Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this or subsequent chapters. Obviously.
Summary: Fragments of a diary belonging to James Norrington. Editors notes inserted in brackets.
Beginnings of a Diary
September 15, 1718
Life aboard the Black Pearl is always precarious, especially for her two captains. Usually, Captain Barbossa is in charge of the starboard side, while Captain Sparrow orders about the crew along the larboard. This arrangement changes only when one manages to seize control for a time… but only for a time. Both captains are always clever enough to make it back somehow, and then they go on as though nothing has changed.
"Swab down my half of the ship, ya scurvy dogs!" Barbossa will growl when Sparrow is below decks.
The crew only shifts over until the Captains switch places.
"Did I not tell you I wanted my ship ship-shape and shining?" An accusing finger points at the half-swabbed left side of the vessel.
How the others endure it, I haven't the faintest notion. Perhaps they're simply getting old and dependent on that Fountain of Youth water the captains got their filthy hands on. Though I've drunk it myself, that's not why I signed on (for the second time around). I simply have no where else to go.
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"Well, bless my bottles of rum! If it isn't Admiral James Norrington alive and well," grinned Captain Sparrow when he stumbled across me in Tortuga (for the second time around).
"Not Admiral anymore, I'm afraid. I was only appointed under Lord Beckett. Since his death and embarrassing defeat, everyone involved with him has been dismissed and disgraced."
"Bad luck, mate. Tell you what: buy me a rum, and I may just give you a job."
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And that's how it happened that I am once again crewing the Black Pearl as a filthy, rotten, scoundrel of a pirate.
When I first returned to the Pearl, I recognized many of my fellows; they, for their part, were all convinced of my demise. This was probably due to Miss Elizabeth Swann's inability to distinguish a dead man from a living one.
Ah, well, one must make allowances for such a delicate creature so unused to death. After all, I did receive a fairly nasty sword wound.
Must dash. Captains calling all hands to deck.
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September 16
Where did I leave off yesterday? Ah, yes. The captains.
Well, we all scurried up as we were told. Of course, we all stayed pretty much in the middle of the vessel so as not to show preference for one captain over the other (by far the most ridiculous experience I have ever taken part in). For once, they had decided to let the crew in on their plans without prompting.
"We're goin' to the Indian Ocean," Sparrow announced triumphantly. The crew murmured, and Barbossa explained,
"Our age is dyin' – the golden age of piracy is comin' to nothing."
"So we've decided to high-tail it somewhere where the going's good…"
"…and where we won't have as many Navy ships breathin' on our tail."
Barbossa looked pointedly at me as he said "Navy," but most of the crew pretended not to notice. They don't really hold anything against me; I work as hard as any man to earn my keep.
That was the extent of the message, in any case, and that said, they sent us all back to work.
I admit: I'm almost looking forward to this. The Indian Ocean… It's bound to be exciting.
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January 22, 1719
The Indian Ocean is dull to no end. As such, I have nothing more to write today or any day in the perceivable future.
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February 5
Cpt. Sparrow inexplicably "forgotten" on shore.
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February 17
Today Cpt. Sparrow returned… with a new tattoo on the bottom of his foot. Now Cpt. Barbossa not to be found. Crew says sharks may have got him.
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February 28
Return of Barbossa… with extraordinarily large hat.