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Searle's Sack of St. Augustine, FL, March 2010
(Photo: Mission)
Chapter 3rd - Giving the details of Saturday morning and
why it was strange, Shay in the shower, breakfast, yarns of yarns, a
second meeting (maybe if you're a pirate you should have to wear a suit), tales
of a fellow surgeon, morning pike training and some info about Peaches.
Saturday morning started at 5am. That didn't work out well, so I tried starting it again around 7. That was worse. Things were slightly better at 9am, so I blearily decided to rise. Stumbling around the room, I thought I heard a knock at the door. Was it my door? Was I imagining it? Was I still asleep and dreaming? I heard it again, which made me think that room service was a little too eager for Saturday morning. Then I heard someone call out "Mission? Are you OK?" Oh, hell. They think I died or something. It's only 9am! Besides, I drank Fountain of Youth water!
Left:Such bright lights? I think I'll need my glasses this morning...
(Photo: DB Couper)
Standing there in my T-shirt and underpants, I weaved through the detritus of
last night's scattered outfit with the forlorn hope of finding some form of
pants to put on quickly. Alas, period garb is anything but quick to put on so
I finally decided, "Stuff it!" and just opened the door. There was Shay of the
Keys in her period shirt and sandals. I think she had sandals on. Presumably
she was also in her underwear but her shirt was longer than mine.
Turns out I had left my very cool Indiana Jones-esque traveling leather document pouch in Diosa's car last night and the gang had discovered it contained a bottle of insulin. So some of them thought I might be in trouble. At least that's what Shay told me. Then she said that she was hoping to use the shower this morning, which I gladly offered to her. She noted that she wasn't usually this forward in asking for a favor, but she really liked daily contact with clean water. Seeing no problem with this, especially since it delayed my entry into the world of the living, I surrendered the shower enjoyed a little in-room coffee. OK, 'enjoyed' may be stretching it – either because of my logy-ness or the fact that in-room coffee isn't usually much to write home about.
Since Shay is a performer, she naturally sings in the shower (at least one or more from My Fair Lady, as I recall. My Fair Lady is a fine musical as it contains Henry Higgins, a role model for one and all. But I digress) Shay later explained that she restricted herself to three selections because she would otherwise sing 40 or 50 of them and use all the hot water at the Ramada. Actually, she has a lovely voice and my self-starter was failing to self-start, so another couple dozen tunes would have been fine with me. Finally it could no longer be put off, so I went in and showered. Meanwhile, she applied makeup, with the intention of creating the exact opposite effect that applying make-up normally entails. She told me a long story about swallowing one of her fake black teeth during a stage performance which I promised not to tell here. So you'll get nothing from me about that.
(Photo: Mission)
Then we were off to the Fountain of Youth in the zippy Z3. I needed the
Fountain of Youth. In fact, I probably would have done well to go and bathe
in the thing this morning. I was so logy I didn't even want my usual remedy
of scrambled eggs.
Once at camp I discovered that they had boiled eggs, which can fill in for scrambled eggs. Seeing the food and getting myself moving appeared to be the tonic for last night. There was a variety of other wonderful foodstuffs which I willingly sampled once I started.
There was quite a lot of pent up concern about me – I guess I was in rare form the night before. Most of this concern revolved around the Case of the Left Insulin, which continued for a bit, despite my arrival in a safe (if not completely sound) condition to the camp.
(Photo: Ivan Henry)
The scope of breakfast at the encampment as seen from the fire pit. Things were cooking there all day. |
(Photo: DB Couper)
Red Jessi, Kate and Salty were at the picnic tables straightening out yarn.
I guess it gets all twisted or something when it comes from Japan or England
or Guam or whereever they told me it comes from. I innocently asked why they
didn't just purchase yarn from JoAnne Fabric. One of the cognoscenti snorted
derisively and informed me that most of that was acrylic and thus not period,
not to mention that it melted when it got to near an open flame. (What can I
say? I don't know from yarn.) Since they were all within the vicinity of an
open flame, I guess it was fortunate that it was not acrylic. Straightening
melting yarn sounded a bit like something from one of the lesser Dante circles
to me.
Above right: Michael watches while Salty and Red Jessi straighten foreign yarn. Like Michael, I can watch other people work with great fascination. Below left: Another pic and Salty and RJ; center and right: Kate Souris and RJ. You may wonder why there are so many pictures of this. First, because I found so many and second, because they're my favorite shots of RJ.
 (Photo: Mission) |
(Photo: DB Couper)
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 (Photo: Mission) |
(Photo: Mission)
(Photo: DB Couper)
The Saturday Battle Planning Meeting closely followed breakfast. (The
Friday Battle Planning Meeting merely being a rehearsal.) This battle
planning meeting included a flip chart that Jeff informed us was "not
drawn to scale." The essence of the battle as I understood it was that
we were going to roam through the streets with the tourists all around
us, stopping at selected places where we could secure the area and fire
black powder weapons. Then the Spanish would retreat and the English
would chase them. There was actually quite a bit more to it than that
according to the Battle Plan script (more on that in a bit), but you
get the basic idea. At the end, we would attack a wooden replica of
the fort and fire lots and lots of rounds of black powder.
 (Photo: Mission) |
 (Photo: Mission) |
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And now for a positively dizzying array of photos of the meeting. Clockwise from top left: Sergeant Jeff explaining the Battle Plan as Conrad holds the map; Shay and other pirates listening; Sergeant Jeff explaining; pirates listening; Jeff explaining; pirates listening and, finally, not to be left out, Jeff explaining.
 (Photo: Mission) |
(Photo: Michelle Murillo)
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 (Photo: Mission) |
I asked if I could do a bit of doctoring and Jeff said we could do it on the last battlefield. He had even picked out a victim for me – Conrad. At the pre-arranged time or signal or something, Conrad would go down in a heap and I would doctor him. Doctoring during a battle for me is wrapping a bandage garishly splashed with fake blood around an arm, leg or head. Nothing fancy, but it gives me a chance to shine.
Somewhere about this time a lot of food started getting put on the fire and preparation noises were coming from the food tent. So the audience began to wonder how close it was to lunch. (Not very close.) Sensing that all that chatter about Conrad going down in a heap had lost the audience, Sergeant Jeff said, "We shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender! At least not before 6pm." Conrad looked at the diagram to see if he could find the beaches, fields and hills while Sergeant Jeff gave us the 'V for victory' sign. Then we were dismissed, our heads full of Battle Plan.
(Photo: Mission)
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(Photo: DB Couper)
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In fact, food preparation was a major feature of the weekend. Led by Jeff's wife Melissa (below left: Pouring a river of meat into a pan in preparation for open fire cooking), many people volunteered to be involved in the cooking duties. As I mentioned previously, this event had some of the best food of any pirate event I can recall. While the majority of the men were meeting, the women were cooking. (Below center.) I'm sure they were all thinking to themselves, "Typical..." I believe it was Dave Barry who suggested that men created meetings to make them look like they were busy so that they could avoid doing actual work. Among the people preparing lunch was Jill-Handed Red (below right.)
(Photo: DB Couper)
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(Photo: DB Couper)
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 (Photo: Mission) |
(Photo: Mission)
There happened to be another surgeon at the event, Roy-Keith Smith,
who had actually been a field surgeon in one of the armed forces. When
I brought up the idea of doing a bit of field doctoring at the meeting,
he said he also wanted an opportunity to treat people. He had even
brought fake blood specifically for the job. He was assigned to be the
Spanish surgeon and I the English one. After the meeting was over, he
took me over to his campsite and showed me the surgical instruments he
had collected thus far. Roy-Keith said that he had just started out a year
ago and I assured him that all he had to do was spend all sorts of time
and money on eBay and he would soon be a full-blown period surgeon; even
if a broke one. I was actually a little sorry that I didn't have all my
stuff to show off to him since he actually knew more about medicine than
I probably did and could have probably explained my instruments to me.
Above right: Roy-Keith and his surgical gear.
(Photo: Mission)
I had also learned that they were going to be training people to be
pikesmen for the walking battle today. Regular Surgeon's Journal readers
will know that I can't resist taking advantage of any stray opportunity
to learn some bizarre battle skill when it presents itself. So I asked
if I could be a barber-surgeon-pikesman. They needed bodies, so I was
in. Unfortunately, I didn't have a watch, so I wandered off and nearly
missed the first training. Because I was so late for the training, I wound
up in the back of the rank on the far right side. This turned out to be
the perfect spot for me because I was told to look to the person in front
of me and to the left of me to determine my position and march. It was
also useful because I could look at them for hints about what to do when
I was given commands. Cabin boy Peaches was on my left and someone I didn't
know was in front of me. They both seemed to know what they were doing, so
I figured I was safe for this drill.
(Photo: Mission)
Now, if you'll permit me (as if you have a choice), I'm going to wander
off-topic for a bit and gather up a bunch of stray thoughts about Peaches.
In the pike line her son William was to the left of her, which was funny
because it meant she had to look to him for direction. In fact, Peaches
seemed to me to be pretty feisty and independent. I doubt she looks to
anyone for direction for very long. She's about five foot nothing and has
a cool, growly sort of low voice. She took the whole pike drill thing quite
seriously and seemed much more adept at learning the skills than me. I had
the vague feeling that if she was suddenly zapped through time and space
Quantum Leap style and found herself in a World War I English drill
or a 12th Century Mongol Hoard Drill or even a Duck Dodgers in the 24th
and half Century Corps drill, she would just say, "Right, now I have to
learn this!" and do it. She told me she was a seed saver, which meant that
she keeps and grows unadulterated seeds to protect them from the likes of
the Monsanto Corporation. She splits her time between South Dakota and
Florida. She insisted I give her my cell phone number, although I advised
her never to call me. (I'm weird like that.) A very interesting individual,
cabin boy Peaches.
Right: Peaches as the Cabin-boy with No Name, but a keen serape...
(Photo: Michelle Murillo)
Now, about the pike drilling. (Remember that that's what we're talking about.
Go back and check if you don't believe me.) Pike maneuvering has several commands
associated with it. As I recall, there were five commands. Like Jeopardy!,
they are phrased in a specific form: "Verb your pike!" (Including the exclamation
point.) Most of them sounded like nonsense phrases, which must have been designed
to keep all the pike commands a secret from the enemy while, at the same time,
making it hard to remember what the hell they meant. Take, "Port your pike!" I
mean to say...what?! What happens if I starboard my pike? Or larboard my pike? It
all turned out to be irrelevant for the most part because, as I suggested
previously, the real command was "Look around and see what the other folks are
doing and copy them."
(Photo: Mission)
(Photo: DB Couper)
Our leader was Alex, who communicated to us by yelling everything at the top of his voice.
I worried for his voice. My haunted house experience suggests that while yelling loudly
sounds really impressive at the time you're doing it, you usually regret doing it for a
sustained period the next day. To make it even worse, he occasionally yelled a rhyme that
we repeated. Let me see if I can remember it... "For God and the cause! For the church and
the laws! For a crinoline gauze! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" Actually, that part was sort of
fun, especially during the battle.
Left: Alex (reaching) showing Wes something about piking. Right: Alex in a more serious moment (and armor).
To make piking even more complicated, there was a marching portion to it.
This was not entirely unfamiliar to me; it reminded me of my daze in a
military boarding school. (Of course I was in a military boarding
school!) Now you must understand that I am mildly uncoordinated. Not enough
to qualify for government assistance or anything, I'm just not Mr. Marcher.
However, when I was enrolled in the military boarding school, I had to learn
to march – it's in the recruitment papers or something. For some reason -
possibly a massive filing SNAFU in the main office – the powers-that-be decided
I should hold a post in our 5th grade class's military squad. So they made me...
you're never going to believe this...the cadence officer. Yes, I was to be
in charge of keeping everyone coordinated by calling out the cadence! I think I
held that post for all of two weeks before they demoted me to tiger bulk rate.
At least that small experience made it possible for me to keep up with the other
pike marchers. (We were so out of step that it didn't really matter much.)
Right: Me posing as a military boarding school student. (I always sort of liked the hat and shoulder braids.)
Some extended photo notes from the field, starting from the left. 1. One thing I learned...the Patrick Hand Original Planter's Hat was not conducive to being a pikesman. I actually lost my feathers in one of the dozen or so times I knocked my hat around while maneuvering. 2. Piking is a serious sport of multiple moves such as "Palm your pike!" We're all supposed to move our pikes in unison and hold them in the same way and at the same angle, but this is not something that happened in my group, except by accident. 3. If a pikesman sees his shadow then there will be one more hour of practice in the afternoon as Michael Browning unfortunately discovers here. 4. Coming this fall, Peaches and Son, the hilarious adventures of a Cabin-boy and son working their way through the ranks of Captain Searle's pike corps.
 (Photo: Mission) |
 (Photo: Callenish) |
 (Photo: Mission) |
 (Photo: Mission) |