Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates franchise or the characters of Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth Swann, Will Turner, Mr. Gibbs, Scarlett (but I do own her last name) yada yada yada.

A/N: Hope you all like this. R&R!!!

July 11, 1796

After six days at sea I am thoroughly sick of water. I never thought it would happen. I have always loved the ocean, even when I was a little girl and Father did all he could to keep me away from the beach. My mother drowned when she was playing in the spray with me as a child. And father died just a year before I went off to sea in this moldy bucket. He would be ashamed of how I act now, wearing breeches and walking on deck in plain sight of all the men. But I want adventure. And it is very difficult to have adventures in petticoats and corsets.
The captain says we shall reach Tortuga any day now. Maybe there I will find an adventure. Before he died, my father had written me a letter to be opened posthumously. It informed me that I was a foundling, left on my "parents'" doorstep in a crusty half of a wine cask with sail material wrapped around me in a crude attempt at swaddling. The cask was marked "Product of Tortuga". Going on this knowledge, I immediately decided to set off to sea in the company of my butler, Rolf. I would not be surprised if I was the illegitimate offspring of some white-bearded seaman or fiendish pirate. I have always liked the feel of coins between my fingers and the salt sea in my hair; I have always had that fierce sense of independence particular to pirates and Spanish guerillas.
I have changed my last name so I cannot be connected with my noble surrogate father's family and bring dishonor down upon his house. Now that I know that I am not actually my father's child, I can swash and buckle all I please without feeling any remorse--just how a cold-blooded pirate queen should be.

Sincerely, my dear diary,
Margaret Blackcrowe

Same day, later

I am not so keen on being a pirate after having tasted their food. If I ever get my own ship, firstly, it shall be all women. Secondly, we shall have a very good cook.
I can see the fires of Tortuga flickering in the distance, probably only about 10 miles away. The scent of liquor, which was only a whiff of rum when we were in open seas, now becomes stronger, and the rum mingles with brandy, port, and wine. Faint songs that sound terribly bawdy and rude can be heard, and the usually silent crewmen hum along with smirks on their faces, not daring to speak the offensive lyrics for fear of having to swab the deck two extra times for speaking so with a lady on board.

Same day, Seven o'clock

After embarking from the ship, one hears whistles and catcalls from all around, which continue as one walks through the streets. I feel as if I am in the midst of a cage of very dirty, colorful birds with all the whistling and singing. I took a room at a tiny, grubby inn where the food is only marginally better than that on board. The innkeeper, a Madame Hapney, is a bit vulgar and winks at Rolf and sniffs at me. In all her lascivious finery she cannot hope to have the same freedom I am given. Her father lives in the basement and demands work from her most of the day and night, bringing him food, salves for the boils on his legs and feet, and money the Madame pilfers from the pockets of the honest sailors who stumble upon Tortuga's defenestrated soil.
I do not talk much with Rolf because he is not very interesting. He used to be more talkative until I came up with the scheme to trace my probably piratical roots and insisted, reluctantly, on coming with me. Most of the clothes he had packed were dresses, but I packed them away again when he tried to put them in the bureau by my bed, all except for the best two, one of which is a ball gown and one of which is the absurdly ornate and heavy wedding dress Father had made for my trousseau, much too hot for this Caribbean weather. "Tomorrow," I said commandingly to Rolf, "I shall go and see if I can find some good stout linen to make into trousers."
The poor boy fainted right then and there. I had to revive him with the Eau De Cologne he keeps in his right breast pocket.

July 12, 1796
Evening

I have gone into almost every bloody tavern in town and found nothing so far. Perhaps it would serve me well to go to the vineyard on the island which the wine cask probably came from.
I did meet an interesting old salt named Gibbs. He was sitting in a pigsty and babbling on and on about some man named Jack's compass and how the maelstrom was too bad, they shouldn't go in there. One of the women near me said he'd been sitting there for months, supposedly reliving some episode in his past. All of a sudden Gibbs looks up at me in all my breeched, long-red-haired, bead-adorned glory and says: "Jack? When did you dye your hair?" Then someone makes a noise with a pot and pan a few yards away and Gibbs looks over and yells at them to "stop that racket and open the sails like Cap'n Jack said." I was wisely advised by Rolf to take that moment to slowly edge away. "Madmen, Fraulein," Rolf said. "Are to be, in general, avoided."
Otherwise the search for someone who might know something about my origins was fruitless. I did meet some Jamaican maroon women who braided some beads into my hair. I always did like that sort of primeval adornment.
Dinner was bread, brandy, and oranges, and infinitely better than hard tack and rum.

July 13, 1796

I asked Rolf this morning if he knew anything about my origins. He sighed and said something in German that sounded a bit like "I hate puppies."
Completing my male attire, I bought a leather tricorn hat, rather plain. I think I shall put a feather in it once I find a good one. My fingernails have become extraordinarily dirty in a very short time, so I also bought a small knife with which to clean them. Rolf fainted again when he saw this, so I ordered him to rest in the room at the inn for the rest of the day, and he begrudgingly obliged.
Upon entering a tavern named "The Salty Wench", I happened upon a gray-haired figure, legs stretched out on the table, tricorn hat over his face. He pushed up the brim of his hat a bit. "I know those feet," he said in a slightly drunk-sounding voice. He took his hat off his bandannaed head. "Scarlet?"
I chuckled. "Well, at least you know your hair colors."
"I mean, are you? Scarlet, that is?" His beard was in two braids with beads on the end, and his grizzled hair was as copious as it must have been in younger days.
"Margaret Blackcrowe." I extended my hand cautiously.
He let out a sigh of relief. "Good. You're not going to slap me." He firmly shook my hand. "Captain Jack Sparrow. Funny how I keep meeting people with bird names. The governor of Port Royal's daughter's last name was Swann."
"Heh. Birds of a feather do stick together, as my mum said." I plonked down on the chair, putting my feet up on the table.
"Something to drink?"
"Rum."
"Ah, yes. My favorite. Charlie! Rum!"
"We're out, Jack. Again."
Jack put his hand on his forehead and sighed. "Why is the rum ALWAYS gone?"

I shrugged. "It's all right. I wasn't that thirsty anyways."
My partner took a dirty coin out of his pocket. "You look awfully fine to be hanging around an old scallywag like me."
"How could you tell?"
"Your hands. They're smooth as the inside of an oyster. Only a fine lady could have such hands, whether her nails are dirty or not."
I blushed.
"So, Margaret dear. Why exactly have you come to Tortuga?"
Finally, we came to the heart of the matter. "You'll think I got it out of a novel."
"Darling, I don't much read novels. They're more feminine fare. Try me."
I let out a breath. "I'm looking for my parents."
Jack looked off into space for a moment. "Aaah... I see. Are you sure you don't know anybody named Scarlet?"
"That's just a nickname the boys used to tease me with back home. Why?"
"Oh, it's only a girl I used to know. The last time I saw her was about eighteen years ago, and her belly was enormous."
For a second I thought I was onto something. Then I dismissed it. This "Scarlet" sounded like a disreputable creature. I was sure there were other redheaded women on the island who could be my mother.
I hoped there were other redheaded women on the island who could be my mother.
I walked around with Jack all day, getting introduced to some of his acquaintances and paying off some of his more paltry debts. Finally we parted at the inn, after Madame Hapney slapped him across the face.
"Don't think I deserved that," he said, although it seemed as if getting struck was something he was quite used to.
Rolf was waiting when I came upstairs with a stern look on his face.
"Oh, yes, I know you don't approve of all this goings-on, my friend, but if I want to find out where I come from it must be done," I said, getting out of my frock coat.
Rolf humphed. "Guten nacht, Fraulein."
You know, you'd think he'd at least try to be happy.

July 13

This morning I tramped over to the governmental building. It was very large, and most of its windows had been broken, but one ancient and grizzled clerk stood at the front desk, reading letters still being sent to the long-deceased governor of Tortuga.
"Right this way, miss. Here are the birth records. Ah, 18 years ago. Here." He plonked a giant book down on a desk. "Have at it for as long as you please. You're the first person who hasn't come in here to raid and pillage since the founding of the place."
I flipped through the book. "Margaret, Margaret..." My father's letter had told me that they took my name from a paper pinned to my chest, which also contained my date of birth, when they found me. My finger stopped on an entry far down on the hundredth page.

May the Third -- Name: Margaret Raven Pearl Granville -- Mother: Granville, Scarlet -- Father: Unknown -- Note: Mother professes Father to be Sparrow, Jack -- Acting Midwife: Zara Hapney

Well. You can imagine my surprise. These kinds of coincidences usually only occur in books. Yet here I was, sitting in Tortuga's dilapidated Hall of Records, reading the plain proof that my mother was a prostitute and my father was a pirate. Although I had suspected such a background, it was still a bit of a shock to see it in plain writing on paper.
Immediately I went over to the Salty Wench to confront Jack.
"Hello, Dad," I said, sitting down with a flagon of rum I'd ordered.
"I suspected as much. You have my cheekbones. And your mum's..."
"Scarlet Granville."
"Interesting. I suppose she gave you a bird name in there somewhere?"
"Raven. And Pearl."
"Ah, yes. After my ship."
"The Pearl?"
"The Black Pearl."
We were silent for a long time, just sipping our rum and looking sideways at each other.
"I have to admit," I said. "The style choices alone should have clued me in at the first."
"Where'd you get the beads?"
"Just in the marketplace. Only sixpence."
"You paid for them? Are you sure you're my daughter?"

We talked for a while, he getting increasingly drunk as the minutes went by, and I remaining very sane, having about the same liquor tolerance as a rhinoceros's toenail.

I took my leave at about seven o'clock, returning to the inn in a daze. Dad had given me an offer to help him get back the Pearl from Hector Barbossa, with the help of some friends of his, Elizabeth Swann, Will Turner, and their son, Jack.

I told him I'd consider it. I wanted to see if I could find my mother before I went gallivanting over the seven seas in some dinghy with only a broken compass and a puzzle map to the Fountain of Youth.

A/N: Comment with any questions or observations and I'll try to answer them in the next chappie's Author's Note. :)