Captain's Blog

The Pirate Medallion

Captain's Log: Friday, March 26, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Sixty days until we reach Key West.

It be nearly a week fore I write in this here Captain's Logbook. Not that thar aint been nothin' to tell of- quite the contrary!  But this book of Captain La Fey's nears completion. Only a handfull of pages be left. I do not relish finishing and starting a new book. This one be like me old friend. A place of comfort and recognition.To start anew: pristine white, no blood, sweat, tears or ink spills to let me know what comes next. No other Captain's words side beside mine, as a guide. I would be on me own. I dare not say I be ready. So me picks and chooses me entries. I hold back, as if I can stop evolution or tide.  Hidden in me blouse be a small package and a heavy skeleton key hangin' from a chain around me neck.  And this here be the drawing of the medallion I was studyin' last week from the Captain's Logbook. 

When last Saturday Alvida Viper entered me cabin and placed her Grimoire upon me desk:  this be the twin drawing showed to me.  At first me considered she stole pages from the Captain's log!  We place both books open side by side.  On closer inspection, me sees small differences.  But the entry in the Captain's journal says LaGrange relinquished the medallion!  So how come it rested among the other strange belongings in the pirates trunk of treasures?  "Captain, that medallion in your possession belongs to me.  I hid it when I came aboard the ship before departure," and she outstretches a small palm.  Without hesitation, I retrieve the medallion from me pocket.   Alvida unhooks the clasp on the side knowingly, and as it opens, white silver wings spread from its sides.  This be not the medallion from the Captain's log as I so hastily assumed.  "There is an ancient Coin that belongs in here, Captain. And in a southern port of call, not far from Key West, is an old blind gypsy named Kalymnos who awaits our arrival.  She has your Captain's medallion - the medallion of the Black Swan Brethren.  And Captain, there be one more missing medallion..."

Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack

The Shadowy Mist

Captain's Log:  Saturday, March 20, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Sixty six days until we reach Key West.

The first mate slaps me on the back, "Aye Cap'n! Ye looks as if ye has seen a ghost!" and he lets out a hearty laugh.  He hands me a strange fruit and offers, "here, put this in ye belly befores you lose all color and faint upon the sands!" I mumble gratitudes and with me package tucked  safely and secretly inside me blouse, the mates and I climb into the long boat.  We shove off to return to the White Spirit with a fair amount of provisions to get us through to the next port of call.   Beyond the stern I keep me eyes fixed on the Lady of the Island.  It appears she be a vision for mine eyes only.

Alvida be callin' out the strokes as the sailors row in time and unison. The uncharted island, which be named La Isla Niebla by Captain La Fey and Falcon LaGrange, suddenly becomes enshrouded in a shadowy mist.  I stare silently at this strange phenomenon, as it, and Juana La Loca, disappear from sight.

Once aboard, I excuse meself to me cabin. I do not remove me precious package. I must admit, I be afeared to open it. What if it be a pandora's box? What might I release from its containment?  Instead, I consult the Captain's Log book.  From the large Seachest (that concerns me as to its origins), I grasp two strange gold lockets in the shape of books with gold pages that actually turn! The Captain describes them exactly:  "The smallest  bears the inscription, 'El Preciado.'  And the larger, one can barely make out in tiny cursive, 'School of the Sea.'  But more impossible to comprehend is the small medallion: on its face be a chest, a skull, and a master key."  I remove the medallion from the chest as well and place all three on me desk. There is a knock upon the door.  I slip the items into me pocket.  "Enter."  Alvida Viper approaches carrying the Grimoire.  "Captain BillyJack, I have something I need to show you." Alvida places the sacred book of incantations atop the unrolled maps and charts belonging to the Falcon, and opens to a particular page spread. Me eyes widen!  Shiver me TImbers!  

Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack

The Return of Juana La Loca

Captain's Log:  Friday, March 19, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key.  Today be the day of Birth, 75 years before,  for Josephine Juana La Loca.

Sixty seven days until we reach Key West.

We pull the longboat ashore. Most of the crew be collecting provisions such as fruit and game. I take me leave, to refresh and clear me mind, I says, and alone wander the beaches searching for clues to the nature of the Ghostbook. Plenty of rope and rigging.  Plenty of trickery and flash in the beach glass reflecting light and luminosity.

I have walked quite some ways and discovered nothing that gives me the answers I seek. What be this?  I see a form in the distance and shade me eyes from the sun with me hand hoping to create a clearer view.  As I come closer, I see it be just rock outcroppings. But it was so strange;  I thought it be a woman's form...

I sort of laugh out loud at me mistaken apparition when she steps out from behind the largest boulder. I be transfixed and fall to me knees:  Her gown be ethereal white to match her snowy white hair and diaphonous skin. A necklace of coral circled thrice her throat. Tucked into the folds of her skirts are limbs of starfish and wings of seagulls.  I recognize her instantly from the song of the beautiful sea maiden in the Captain's journal.  She be the Black Swan Mother. In death, it was said, she keeps vigil over her resurrected child, Morgan La Fey. Beyond the rocks lie her Lunar Boat, the Polaris.

"Captain, I come to ye on behalf of the Black Swan Family.  We be counting on yer efforts.  You will be washed away:  let it rain.  Your current task seems impossible and futile. A task much too difficult and much too hard and hopeless, with little fruit to bear for your troubles. Do not despair, for you will recieve great bounty.  But there is a weight you must release.  Let your anger sink down with the anchor. Do not ever give up hope for what has been bestowed upon ye by a power greater than ye can imagine.  Your losses are with me now and I will love them deeply to free you from the heaviness of your suffering.  What you cannot forget will prevent your progress and success.  Let me take them by the hand, Captain, let them go, worry yourself no longer.  You are free.  Steady as she goes Captain.  This will be your lifeboat," and she hands me a small package.  

"He was her only child, her baby boy.

She was his second daughter, his pride and joy.

The women gather crying

tears that fill a million oceans.

It doesn't matter where you're living. 

The women gather crying tears that fill a million oceans.

The women gather crying tears that fill a million oceans.

The women gather crying tears that fill a million oceans.

The women gather crying tears that fill a million oceans.

The women gather crying tears that fill a million oceans.

It doesn't matter

It doesn't matter

It doesn't matter where you're living..."

Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack

(the above words are loosely quoted from an unknown songstress from an unknown song.  This post is created in honor of me mother, the late, great, and most dearly loved and deeply missed, Jane Ann Brandley, AKA Josephine Juana La Loca who still encourages me with her gentleness and belief in me art and words.  And I pass on to her, on this day, me three greatest wounds that so impede pilgrim's progress, so that I may move forward in me pursuits and commit to me own destiny voyage! I encourage ye to do the same...)

Lady of the Island

Captain's Log:  Thursday, March 18, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Sixty Eight days until we reach Key West.

Land Ho!  As we swing the lead and approach draft, me shouts the orders from the Quarterdeck:  "Heave to mateys, and drop anchor!"  "Aye, Aye Cap'n!"   A gunner is left in charge of the White Spirit whilst me first Mate, Alvida Viper, and I head ashore with ten sailors in the long boats. Hank the Cabin boy is sent to climb the ratlines to the crow's nest equipped with spyglass to keep a lookout for possible ambush. We know not exactly where we are nor quite what awaits us, but we must row ashore to look for provisions while the crew continues repairs.  The White Spirit of the Castaneda is battered but safe. 

"Put your back into it, Mates!"  I believe this to be the Uncharted Isle where Captain La Fey and LaGrange acquired the Chest from the detritus washed ashore from countless wrecks. I hope to find clues to the origins of the Ghost Book.  From the Long Boat, me eyes be deceiving me: thar be a woman on the beach of this beckoning to us. No sailor, man nor woman, makes mention. I no longer concern meself with madness. I accept all visions as we row towards My Lady of the Island.

Your Servant, Captain  Billy Jack Wordsworth

A Course of Action

Captain's Log:  Wednesday, March 17, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Sixty Nine days until we reach Key West.

And like the gale that blew the Black Swan off her course, as quickly as it came upon us, the storm has surrendered its strength, yet righted our destiny. I did make a pact with the Pirate Princess: to follow her orders true. She be right in her assessments, thankfully, or I be at the bottom of Davy Jones' locker, no more to write in a journal or search for me dreams.   We shall sail to Key West, or wherever this journey may lead us, as Captains in partnership. 

The skies are again clear.  With me eyeglass, I spy the uncharted isle we be searching for.  We sail there now, where the wind be taking us.  It be a treacherous three days battling the sea; I swear I heard the song of the sirens wooing us to our imminent death!  The ship be in need of repairs to the rigging and sails - minor, to be sure, compared to what we have been through- and while that can be tended to asea, we have lost all our provisions.  The logbook of Captain La fey tells of an isle of plenty.  We hope to find fruits and game until we reach a port to restock the galley.  We could use a feast in honor of St. Patrick!  While I write, the crew is fast at work: on deck are the carved bullock's horns with tallow that hold the sail and roping needles...

Captain Morgan La Fey's Journal tells us to trust the foul winds: that this be our true course. We be destined for something and even the sea is directing us.  We go where we must.  Falcon LaGrange, in the mystical Waggoner has charted this island.  Me first mate has yet to find our bearings, but be busy now studying the land forms in the charts. We make way for this unknown island.

-Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack Wordsworth

Watershed: The Ocean's Tears

Captain's Log:  Tuesday, March 16, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Sixty Nine days until we reach Key West.

Tis a mythic storm!  Me first mate tells me the White Spirit be off course. Damnation! This be the same gale that took the Black Swan off her original navigation to set her course with destiny straight.

Hanging desperately to the rail Alvida Viper approaches,  "We be off course Captain!" she shouts through the wind. "Aye." "The sea be not deep enough Captain!" she yells over the roar of crashing waves. "Are ye mad???  We'll drown in this ocean!" "Captain! We'll miss our connection if we don't find deeper waters. At this rate, we'll never reach the sands of the uncharted isle!" She be right, I agree, but I taint never sailed a ship of destiny and in all me years of sailing, feel ill equipped to navigate this peculiar journey.  What am I to do?

Through the stinging rain Alvida begins to cry. "Every woman has lost a child," she sings out, like the song of the sirens, while she cries more.  "My baby died inside, ne'er a mother shall I be!"  Her weeping begins to fill the ocean.  The pirate girls nine have come above deck. With ropes, they be lashed to the mast.  Hand in hand they cry a million tears for all the babies that can never be born and in all the tears of the ocean, it be just water. The White Spirit of the Casteneda begins to rise. I be at the helm in a violent struggle with the waves.  And still she rises. The grief of the women creates a profound depth I cannot fathom, but embrace nonetheless as the White Spirit most assuredly rights herself and prepares for her meeting with the fates.

Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack Wordsworth

Lost and Found at Sea

Captain's Log:  Monday, March 15, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy days until we reach Key West.

The storm caught us and blew us off course, or rather, blew us right on course.  Our journey parallels the Black Swan's exactly!  Poseidon himself has intervened and though this gale be fierce, we persevere with all our might, sails furled tightfisted, as we be tossed about this way and that like a toy boat on an endless ocean yet knowing that where we be headed be our fateful direction. 

Alvida the Pirate Princess be mystically connected to her ancestorship of the Ancient Mariner. Me own parents be dead now, for almost as long ago as the Black Swan began her journey into the unknown sea. An orphan I am.  No family- no mate, no child;  Utterly alone and lacking connection.

What are me anscestors singing to me?  What be the vision I have been crying out for?  If they have contacted me,  I did not listen and would not hear:  Too outside meself to see what is and what always has been.  I have this feeling rising, that like Alvida, somewhere in me lives a warrior.  Lo! And an artisan, storyteller, and weaver of words and pictures. The ancient ones have spoken to me in signs and symbols I pretend not to recognize.  Me father, I know, has been talking to me- pounding on the door of me heart and soul for some time though I answer not.

I be not lost, though I act like it. As if I do not know me way.  As if I be blind to me vision.  As if someone else far away held the key. No key be necessary, eh?  Me own life be the vision quest for this sailor man. Not a solitary existence on a mountain top. I have the power of me bloodline, and it be time I start consulting it.

Me Brethren be counting on me to find the way.

Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack Wordsworth

The Pirate's Code

Captain's Log:  Sunday, March 14, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy one days until we reach Key West.

I had hoped to keep me mutinous secret until we reached the colonies, but with the introduction of the Pirate Princess, the Villainess Alvida Viper, it be in the open now. Not a soul has slept since yesterday as the Viper, having proved her legacy, and I unfurled the long story of the Lost Key. Thankfully and incredibly, after many hours, the crew be agreed: as per the Pirate's code, which be now in affect ( with the Captain having final say!), each hand had an equal vote. Our fate be decided in unison: The White Spirit of the Casteneda has been pirated. We now sail on our own accord. Strike the Merchant Flag and Queen's Emblem! Hoist the Jolly Roger!

Interspersed between revelations of the nature of this journey and the history of Falcon LaGrange the Barbary Corsair and the illustrious Pirate Captain La Fey, I learned the story of The Pirate Girls Nine and they leader, the Viper;   dressing like men, they were able to slip into the background of society undetected, free to travel, unbound by convention. Aye, taint no life for a woman...to be honest, taint no life for a man, neither. A sailor's days be numbered from the start: it be not a good or safe life. But that be not why a sailor sails.  Man or woman, the call of the sea be great. And instead of a brethren, they call they selves a coven: a sisterhood of magikal arts (whether for good or evil, I cannot say. But a coven brings to mind sorcery, black magic and creates thoughts of fear and dread, which the sisterhood say suits them!)  Instead of a Captain's Logbook, the journal of they journey be named a Grimoire; a book of spells and incantations.  I sense the Falcon, with those alchemical potions, mixtures and elixors would be quite familiar with such a tome.

I be needin' to finish me notes later;  an icy ill wind been picking up. It seems to have come upon us from no where.   The once calm blue sky has become black all around.  The Quartermaster barks, "All hands rig her down!"  From the looks of it, I pray we make her in time. All unnecessary rigging must be rigged down in prolonged bad weather.  The huge topsails be extremely hard to handle during storms and they be needing to be reefed. All crew members are in action on deck amongst shouting, pulling lines and furling canvas.  I can hear the clanging of the rigging as we tighten her up and batten her down.  This be no ordinary Gale...

Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack Wordsworth

The Viper

Captain's Log:  Saturday, March 13, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy two days until we reach Key West.

I be studyin' the cryptic chart when thar becomes a ruckus on deck so loud I can no longer concentrate on the strange symbols. Damnation! How am I to manage this high strung crew? The shouts raise to a din like screams across the ocean. I hesitate not and rush topside.

Every man be on deck. I try to push me way through to the shouts and accusations, "Gangway!" I make out "Keelhaul!" and I take me steps faster. In the opening,  Stephen Woodbury, the Moor, asserts angrily that it be bad luck, while across from him one of the newly hired hands be in a ready stance, expecting a fight.  "Throw her overboard!  Thar be no room asea for a woman- tis a bad omen, I tell ye!"   I be utterly confused!  "Avast!!!" I manage to shout, with little affect and the Moor moves forward to grab her.  As he reaches for her arm, a hand so swift brandishes a dagger and cunningly, skillfully, artfully, cuts through the air with such calculated force that the sailor- and the rest of the crew- meself included, jumps back!  She blasts:  "The first one of ye bastards that lay a hand on me I'll gut you like a fish and feed your cock to the gulls! Make your move motherf*#ker!"  Rashly, three other sailors surge towards her from behind. In a flash thar be another dagger when she thrusts both hands through the air to masterfully keep her attackers at bay. At this, what seems like the entire crew begins to move forward as a mob. She turns to face them defiantly,  blades shining in both hands from a defensive  position that shows no sign of fear. I taint never seen such fighting power in a man, let alone in one so young! How be this warrior a woman?  As the mob steps closer, she bounds nimbly like a cat to the ratlines. At this, nine of the young recently hired "pirate" crew bursts in front of the mob brandishing cutlasses, pistols, and a blunderbuss, which one lad tosses to this warrior who has all ready sheathed one dagger and easily catches this weapon of destruction. The mob, in shock at this turn, freezes.  The nine lads, though small, clearly mean to protect this warrior to the death.  The mob steps back.

Not knowing what to do in this strange prediacament, afearing a massacre, from the sidelines I fire me pistol into the air and storm across the deck placing meself between the warring factions of me crew.  Leaping from the rail,  this uncanny warrioress crosses the deck and confidently walks the line of tension between merchant sailors and pirates 9 to stand before me. "Order your crew to stand down Captain, or evey man on deck is a dead one.  We take no prisoners!"

Aye, no quarter.  Well that's what I hired these young ruffians for. Uneasiness mounts as we stand before one and other. To me surprise, after an immeasurable silence, she exclaims, "Captain William Jackson Wordsworth, I am here to help ye find the key.  We band together now as one to become the Brethren of the White Spirit of the Castaneda, or continue in peril."  This warrioress' voice be a memory.  It cannot be! Impossible! Be this the bride of me employer??  "Captain, I am the Pirate Princess, the Villainess Alvida Viper, and I be at your service on this destiny voyage."  She removes her tricorn hat in an exagerated bow where from black curls tumble down.  "I be the great great great great great granddaughter of the Ancient Mariner, and the girlchild of Falcon LaGrange.

My name has been called:  your Servant, Captain Billy Jack Wordsworth

Whispers of the Sea

Captain's Log:  Friday, March 12, in the year two thousand and ten, nearly two years since the Black Swan began her journey to find the Lost Key. 

Seventy three days until we reach Key West.

The words and images from the journal of Captain La Fey, the search for the lost key, and now, the search for the lost Captain, spin round and round me head.  These stories be not mine, though I know them as well as me own mythology. Am I  living some one else's life, or be this me own? Most of the day I be lost in me imagination. Me sleep be disturbed and uneasy as all these same visions continue to haunt me mind. Russian Nautical Charts, keys, letters with blood red wax seals,  jewels, goblets, Greek coins, finery, Iracema, the lost child, the Selkie, the Shapeshifter... I absorb all this as if I saw it and lived it. I feel as though I had.  But, I suppose, I haven't.

Grasping me skeleton Key against me chest, I feel increasingly desperate and unsure of me foothold in reality. I am completely alone in me pursuit. I can not confide any of this to anyone- at least not yet- and even if I do...what can I expect? Who will believe me and be willing to go the distance? All this be so farfetched.  Be this a graveyard of hopes and dreams?

I must not get lost in me fear.  We'll sail until we find them: me promise to a dying boy. O Captain Morgan La Fey, where did you hide your treasure?  Is it buried? does it even exist? Am I a ghost chaser?

Just then, on the wind, a soft voice carried its sound to me ear: you are sitting on your treasure.

-Your Servant, the UnNamed Captain

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