Captain's Blog

True Piracy

Captain's Log:  Thursday, March 11, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy four days until we reach Key West.

Another trying day.  Another violent outbreak amongst me crew.  Thar seems to be a line drawn between the merchant sailors and me hastily enlisted rough and tumble crew. Naively, it seems, I didn't figure on any discriminations. And much of me "pirate" crew I hired on in port, me sees now- I paid scant attention as I aquired these rascals. They be such young lads- barely shavin'- smooth skinned with their youth surging through them. It be one altercation after another. Yet neither merchant sailors nor shady crew know of our destination or our ultimate act of true piracy. And when it comes time to take over the Castaneda, this will be how I will present it: the lure of riches.

Man has turned to piracy for almost as long as he has sailed the sea. Regardless of the vessel, the reasons for this have remained the same.  Pirate crews are often manned by desperate or disillusioned people. And though execution be the punishment for piracy, and life be short, piracy be an attractive alternative to many of the other options or fates facing men of the sea.  We sailors have served on merchant vessels, warships, or privateers before turning to piracy.  And turn, we shall.  Most of me men be in their 20's with an average age expectancy for a seaman, and pirate alike, to be 27 years. But lo!  Me hired hands barely look 16!

A motivating force for this lifestyle be freedom. In the restrictive social heirarchy of the age we live in, seamen are at the bottom. The chance to turn a profit from piracy is enticing. Instead of profits going to the merchant or other ship owners, profits among pirates are equally split. The seaman's life be grueling, often involving discomfort, danger, and horrific living conditions.  Drinking water be foul, food be frequently rotten, and disease runs rampant. The life of a sailor does not promise much, but a pirate might be enticed by the chance of huge rewards. A true pirate is someone who robs others at sea and acts beyond the law. Me destiny involves much more than simple piracy.

I can only hope that like the crew of the Black Swan, me mates and I be on a fateful voyage of intertwined souls.

In me cabin tonight, I study the Russian Nautical chart of LaGrange..."I be right to expose the Secret (now missing) Letter to Falcon LaGrange.  It seems we be on a synchronistic voyage.  LaGrange is excited about the Secret of the Key because it explains other recent events of an unusual nature prior to embarcation.  Most notable being the arrival to the Falcon's hotel of a mysterious package from the shores of the Baltic Sea.  The sender be unknown, and the carefully sealed envelope contained a nautical chart in a cryptic language and foreign alphabet that only LaGrange could potentially decode.  It appears the language may be Russian,  but so far only the words Key West have been translated (Ки-Уэст). Our journey to Key West together clearly is no coincidence. We are united in our search for the key.   -Captain Morgan La Fey

This mysterious chart will require further examination.

Your Servant, the UnNamed Captain

(parts of this Captain's Log entry are pirated from "The History of Pirates," by Angus Konstam, a book approved by the Pirate Soul Museum of Key West.)

The Wake of the Search

Captain's Log:  Wednesday, March 10, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy five days until we reach Key West.

With me eyeglass I constantly scan the horizon. A sailor's intuition  - I have this feeling we are being followed on our strange course. I send Hank, the cabin boy, up the ratlines to the crow's nest to keep a vigilant lookout.

I return to me cabin and for the rest of daylight be studyin' Captain La fey's logbook for clues to the pirated chest and any information I can glean regarding the Ghost book. The more me thinks about that chest with its trick locks and hidden compartment- the more I tend to focus on its removeable shelves or drawers.  And what comes to me mind is a lady's garment trunk for travel.

Meanwhile, in the Captain's logbook, dated November 17, in the year two thousand and eight, I read mention of a dusty yellowed letter with a red blood wax seal imbedded with some strange insignia that apparently indicated that the Key they were searching for, the secret of secrets, was lost.  When I inventoried all the items in the chest, I assumed this letter was among the others tied in a bundle with a soft leather strap. In sorting through them, though, hoping for a clue to the Ghost Book, I discover this particular letter is missing. I am finding more is lost than found.

After a long day, I go on deck to refresh me mind and spirits. I look up. The moon is brilliant and half full leaning to its side to cup the weight of the dark side of the moon.  Standing against the rail I peer into the trail of night water;  the wake of the search.  The illumination from the moon casts a shadow behind the Casteneda: in its shape I see the Black Swan. As above so below. The Shadow Keeper is keeping watch. Look outs are posted everywhere...

Your servant, The UnNamed Captain

The Lost Day & the Star of the Sea

Captain's Log:  Tuesday, March 9, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy six days until we reach Key West.

I seem to have lost yesterday, with nary a moment to spare for me Captain's log. Yesterday be a foul day with one frustrating calamity after another: a tragic comedy of errors like a play I once saw in London at the commoner's theatre.

The day opened abruptly with a brawl in the galley. Entre acte was discovering one of the sea cats dead, a bad omen to be sure... with the finale being the mainsail's pulley breaking off on the starboard side with the line snapping with such force that it nearly ripped off Salo's ear and scalped him on the right side! (Salo be the accordian player from our gypsy orchestra!) He'll be disfigured, there taint no doubt about that, poor lad. But that means one less sailor and I can spare no man! Not on this voyage!

Back to me Log:  The White Spirit of the Castaneda is the Star of the Sea; the White bird of Freedom.  I wonder and wonder about her opposite, the HMS Black Swan. The Log book tells me of the story of the black swan, or rara avis. 

"Our ship, Her Majesty's Black Swan, be named for the mythical creature of olde, the black-colored swan that could not exist, until its unexpected and unpredictable discovery in Australia in 1697.  Before then, it was 'known' to all landlubbers and pirates alike that "All swans are white".  However, beyond the seas, the discovery was made, and the perceived impossibility actually came to pass.   The 'rara avis' of the ancient Romans and Europeans actually exists.  Black Swan - Unpredictable, unexpected, and an outcast.  We take that name for our fine vessel to prepare us for the unknown journey ahead.

-Captain Morgan La Fey"

Aye, Her Majesty's Black Swan and her daring crew...I sometimes think I see her dark figure on the horizon...

Your Servant, the UnNamed Captain

The Unmarked Waterway

Captain's Log:  Sunday, March 7, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy eight days until we reach Key West.

We follow the course precisely.  "Me journal indicates that we be off the coast of Mauritania.  From here we venture into the Unknown, away from the shores and any Sight of Land.  Beyonde this Pointe thar be Dragons. -Captain Morgan La Fey"

Some of the crew be mending canvas, the galley boy be peelin' potatoes, the first mate be attendin' to the charts to maintain our course, while other sailors have picked up they instruments and begun to play some unfamiliar tune in a strange musical style.

It be obvious to me that the Captain's logbook, more like an illuminated manuscript combining words with imagery, and the Ghost book be related. I recognized immediately the familiar leather tooling and the exact same binding. Two books traveling the seas unknown to each other.   Falcon LaGrange's mystical Waggoner be the most ancient book I have ever laid me hands on.  It pulsates with the energy of its soulful history. I have developed quite a library of lost worlds!

Me books be like stepping stones through this waterway of me life, made up of what I taint never done before.  Everything be moving forward, like this current taking us to our destiny.  All of it resting on some foundation from me life before that I never could see as having much meaning or purpose. It be set in front of me:  none of it existed til I laid me hand on it.  I have a personal history of unknowns, unlit pathways, unmarked trails into an increasingly lighter forest; cryptic charts I can only explain to meslef.  I feel as if I be gaining footholds as all me life begins to clang together roughly, then smoother like some turning mechanism of a giant clock or the unwinding of a draw bridge. The iron gauges or cogs of the wheel, moving in unison, slowly, awkwardly at first, then gaining momentum, picking up a steady rythm. 

Me mates instrumental endeavor has become a gypsy orchestra. At first, to me ear, it sounds like clamour.  But as I become accustomed to its haunting and peculiar melody, it begins to sound like the music of life, complete with weeping and laughter, and from the helm, I whistle along.

Your Servant, the unNamed Captain

Ghost Book

Captain's Log:  Saturday, March 6, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy Nine days until we reach Key West.

I see meself as small, not amounting to much, being quite ordinary, not worthy of this task me path presents me with. A person can deny themselves they whole life and never see the world is waiting for them to step into they potential. There are signs everywhere, and yet, we claims never to see them or hear them. No, no, not me, whilst at the same time outcrying, why not me?  Inside me beats a wild drum. I put me hand to me breast and feel the heavy key.  I can no longer say, why am I not what I seek? Why is it for others, but not for me?  The secret of the Key is that I can choose to live me potential or be blind to it.  I have a larger part in this than I ever imagined.  Oh I may be afraid, but no longer afraid of what I am not...

I have read and studied for months and months the Logbook and Waggoner of Captain Morgan La Fey and Falcon Lagrange. Thar be no mention anywhere of a secret compartment in a chest, nor of the Ghost Book hidden inside. I have come to the conclusion that tho this chest held all they precious cargo, it did not belong to the Captain.  What if this chest was one of the items discovered on the island after the storm that nearly wrecked them? What if the Captain had no knowledge of the hidden compartment, and only used the key to unlock the trunk itself?  I'll need to study the entries in the log. Perhaps learn from clues what exactly was discovered, maybe even what doomed ship it came from, and I can decipher the rightful owner of the trunk.  Only by piracy did the Captain come by the chest!

The mainyards are braced around, the jibs are hauled over and sheeted home, while the vessel is head into the wind. When the sails of the mainmast begin to fill, the Quartermaster barks out the order,  "Let go and Haul!" The White Spirit of the Casteneda lays off until the sails fill.  All sails are trimmed by the wind.  "Going ahead!" the wake is becoming normal.  She is kept on the wind on the starboard tack.

With me eyeglass I scan the horizon for other ships.  For now, the waters appear safe. 

Your servant, the UnNamed Captain

The Secret of the Key

Captain's Log:  Friday, March 5, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Eighty days until we reach Key West.

I escape to me cabin and bolt the door.  Leaning against it in panic, I realize I have made a grave mistake. I sought to somehow repair me own life by retracing another's.  To go back. To begin again. To alter the outcome. To rewrite it: to draw it right this time, to draw it different in order to affect some change on what all ready be occured.  What have I done?

My blouse now be drenched in the black red blood. I rip the key and its chain from my neck and throw it onto the desk to get it as far away from me as possible.  I stand there quietly while the blood pools onto the table, spills to the floor and rolls to one side, then back to the other, with every surge of the Castenada. I cup me head in me palms...

"Captain?!!"  Banging at the door.  Pause.  "I am indisposed - leave me!"  "Captain!"  "I be indisposed damn ye!!" I roar back, nearly in hysterics.  "Aye Aye Sir..."  It be a minute or two before I hear the footfalls down the hall.

Me hands curl they fingers and become fists at me mouth, stifling any sounds I may make. Do me hears singing?  It be an eerie sound. Me eyes scan the room and land back upon the key. The key. The key.  The key!  At once I grab the pulsating  blood  warm key angrily forcefully and take it to Captain La Fey's chest and untie the decorative leather straps across the top which reveal four metal discs which I turn knowingly.  As they open, a metal plate cranks back to reveal a hidden and protected lock and key hole. I can feel the key in me hand wanting to go home.  I insert it deep into the lock. Slowly I turn it until I hear mechanisms inside unlatch.  A secret compartment opens.  I remove the key. It be clean again, and cold in me hand.

Thar is no more blood anywhere.  Me shirt, once again, virgin white. No red droplets on the floor of me cabin. I put the heavy black chain back around me neck and slip me pirate key inside me blouse and head topside to guide me ship.

-Your servant, the UnNamed Captain

The Bloody Key

Captain's Blog:  Thursday, March 4, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Eighty one days until we reach Key West. 

Today be the day! 

"It be time. All hands on deck and hoist the Jolly Roger!

Today we set sail for Key West.  We estimate arrival into port to be 75 days.  Key West is the key. To what? No one knows, so sail, we must.

Me mates and I are confident as we embarque on this voyage from which we may never return: that there are riches beyond our imagination to be pillaged in the tropical seas of Key West.

As we raise our sails, with skies clear, the sea calm, and spirits be high. 

Aye!  Thar be a remarkable journey before us!!"

- Captain Morgan La Fey,  Captain's Log, Tuesday, November 11, in the Year of Two Thousand and Eight.

Me hopes are equally as high as The White Spirit of the Castaneda  heads into open waters! Me crew be most lively, and amidst all the preparations and hurried meetings, I failed to realize how young they be! For now, the flags that fly be the Royal Tea Co. and Her Majesty's Emblem.

Captain La Fey was a mystic. I lament not having the same powers. Me feels so ordinary for such an extraordinary quest.  How will I live up to me calling?

Lost in me imagination I be startled by me first mate's transfixed gaze.  "Captain...Captain, are ye all right?" I am confused by the queer tone and me facial expression indicates as much. "CCCaptain, your, your shirt... are you hurt?" I look down, eyes widened!  Behold!!!!! I clench the front of me white shirt through me open waist coat:  it be blood red! Aye? What be this? I reach in, expecting to feel some unknown gaping wound; the flesh be smooth but me hand brushes the black skeleton key hanging from the heavy chain... me hand be wet.  "Captain...?" and me mate extends a trembling hand to me.  "Take the wheel, Bucko. Tis nothing. I shall see to it. I take leave to me cabin.  Steady as she goes."  "Aye Aye Captain!" A good sailor, unquestioning, always does what be asked.

I hurry to me cabin, hoping not to draw attention.  Damnation!  The Key be bleeding! In God's name, what I have ventured into...

Your servant, the unNamed Captain.

Black Swan Family

Captain's Blog:  Wednesday, March 3, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Eighty two days until we reach Key West. 

"Look lively Sailor!  We don't get our pay for losing precious cargo- ho there! Tighten that line steady...steady!  Watch that crate!  Easy.."  Once asea, these kegs and crates will betray their true hidden wares:  Guns! Cannons and shot! Swords! Weapons of all kinds! I do not mean to be shown no quarter: I aim to find me treasure and fight for it!  I'll need to summon aspects of meself I taint never known.  "Heave thar you lallygagger! We set sail tomorrow; fair wind or no!!!!!!!!"  Me crew knows no different. Merchant sailors they be. But in secret, I have hired on new hands, from the very same place Captain Morgan La Fey hired the able bodied crew of the Black Swan!

The Ark of the Black Swan, that carefully shrouded chest, and all its belongings have been in me possession since we sent the departed lads to Davy Jones' locker, 40 fathoms deep. That black skeleton key opened more than a simple sailor's chest:  I discovered a  Pandora's box of intrigue that is as potent as Calypso herself! In me keep, until they finds they rightful owner, be the locket, the dagger, the parcel, the smaller chest, the mini lockets, and countless other prize that will reveal wonders in time.  I have read over and over the Captains Log, the legendary Wagoner and its rare and hand drawn charts.  Captain Morgan La fey and the HMS Black Swan are immortal in any adventurer's heart.  This be the stuff O dreams.  But I be awake.

This be me journey:  I know what me duty be.  I am to follow the mystical path of the Black Swan and her Crew, following to the exact degree, directions from the Wagoner of Falcon Lagrange. Why was I Chosen? I neither know nor undersatnd.  But I have spent months studying the charts and learning every bit I can from them.  The White Spirit of the Castenda be now conveniently docked in the same port as the Black Swan before she left for her destination in the Southernmost Florida Keys. I have begun me own quest. Almost everything  be arranged.  I have been commanded to another journey to the the State of Virginia in the New World by the Royal Merchant Tea Co. No one will suspect as we continue our course southwards...

The Mechant's wife continues to eye me like a spy. I live in fear of her knowing gaze. Yes, I be sailor and captain, but I  neither consider meself brave nor bold.  Blast it All! She appears on deck, a light blue silk parasol sheilding her face from me. Her black hair hangs in ringlets below her shade.  "Good afternoon, Captain."  "Welcome aboard milady, and what do we owe this rare visit..." I remove me cap and bow to her, somewhat nervously. "How goes the Key Business, Captain.  I mean tea?" she whispers, for my ears only. "We have our cargo almost loaded, Madam." I say with strained confidence. "Very well," she replies, and turns so quickly the ruffles on her dress create a giant woosh sound as she sashays determinedly down the gang plank.  My gaze trails after her...something in her approach, or her response, her tone,something - I feel it...she is hiding a secret as well...

Once we set sail, the White Spirit of the Casteneda will be mine. No more intended to deliver goods, but to participate in a journey that is somehow connected to an illustrious captain, a first mate, and  a brethren and crew I know as well as me own. Though I read every word in the log, it explains not why it just ends in July.  Where were the lads going with their precious cargo? What did they hope to accomplish? It be passed on to me. I don't claim to understand any of it. I be a simple person. But I have been called to task.

I am undeniably linked to the destiny of these remarkable souls.  The Captain's journal is enough to change the world. The winds of fate will blow me in a southernly route. It is begun then. History does not wait. It is lived by those who hear the call and act on it.

Action is the second key. Faith is the first.

It has taken me these here months before I could put me own words in my captain's journal.  Who am I? My voice feels so small, so unworthy. But here I start.  I start by starting.

-Your servant, the UnNamed Captain

The Ark of the Black Swan

Captain's Blog:  Tuesday, March 2, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Eighty three days until we reach Key West. 

How I came by the Ark of the Black Swan is a horrible story, yet one I must retell, to record it here in detail in the Captain's Log, for any future Mariner, who might come across it in deperate travels.

The Exchange occured some months ago in a return voyage from the New World. The storm be ferocious, the likes of which, in all me travels, I taint never witnessed. We barely survived.  When all seemed bleak and our end was certain, the sky opened up and we were bathed in light. What was unseen in the rage of the storm now became clear: a longboat, appearing lifeless, floating in the distance.  Apprehensive and silent we stood on deck.  As the longboat bobbed closer in the black waves, it was seen, two lads, dead, fer sure, with a strange heavily canvased, oiled, chained and locked chest between them.  We threw out the grappling hooks and ropes as voices shouted and yanked this sad longboat to our side. In moments the stunned crew had the boys, dear lord, just boys! swaddled on the main deck of the Castaneda. A Captain, yes, but also a doctor I be, a healer of sorts.  It was obvious the youth with the shock white hair was gone.  Thar be nothing left to do for him, bless his soul...

We who lived a good fair life of many years, having survived the storm, feel an unspeakable mourning for the loss of one so young.  What could they have been doing in such a storm, in such a small craft, with this strange but obviously precious, cargo?  I lean into the black haired boy when he suddenly coughs up a lung full of storm and sea water.  Both lads be blistered by the sun, and had the storm not come, would have perished yet from starvation or exposure. I reach down tenderly and raise him in me arms, praising whatever high powers thar be, and look into his eyes like bright blue marbles.  With a bone of an arm, he reaches beneath the blanket and pulls out, from a long chain around his neck, a heavy large black skeleton key, uniquely carved with a skull and crossbones.

"Quiet boy," me says, "rest ye!"  But instead, with a final strength that is yet hard for me to believe, he puts his arm around me neck and grabs me tight.  In a voice I shall never forget,  "This be yer journey now:  the journey you cannot NOT take."  With a weak gesture, he indicates the chest, an ark of protection for the strange secrets that lie inside.  Remarkably, he pulls himself closer, the intensity of his face and his actions I cannot properly relate : "Do not forsake me," he whimpers."  "Lad, please, please."  "Sir, this be your journey now...you must not hesitate..." his head rolls with one final glance to the mummified chest.  His eyes and hand then freeze and become limp. Thar be no gargling or rasping, just a final puff as his soul escapes from his lips.  I do not even realize I am crying.  But I know, and I comprehend, that something has been asked of me, and I cannot deny it. In that moment, I understand completely, my duty.  The course of my life has been forever altered.  Swiftly, and without notice, I tuck the black key into my vest.

We wrapped the boys in canvas and gave them a fitting burial at sea.  I have read of their names since this fateful day:  Young George, the Greek, and little Johnny O'Brandley sail no more.

I am at the edge of my existence.  And I be ready to sail two days from this one.

-Your Servant, The UnNamed Captain

The Mysterious Black Swan Event

Captain's Blog:  Monday, March 1, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Eighty Four days until we reach Key West. 

Who I am, is unimportant.  In light of me duty, I am simply, yet appropriately, a Captain of a merchant ship, "The White Spirit of the Castaneda."  She be the finest vessel:  a Brig, small but fast.  I be employed by the Royal Tea Company and me trade be South American Coffee and West Indian Sugar.  I be afraid to name meself, for my undeniably soulful task is a heavy burden for such an unremarkable sailor.

Me story, a lifetime of nothing but one thing to another, rightfully begins eight months ago when I came upon, or rather, been thrust upon me, the Captain's Log of the illustrious Pirate, Morgan La fey, as well as the Waggoner of Falcon LaGrange, the Barbary Corsair, a name known to every sailor round the world for the mysterious charts and surreal navigational tools of the Ancient Mariner.  How I came to be the gaurdian of the contents of the Ark of the Black Swan, though quite mysterious, I will profess in detail, as much as I know, in this Captain's Log Book. For now, I be the Captain.  I possess the Captain's log, and my destiny, well, it was decided many months ago in a ferocious storm on the high seas.

The whereabouts of the Black Swan, her captain and crew, remain a mystery.  Me sleep be agitated, as many voices call to guide me.  Me task be clear: to set sail and follow the original course of the Black Swan to the Florida Keys. It has taken me this long to devise my plan and ready meself. Thar be no turning back. I be about to commit mutiny, and take control of the White Spirit of the Castenada.  She be the only vessel that can take me into unknown realms.  As fate would have it, I am in exactly the same port as those sailors who once left here searching for that lost  Key, which I believe, based on my reading, they indeed found.

It is up to me to find them. And so, in three days from today, I shall set sail.

Me only concern is the Merchant's young wife: she eyes me as though she can see through me and knows of me mutinous plan.  Damn me not the child bride Alvida Viper. No one can interfere with manifest destiny...

Your servant, The unNamed Captain