Captains Outrageous, a pirates of the caribbean fanfic

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

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Written for the Fic Challenge at Jack Madness: 'There were 15 crimes read at Jack's hanging. How did he come to be accused of each?'

Here's my explanation for Crime #8: Kidnapping

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Jack Sparrow appreciated the value of striking the best possible balance. This applied to myriad things in life, including facial expressions, such as the one he was currently employing. He needed to convey his displeasure without being terrifying- after all, the offender couldn't be more than thirteen years old. And to judge from his pricey fragile clothes, overabundant pudge and general paleness, this whelp certainly no previous experience of rough shipboard life.

"What's yer name, boy?"

"Thom... Thomas Steward Forsythe, the Second," the prisoner answered, obviously striving not to sound afraid.

"Yer to address me as 'Captain', whelp. For I be Captain Jack Sparrow, of the Whimbrel- this 'ere fine vessel which ye've boarded without permission."

The youngster nodded between his rather unnecessary guards.

"Let me inform you, Thomas Steward Forsythe the Second: you have committed an act of unconscionable recklessness. Stowing away is a serious matter. Particularly if yer not discovered until it's too late to return ta port, which be the case here! What's yer excuse fer doin' such a thing?"

Thomas managed a defiant jaw thrust. "Father was going to take the belt to me!"

"In retaliation fer what...? On second thought, no need ta answer. Whatever it was, I can tell you fer sure; the penalty fer stowaways can make even the fiercest wallopin' look like a game of patty-cakes." Jack drilled the youngster with his eyes, making sure to put proper fear into him. "'Tis sheer blind luck, that you've boarded a ship whose captain is willin' ta let you pay fer yer passage with naught but honest labor. Won't be easy, though, since you're obviously short on seafarin' skills..."

"I been to sea before! I had a cruise to Boston!"

"Don't you interrupt me, whelp!" Jack barked. "Bein' a passenger is a whole 'nother thing. Let's be abundantly clear on the main fact of shipboard life: joinin' a crew means work. Lots of it. Starting here and now."

Captain Sparrow glanced away from the lad's anxious brown eyes, to the several watching members of the Whimbrel's crew. Most had come with the ship, which Teague had captured on Jack's behalf when it was a scurvy-ridden merchant vessel. Ordinary sailors, many with families ashore, who'd taken up piracy only because Sparrow treated them far better than their previous Captain. Even the newer members- Gibbs, Disko, Fleming, whom Jack had recruited in Tortuga because he needed officers with some piratical experience- were not cruel blighters unfit to share shipboard space with any whelp. Young Thomas had fallen among thieves, but far from the worst sort.

Not that Jack intended to let the imprudent brat think he was on holiday. Sparrow studied the boy further. The auburn-haired whelp was short on muscle, and it wouldn't do to let him touch the lines yet. So what would be a good starter chore?

Sparrow's eye moved to the mainmast. Kaj Eriksen stood there; a square-faced, even-tempered deckhand with two young sons in Västervik.

"Mr. Eriksen! I believe we have a pair of topgallant sails ta mend?"

"Aye, we do, Sir."

"Tommy, yer go with this gentleman an' follow his orders to the letter. Any disrespect or disobedience will have consequences. Mr. Eriksen, you will give this lad instruction on how sail-mending is done, and have him assist to the best of his ability."

"Aye aye, Sir." Kaj climbed the few stairs to the quarterdeck and took the lad's arm, not unkindly. The boy stared up at the big Swede, eyes wide with fear and desperate hope.

Jack leaned to speak directly into Eriksen's ear. "See that he does the work, but only employ such disciplinary measures as you'd deal to yer own offspring."

"I understand, Sir. Come, Tommy. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll have it done."

As the two left, First Mate Gibbs made comment from behind the helm. "I trust you noticed the kid's three-part moniker, and better-en average shoe leather. His family's got more 'en two coins ta rub together, sez I."

"I did indeed notice, Mr. Gibbs. Suppose you get started composing an appropriately worded missive to his Da?" Jack continued to study Tommy, now seated on a rope coil by Kaj's side, both with laps full of canvas. "Though no need ta mention this to the boy."

"Of course not." Gibbs eye lost it's sly look. "The foolish lad's already brought ample punishment onto hisself. No cause to add to it."

"Agreed. But fine to let the crew know there's some swag headed our way on his account. Shares ta be withheld from any what inflicts any extraneous hurt on our golden gosling."

"Aye; I'll make sure that gets around." Josh grinned, watching as their newest crewmember struggled valiantly with the big mending needle. "Don't know if I ever mentioned it, but when I was about his age I came close to joining a ship in just that manner. 'Changed me mind at the gangplank."

"Always suspected you of possessing an overabundance of common sense." Jack smirked as he reclaimed the wheel from his First. "Do try to keep an eye on the pup, will you?"

"Aye, Sir. I'll watch out for him."

The remainder of the day was largely routine. Following the noon meal, Jack handed the helm over to Second Officer Fleming, and spent the early afternoon plotting courses in the great cabin. At this time of year there would be rich pickings in the seaway between Cuba and Jamaica. The faster they accumulated shine, the sooner he could acquire a more piratey ship. The Whimbrel was a plump matron of a vessel- too slow and merchanty to have any chance of catching up with his Pearl.

"Not that I blame ye, old lass," he soothed, laying a hand on her bulkhead. "I know you can't help bein' too average ta qualify as a proper buccaneer craft. When I move on, I'll try to leave you in a situation more suitable to yer temperament, eh? You'll probably do fine makin' between-island mail runs."

In the second half of the afternoon, Sparrow returned topside, to find Eriksen mending sail on his onesies. Tommy was some ways aft, leaning over the rail with his face buried in his arms.

Answering his captain's raised eyebrow, Kaj explained, "His fingers were getting blisters, so I told him he'd done enough for one day."

Jack spoke sternly. "Mr. Eriksen, the boy has to do his share. He's got ta be clear on that."

"Aye, I know. But with all respect, Cap'in, it might be best to load this cargo in stages. His hands aren't near hard enough for this work, and there's no advantage to getting 'em too sore to grasp anything."

"I suppose not. Verra well; he can spend tomorrow takin' lessons. Day after, we'll try him out in the galley... give Mr. Le Blanc one day's warning."

"Very prudent, Sir."

Jack stepped towards the boy, checking the ship's side for indications of mal de mer. There were none. What he could see of Tommy's face looked simply like a youngster trying very hard not to cry.

Sparrow leaned his elbows against the adjacent rail. "Cheer up, lad. Mr. Eriksen says you've not done badly fer yer first try at stitching canvas. No cause ta be disheartened."

The boy shifted, struggled to control his misery. "I wanna go home!"

"Can't do that, Tommy. Once a ship has..."

"My name's Thomas!"

Jack's brows lowered. "No it ain't. Yer the least-qualified member of this crew; as such, you'll be called 'Tommy' until such time as you've earned some seniority. If you ever do! As I was saying: the Whimbrel's set to sea an' won't be making port fer at least a week. Once a ship's beyond sight o' land, it don't turn around fer any homesick sailor. You'd know that if you'd done any proper seafarin'."

The boy averted his face, trying to disguise the fast dabbing at his eyes. Captain Sparrow softened his tone.

"But theer's reason to take heart, boy. In one regard, you've had a stroke of good fortune. Theer's all manner of harsh men on the sea; aboard a different ship, you could've been... very badly used." Jack decided not to go into detail. "Be glad that on the Whimbrel, stowaways who prove willin' ta pull theer own weight get treated the same as regular crew. You'll work hard while yer with us, but we'll see to it you get back to yer family."

The boy looked up, just a smidgen more hopeful. Jack extracted a folded envelope and writing quill from a coat pocket. "To which end, I'll need you ta tell me yer Da's name and address. If you would be so kind?"

To the pirate's concealed approval, Tommy pulled himself erect, and dutifully recited the information. Jack copied it down. "Much obliged, lad. We'll write to him to make arrangements fer someone to come fetch you."

"How soon?"

Sparrow was spared having to reply, by the approach of familiar large feet. "Ahoy, First Mate! Have you completed that requested letter?"

"Aye, Cap'in!" Gibbs hefted a folded parchment sheet. "Appropriately worded, as per your instruction."

Jack handed Josh the envelope; the sheet was slipped inside. Gibbs then drew a small knife from his pocket.

"Now, no need to be afeared, Tommy," he assured the disconcerted youngster. "I jus' need ta give that mop of yours a bit o' trim. You can hardly see proper topside, with the wind blowin' that into yer eyes. So if you'll jus' hold still fer a bit..."

The boy gave Jack's lengthy dreadlocks a questioning glance, but obeyed. Gibbs very carefully cut a few auburn locks from the pale forehead. "There. All done." He tousled the remaining nest. "That weren't so bad, eh?"

"No. It wasn't." Tommy experimentally shook his head. "I can see a little better."

"Of course. What'd I tell you?"

As he retreated below, Gibbs added the shorn curls to the envelope. To assuage his guilt, he resolved to let the boy make use of his berth.

By next day it obvious the new crewkid would require some adjusting to. Tommy was fearful and sulky, with no natural talent for staying out of people's way, and not everyone aboard was accustomed to having a shipmate short enough to trip over. But Jack was confident that the whispered promise of compensatory payment would cover a multitude of irritants.

So it was somewhat unexpected when he heard sudden discordant noises from the great cabin- a sharp fleshy smack, followed by a child's shrill wail. Jack, who'd been taking sextant readings at the ship's waist, stalked into said cabin to ascertain the problem.

Tommy was seated at the chart table, currently strewn with bits of rope. Beside him glowered Second Officer Fleming (not his real name, but he'd agreed to answer to it since few crewmen could pronounce his African one.) The whelp had both hands clamped to his cheek, crying in angry protest more than in pain.

"Here now, what's this about?" Captain Sparrow demanded.

The dark Second was unapologetic. "This rude boy call me a 'Guinea Man'."

Sparrow placed stern fists on his belt. "Did you really do that?" The boy's resentful glance was answer enough. "I'm most disappointed, Tommy. I'd of thought one of your upbringing'd have better manners."

"I don't have to use manners with the help!"

Jack's glare would've made an experienced crewmember cringe. "Mr. Fleming is not 'the help'. He's Second Mate of this ship- which, believe you me, is a title what's earned, not given away! Even laid out with fever, an' with a broken arm, he's of more value to the Whimbrel than a score of you!"

The poor boy looked scared as a drowning cat, but Sparrow was merciless. "The man has very generously agreed ta teach you knots- I'll not have you showin' him any disrespect! One more such mouthing-off an' you'll be keepin' company with the brig rats tonight!"

"I'm Sorry! I'm Sorry!" squealed Tommy, fighting tears again. Jack, noting the Second's placated expression, finally relented.

"You can make a more proper apology by paying attention to yer lessons. Knowing how to do knots is an essential skill fer any sailor, an' of use to lubbers ez well. Mr. Fleming, please do carry on. This whelp can maintain a civil tongue when he tries, so I'm sure he'll give you no more sauce."

Sparrow left, shutting the cabin door firmly behind him. Fervently hoping he'd spoken the truth.

And it seemed he had, for Tommy was better on the third day. As planned, he was sent to the galley to assist Mr. Le Blanc, and managed to not once provoke the Cajun cook to thunderous rage. An accomplishment, everyone agreed.

The evening repast, hardtack with fish-and-scallop stew, was no worse than average; an even more-appreciated accomplishment. In commemoration, Tommy was permitted to present the Captain with his post-meal mug of rum.

Jack smiled as the abashed lad, followed by Gibbs, approached the head of the gallery table. The mug interior glinting invitingly. "Much appreciated, lad." Sparrow grasped the mug's handle, tipped it back.

A slimy wet mass flopped square into his face. "Mifffff!"

Jack leapt up from his chair. The pellucid mess fell from his jaw onto the galley table, landing with a discontented squish. It was the transparent bell of a moon jellyfish.

Baritone guffaws erupted from every part of the galley- the higher peal of boyish laughter rang clearest of all. Jack glared at the culprit, on the verge of bellowing something unfit for such young ears. Just in time, he caught sight of an urgently jerking thumb- Gibbs', directed at himself. So!

Sparrow calmed down, schooling his expression to a sour scowl. "That was verra funny, lad. But don't let's make a habit of it. Savvy?"

"I savvy, sir!" Tommy solemnly assured. Then he broke into giggles.

Jack looked haughtily to his First. "Gibbs? Might have a word, topside?"

"Yessir!"

The two proceeded onto the deck, where Jack turned a skewering glower onto Josh. Who shrugged in sheepish confirmation.

"Aye, that were my instigation. Apologies, but I were actin' accordin' to yer own orders."

"Explain how so, Mr. Gibbs."

"Well, Sir, you said I was ta be lookin' out fer the boy's welfare. I figure it'd improve the crew's opinion of him, if he provided a spot of entertainment."

"At my expense!"

"Well, Cap'in, if it 'twere at any other man's expense it wouldn't of been as funny."

Jack sniffed. "All right; I'll overlook it on first offense. But I meant what I just said. Theer's ta be no repetitions!"

"Oh, aye, Sir!" Gibbs' mouth twitched. "One instance should be adequate, when it's come off as well as that."

Joshamee's strategy appeared to be valid. As the days passed, the crew grew ever more accepting of Tommy's presence, and he became ever less unhappy about being aboard.

The Whimbrel raided a well-stocked sloop, the Bartholomew, whose crew was prudent enough to surrender their spice cargo without a struggle. Eriksen was careful to keep Tommy busy below decks until business was concluded.

Next, they made a one-day stop at a pirate-tolerant port, to sell the loot and stock provisions. Gibbs, being concerned about the threadbare state of Tommy's city clothes, escorted him to the market to buy some proper seaman's weeds, and perhaps a sweet or two. Captain Jack also went ashore, making an early stop at a letter post.

More days passed. Tommy learned to do several shipboard chores adequately well, though he did try to get out of them whenever he could. Often enough he could persuade Gibbs, Eriksen or Spencer to take over pumicing the deck, by complaining the rough stone was hurting his hands. The Captain frowned on this, but said nothing.

A particularly fine Caribbean day found Sparrow at the helm, staring forlornly over sea. Wondering where, in this immensity, his beautiful Black Pearl could be. It had been five years now, since he'd lost her- how much longer must he labor, before he gained the means to find her...?

His gaze was drawn to a more cheering sight on deck. Tommy was coming topside, clad in practical tar garments, shoes left behind until needed. The Captain took pleasure in noting the whelp had lost fat and gained color, and now walked somewhat like a seaman. To his mild surprise, Tommy continued that seamanesque walk the length of the ship and up the stairs to the quarterdeck. Fixing serious brown eyes on Jack, he stated, "Captain Sparrow, I need to know about something."

Jack, irked at the impertinence but glad to see the boy had some backbone, replied gruffly. "You may ask. I don't guarantee ye'll get an answer."

"Is it true you won't let me go home until Father pays you money?"

Sparrow blew on his mustache, bestowed a silent curse on whatever crewman had blabbed. "Yes, it's true. An' it's fair. Yer not actually earnin' as much as yer eatin', lad. 'Tis only right an' just that yer Da should make up the difference. Don't deny he can afford it!"

The boy gnawed his lower lip, looking troubled. "If I work hard enough to pay for my keep myself, can I go home sooner? Mother must be awfully worried about me."

Jack took a moment making reply- truth be told, he was feeling just a twinge of conscience. "We have sent word to yer folks. They know yer alive." And if the missive hadn't exactly emphasized Tommy wasn't being mistreated... well, the sooner his parents paid up, the sooner they'd be reassured on that score.

"Thing is, whelp, you really ought to be doin' yer share jus' because that's what a good crewman does. 'Tain't right at all, fer you ta let Mr. Eriksen and the others do yer chores- those blokes have enough hard duties as it is. Not at all seemly fer you to burden them who've been kindest to you, is it?"

The boy shifted, looking somewhat shamefaced. Jack made a show of tapping his own chin. "How about we make a deal, Tommy. You try to work longer stretches, so as ta do right by yer fellow crewmen. And I shall coax all managable speed from the Whimbrel, to affect your return in the shortest possible time." The pirate saw no need to mention he intended to do that in any case. He extended a tarry hand. "Do we have an accord?" The boy nodded, shaking the offered palm. "Fine and good! Now run along an' get to it. I've a ship to steer."

One minute later, the Captain was treated to a singular sight; the lad lugging the holy stone to the ship's waist, placing rags to grip it, and getting to work with a will. Jack grinned, making a mental note to instruct Mr. Le Blanc to add some extra potatoes to Tommy's ration. The lad seemed to enjoy those.

/ Theer's makings of a promising young seadog inside that spoiled lubber brat. He jus' needs a sense that, when theer's work to be done, he should join in. An' that he has a duty to 'is mates.

/ I suppose there's many as'd find it ironic, that he's learnin' ethics aboard a buccaneer ship! /

Sparrow almost salivated as he peered through his spyglass, sizing up the brig Trooper. Sure, she was slightly longer than the Whimbrel, with a couple more guns, but they'd taken other ships at least as formidable. And he was itching for some action!

"What do you think, Mr. Gibbs?" Jack purred.

To his surprise, the First Mate sounded reluctant. "I don't know, Cap'in. She's mighty close to being our match."

Jack lowered the spyglass to confront several attending crewmen, all looking uneasy. "We've bested ships that size, and larger!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Aye, but not without exchanging fire. We can bet our mother's lives this one's going to give us a fight," stout Spencer pointed out.

Eriksen spoke up. "The thing is, Cap'in, she's got enough guns to rake us fore to aft, and we have..." Uncharacteristically, Kaj paused in mid-sentence. But an eye flick gave him away. He'd glanced towards the mainmast base, where Tommy was painstakingly coiling a rope.

Jack frowned. "An' we have a whelp aboard, who could get hurt in a battle. Is that what concerns you?"

The big Swede could be accused of caution, but not cowardice- he met Sparrow's eye squarely. "Aye, Captain. It's not like there's no easier prey in these waters."

Gibbs spoke again, low but steady. "I concur, Cap'in. That theer brig's a borderline case. It won't take much effort to find a smaller ship that'll be glad to just hand us the plunder."

/ What are we, pirates or nursemaids? / But Jack recognized a need for pragmatism. Fully half his crew had become fond of the boy; it'd do nothing for the Captain's esteem if he took a risk that got Tommy killed or seriously injured. Privately, Sparrow admitted he wasn't indifferent to that prospect either. The lad deserved to grow up with all his pieces intact.

Also, nobody would appreciate losing a chance to collect ransom money.

Jack called out to his crew at large. "What say you? Shall we pass yon brig by, on this occasion?" There were a few rebellious glowers, but the 'Ayes' were a clear majority. Jack couldn't deny a certain measure of relief.

"Verra well. We'll postpone pluckin' this partridge until she's put on a bit more fat. Mr. Gibbs, resume original course."

The crew murmured acceptance and resumed their usual jobs. Tommy, who realized something had just happened but wasn't sure what, shrugged and turned back to his rope.

The Captain glared as the Trooper vanished over the horizon. He accepted the loss, but really wished he could add another hundred guineas to the ransom demand.

At their next docking, Sparrow received the reply missive he'd been waiting for. He gave orders to set the Whimbrel's course for a certain deserted cove on a certain underpopulated island, but let Eriksen be the one to inform Tommy his father was coming for him. The boy was so happy, he sang snatches of tunes as he swabbed the scuppers.

The crew was more on edge, gladdened by the prospect of easily-won gold, but nervous about possible ambush. Spars for the starboard and port stunsails were rigged, anticipating need for a hasty getaway.

Jitters were most likely what accounted for the usually reliable Spencer losing hold of a tackle while aloft. The weighty wooden block swung in a pitch, towards the hatch where Eriksen was polishing brass. Tommy, seeing this, yelped and slammed his full weight against Kaj, pushing him out of the danger zone.

Jack witnessed it from the quarterdeck. From his position, he could see the block might not have hit the big Swede, and may have inflicted only a painful knock if it had. But that was hardly the point. The whelp had acted like a responsible crewmember and deserved commendation for it.

As several men gathered to give the boy appreciative words and slaps on the back, Captain Sparrow added his shout. "That was well done, Thomas!"

Thomas grinned broadly, realizing what this usage of his name meant. "I was just doing right by my fellow crewman, Sir!"

The lad's beaming pleasure almost made up for the passed-by swag.

"Yer Da's right over there, on that shore. They're makin' him stay back, jus' ta make sure we don't snatch him aboard the Whimbrel too. But he can see you though a spyglass, so show 'im yer alive an' well!"

Tommy leaned over the rail, waving enthusiastically towards the palm-lined beach. In Jack's opinion, he looked far improved from when he'd first come aboard; a lean and lively brown lad, wavy hair tied back in a queue, clad in serviceable clothes to take the punishment any normal boy should be giving 'em.

Through his own spyglass, Jack watched the longboat being launched from said beach, rowed by ordinary sailors and containing the promised chest. Most of the Whimbrel's crewmen watched it's approach with unmitigated avarice, but some also glanced at Tommy with traces of regret.

"Now's the interval ta be makin' yer more-polite farewells, gents," Jack reminded. Once that longboat drew within hearing distance, they'd need to come across as nothing other than fierce pirates. They had reputations to maintain, after all.

Eriksen gave Tommy's queue a playful tug. "I'm very glad you're going home, lad. But you'll be missed."

The boy glanced back over the Whimbrel's deck, with similar feeling. "I'm going to miss being on a ship."

"Theer's other ships. Your family's got means to set you up on a vessel as good as this, when yer jus' a bit older," assured Gibbs.

"Aye! You've made good progress, lad. You could make a fine sailor someday," sturdy Spencer agreed. Several other men nodded assent.

"Maybe, if I go to sea, I can find the Whimbrel again?" the boy asked hopefully.

Jack's conscience had another spasm. "That might not be fer the best, whelp. Speakin' of which; if yer Da should inform you that our negotiations included reference ta unpleasantness possibly befalling yerself should he fail to pay... that were jus' a jest on my part."

"And 'twill be another jest, if we bestow an insult or two as you depart. It's just how sailors say goodbye," Gibbs added.

The longboat closed the distance. The stoic rowers tied up alongside the Whimbrel's jacob's ladder; a cargo net was lowered to haul aboard the small but weighty chest. It was opened immediately upon gaining the deck- a few bites on the contents confirmed the conditions had been met.

"Clear out of our ship, then, you pestilential brat!" Gibbs declared, with a fond grin visible only from Tommy's viewpoint.

"Aye, off with ye!" Eriksen echoed, giving Tommy a warm, furtive shoulder clap.

"Goodbye," the boy murmured. Then, turning proudly, he swung a leg over the rail and scrambled down to the boat, agile as any wharf urchin. Jack was hard-pressed to conceal his sense of accomplishment.

With the boy safely ensconced, the longboat pushed off. "To perdition's flames with you feculent pack of bilge rats!" the bright lad shouted back.

"Good riddance to useless offal, Thomas!" Sparrow snarled in return.

Let those popinjays onshore imagine the whelp's smile was from joy to quit the Whimbrel- Jack knew the real motive behind it.

The stunsails were hoisted, and the pirate ship made the fastest exit she could manage. Sparrow, handing the wheel to Gibbs, continued to peer back through the spyglass. The instant the longboat landed, a figure in a pricey green coat raced forward to embrace the boy. Even from this distance, Jack could read sheer relief in the man's body language.

Sparrow lowered the glass. "Our whelp's in good hands."

Any wistfulness in his expression was lost to gleeful cupidity, as he turned towards the deck. Time to give some proper attention to that chest...

Some months later, the Whimbrel was docked at a well-appointed sanctuary for some proper shore leave and much-needed repairs. Captain Jack was obliged to stay aboard a while, to chart the ship's next course. There was still time this season for some profitable raiding to the south. Equally important; he'd heard rumors the Black Pearl had been sighted there.

His work was interrupted by the most unexpected entrance of Gibbs, making a face that suggested serious digestive problems. "Josh? I thought you'd already gone ashore."

"I did, Cap'in. That's where I laid eye on something you should be notified of, before you spotted it yerself." Gibbs disdainfully tossed a booklet onto the chart table. "I pinched this from a dockside stall."

Jack's nose wrinkled at the cover illustration; a leering brutish caricature of a pirate, seizing the arm of a terrified, angelic toddler. He delicately picked it up to read the title.

"'Being the True and Complete Account of the Horrific Ordeal of Young Thomas Forsythe, An Innocent Kidnapped By the Most Vile and Dissolute Pyrates of the Spanish Main.'" Jack leafed through the pages, tisking. "My, my! I do hope theer not letting any whelps read this."

"'Tis a perfidious slander! We didn't force him aboard, nor treat him worse 'en we would our own kids!" Gibbs growled. "With your permission, Sir, me an' a few of the crew could pay a call on the publisher tonight. Set the record straight, eh?"

The Captain shook his head. "No justice in singling this one out fer correction. That whole profession makes a livin' off of printin' whatever they think'll sell best. More 'en likely, typeface is bein' set as we speak, for another 'True and Complete Account' of how we rescued young Thomas from certain death, of one sort or another, an' sent him home with pockets full of doubloons ta benefit his impoverished family."

Gibbs gave that some thought. "Aye, yer right. Yarn-spinners have ta be allowed theer leeway," he conceded, with the understanding of a fellow-traveler. "I suppose we can't expect anyone ta find much of interest in the real story."

Jack drummed fingers on the garish cover, looking thoughtful. "Maybe, maybe not, Josh. A properly skillful writer might be able to do it justice. 'Tis a pity, we'll probably never come across the right one..."

October, 1894, At A Popular Barroom In Brattleboro, Vermont

The bespectacled, scholarly-looking chap dutifully transcribed the words. While yarn-spinners were common enough in this pub, there weren't many who could manage to relate such a coherent and fascinating narrative whilst consuming so many drinks. It was quite a stroke of luck, to've happened upon this fellow at this particular time.

"An' the lad returned home, far more fit an' responsible than he'd left. Later in life he became a merchant captain. A shipboard fever killed him at age forty-eight, but until then, he lived as happily as anyone could've reasonably wanted." The long-haired speaker drained his tankard, setting it down with a thud. "The End."

His listener- Rudyard Kipling, by name- finished scribbling. "I thank you very much, Mr. Falconer. My editor has been asking me to do a seafaring novel for some while now. This tale shall certainly suffice to get me started." The Englishman thoughtfully stroked his full mustache. "To be honest, there are some details which will have to be reworked. The notion of a rich man's son stowing away on a buccaneer vessel rather stains credibility- having him fall off a passenger ship, and be rescued by another, may work better. Also, it had better not be pirates that pick him up. Parents and publishers are unlikely to accept the notion of a young man having his character improved by spending time among criminals."

The hard-to-age traveler shrugged. "Make whatever changes you have to, mate. 'Tis prob'ly safer fer me if you don't print it verbatim."

Mr. Kipling decided to not inquire why. He tucked the several papers into his coat pocket, smiling graciously at this strange-looking, agreeable bar patron. "I reside just outside town, and patronize this establishment regularly. I can try to let you know when this work is ready for publication."

"'Fraid you won't likely find me here again, mate. I have need ta keep on the move." Falconer tilted his head. "But if you tell me the title of this proposed seafarin' novel, I'll keep a weather eye out fer it."

"I usually consult with my children before deciding on titles, but, as you have need to know now..." Mr. Kipling pondered for a minute. "I believe I shall call this book 'Captains Courageous'."

The story teller nodded, grinning approvingly. "Aye, that'll do fine."

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FINIS

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Rudyard Kipling's 1897 novel, 'Captains Courageous', follows the adventures of fifteen-year-old Harvey Cheyne Jr.; the spoiled, ill-mannered son of a railroad tycoon. He falls off an ocean liner and is picked up by a rough fishing vessel, where he's obliged to work as a member of the crew. By the time he's reunited with his parents, his shipboard experience has wrought great improvement on the boy's personality.

The entire novel may be read online, at Project Gutenberg.