A/N: Hey, guys! A little forewarning, I took some liberties with Jonesy's history in this one (Thanks, Laramie Station, for helping me out with that bit of backstory!), but to the best of my recollection, the series doesn't tell us much about Jonesy's life before the series begins, so I didn't have much to go on. In any case, I hope you guys enjoy this story! And yes, it's a work in progress. Read it as I go, wait until it's finished, it makes no difference to me, but if I don't start posting, I'll never get anywhere.
Typical warnings: a little violence, nothing much.
Disclaimer: I don't own Laramie, unfortunately.
Chapter One - Prologue
San Francisco, 1833
Heavy and damp as the sea itself, gray mist settled around the clipper Sundance like a blanket. Rhythmic creaks and groans kept time with the soft, wet lapping of water against the hull of the ship as it waited vacant in the harbor.
A mere twenty-seven sailors had manned the Sundance on her last voyage; an uncommonly small number for a cargo so large. Captain Murphy had every faith in his men, having hand-picked a batch of good workers that would stop at nothing to keep their vessel on schedule. Successful in their endeavor, the crew had disembarked on the Barbary Coast, heading for San Francisco's finest waterfront tavern.
One round of lukewarm, watered-down beers led to another, followed by countless shots of whiskey. Murphy's crew was a rowdy bunch by nature, even without the influence of hard liquor; cheap whiskey only worsened their riotous presence. The din of boisterous, intoxicated laughter filled every corner of the saloon, and had long since caused most other waterfront wanderers to seek another establishment to satisfy their thirst. Only the crew of the Sundance remained, rallying 'round their captain and engaging the tavern's girls in mumbling, nonsensical conversation.
Downing his fourth beer – or was it his fifth? – Murphy wiped his mouth with the frayed hem of his sleeve and wrapped a strong, heavy arm around his mate beside him.
For his first mate, Murphy had chosen Jones; a young man out of Wyoming looking for a change in scenery and good, honest pay. Jonesy, as the captain affectionately dubbed the lad, was hard-working and loyal, pulling his weight just like one of the many seasoned men. Quickly recognized as the musically inclined one of the bunch, Jonesy was often tasked with entertaining the crew through song. He shared cattleman's campfire songs with the seasoned seamen, and easily picked up their shanties, playing jaunty and haunting melodies alike with the captain's old accordion, which Murphy had never gotten around to learning to play.
"Play us a tune, Jones," Murphy commanded jovially, sweeping his arm toward the battered old piano. "Somethin' lively, now."
"Aye, Captain," the younger man replied with a wink, settling down on the cracked, weathered stool. His fingers danced over the yellowed keys, starting up a fast-paced shanty. "T'was a cold an' dreary mornin' in December..."
Immediately recognizing the shanty, the crew raised their glasses and chorused, "December!"
"An' all of me money, it was spent," Jonesy sang, his fingers persistently coaxing an off-key melody from the poor old instrument.
"It was spent!"
"Where it went to, Lord, I can't remember-"
"Remember!"
"So down to the shippin' office went!"
"Went, went!"
Captain Murphy downed another shot of whiskey, let out a half-inebriated shout, and bellowed the chorus with fervor. "Paddy lay back!"
Jonesy joined in the echo, pounding the yellowed keys, "Paddy lay back!"
Take in yer slack-"
"Take in yer slack!" the rowdy bunch of sailors shouted, crooning the rest of the verse all together, "Take a turn around the capstan - heave a pawl - heave a pawl! About ship, stations, boys, be handy - raise tacks, sheets, an' mainsail haul!"
Two or three men had managed to coax a few saloon girls to participate in erratic, uncoordinated dancing, spinning them 'round and 'round to the jaunty rhythm of Jonesy's playing.
"Now some of our fellers had been drinkin'," Jonesy sang out, his foot stomping in time.
"Aye, drinkin'!" the men chorused, reaching calloused hands for the nearest bottle.
The mate's next refrain, "An' I myself was heavy on the booze," was met with a great shout of satisfaction as the crew thrust their glasses skyward, amber liquid sloshing every which way.
Murphy laughed, a deep and bellowing sound, as he picked up with the melody, "An' I was on me ol' sea-chest a-thinkin'..."
"A-thinkin'!"
"I'd turn into me bunk an' have a snooze!"
"Snooze, snooze!"
"Paddy lay back!" The captain and his mate chorused together, Murphy crossing the room to clap a hand on Jonesy's shoulder.
Even the tavern girls sang out in reply, "Paddy lay back!"
Take in yer slack-"
"Take in yer slack!" Jonesy pounded with even more fervor, if that were somehow possible, and the chorus finished out strong. "Take a turn around the capstan - heave a pawl - heave a pawl! About ship, stations, boys, be handy - raise tacks, sheets, an' mainsail-"
"Alright, boys, that'll be enough!"
The bartender's booming shout caused the eagerly sung shanty to falter into uncertainty; Jonesy's joyous pounding trailed off into half-hearted, off-key piddling before ceasing altogether. Gathering up the empty beer glasses that spanned the marred wooden surface of the bar, the heavyset tavern owner nodded toward weather-worn batwing doors.
"It's a good half hour past closin' time, fellas. You best gather your things and find a good inn for the night, or head back to your vessel."
"Closin' time? Why, we's just gettin' started!"
Murphy scowled in the general direction of the drunken protest. "Pipe down, Harry. We're in the wee hours of the morning, the barkeep's entitled to close down and get his rest if he wills." Looping an intoxicated crew member's arm around his shoulders, Captain Murphy led his men out into the cold, dreary fog that consumed the waterfront. "Besides, Jones," he whispered - a loud, hoarse whisper that smelled of strong whiskey - as he steered his crew toward the wharf, "We've far better spirits on the Sundance."
"Liquor, sir?" Jonesy questioned, "But we delivered the last of our shipment hours ago. There's nothing on that clipper but a half bottle of whiskey and seawater."
"Aye, lad," Murphy grinned, his surprisingly well-kept white teeth making a sharp contrast to the darkly tanned, weathered skin of his face. "But I very well might've skimmed a keg from the shipment before we made our delivery..." A murmur of inebriated approval sounded from the crew, and their captain quickened his pace. "Come now, we've plenty of rum to finish off before customs is along to search the vessel for contraband."
Jonesy grinned broadly, the liquor-haze in his eyes giving way to an excited gleam. "Aye-aye, Captain."
A/N: Just a short prologue to kick things off :) Hopefully I'll be continuing quickly!
