Sailing For The Sunrise
"That's not much, matey," the filthy old rumrunner said to me as I offered him all the currency I had--the golden rings from my ears, the ones a pirate wears to pay for his funeral when he falls in battle. "Especially considering how much of my wares you've managed to pour down your gullet in three days. But I'm a fair man. Throw in the gun and we've got ourselves a deal."
No. I would have sold him my body to get off that horrible little island, or a year of my servitude, I would have sold him my legs if that's what was necessary. But the pistol was mine. From the instant I'd woken up in my cabin with the bastard Barbossa's sword at my throat and the crew laughing all around me, I'd known exactly what I was going to do with my pistol and its single mercy bullet. It wasn't a very merciful plan, but there's few crimes worse than mutiny. And I would have my revenge, no matter how long it took. I wasn't going to sell my revenge for a few leagues' passage on a leaky old skiff.
"Sorry, mate," I said. "The pistol's not for sale. If you don't fancy my offer, I suppose I'll just die here. After tossing the gold far out to sea, of course."
The greasy-haired old man scowled at me and snatched the earrings out of my hand. "I can take you as far as Tortuga."
"That's just where I want to go. Much obliged," I said with a little bow.
Not long after, I was on the dock in Tortuga, my earrings back in my ears and twenty shillings in my pockets. Along with a nice flask of rum. Really, if the man had the ballocks to be rude to me when I was in a desperate situation and to fall asleep on the way to Tortuga... well, I could hardly be blamed. Besides, I needed it much more than he did. He wouldn't starve, he still had his boat and nearly all his cargo. I had no such security.
But I had Tortuga! The streets of Tortuga were mother to me, and the ruckus of her taverns was father, and the folk brother and sister and wife. Tortuga, whose lovely stench I would lick from the very crevices of her cobblestones if I dared. Tortuga, onto whose shores a prim and proper English cartographer named John Sparrow had staggered one night five years before, and died. Tortuga, who had taken the dust from that corpse's bones and breathed life into them, my life, the life of a pirate.
Well it was night again, and I was staggering a little, and in a way I was dying again. Fortunately, rebirth in Tortuga came easy, cheap, and frequently included with the price of a room. I walked to the Squirrel and Duck, my old hideaway, sat myself down in a relatively quiet corner of the room, slapped down my money, and had a hot meal and a good drink in short order. The usual wild rumpus was going on, but I tried to ignore it and just duck anything that happened to fly in my direction.
A plate of fish and potatoes and two beers later, I slumped down onto the table, not sure if I was exhausted, sad, or furious. Here I was, thirty years old, a captain, and I had no ship, a mutinous crew, nearly no money, and nowhere to go. Except upstairs. After a bit of frantic searching and stepping over people in various states of sottenness, I found the innkeeper. "Sam! Sam, I'm staying for the night. You have a room empty?"
Sam was a big man who always managed to look relaxed even when his inn was being pulled down around him, which it was most nights. "Aye. You'll be wanting to see Lucy?"
"No, mate, not tonight. Someone I don't know."
"Aye." Sam turned and picked a girl out of the crowd with his eye. "Selena! Accompany this gentleman to his room."
She was short and pale, with long black hair, and she was far too young for her sort of work. But she had a fetching little smile on her face as she pocketed my payment, took my arm, and led me upstairs. The rest of her was rather fetching as well.
She even kissed me on the mouth. She'd really have to learn not to do that.
Afterwards, I was left alone, naked, and in only slightly better spirits. It had been fine while it lasted, but now the memory of her touch was fading so quickly I could hardly remember if anything had happened. Sitting on the bed, I had a few swigs of rum and my mind started working, fast. I couldn't stay in Tortuga. If Barbossa or any of my--his--men found out I was alive, they'd remedy that situation. So I had to move, and be gone within a matter of days, and not come back for years. Best to get out of the Caribbean altogether. Not many pirate crews sailed for Europe, so I'd have to stow away. Or...
Suddenly a plan sprung, fully-formed, from my mind. It was at once beautifully simple and unbelievably audacious. It would either kill me, or deliver me to England in very short order and with no effort. Or both.
In the morning, I immediately set about putting my plan in action. With what remained of my funds, I bought myself passage on a ship carrying a cargo of cotton and wool to Port Royal. Two days later, in Port Royal, I went directly from the dock to the Navy fort and presented myself to the guards with my hands up. "I am Captain Jack Sparrow," I said, "and I wish to surrender."
They didn't move. "Eh?" one of the soldiers asked. "Who are you and what are you talking about?" He must have been new.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," I repeated, much more slowly so there'd be no misunderstanding. "The most feared pirate captain in the Caribbean, terror of the Spanish Main? And I'm surrendering to you."
"Oh. Well, right then. Go on and do that."
"I am." Lord, was I going to have to beat him over the head, break into the armory, clap myself in irons, and throw myself in the gaol? "If I threatened you," I said, drawing my pistol, "would that speed things up?"
The guard nearly jumped back. He really was too young for his post. Boy didn't even have a full beard coming in yet. "That would do it, yes. You'll be putting that away, now, right?"
"Just arrest me," I growled, holstering the gun. Finally, finally, he sent his partner for a magistrate, who arrested me in short order. However, another problem arose.
"Jack Sparrow," he intoned once he had me in irons, "you have been accused of... threatening a soldier of the Royal Navy. For that, you face the sentence of ten lashes in the public square and a fine of ten shillings. Do you have anything to say in your defence?"
God's blood. This was no good. I was a pirate captain! Didn't my crimes merit deportation to England to stand trial? They did it for Captain Kidd. Brought him across and hanged him, and for hardly half the crimes I'd committed in my day.
"I'm a pirate!" I exclaimed. "My crimes are much more awesome than that. I pillage, I plunder, I rifle and loot. I extort, I pilfer, I filch and sack. I maraud and embezzle and even hijack! Don't I deserve more than a few lashes and a fine?"
The magistrate turned to one of the soldiers, looking concerned. "Fetch the Commodore," he said. "Port Royal doesn't have a sanitarium. If he's mad, there's nothing to do but ship him out to London." It wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, but it would do.
And that's how I finally managed to get myself in the brig of a ship of the Royal Navy, clapped in irons, and heading for London. I wished I'd known earlier how difficult it would be.