for McCoy physically, but he knew that he could out think him any day. My father quietly watched McCoy, looking for his weakness. It took some time, but my father realized that McCoy, for all his bluster, was both extremely ignorant and extremely superstitious. Now, it was just a matter of time before my father could spring his trap. The ship was sailing toward Guadalcanal with a load of Marine fighter bombers. The ship was steaming west in hot, humid weather. One night, after lights out, my father and some of the Gunners Gang were trying to get some fresh air topside. McCoy was there, blustering and bullying as usual. Suddenly, a voice from the watch cried out "Shut off those damned lights!" My father looked up, and he saw faint, greenish lights rolling up and down the radio antenna and the masts. Not lights, but Saint Elmo's Fire. A few of the experienced sailors knew what it was, but none of the fresh fish. None, that is, except my father. My father leaned his arm out over the side of the ship, letting it trail in the breeze as it blew by. Slowly, green fire began to shine along my father's arm and drip from his fingers in the wind. McCoy's eyes grew as big as saucers. My father swirled his hand in the air, letting the liquid pool in his palm like mercury. He "scooped" it up into a ball, then called out to McCoy, who was standing close by. "Here, why don't you try. You aren't AFRAID, are you?" By now, McCoy's primitive mind was almost overcome with horror. He couldn't speak, but merely gibbered in abject terror. My father grinned like a maniac, scooping up more of the magical fire and, with a flourish, thrust it at McCoy. The bully screamed and ran, cowering below decks until daylight. And his bullying days were over. Oh, and Captain Bo, I wonder if the book you are thinking of was called "Strangely Enough". I read that in elementary school around 1973 and vividly remember the Devil's footprint. The author's name was Colby and, until my last move, I actually had a paperback copy of it in my collection.

Thanks for the excellent photos! I am sorry that I missed the nighttime fun, but work awaited. (I was the guy with the sharp knife for carving the roast) I would say that a good time was had by all. Now how many will come back to St. Augustine for Drake's Raid...?

YE BUCCANEERS' GAZETTE Bringing the freshest news of the day Spring, 1668 Edition Current events-- In war news, the Triple Alliance of England, the Spanish Netherlands and Sweden has brought the French to the bargaining table in an attempt to successfully conclude the brief War of Devolution. The Dutch are willing to cede some of the territory claimed by France in return for peace and a withdrawal of troops from occupied territory. Spain has recognized Portuguese independence after 88 years of union. The commander of the Hapsburg's supreme imperial war council, Raimondo Montecuccoli, has begun a series of reforms to reduce reliance on pikeman and replace them with musketeers. Turning to science, we learn that Italian researcher Francesco Redi has conclusively disproven the theory of spontaneous generation. His experiments demonstrated that maggots do not generate from decaying meat, but are rather the offspring of flying insects. In England, Sir Isaac Newton has invented a device known as a "reflecting telescope" with which to study the heavens. Meanwhile, in Holland, Regnier de Graaf has been devoting his attentions a little closer to home, doing an in-depth study of the testicles. On the cultural front, Moliere's new comedy "L'Avare" has opened to rave reviews, England has named her first Poet Laureate (who, coincidentally, has loaned a substantial sum to King Charles II) and composer Diderik Buxtehude has been appointed to a post at the Marienkirche in Lubeck. Meanwhile, in the New World, Robert Searles sails his small fleet of corsairs north up the coast of Spanish Florida...

Take a look at The Quartermaster General (I believe it is quartermastergeneral.com, but don't quote me on it). I haven't tried their ruffs yet, but they made me a lovely waistcoat and a snappy Elizabethan doublet. Prices aren't bad, either.

First, I will try not to seeth with jealous resentment, that you lucky dogs get to go to the Blackbeard Festival. Ah, but all is not lost! Any chance that the following Friday, 1/12, would be any better? The day camp runs two weeks, and they are looking to fill both Fridays.

I have been asked by the local Boy Scout Council to help with a Cub Scout day camp in Melbourne, Florida in June, 2009. The organizers are hoping to have a crew of pirates come in for an afternoon to teach the kids a bit about local pirates. Emphasis will be on fun, although they aren't averse to a bit of history thrown in. The specifics: Date--Friday, June 5th Time--12-4pm, with a request for a 30 minute "show" around noon. We can set up as early as 9am, if we wish. Place--Wickham Park (about 3 miles east of I-95 in Melbourne) They can't pay anything (hey, they're Cub Scouts), but I will be serving up tasty period rations to those who can help out. You can contact me directly at andrewcbatten@hotmail.com

What I will never understand about this period is how the women could look so good while the men looked so bad! Restoration Era women's clothes...YOWZA! Lots of creamy white shoulders and heaving bosoms. Men? They look like refugees from a low-rent Mummer's Parade. Glad that I am way too downscale to need such "finery."

This will be my second year portraying a buccaneer at Searles' Raid in St. Augustine. For last year, since 17th century was a new thing for me, I decided to see what I could find that was reasonably correct to the time and place. Most of all, I decided to keep it simple. I got a pair of Dutch slops, a short linen jacket and a broad-brim, high-crowned hat. Not terribly exciting, but as correct as I could get with the resources available. Most of my gear was based on images of Dutch sailors of the era I had seen somewhere on the Pub, adding to the Dutch doglock I already possessed for consistency's sake. I agree with Patrick that, until more is unearthed, the appearance of Buccaneers will always be conjectural. What we must be on guard for is replacing conjecture with wishful thinking. You can see the results of that in much of 18th century reenacting, where what is "cool" sometimes pushes out what is "correct" or even what is reasonable. Why do so many longhunters wear their waggoner's frocks UNDER their waistcoats? Isn't that like wearing a raincoat under your blazer? Sure, but it looks cool! We must keep digging, striving and improving, as I hope to do this year and I look forward to seeing the ranks of Captain Searles' forces swelled this year with all those who have shown an interest. Nothing brightens the day like putting a Spanish city to the torch!

While I tend to the historical myself (I am lucky to make it to two events a year, and both have clear guidelines for appropriate attire), I believe it is a really a case of "when in Rome..." What I mean is that one should make allowance for the scenario and the guidelines. A Jack Sparrow clone at last year's commemoration of Sir Francis Drake's Raid on St. Augustine was asked to ditch the mascara and then gently steered into some loaner gear, which seemed a good compromise. On the other hand, I think it would be foolish to show up at Ye Olde Turkey Leg Roast and Pirate Pub Crawl in completely authentic gear and complain loudly that the other participants weren't historically valid. Both ends of the spectrum can be accomodated without raining on anyone's parade.

The images I have found make him look less like a Puritan swordsman and more like an extra from a strange hybid of Underworld/Van Helsing/Brotherhood of the Wolf/Ninja Assassin (what's with the rapier worn over the shoulder?). Worse yet, all the websites I consulted call him a "16th century Puritan", which is way too early for both Puritanism and flintlock pistols. Whatever else happens, I can absolutely, positively guarantee 100% that he will spend all or most of the film with his chest bare. You know, just like REAL Puritans...

You people are KILLING me! I spent 40 years in the northeast, including 4 years in Pennsylvania's Apple Capital, Adams County. Memories of long, brisk walks on autumn evenings and all manner of Appley Goodness. I even get sentimental for my first hangover, caused by a gallon of apple cider I allowed to turn by placing it in a warm, dark spot for all of October. We drank it, warm and bubbly, out of old jelly jars, tasting Fall in every sip. Shining times! Now, in Florida, the best I can hope for is finding some unfiltered apple juice and imagining that it isn't 90 degrees. Makes me want to start driving north right now...

My thoughts exactly. Even though I now live in Florida (where autumn means temperatures drop a degree or two and the torrential rain becomes merely a steady downpour), the approach of October always makes my thoughts go to muskets and frock coats along with Indian corn and gourds. I find myself reading books about New England in the Colonial era, as if a whiff of cool air and fallen leaves would rise from the paper. Last night I put on an old, old album called "Witches and War-Whoops", containing ballads of 17th century Massachusetts. Now for a cup of real, unpasteurized cider and a day below 85 degrees... Red Sea Trade Colony of East Florida (sigh)