In a dark alley, fenced by enormous buildings that made one way in and one way out, something spectacular was about to commence. It was darker inside the alley than outside; because the full moon's silver rays hadn't been able to reach the narrow, enclosed, cagelike alley. Throughout the lively music of bagpipes, maracas, six-stringed guitars, harmonicas, harpsicord, and banjos, there was a loud shriek from the alley. The scream of pain echoed out and stung everybody's ears, even from the men out in the sea who were bringing their boats to the docks. A British captain alerted his men to discover the woman who was in pain and screaming for her life. They obeyed, saluted, and made their way toward the alley. The captain usually wouldn't care for such a cry, but this one was excruciatingly loud, and it echoed tremendously. He seemed to slightly care about the poor creature in distress.
A certain guard wearing red and white snuck along the port and entered Tortuga. he snuck in as quiet as a mouse, until a dirty hand was placed on his shoulder, which produced a mud mark on his dressy uniform. The man, in fright, readied his rifle and spun around, prepared to pull the trigger and send the body plummeting to the doomed depths of the crashing waves of the sea.
"Stop." The man said, who had the rifle accusingly pointed to his face, and was mere inches away from death. "You don't want to be doing that, mate." The man gave a curious look, as the man continued, "I am on my way to the woman shouting in pain." He was a shadow, unable to be seen, and the guard was curiously trying to see his expression, but was unable since the entire being was shrouded in pure, moist darkness.
"The captain gave us orders to find her." The man sneered, his finger pressing the trigger, ready to let her blow. "I think I know my way very well in Tortuga." The man was about to blast the dirty man away with one blow, but he saw the man abruptly lodging his finger into the rifle's bullet opening, which clogged it severly. "What are you, mad?" The man in the uniform hissed.
"No, I value life." The dirty man said, smiling invisibly behind the dark palm trees. "Now if you please, leave it to me." He gave a cheap grin and wouldn't remove his index finger from the rifle, so if the trigger was pulled, the pressure would either blow up the gun and severely injure them both or he might get lucky and wound the man's finger badly, but he didn't want to find out if he would be harmed in the process. The man in uniform suddenly found a really obvious question.
"What makes you so sure you'll fin the crying woman?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders, and doing a little boredom guard dance by rocking back and forth on his heels, and smiling sheepishly at the disgusting man.
"I know my way around Tortuga, boy." The dirtied man said, and for the first time, he saw those evil hazel eyes piercing through the darkness, and that evil smile that glared back at him. The man in uniform felt his heart race, but he gained control over his feelings as he was taught to do in the military. The dirty man stepped out of the shadows of the surrounding palm trees that he was previously hiding in. His shrouded face was finally revealed, and it wasn't as mean-looking as apposed to be. He had a look of wisdom, yet he wasn't old in appearance or age. He had smooth skin, and soft brown eyes that gleamed hazel in the moonlight. He had a slender nose, and a fine mouth. He grew a mustache and a small beard, and his chestnut brown hair was worn in a ponytail. "Please, allow me to attend to my services." He politely remarked.
"You!" the alarmed man in uniform shouted, immediately recognizing the face. "You're one of the --"
"One of the survivors of the White Seal." The man sneered, patting the man on the shoulder, and running swiftly away from the guards. He didn't hear any bullets, so apparently he had scared those guards pretty bad. He hid under an arched bridge, and folloewd secret paths and railways to the path of Tortuga, that takes shorter detours rather than walking over buildings and narrow alleys that provided as the mazes that the poor, foolish guards would have to follow. An alarm was sounded by the British army, since they sought to hang pirates on the gallows. This man was a pirate, to the most. He found his way to the downtown area of Tortuga, and there was the obvious alley. He grinned to himself when he saw it, and heard that scream from up-close that made him wish he brought ear-plugs. He knocked anonymously on the walls, which frightened the woman apparently.
"Back!" She shrieked, "Back! I say, stay back, you filthy pig!" She scooted up against the back building that created a dead-end to the alley, and again, she screeched in pain, but the man couldn't see what was happening.
"What's wrong, love?" He asked, crawling on his knees with the fear of running into something in the blank darkness, feeling around for a human figure. "This place is pitch-black dark!" he exclaimed, and he felt the wall, so he was able to stand up properly for a few seconds, before resuming in a crawling position. "Why are you alone?" He asked, trying to think of a subject as he sought to reach her. She sobbed in distress and let out another blood-curdling scream that was loud enough to wake the dead, rise them from their tombs, and gather to see what their problem was. "Would you please answer me?" He beseeched. "The entire British army is after me, and I'm doing this only for you." He was never concerned for others, and this was his first time passionately caring about somebody's health.
"You're quite considerate..." she whispered, almost hissed, under her berath. "I'm afraid I must leave..." she moaned and made a noise of pain, "but I can't!" she made a few moans and feminine grunts before shouting, "I wish to be ALONE!"
"Are you wounded?" He asked, ignoring her wish, and he put his hands to feel something, which seemed like a large, circular object, which appeared to be her stomach. His eyes widened for a moment, and he retracted, but reached out his hands to see if he was hallucinating or just touching something else.
His thoughts were interrupted when the woman slapped his hands away and shouted, "No! I'm in labor!"
"Ah, you're working too hard." The man said, unfamiliar to this phrase when women use it. "That's alright, love, you can take a break."
"No, I can't!" she shouted. "Delivery is very hard!"
"What, mail duties?" He asked, being completely naïve about the situation.
"NO!" she shouted, and slapped him clean across the face. She whispered something in his ear to unravel her secret, truth to be told, it made his eyes widen in horror, and he shouted, "OH!" when she said it, and before she had completely finished saying it. "YES, THAT!" she shouted back at him angrily.
"OH!" By labor and delivery, you mean THAT!" he said, slapping his palm directly to his forehead. "Terribly sorry, love." He said. "I've never gone through this, so you're on your own, mate." He stood up, prepared to leave, but felt her anxious hand grasp his wrist incredibly tight. He clenched his teeth, agonized with pain, and was jerked toward the ground.
"Please!" she begged. "Help me! I need somebody to help..." her voice trailed off and her breath was slowing down. He saw what she meant, because there were no women with childbirth experience or any women presence around at all. He felt a lot of pity for her, but there was nothing he could do.
"Well, I'm sorry." He said, realizing all this, and before he reached the exit, the pity morphed to remorse. His eyes were expressing the terrible situations that might happen after the child was born. He felt an urge to stay there with her. "Alright, love." He said, spinning around and walking back toward her, but with his usual, tricky charm. "I will help you under certain circumstances. If you deliver before the soldiers get here, I will be on my bloody way and you'll be here to fend for yourself, and if anybody asks if you saw me, just simply say no. BUT if you don't deliver before they come, and they arrive halfway through, then you are to say I am your husband."
The woman had several questions to ask, but shouted, "WHAT?" after hearing that she had to fake that she had a husband, which she didn't have one.
"Alright, love!" he said, "I'll help you out." He held out his welcoming hand, "You must promise me... You won't let them get me. Sticks and stones. I save your life, you save mine."
"Promise." she smiled gently, and for a moment in the inky darkness, he thought he could see the soft, motherly glimmer in her beautiful eyes. She took his hand.
The British soldiers, meanwhile, hadn't made it yet to the back alley, and were constantly getting lost in the maze and confusing location plot around the Tortuga buildings. Several men were with compasses, even, which made the drunk citizens laugh at the fools getting lost and confused, unable to even find the downtown area, always ending back where they started, but they were quickly catching on, unfortunately, giving the woman barely any time to deliver her baby she had been in labor with for nearly three hours. Wherever the British soldiers went, they would at least find one bar and a drunk who constantly sang pirate songs. Occasionally, they'd find one sensible man, but if he always had to be a poor, dirty merchant who was fed up of life and going suicidal. Around the corners, they found drunken women laughing their heads off, and riding donkeys. Everywhere, they saw music and rifle shooting, flowerpots shattering, yodeling, and people just having a plain good time. "We can't find her, general!" the man in the uniform who met the pirate earlier finally said.
"Keep searching!" he pressed, and the men exasperatingly sighed in annoyance as if they were bored and tired.
"But, what if we never find her." He asked.
"We will." He assured. "Women are only good for one thing, you know..." (I'll leave it to your imagination to guess what that is.)
"cleaning?" The other one asked, and an offended woman came by to slap him.
Meanwhile, the woman was lying in the darkness of a shadow's boundaries, and her breathing was incredibly heavy. She had her hands on her stomach, which still hadn't deflated yet. The man was covering his eyes, and couldn't believe he actually helped a woman deliver, who wasn't his wife, and he isn't even married, or seen a married couple. "I can't believe I just did that." He repeatedly muttered to himself. The large baby was on the floor crying, flailing its arms, and begging to be held. He scooped up the baby, and cradeled it in his arms kindly.
"You..." she softly moaned, still heavily breathing, and her life dying out. "What is your name?"
The miracle of birth and life... He saw it unravel, and when so, he even forgot his own name just watching the natural process in the impenetrable darkness. It was as if he was a professional nurse who had worked in the medical field of delivering babies, and he was blindfolded while helping a baby come into the world. He suddenly snapped into reality when he heard her ask, after odd silence, "Um..." He gave her a puzzled look and replied, "Will Turner." He cocked his head, and said, "Call me Bootstrap Bill." He chuckled lightly.
"Very well, Bootstrap Bill." She said, with a slight laugh. There was some silence, before she said, "Thank you... for helping me." She barely had the strength or energy to sit up, and with an exasperated sigh, she asked, "May I borrow a pen and a piece of paper?"
"Certainly, ma'am." Will said with confusion as he took out a piece of simple white paper and a fountain pen, and he handed it over to the young woman. Still lying down, she took the pen, and wrote with lady-like, clear English handwriting. After some silence and the scribbling of a pen, he asked, "How old are you, girl?"
"E --" she stuttered, in shock, and slightly blushing, "Eighteen." Did she feel regret of being so young? He placed the baby beside her, and she was able to feel her pride and glory, her child. She smiled, but was not overcome by tears, but with joy.
"Quite young." He said in his reveries. He looked down to the ground for some moments pondering about her life and history, but didn't want to pry. He looked up and said, "You know... I've never seen your face, yet I helped you."
"I've never seen your face either, Bill." She replied sternly.
"What's your name, love?" he asked. "I expect to hear your name in account of giving you mine." With some silence, the pen scribbling stopped, and her breathing became heavier. "Proper acquiantance, right?" He said, chuckling lightly, but was a little serious to her difficulty of breathing. "Hello?"
"I'm sorry." she gasped, holding onto her chest for a moment, and nervously laughing. He laughed, too.
"Saying your name isn't that bad, is it?" He joked. She laughed.
"Anne." She replied, and with that name, Will pondered with several thoughts in his head, wondering what she looked like. He could hear angel chorus of giving her the gift of motherhood, the roses and pedals that should be strewn at her paths, the beauty and grace she possessed, the looks that would be coveted and admiring across the nation, all by a simple name. He could hear her breath slowing down.
"Anne..." he repeated, and nodded his head. "That's a pretty name."
She smiled, and tears trickled down her cheeks. "Thank you."
He nodded in reply, and she saw the moonlight shine perfectly, so she got to see his face. She wept silently to herself, but he could hear her. "It's okay..." he said. "What's wrong?"
"I can see you..." She said, touching his face gently, "Thank you once again... and good-bye." The breath of life that had flown out of her was powerful and uncontrollable. Her unfocused eyes slowly opened from narrow slits to confused loss of life. Those beautiful eyes closed, and she took one last heave before her lips grew cold.
"Good-bye?" Will asked with utter silence. "Anne?" Something was wrong. "Anne?" He waited until the moon finally came over the buildings, and shone into the alley. Will crawled on his knees a little closer, and his eyes widened to see a dead woman lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood. "ANNE!" he shouted in utter shock of the situation. Normally, a pirate wouldn't dare cry, even if they were bereaved by incidents in their past. He found a tear that had trailed down his right cheek, and in shock, he wiped the tear away. "Anne..." he whispered.
He saw the baby lying beside her, wrapped in a sheet that was now stained with dried blood. He looked down at the baby, and then down at Anne, and he checked her pulse, hopeful that the British army would arrive to attempt to rescue her if she was still alive, but he had several doubts. "She must've bled herself to death." He whispered, as her pulse wasn't there at all. He gave a loud sight of pity, as he shook his head. He took off his pirate hat, and looked up to the starry skies, wondering if she was looking down at her newborn baby, apologizing for leaving this world so soon. "Good-bye, Anne." He replied to her farewells.
He saw, for the first time, her beautiful face. She had thick eyelashes, and hidden beneath them were crystal blue eyes. She had long, thin blonde hair that reached her hips. She had a wonderfully, thin figure, and she had the appearance of a teenager, as she was only eighteen years old. His hands ran down the cold corpse, and he closed her eyes, allowing the body to rest in peace. He picked up the piece of paper that was slowly staining with blood, and he recalled her asking for the paper and pen, which he lended to her. He read it to himself...
"Jack Sparrow."
He looked down at the baby wrapped up in the recently blood-dirtied rag, and held it in his arms, careless of the blood that stained on his own clothing. "You're Jack Sparrow?" He asked, and cuddling it, knowing that he was holding the precious clone of Anne herself. He said, "Well, it'll scar you for life if you look at your dead mother. Let's get you out of here." He covered the baby's dark eyes with the rag, and he saw the tiny hand wave at the mother corpse. He flinched in emotional pain to see that. He never wanted to look at Anne dead again. He never wanted to think of her as dead. He wanted her alive. He wanted to know that he could entrust the baby into somebody's home. He had the perfect place pictured, but his thoughts were suddenly interrupted (AGAIN!) by the marching of black boots. He quickly shot his head in the direction of the opening to the main arae of Tortuga. The moonlight revealed the pirate, the baby, and the dead woman in the pool of childbirth blood.
He tried to conceal the baby somewhere, but he had just put it down for a second, pulled out his gun, but accidentally dropped it. Careless to pick it up, he stuffed the lovely handwriting of Anne into his pocket. The men in uniform saw a dead woman in a pool of blood, a pirate doing something with his shirt - in actuality, trying to stuff the note in his tiny pocket, but it wouldn't fit -, and a baby playing with Will Turner's unloaded pistol. The idiot men thought that the gun had been loaded.
"The baby shot it's own mother!" a random soldier shouted, as the pirate fumbled the note, dropped it, as he dove to grab it, and stood up again, going through the whole process again. "... WITH A PIRATE'S GUN!"
There was an odd, terrible silence, but at least he had finally gotten the note in his pocket. He wanted to laugh and point at the soldiers, shouting how incredibly stupid they are, but resisted the chance to. Instead, he smirked to himself evilly, and took a few steps forward. "Listen, fellas, I can explain the entire situation." He heard the clicking of several rifles being loaded, and several of hundreds of guns were pointed directly at his heart, so he was literally trapped and beleaguered inside the alley, but he did not look at dead Anne, and the baby was helpless and newborn, so it was just lying on its back and playing with the unloaded pistol, admiring its texture and form. "Look, mates, you can't shoot me." He said, trying to find an excuse, "We're all brothers, aren't we?" Terrible silence again, with hundreds of soldiers wearing the same killer glance, and a whole bunch of guns. "I guess we had different mothers, but..." Terrible silence again, with hundreds of soldiers wearing the same killer glance, and a whole bunch of guns.
"If I were you, I would surrender and die at the gallows, rather than be shot by millions of bullets coming from five- to seven-hundred rifles." The general said in his own opinion. "The pirate should go into our custody."
"You don't want to do that, mate." Will said with an ingenious plan. "You see, I'm the father of this child." He said, picking up the innocent baby. "And if you shoot me, the baby won't have a father, nevertheless parent, right?" There was an odd silence, with hundreds of soldiers wearing the same killer glance, and a whole bunch of guns. Soon, everybody but the general had unloaded their guns simultaneously, and set them down on the floor, scooting them away. "Imagine growing up without a father, even though he is a pirate, and knowing that the British army shot him to his death, and his mother bled to her death after giving birth to him."
"That is a sad, sad story…" the same random soldier said, sniffling and wiping his tears away with a tissue paper.
"See? You see?" Will said, pointing to the random soldier in the third row. "I agree completely with him. How low and conceited would you be to shoot a man who wished to help his wife give birth..." His eyes shifted positions, making sure that none of them had a weapon and none were prepared. His plan was working. "... and kidnap his child." There was some silence as the soldiers endured the complexity of the story. "Surely, you wouldn't be that ruthless, general." He gave a serious, hatred look at him, "The baby would grow up hating the British entirely... and become ten times the pirate I would ever be, no?" The soldiers all nodded. "But also, mates..." He grinned evilly, stepping back into the dampened, dark alley, and placing the baby down for a second. "I must remind you of your stupidity... and the saying that you shouldn't believe strangers, but I'm thankful you do." He tossed a sack of gold to them, "There." The general poked the sack noticing the gold coins pouring out of them. "Farewell gift." He said.
"I suppose I should... thank you?" The general was utterly confused.
"Yes, general." His evil glare returned. "Also, there's one vecry important thing you've forgotten, mate." Will said, sneering evilly, picking up the baby with one arm, and pointing the unloaded pistol to his head. His eyes closed for a moment, and his fingers were placed tightly around the trigger. As soon as his eyes shot open... "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow." Why Will said that, nobody knows, but apparently, it saved his life that day, so Jack could grow up the way he did.
"Jack Sparrow?" several soldiers asked.
"The most terrifying pirate in the Caribbean, mates." He said. "I'm naming my son after me." He smiled, and looked down at the baby. "Say, bye-bye, baby!!" He shouted, kicking the wall, which upset a lever system and a chain started to travel upwards. His keen eyes carefully plotted his next step in his ingenious, and seemingly impossible plot. After calculating math in his head, predicting where the chain would end up, he immediately grabbed the chain. He knew it led to the huge flag-pole in the heart of Tortuga, which stood hundreds of feet high. And hundreds of feet high he was propelled into the air, as a huge anvil tied at the other end came crashing down, and it severly landed on six soldiers. None of the soldiers had died that day.
"Sorry, baby!" Will said, looking down at little Jack Sparrow who was cooing and laughing at the high velocity and speed of shooting upward and a death-defying speed. "The ride's going to get a lot tougher, mate!" At the top, once the anvil hit the ground, the chains immediately stopped to a screeching halt, and Will was left dangling two-hundred feet into the air by a chain that released the British flag, and it uncurled and started to wave in the wind. "How to get down. How to get down." Will thought out loud, "Ah – ha!" the clever pirate grinned and let go of the chain, sending him plummeting forty feet down before he grabbed onto the chain again and swung through a window of the one-hundred and sixty foot building top floor.
"Shoot him!" the general commanded.
"But sir, remember his story?" a soldier asked.
"He's a bloody pirate, a scallywag. He probably lied! That's probably not even his kid!" the general shouted, which caused the soldiers to open fire.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Will shouted, running through the hordes of people, trying to make it to his ship which was docked at the port. "Okay, baby, this is going to be a tough ride!" Will dove out the window on the opposite side, and grabbed onto a thick string that was decorated with flags, which allowed him to slide down the thick cording. He screamed in panic as the ride got faster and faster, and it never seemed to stop.
"Bill's back!" a crew member shouted.
"Hey, Bootstrap!" the captain shouted. "What are you --" before he could finish his sentence, Will was traveling at such a fast speed, that when the string got stuck on the cord, he flew right over the ship, still holding the baby, and plummeted into the deep waters of the ocean.
"That idiot!" a pirate shouted.
"That was worth a week's of entertainment!" a jolly crew member exclaimed. "Hey, Bootstrap! Are you alive?"
"I would laugh if he is!" a random pirate shouted.
Soon, they saw a hand grab onto the rope, as if he climbed up a long way, and finally made it to the top of the ship. This caused uproar of laughter coming from several pirates who found that their beloved Bootstrap Bill had survived yet another adventure.
"Hey, Bootstrap." The captain shouted, due to his bad hearing and the loud waves of the roaring ocean. "Did I see you holding a kid?"
"Jack Sparrow, yes!" Will replied with pride, as he wrapped a jacket around himself to keep warm.
"So where IS the kid?" the captain asked.
"I put him on a dock so he'll go to shore, and he'll be raised at Tortuga." Will grinned, and he turned around, "I bet the kid will grow up to be a lot like me, savvy? He looks a lot like one of the pirates I've seen… what was his name?"
"Well, Bill, we underestimated you." The captain smiled. "I assume you brought the loot."
"I've got your bloody loot," Will sneered, dumping an entire bag of rich food, gold, and jewels onto the table. "There's enough loot for everybody!" Will exclaimed, dumping even more bags of the stuff.
"Do you ever want to see that kid again?" the captain asked.
"Yeah." Will answered. "I'll come back in a year or three to see how he's doing and who raised him."
"What if he dies?" a pirate asked.
"He won't, mate." Will grinned. "He's Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Captain?" the captain asked.
"That's just a name I called myself to give the soldiers fear." Will said. "It worked. And now, I'm donating my escape name to good, old Jack."
"How sure are you that he'll grow up to be a fine man?" a pirate asked.
Will grinned, "Pretty sure."
"And you're sure that he'll survive all alone?"
"... Well, at the dock, there was something I had mentioned." Bill looked at the full moon.
Meanwhile, two drunk prostitutes were laughing and giggling over their adult love life, explaining in careful details of their disgusting, pitiful lives. One had three kids, and the other had none. As they were in deep conversation, the childless one shrieked in joy, as she saw the basket containing the baby boy. "Oh, how cute!!" she had the highest pitch a voice could produce. She threw her arms into the air, and ran in a Victorian dress. She fell to her knees, careless of how dirty her dress got, and was kneeling beside the adorable baby. She frantically unpinned the note that was in the baby's blanket/rag. She shouted, "BEATRICE!!! COME OVER HERE!!"
"WHAT IS IT!?!?" Beatrice, the only mother of the two of them, madly shouted out, still sickened by the consuming powers of alcohol. She hiccuped.
"IT'S AN ADORABLE, LITTLE BABY!!" Joanna, the other prostitute, said. "AND CHECK OUT THIS NOTE!!" She held out the note eagerly to her friend, who snatched it away meanly.
"WHAT KIND OF NAME IS JACK SPARROW!??!" she screamed.
"I DON'T KNOW!" Joanna giddily said. "I LIKE IT, THOUGH!"
"I GUESS IT'S A PRETTY NAME!" Beatrice shouted.
"DO YOU THINK WE OUGHT TO KEEP IT!?" Joanna shouted.
"NO." Beatrice shouted. "I'VE SEEN ENOUGH BABIES IN MY LIFETIME -- ESPECIALLY ABANDONED ONES."
"THIS ONE'S NOT ABANDONED." Joanna protested.
"YEAH, IT IS!" Beatrice wasn't her normal, proper, lady-like self.
"HOW ABOUT WE GIVE IT TO --" Joanna then saw the White Seal, Bootstrap Bill belonged to that ship's crew. "HEY, ISN'T THAT BOOTSTRAP BILL'S SHIP!?"
"IT'S NOT HIS SHIP, BUT YEAH, HE BELONGS THERE!!" Beatrice shouted, still wildly drunk. "SO THAT MEANS HE PROBABLY DROPPED OFF THE BABY!!"
"PROBABLY!!" Joanna said. "LET'S GIVE IT TO HIS GIRLFRIEND!!"
"YES, LET'S!" Beatrice shouted, as Joanna took the basket with one hand, and they escorted themselves into the town.
A scrap of fabric from Anne's blue and white dotted dress blew into the sea, and onto the White Seal. Bootstrap Bill snatched the piece, and stared down at it, sighing heavily in pity. He would never forget this night. He looked up at the moon, and saw Anne's face. He smiled at the face he saw. "I know you're watching your little Jack Sparrow..." he said. "... I bet you love him a lot." He said. "Too bad you died so young..." There was some silence as the windy chill from the sea blew against his face and woke him up. "... No, Anne. You didn't die..." He smiled again, looking up at the moon, "... You're his guardian angel."
"I'm your guardian angel."
Little Jack Sparrow recognized his mother's voice, and he cooed softly again even though he was under the mercy of two drunk women.