I meant to mention in the last chapter, that, as you have probably guessed,
I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, nor do I make any money from my
writing.
******************************************************************
The letter had reached him while he was in Portsmouth. It was a short note more than a letter, really, scrawled in an unfamiliar and uneven hand.
"Your wife is ill. Come at once" was all it said, but those seven words were enough to turn his blood to ice.
In those days, he was a loyal and conscientious member of the Royal Navy, so rather than simply go running off, he went to his commanding officer, a Captain Attwood, and asked for leave. He was kept sitting in the man's antechamber for three hours. He couldn't sit still, he moved from chair to chair, pacing up and down, while the officers gathered in the doorway to the next room eyed him curiously.
Finally he was admitted into the office. The captain expressed no interest or sympathy at his story, but allowed him a week of leave all the same. He had run out of that office, hardly stopping to salute. Then he had worked hard to find a way of getting home. He had spent the last of his money, carefully saved to allow him to buy his wife an anniversary present, on a ticket for the stagecoach north, all his thoughts on the little village and the woman who awaited him there. Ann. The second happiest day of his life had been when she had agreed to marry him. The happiest had, of course, been their wedding day. She had looked more beautiful then than she ever had before. He hadn't thought that possible. Now, they had had five happy years together. Almost five; the anniversary was in a months time. When he got home, she would be surprised to see him. The letter was going to turn out to have been a false alarm. Ann would be fine, she was the strongest woman he had ever known. But they could use this surprise week's leave well. It was late spring after all. A good time of year. They could have a picnic by the burn she loved so much. Maybe climb the hill and watch the sunset as they had done that day when he had proposed. They would be so happy together.
He arrived an hour late for her funeral.
He sat by her graveside, holding a few already withering flowers. The sun was shining brightly, highlighting the name on the tombstone. "Ann Gibbs Beloved wife" it said. His fingers traced the rough stone, as though he caressed her soft face. It seemed everyone from the village had been by, to offer sympathetic, but useless words. He spent everyday of the short time he had sitting here, and every night lying awake in their empty bed, in their empty house. What else was there to do?
When his week was up, he went back to Portsmouth. His friend's and fellow sailors spoke quietly around him. They took care to make sure that he ate meals, and that he was included in their conversations. He felt oppressed by their pity. When he walked into the bar they frequented, the conversation stopped for a minute and then continued. He got drunk. They carried him back to the billet, and avoided him as much as possible. He, imagining Ann's disapproval, hated himself.
Everywhere he went, there was something that reminded him of her. The smell of the flowers that she so often wore in her hair. The sight of a blonde woman - it seemed any blonde woman - made his heart leap in hope and he would look twice, just in case.
After two weeks, he called in every favour he had ever had owed to him, by anyone in an effort to get sent as far away from England as possible.
That was how he found himself on board a ship bound for Port Royal. It had been a bad trip. He had kept himself well anaesthetised with rum, but still the memories plagued him, especially at night. During the day he could keep himself occupied with his duties and also with talking to the new governor's young daughter, a bright lass by the name of Elizabeth. He told her stories and tried to ignore the pain. It was stories about pirates that she was most interested in. He knew lots of them. So did she, but hers showed them as romantic figures, not the filthy devils he knew them to be. Still, she was young. She would grow out of it. He complained about having her on board all the time. Everyone knew that it was bad luck. But, being honest, she was a nice child and good company, so he didn't object too much.
He did object when he heard her singing that bloody awful song in the mist though. Did she want to attract the pirates to them? He wasn't totally sure how the pirates would know, but sure enough he saw they did as they found a wrecked merchant vessel. Plainly the work of pirates, even if everyone was set on denying it. Like that young Lieutenant Norrington. A man destined to go far no doubt, but a bit of a stick with it.
They reached Port Royal without further incident. Gibbs continued to tell his stories to the girl, and to the young lad they had rescued from the burning ship. The boy clearly shared his ideas of pirates but seemed reluctant to argue with young Miss Swan. That amused him a little; he could remember being that age and wanting to impress girls without really knowing why. That thought reminded him, inevitably, of Ann and he took a long drink from the flask which he now kept with him at all times.
Once in Port Royal, he did his duties to the best of his abilities. The navy and the sea were all he had left and he wanted, needed not to let them down. But it was hard. He was constantly distracted by his memories and it frequently seemed a lot easier to stay drunk than to sober up. He knew that his commanding officer, the newly-promoted Captain Norrington was watching him, but he didn't know what he could do to stop himself.
They were out hunting pirates in the Interceptor most of the time. To be honest, they very rarely found any, but Norrington argued that the few they did find - and eliminate - made the exercise worthwhile. Gibbs tried hard to see his point, but the long periods with no action whatsoever made it harder than ever to refuse the call of the bottle - and the memories. The end came abruptly, when he passed out drunk, when he was supposed to be on watch. It wasn't the first time, but this time he got caught and was hauled before Captain Norrington.
"Mr Gibbs." The man didn't bother to look up from the paperwork he was reading.
"Yessir." He did his best to stand to attention, but his head was swimming and the room was spinning in a way that was unnatural, even aboard ship.
"This is not the first time that you have been found drunk while on duty."
He licked his lips, nervously. "No, sir. I'm sorry sir."
"Do you have any sort of explanation?"
He considered talking about Ann, about the pain, the loneliness and the anger. But his superior kept talking without giving him a chance to speak. He probably wouldn't have spoken anyway. He may have lost his dignity, but his pride lingered on.
"I must tell you that in my opinion there can be no explanation nor excuse for this sort of behaviour. With no-one on watch, we could have been surprised by an attack from an enemy."
"Yes sir."
The other man sighed, and for the first time looked up. "I'm afraid I have no alternative but to dismiss you from the service. The Royal Navy has no place for men who endanger the lives of their shipmates. When we return to port, we will commence formal proceedings. That is all."
He took the gesture of dismissal and left, breathing heavily. He leaned against a wall. What was he supposed to do now? He was in the Caribbean, he knew no-one here except for his shipmates. He couldn't go back to England; there was nothing for him there either. There was nothing for him anywhere.
********************************************************************
There we go. If you enjoyed it - please review. If you didn't enjoy it - please review.
******************************************************************
The letter had reached him while he was in Portsmouth. It was a short note more than a letter, really, scrawled in an unfamiliar and uneven hand.
"Your wife is ill. Come at once" was all it said, but those seven words were enough to turn his blood to ice.
In those days, he was a loyal and conscientious member of the Royal Navy, so rather than simply go running off, he went to his commanding officer, a Captain Attwood, and asked for leave. He was kept sitting in the man's antechamber for three hours. He couldn't sit still, he moved from chair to chair, pacing up and down, while the officers gathered in the doorway to the next room eyed him curiously.
Finally he was admitted into the office. The captain expressed no interest or sympathy at his story, but allowed him a week of leave all the same. He had run out of that office, hardly stopping to salute. Then he had worked hard to find a way of getting home. He had spent the last of his money, carefully saved to allow him to buy his wife an anniversary present, on a ticket for the stagecoach north, all his thoughts on the little village and the woman who awaited him there. Ann. The second happiest day of his life had been when she had agreed to marry him. The happiest had, of course, been their wedding day. She had looked more beautiful then than she ever had before. He hadn't thought that possible. Now, they had had five happy years together. Almost five; the anniversary was in a months time. When he got home, she would be surprised to see him. The letter was going to turn out to have been a false alarm. Ann would be fine, she was the strongest woman he had ever known. But they could use this surprise week's leave well. It was late spring after all. A good time of year. They could have a picnic by the burn she loved so much. Maybe climb the hill and watch the sunset as they had done that day when he had proposed. They would be so happy together.
He arrived an hour late for her funeral.
He sat by her graveside, holding a few already withering flowers. The sun was shining brightly, highlighting the name on the tombstone. "Ann Gibbs Beloved wife" it said. His fingers traced the rough stone, as though he caressed her soft face. It seemed everyone from the village had been by, to offer sympathetic, but useless words. He spent everyday of the short time he had sitting here, and every night lying awake in their empty bed, in their empty house. What else was there to do?
When his week was up, he went back to Portsmouth. His friend's and fellow sailors spoke quietly around him. They took care to make sure that he ate meals, and that he was included in their conversations. He felt oppressed by their pity. When he walked into the bar they frequented, the conversation stopped for a minute and then continued. He got drunk. They carried him back to the billet, and avoided him as much as possible. He, imagining Ann's disapproval, hated himself.
Everywhere he went, there was something that reminded him of her. The smell of the flowers that she so often wore in her hair. The sight of a blonde woman - it seemed any blonde woman - made his heart leap in hope and he would look twice, just in case.
After two weeks, he called in every favour he had ever had owed to him, by anyone in an effort to get sent as far away from England as possible.
That was how he found himself on board a ship bound for Port Royal. It had been a bad trip. He had kept himself well anaesthetised with rum, but still the memories plagued him, especially at night. During the day he could keep himself occupied with his duties and also with talking to the new governor's young daughter, a bright lass by the name of Elizabeth. He told her stories and tried to ignore the pain. It was stories about pirates that she was most interested in. He knew lots of them. So did she, but hers showed them as romantic figures, not the filthy devils he knew them to be. Still, she was young. She would grow out of it. He complained about having her on board all the time. Everyone knew that it was bad luck. But, being honest, she was a nice child and good company, so he didn't object too much.
He did object when he heard her singing that bloody awful song in the mist though. Did she want to attract the pirates to them? He wasn't totally sure how the pirates would know, but sure enough he saw they did as they found a wrecked merchant vessel. Plainly the work of pirates, even if everyone was set on denying it. Like that young Lieutenant Norrington. A man destined to go far no doubt, but a bit of a stick with it.
They reached Port Royal without further incident. Gibbs continued to tell his stories to the girl, and to the young lad they had rescued from the burning ship. The boy clearly shared his ideas of pirates but seemed reluctant to argue with young Miss Swan. That amused him a little; he could remember being that age and wanting to impress girls without really knowing why. That thought reminded him, inevitably, of Ann and he took a long drink from the flask which he now kept with him at all times.
Once in Port Royal, he did his duties to the best of his abilities. The navy and the sea were all he had left and he wanted, needed not to let them down. But it was hard. He was constantly distracted by his memories and it frequently seemed a lot easier to stay drunk than to sober up. He knew that his commanding officer, the newly-promoted Captain Norrington was watching him, but he didn't know what he could do to stop himself.
They were out hunting pirates in the Interceptor most of the time. To be honest, they very rarely found any, but Norrington argued that the few they did find - and eliminate - made the exercise worthwhile. Gibbs tried hard to see his point, but the long periods with no action whatsoever made it harder than ever to refuse the call of the bottle - and the memories. The end came abruptly, when he passed out drunk, when he was supposed to be on watch. It wasn't the first time, but this time he got caught and was hauled before Captain Norrington.
"Mr Gibbs." The man didn't bother to look up from the paperwork he was reading.
"Yessir." He did his best to stand to attention, but his head was swimming and the room was spinning in a way that was unnatural, even aboard ship.
"This is not the first time that you have been found drunk while on duty."
He licked his lips, nervously. "No, sir. I'm sorry sir."
"Do you have any sort of explanation?"
He considered talking about Ann, about the pain, the loneliness and the anger. But his superior kept talking without giving him a chance to speak. He probably wouldn't have spoken anyway. He may have lost his dignity, but his pride lingered on.
"I must tell you that in my opinion there can be no explanation nor excuse for this sort of behaviour. With no-one on watch, we could have been surprised by an attack from an enemy."
"Yes sir."
The other man sighed, and for the first time looked up. "I'm afraid I have no alternative but to dismiss you from the service. The Royal Navy has no place for men who endanger the lives of their shipmates. When we return to port, we will commence formal proceedings. That is all."
He took the gesture of dismissal and left, breathing heavily. He leaned against a wall. What was he supposed to do now? He was in the Caribbean, he knew no-one here except for his shipmates. He couldn't go back to England; there was nothing for him there either. There was nothing for him anywhere.
********************************************************************
There we go. If you enjoyed it - please review. If you didn't enjoy it - please review.
