1
Discoveries -
The wind was beating off the starboard quarter as the black-sailed ship came close upon the merchant-man wallowing through the straits, her sails and rigging in tatters from their encounter earlier in the day.
"Take in sail. Man the sweeps. Bring her alongside gently now Mr Gibbs. I want that cargo." called the roguish man at the port rail, the wind blowing his black hair back from his face setting his bead charms jingling.
"Aye Captain. You heard the man, reef that tops'l, stow the guns and haul away!" Mr Gibbs bellowed, gesturing as the crew started into movement.
The Captain of the Black Pearl looked through his spyglass again at the beaten ship that was trying desperately to flee through a strait that was notorious for lee winds. It was apparent that the wind was on his side as he saw the sails go slack and watched the frantic actions of the sailors in the rigging trying to catch what breeze they could. He smiled, sunlight flashing from gold teeth at the thought of what goodies he was likely to reap from the ship. He could feel the start of the rhythmic thumping as the sweeps were plied and the Pearl surged ahead into the slackening wind.
"Ready the grapnels!" Mr Gibbs called.
The Captain continued to watch the merchantman when he noticed they were throwing things overboard; long, heavy things that looked like rolled rugs or bolts of cloth.
"Stop! Stop throwing my stuff away! Stop it!" he roared, jumping up on the rail waiving an arm frantically, "Gibbs! Double time! I want that ship!"
The distance between the two ships closed rapidly as the Pearl literally flew towards its prey. Sweeps were backed and grappling lines thrown as the merchantman was made fast to the side. The merchantman's sailors fought half-heartedly until the superior numbers from the Pearl ceased their struggles. Mr Gibbs and another sailor, Mr Cotton, vanished down into the hold to take stock of their capture.
The Captain rushed to the helm and secured it as the ranking officers of the vessel were brought before him by his crew.
"Hello mates," he drawled, flashing his grin, "You gave us a mighty fine chase you did. But as you can see, a lot of good it did you. Now, which one of you is the captain?"
He watched as they shuffled sullenly, belligerent expressions on their faces. More sharply he said, "No? Mates, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. That there is the Black Pearl. I would tell me what I want to hear before I decide to do something we both may regret."
One of the younger officers seemed about to say something. He took a breath to speak and was elbowed by an older officer next to him. Jack's eyes narrowed. The young officer who wanted to speak looked somewhat pale and thin, gazing anywhere but at Jack, guilt for something seeming to ooze from every line of his body. Jack suddenly smiled again and swaggered over to the officer, throwing his arm around his shoulders in a display of camaraderie.
"Hows about we take a little walk, 'ay mate?" he said to the startled officer, steering him from the line and back along the quarterdeck, "I've given you my name, what be yours?"
The officer mumbled. Jack frowned slightly but continued walking, "I can't hear you."
"P. MmmcArthur sir" he stammered, "Third mate"
"Well, Peter," Jack drawled, "What did you want to tell me, 'ay?"
Peter looked at Jack with huge eyes that were full of fear. A strange crawling feeling started deep down in his Jack's guts; a feeling of wrongness. He didn't think he was going to like the answer. In a barely audible trembling voice Peter replied, "It isn't my fault. Please, you must understand, it isn't my fault."
Jack frowned. Something was wrong aboard this ship; he could feel it. A commotion further down the main deck caught his attention. Mr Cotton had staggered up from the hatch holding his hand over his mouth, lurched for the railing and emptied his stomach over the side. A pasty faced Gibbs appeared from the hatch shortly after, gulping in air.
Wretched, he looked around until he spotted Jack on the quarterdeck. Waiving a hand suddenly feeble, Gibbs motioned for him to come to the hatch. The feeling in Jack's stomach grew as he started down the deck. Suddenly a hand grabbed his arm.
"P.! It isn't my fault!" Peter whimpered, desperation in his eyes as other members of the crew sought to restrain him, "Please! I didn't know what we were carrying when I."
The older officer who had tried to keep Peter quiet earlier suddenly surged across the deck, pushing Jack over and leapt upon the mate, hands reaching for his throat. The 'Pearls reacted a fraction too late. The snap of Peter's neck was loud in the sudden uproar. Hands pulled the older man roughly off the corpse and pinioned him, but he had gone limp.
Stunned and slightly sickened at the violence of the older officer's reaction, Jack slowly came back to his feet, brushed himself down, rearranged his sash and baldric. He accepted his tricorne hat from Anamaria who had picked it up from where it had fallen, flicked imaginary dust from it and re-settled it on his head. He strode over to the older man where he slouched with his eyes downcast between two of his crew. Jack stared hard at him but the officer refused to look up. He looked over at the other officers who shuffled nervously but remained silent. Jack glanced down at the corpse and noted the look of terrified surprise on his face.
Glancing at the older officer, Jack turned to one of his crew, "Mr Scratch, tie a bag of shot to his ankles and throw him over."
"Aye Captain." Scratch said and he and the other crewman shoved the officer down towards the lower deck where Jack's order could be carried out.
Furious, Jack looked at the other officers who now started to look pale and frightened at their shipmates' fate. Without a word, he turned and descended to the lower deck to where Gibbs and the now recovered if pale Cotton waited at the hatch.
"I'm beginning to like this catch less and less Mr Gibbs. What did you find?" he growled as he strode towards them, refusing to look behind him as the murdering officer he believed was the captain of this merchantman was tied fast to a bag of shot and tipped over the side.
"Jack, I cannae describe it. It's horrible," Gibbs said quietly, his Scottish brogue becoming pronounced in his distress, "There's no swag, no rugs or silks, nothin'. What we saw . they was throwing bodies over."
"What?" Jack exclaimed, completely taken back. Cotton nodded to indicate that he agreed with Gibbs.
Jack descended the ladder into the hold and was stunned by the smell that was not present on deck, having been swept away by the breeze. He waved his hand in front of his face to try to get rid of the smell "Ugh! Oh the. Ick!"
It was the heavy, thick miasma left by bodily waste overlaid by a sweet, sickly stench that he didn't want to think about too much. This deck seemed to be given over to living space for the crew as half the hammocks were still hanging at the far end. Haste was apparent in the strewn belongings that would have resulted as the 'Pearl swooped on her prize. Gingerly, he stepped through the mess towards the ladder to the lower decks that would have held the cargo.
A hand suddenly grasped his shoulder and Jack yelled in fright, spinning with pistol in hand to find Gibbs behind him holding a storm lantern, "Don't do that to me! I could have knocked your bloody head off!"
"Sorry. You'll need this down there," Gibbs replied, gesturing with the lantern.
"Right. Come with me," Jack growled as he shoved his pistol back into his sash.
Slowly he climbed down the ladder. Light from Gibbs' lantern revealed people, or more rightly the corpses of people. Dozens of them. Chained hand and foot to each other and the bulk heads. All were filthy, most were naked and all but a few were dead. Those that clung to life cringed away from the light as Jack slowly made his way through the hold.
"It goes on like this," Gibbs said quietly, "Hold after hold. Stores and such for the crew and ship are towards the stern. Their canvas for the sails is shoved in at the back where it would fit and is mostly rotten from the damp. Me and Cotton wondered why when it should have been in the sail locker. So's we went forward to have a look. I think you need to see what we found."
Jack nodded absently, trying to keep his stomach as they picked their way back to the ladder to the lower hold. This confirmed the fears he'd had about the wrongness he'd felt when they boarded the ship. They went down another level and found much the same scene as before. Dozens of people crowded together, most dead, the rest barely surviving. Gibbs guided him towards the sail locker which was actually a small cabin in the beak of the ship, kept locked, that normally held the spare canvas. The door was locked as normal but as they approached, it suddenly shuddered as something on the other side slammed against it.
Surprised, Jack looked at Gibbs who shrugged, "We figured it to be a special prisoner or the like, but we couldn't get it open."
Jack walked up to the door and knocked politely, "Hello. Is anybody in there?" The response was the door shuddering again and a stream of profanities that had Jack's eyebrows up into his headscarf. "Well, we can safely say it's human."
"It was only growling when we were here the first time. Thought it was an animal before it'd started cursing." Gibbs said.
Jack examined the lock on the door quickly and drew his pistol again. Trying to angle the shot down he roared, "Stand clear! I'm shooting the lock!"
The profanities ceased and he could only hope whoever was on the other side had moved. Turning his head away slightly, Jack pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot was loud in the confined space and there were a few feeble cries from behind him at the noise. Waiving his hand to clear the powder smoke, he saw that the lock had broken. Quickly pulling the remains away, he threw the bolt and opened the door. The smell was much stronger in such a confined space. Jack gasped and waived his hand feebly trying to dissipate the power of it. Gibbs came forward and raised the lantern to get a look at what was in there.
Crouched in the apex of the room was a thin, naked figure. Bruises new and old were evident under the layer of dirt and fresh blood. Blood no doubt obtained from the attempt at battering down the door. Slowly the head turned to look towards the light. A hand came up to shade the eyes from the glare of the lantern.
"Come on out, son. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. You're safe now." Jack said softly, gesturing roundly.
"Pearl," croaked the captive, voice hoarse from abuse.
"That's right, the Black Pearl. She's right outside. I have liberated her from tyranny. Please come out."
Slowly, the figure uncoiled from the floor and turned towards the door, taking a hesitant step before nearly collapsing. Jack stepped in and arrested the fall and nearly fell over himself. The person standing before him was a woman.
"Mary, mother of God!" Gibbs cried in shock, "She's a woman!"
"Yes, I can see that," Jack said. Quickly he shrugged off his baldric and doffed his coat. He draped it around her shoulders as best he could. She smiled wanly at him in thanks, drawing it close around her and buttoning it closed.
"Water," she whispered, "Please."
"Come away darling," he said, leading her out of the cell, "We'll get you some water on the deck. Come, it's not far."
Slowly they made their way to the ladder. She looked around at the other captives, stopping once when she seemed to recognise one. She sank to her knees with a sigh and gently brushed the hair from his face. She laid a kiss on his cold, dead forehead and pushed herself to her feet.
"That was the first mate. Taylor was his name. Good man, good sailor," again she looked around at the hold, "Bastards."
"We will save those we can," Jack assured her. She nodded and started for the ladder, not looking back.
She tried to climb the ladder but could only make it a few steps. After two attempts at climbing, she shook her head.
"I don't think I can make it up. Too weak," she whispered, "Those bastard sons of diseased whores made sure I couldn't fight back by starving me."
Jack nodded and motioned for Gibbs to carry her to the top. He accepted the lantern and the both climbed out of the hold. The bright sun and fresh air were like heaven to Jack as he came onto the deck. He turned to assist Gibbs and the girl out of the hold and then faced his crew.
Jack paused to collect his thoughts before turning to face them, "This is a slave hulk, bound who knows where," he said, "There are poor souls still alive amongst the dead. Free them and take them onboard. Cotton, Anamaria, take two others and go through the officer's cabins. Take anything of use. The rest of you, bring what stores you can to the 'Pearl. I don't want to be here any longer than necessary."
The crew looked at each other; shock, dismay and anger rippling through their ranks. Anamaria and Cotton headed for the great cabin to start their search, taking young Hap, a cabin boy, and a Dutchman called Olaf with them. Others stood rooted to the spot, muttering prayers and touching charms hidden on their persons to ward off the evil done on this ship. Gibbs noted the superstitious motions and briefly sympathised with them. Knowing that Jack would likely run them to bloody exhaustion if the job wasn't done, he strode down the deck roaring orders which the men were grateful for.
Jack helped the girl across to the Black Pearl and lead her towards the great cabin. Once inside, he helped her to sit and called for Matthew. Matthew seemed to have been expecting the call because he turned up almost immediately.
Jack jumped slightly and turned to regard the man. Matthew was a strange addition to the crew of the 'Pearl. He wasn't exceptionally tall or good looking, in fact the opposite. His hair had a good deal of grey in it for a man just past the age of thirty. Despite this, he fussily kept it tied back in an army-style queue. His face had a curving scar starting from his left temple, just missing the edge of his eye and his lips and ending at his chin giving him a rather fierce countenance when he scowled, which seemed perpetual thing for him. Jack had found him when they had taken a small Navy bark that was patrolling the Florida coast near Freeport. Previously an army man, he had been pressed in a Spanish port one night whilst drunk and woke to find himself on a ship heading for the Caribbean.
When Jack had liberated those of the crew who had wanted liberating, he had attached himself to Jack as his personal steward. Jack had found this amusing for the first couple of weeks as Matthew had washed, cleaned and mended all of his clothing, polished his boots, scrubbed the great cabin until it gleamed and tidied Jack's personal cabin. He found it less amusing when Matthew had started to fuss about how much Jack ate (not much) and drank (too much) and took it upon himself to prepare all of his meals with the idea that Jack needed feeding up. Jack drew the line when Matthew had insisted on a weekly bath, where upon Matthew had threatened to tie him up in his sleep, strip him naked and then tie him to a line and toss him overboard until he was deemed clean enough. Jack had not slept for three whole days after that. On the forth day exhaustion had claimed him and he had woken to find himself tied hand and foot to a chair with Matthew sitting opposite carefully checking a rope for signs of wear. Jack had given in, rather ungracefully.
Matthew took one look at the girl sitting slumped in Jack's coat. His face lost its scowl, deepening into worry. He turned his gaze to Jack whose face was set but whose eyes betrayed his own emotions.
"I'll have water heated immediately. I think I have something to fit her afterwards," he murmured, turning to go, "There's good broth on the stove. Should help somewhat."
"Quickly Matthew," Jack added.
Matthew nodded, still talking to himself as he left.
Jack sat down near the girl and smiled, reassuringly he hoped, taking one of her cold hands in his own. She came back to herself with a jolt, being only half awake and looked around wildly.
"Hush now, you're safe luv," he said softly, "Can you tell me what happened?"
Her eyes focused on Jack and she relaxed slightly. She gave him a tired smile and nodded. He waited as she gathered her thoughts.
"I had been chasing a Spanish cutter carrying gold from the California's," she began abruptly, "I'd had wind that it would be passing by soon bound for Spain herself. I was in the Pacific you see, raiding the whalers and the gold shipments," she paused, reflecting, "Not a more wonderful ship I ever sailed. Fast, clean lines. Stole her from the Frenchies I did. I had stopped her in La Palma for a refit and supplies on this venture before setting out to catch the cutter. I trusted my crew. I trusted them." she had a far away look in her eyes.
Matthew wrestled in a half barrel a good four foot in diameter and quietly placed it near the stern windows and set a screen around it. Jack barely noticed. He was trying to puzzle out why she was referring to the events personally. A vague memory stirred at the back of his mind of a handsome brig with red mainsails but couldn't remember her name. He almost missed it when she continued in a whisper.
"I obviously didn't trust the right ones. Someone talked. I caught and raided that cutter, took all the shine and sent her to the bottom. Then they got me. Four of them. The bastards had waited for me to do the hard work. Came from nowhere and chased me into the Pearl Islands. Fitz it was. My navigator. Bastard ran me straight onto a reef. Seems he had come to an. an. arrangement," she frowned, spitting out the word as if it had left an unpleasant taste in her mouth, "His life and as much gold as he could carry for me and the rest of the treasure, hand delivered."
Jack sympathised. He'd had his own misfortunes at the hands of a traitorous crew, thinking not long past of Barbossa.
"We were all taken captive, those that weren't killed in the boarding," she continued, "I don't remember much after that. I can remember us being all being beaten and. used. I fought. I fought so hard I was confined for it. They locked me up. I can remember it being very cold for a time. We must have been rounding the Horn," she shook her head, "It seemed one long moment of Hell." A tear fell.
"It's over now," Jack murmured soothingly, "Come, let's get you clean."
Matthew had filled the barrel during the recounting of her story and had left clean clothes for her to wear. Jack presumed he was now readying some food for them both. He lead her over to the barrel bath and gently undid the buttons of his coat. Her hands covered his and pushed them, not unkindly, away. She slowly fumbled the rest undone and let the coat fall to the deck. Jack could not help himself as he gazed at her naked body. Even though she was painfully thin from starvation and deprivation, covered in bruises, scabs and filth he could still see the once lush curves of her hips and the wonderful swell of her breasts.
She coughed politely. Blushing slightly, Jack tore his gaze from her body and looked her in the eye. He noticed then from the light of the stern windows that her eyes were blue. A smile ghosted her lips at his obvious discomfit. He flashed her a smile full of bravado and doffed his hat, bowing to her with a flourish.
She sighed theatrically herself totally ignoring her nakedness, one hand fluttering dramatically at her throat, the other held out so that he may take it. Laughing heartily at the break in the tension, Jack took it and handed her into the tub where she sank gratefully into the hot water.
Jack passed her a cake of the paint stripper that Matthew dared to call soap before turning away and disappearing behind the screen. She shook her head and started to scrape away the layered grime that caked her body. She started as Jack's head popped around the screen.
"What's your name anyway?" he asked, "I believe I forgot to ask."
She smiled at him, "Yes, I wondered when you were going to ask. Morgan. Morgan Drake."
Jack frowned, his mind working at the vague memory, "The Vixen's Morgan Drake?"
"The former Vixen's Morgan Drake," Morgan corrected sadly, "The Vixen is at the bottom of the sea now. Burned and sunk."
Jack nodded and withdrew. Morgan continued to wash. She dunked her head under the water and began washing her matted hair. She was surprised when Jack's head appeared again at the edge of the screen.
"Sorry," he said, a puzzled look on his face, "Forgive me. I thought that Morgan Drake was a man."
Morgan looked at Jack with a rueful smile, "Yes. Most men do."