Leave Her Johnny, Leave Her
The first thing he noticed was the familiar salty tang to the air. How long had it been since he'd visited the coast? Twenty? Thirty years? Far too long, at any rate. He had forgotten how sweet it smelled, the salty spray whisking him away to his youth.
The stresses of his paltry life away from the sea melted away as he gazed upon the harbor. He had been a different man when last he stood on these docks. Harried and haunted by events passed, nervous about this young and beautiful child he had to raise on his own. Unbeknownst to him, she turned out better than he could have ever hoped.
Haytham had turned out decently as well. A little round in the middle these days, sure, but with a son of his own and command of an impressive fleet of ships. He had done well for himself.
Breathing deeply, Edward stepped onto the sand of the beach. The bustling crews around him scoffed and jeered as they parted to avoid smacking him with planks and tripping him with ropes.
"Get outta 'da way, old mon," a black sailor said snippily. "Do ya wanna getcha 'self killed?"
Edward smiled slyly and stepped back out of the man's way. "Not killed, persay. Impaled, maybe."
The sailor stared at him for a moment, then grinned widely. "A funny mon, den."
"A funny man indeed," a deep basso voice interjected. A man dressed in captains' garb stepped up beside Edward.
The sailor nodded placating to the captain and Edward before hurrying on his way.
"I didn't expect you until sun high, Haytham," Edward said.
"I find myself with too much time and too many thoughts. This is far preferable to lying about in my study listening to the seagulls."
"A sedentary lifestyle suits you," Edward quipped. "But you lack something vital…."
Haytham looked at his father and waited patiently, obliging the old man's theatrics.
"She calls to me, Haytham. She sings to me and asks why I have been away so long." Edward started forward, weaving easily through the stream of working men. He lead Haytham to a section of beach that was free of both people and the hulking shadows of the ships at port.
"I haven't stood at the helm of a ship in nearly five decades, Haytham. I am old. I ache and feel pains in places I didn't know I could. I've lost my tenure and have accepted that I cannot regain it."
Haytham nodded, but remained silent. He watched his father's gaze sweep over the choppy gray waters and saw excitement in their old depths, though that spark was quickly chased away by gloomy disappointment.
"These are strange waters to me, son," Edward sighed in resignation. "I long for the warm breeze of the Indies. I miss the thrill of exploring uncharted lands." His lip quivered for a moment. "I miss the friends I surrounded myself with…." He blinked tired eyes and shook his head, his expression hardening. "I long to feel the sway of a ship beneath my feet again."
"I have many vessels at my disposal, father," Haytham pointed out. "Many ships of fine quality are ready to sail out at a moment's notice. Say the word, and I will have you at the helm of my finest."
Edward shook his head and turned back to the shore. "Not just any ship, Haytham. My ship. I want to sail the Jackdaw again, if only for a short while. She was my home and my love for many years, and I should like to bid her a proper farewell."
"And so it will be done," Haytham vowed. He watched a shaky smile come to his father's wrinkled mouth before the old sailor limped away toward the mainland. Once he could no longer see Edward, Haytham turned back toward the sea and wiped the tears that stained his cheeks away. This had not been the first time his father had made such a speech, and he doubted it would be the last. He only wished Edward could remember the times before that he'd asked this of his son.
"Captain," a man said gently, coming up behind Haytham.
"Yes," Haytham replied, turning to face the crewman.
"She's coming into port. Do you want her to dock?"
Haytham turned to look out over the wind-battered sails and masts to see a new ship steering into port. She wasn't huge, she wasn't spectacular, but she was old, and she was sturdy. Of beautiful make with an elegant figure head carved in the likeness of a woman with scarlet hair. After she was retired from Edward's care, the Jackdaw had been sailed between the Americas and India, carrying cargo mostly. She had been renamed the Gypsy and was painted another color, but Haytham knew the feel of the ship, knew how she moved in the water. He had practically been raised on that ship, after all.
"Bring her in for the day. Have her ready by midday tomorrow."
"Aye, Captain." The young man trotted away to relay Haytham's orders, leaving him to reminisce and fret over his father's deteriorating health.
"What are we doing out here so early?" Edward asked, pulling is coat closer around his frail form. "Haytham, you should be wearing a coat. You'll catch a chill."
"I'm alright," Haytham said, taking his father's arm gently and leading the old man onto the docks. "Do you remember what you asked of me yesterday?"
Edward's brow furrowed in confusion, and he looked around the harbor, as if he were searching for someone. "I don't remember…what are we doing here?"
Haytham rubbed his father's arm and sighed softly. "You'll see soon."
They walked down the docks to the last ship anchored there. She loomed up, beautiful and dark and sullen.
"Watch your step," Haytham said as he helped his fragile father climb up the ladder that would take him up to the deck.
"I'm too old to be climbing," Edward complained as he clambered onto the deck and stood. He wheezed for a moment, but as he strode forward, he quieted. His eyes widened, and he looked around himself, moving to various parts of the ship, touching engravings and doorframes. He walked to the banister and stroked its well-polished shine.
"This is..." His voice trailed off as he looked up at the billowing cloth sails. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, and he smiled as tears filled his eyes. "This is my ship! My ship! The Jackdaw!" He looked at Haytham and walked toward his son, pulling the younger man into his arms. "You found her! James Kidd, you sly dog, I don't know how you did it, but you found her!"
Haytham blinked, feeling hurt. He reminded himself that it was no fault of Edward's if the man couldn't focus, but it didn't stop the pain in his heart. "I'm not James, father," he said gently, though he hugged his dad all the same. "James died long ago."
Edward pulled away from the hug and frowned at Haytham. "Where's your mother?" he rasped. "You shouldn't be on the ship alone. You could get hurt..." He trailed off again as he looked past Haytham's shoulder to the wheel. "Adéwalé?" he asked, though he shook his head as if to dismiss the idea.
"Edward," Haytham said a little forcefully. "You're here with me. Your crew from before is gone. I've brought you here to sail your ship once more."
It took a moment, but Edward seemed to pull out of whatever fantasy he was living. A touch of sadness darkened the joy on his face, and he looked at Haytham.
"I know, son," he said quietly. "Most of my crew is dead...all my friends are dead or in jail. Sometimes it's nice to hide behind the confusion." He walked to the stairs and took them slowly, grunting with the effort of climbing them. "I remember running up these stairs as if it were nothing," he chuckled. "Now look at me."
Haytham climbed the stairs behind Edward and guided him to the wheel. When Edward took the polished handles of the wheel in his hands, he stroked them and revered in their familiarity. Yet he released the wheel just as soon as he had taken it up.
"My time to steer her has passed," he said. "I'll sail, but only as a returning friend."
"Loose the sails," Haytham shouted. Crew members streamed out from below decks and went about their work quickly and smoothly. They had the ship ready to go in five minutes flat.
"Impressive," Edward commented, but he grinned mischievously. "My crew was faster."
"Your crew was made up of criminals and hooligans," his son countered. "These are hard working men with families to support."
"Yet here they are, sailing a ship that takes them halfway across the globe, much farther away from their families than a job on land would take them. How often do they see their families? Once every eight, nine months?"
Haytham's expression soured, and he looked out at the water, taking the wheel. "I suppose," he admitted. "It's an honest living. They earn their keep. More than I can say for the majority of the people in the cities."
"My bones ache," Edward said, looking about him. "Is there somewhere I can sit?"
"Here, sir," a crewman said, pulling up a bucket and upending it next to the wheel. "You're the helmsman for this trip."
Edward smiled and sat carefully on the bucket, taking care of his fragile bones. He felt a little faint...probably too much excitement. "Thank you, lad," he said as he pulled his coat close against the chill.
"Is this how you imagined it would be?" Haytham asked as they pulled out of port.
"More or less," Edward replied. "I appreciate the effort it must have taken to find her...thank you, son."
Haytham smiled ever so slightly as he pointed the ship toward the horizon. "You're welcome," he said.
They were silent mostly, exchanging a few words now and then. After a few hours, Edward moved to the bow so he could gaze out at the water more easily. He sat on his bucket, remembering all the times he had stood in this very spot and watched the water slide easily by. These waters were dark and gray, reflecting the stormy skies above. He longed to see the clear, light blue waters of the West, the beautiful coral reefs that had posed such a danger during low tide. He ached to see his friends most of all.
"Caroline," he whispered, feeling her name whisked away from his lips by the passing breeze. A chuckle proceeded a murmured, "Stede Bonnet." He shook his head as he whispered, "Adéwalé, Thatch, Kidd, Blackbeard..." Tears burned his eyes, and he wiped them away with trembling, gnarled fingers.
Edward remembered the times they'd had, drinking by the fires and watching the stars, plotting their next heist and telling stories. How many bottles of rum had they drunk? Far, far too many. How many times had he traded knowing looks with the sly James Kidd?
"A good woman she was," he whispered, "a decent man too...but a far better pirate."
"Kenway," a crewman said as he stepped up beside the old man. "Uh...Captain Kenway wants to know if you require anything."
Edward glanced at the young man over his shoulder and shook his head slowly. "Nothing," he said. "I've got everything I could ever want right here."
The man smiled and started to walk away, but Edward called him back.
"Does the crew know any shanties?" he asked.
"We do," the man replied. "Though we only do a few well."
"Do you know Johnny?"
The crewman grinned and said, "Aye, that we do."
I thought I heard the old man say...
The crew sang beautifully, though their voices would never be heard in a church. Rough and ragged, slightly out of tune. Beautiful.
For the voyage is done and the winds do blow...
He closed his eyes and listened. He opened his mind and remembered.
Storms and gales, still winds and high tides, pure hell the lot of it was. Yet when he looked back on it now and remembered the fear and the uncertainty of whether they would reach land again, he longed to return to that time.
And it's time for us to leave her...
Edward looked out at the sunset, felt the last weak rays of sunshine against his pale skin. He remembered the unbearable heat of the summer sun beating down on his shoulders, the humidity of mid-August weather just before a monsoon.
"For the voyage is long," he sang along, and he almost didn't notice the pain tingling up his arm, "and the winds don't blow..." The sun kissed the horizon, painting the sky in vivid pinks and oranges. "And it's time for us to leave her."
His heart raced in his chest, as if it were chasing the sun to its bed. He leaned against the post beside him and looked to the sea sliding past below them.
"Time for us to leave her," he breathed.
Through the good, the bad, the worst and the best, Edward had fought and laughed and drank his way to the top. He'd fallen and picked himself up more times than he cared to remember, and now, when he sat on the convoy of his life, looking down at his cradle, he stared down Death...
...and he smiled.