Saving Grace


There is a pleasure, sure, in being mad, which none but madmen know!

JOHN DRYDEN


"Now this is interesting", Captain Jack Sparrow – he set great store by the correct use of his title – thought to himself, and like so often, he uttered his thoughts out loud. Next to him, old Gibbs nodded and looked into the same direction like his Captain, spitting at the floor.

"Shall we take a look at it?"

"We most certainly shall, Mr. Gibbs," Jack replied in merrily. "Whoever puts on such a lovely bonfire must be in want of some spectators."

All they could see right now was some black smoke on the western horizon, but obviously, there was a great fire causing it, and steering towards its origin, they passed the remains of what must have been a large ship once. Planks, pieces of charred sails and a number of hats floated on the waves, and with some frowns, they passed them, trying to figure out what might have happened here. Two nights ago, there had been one of the most devastating storms in this area in a decade, but this did not explain why the fabric of the sails seemed to have been destroyed by fire, and with a long pole, Cotton fished out one of the rags.

"I've changed me mind, Mr. Gibbs! This isn't simply interesting, this is downright curious," Jack said, his lips pursed and his head tilting from one side to the other while examining the pieces of linen. Gibbs nodded once again, and Jack fumbled with his telescope until he had a clear view at the place where the fire seemed to come from.

"It's an island," he said matter-of-factly, "Somebody's having a barbecue."

Anamaria cautioned him, but he shrugged off her objections; "My dearest Anamaria, I see nothing whatsoever for you to worry your pretty head about. We show up, have a sausage or two, and perhaps some rum – can't let them celebrate all on their own, can we?"

Anamaria sighed gravely. She was used to Jack's follies, but every once in a while, he was well and truly getting on her nerves. He knew as well as she that it was no 'barbecue' they were sailing towards, but she did not have a share of his unequalled confidence. What if it was a trap? And if it wasn't, but a signal for help – how should they help anyone? They hadn't harboured in two months, their provisions were running out. Wasn't it far more cruel to give the possibly ship-wrecked people on that godforsaken island some hope of saviour just to let them down then?

But there was no arguing with Captain Jack Sparrow – note the title, please – because he simply pretended to be deaf, or twisted and turned all arguments against him so long until they were in his favour. In all those years she had known him by now, she still hadn't been able to make up her mind whether he was a lunatic, a bastard, or simply the worst drunkard that she had ever come across.

"Oh! Oh!" he cried, chuffed with what he saw through the telescope. "It's me old friends!"

"East India Trading Company?" Anmaria suggested drily. "But then, it'd be more of a tea party than a barbecue, right?"

"A tea party indeed. It's the Blue Coats! Two or three of them, I can't say for sure –"

"Clean the lenses or get sober."

"That's a very impertinent thing to say to your captain, luv!"

She groaned and tried to point out any of the fifty reasons why it was anything but smart to sail towards a bunch of British officers, after they had escaped them so ingeniously for some months now, but Jack thought rather the opposite. Of course.

"Fancy the stupid looks on their faces when we pass them with a cheerful 'Ahoy there'!"

When she had manoeuvred the Pearl as close to the shore as she could, she needed no telescope to see the frantic arm-waving of the people on the beach. There were two men jumping up and down and two more prostrate in the sands. Two dead, two survivors – she genuinely pitied the poor guys. They thought their saviour was coming, only to disappoint them and leave them to die, too.

"Is't possible," Jack gnarled with a tinge of surprise in his voice, once more peeking through the telescope. "I know these fine men."

"Don't puff yourself up like that, Jack, I can see they're Navy officers from here."

"You mistake me, luv. I don't mean to say I know their uniforms, every idiot knows their uniforms, Mr. Cotton's parrot would recognise their uniforms. I know these fellows! Personally! The right one – what's his name – Graves or something. He's the First Lieutenant of the Dauntless."

The mere mentioning of the name caused Anamaria to shudder. The Dauntless! Oh great. So it was a trap, and somewhere, possibly directly around the bend of the shore, she was waiting to sink them!

"Change tack!" she yelled and yanked the wheel around, only to be stopped by Jack. "What're you doing! We must get away! It may not be too late yet!"

"Hoh hoh, darling. Not so fast." He cried at the men to leave the sails alone and proceeded cheerfully, "I wonder what me ol' hearties are doing here on this lovely day. Look at them, how they're happy to see me."

"Of course they're happy, they've waited for months to get you, and now you're giving yourself up like an idiot!"

He merely giggled and she snatched the telescope from him to take a look herself. Yes, it were four British Navy sailors – silly fools, despite the dazzling heat, they were still wearing their naff coats. And for them, it must be even hotter, as they seemed to have set half of the island on fire.

The two dead men were covered by their blue coats to keep away the flies. Hopefully. She knew all the stories about desperate stranded sailors seeing themselves forced to eat their comrades – oh boy, she hadn't expected that even members of the Royal Navy could fall so far.

Jack insisted on taking one of the boats and row over, no pleas and no threats could change his mind. Gibbs, Marty and Rodrigo would go with him, although their faces showed quite clearly that they would have preferred to just sail away again, but what could one do when Jack Sparrow had set his mind on something?

Yes, Captain Jack Sparrow – he hated it that even his crew sometimes forgot the proper use of his title – wasn't simply pig-headed, he was downright reckless. But in his experience one could only win when daring something, and although he couldn't have explained it to himself, he sensed that it would be worth to inspect the lot over there. The two officers who were still able to stand ran into the water, boots and all, to welcome them, and to Jack's greatest delight, he saw ol' Graves struggling with himself before greeting him.

"Good morning me ol' fellows – Lieutenant Graves! Are you as pleased to see me as I am?"

"Captain Sparrow!" This wasn't Graves, but a lesser rank whose name he had forgotten, but whose somewhat sheepish face seemed very familiar and who was also polite enough to address him as Captain. Good man!

"Yes, it's me!" Jack cried blithely, "But I'm afraid I can't remember your name, good sir."

"Murtogg," the man replied in a similarly cheerful vein and got elbowed by his boss.

"Captain Sparrow – we are – glad to see you, too," Graves commenced. It was obvious how hard it was for the poor, certainly exceedingly decent officer to talk to Jack Sparrow – Captain Jack Sparrow! – like that. As it turned out – and he wouldn't have believed it, hadn't the earnest faces confirmed it to be true – the Dauntless hadn't only got herself into that terrible storm the other night, no! They had also been attacked, which was as weird as Jack had ever heard a story. Attacking the Dauntless in itself was nothing if not a suicide mission. Sailing into a hurricane and attacking the Dauntless was – whatever was worse than a suicide mission. But sailing into the eye of a hurricane to attack the Dauntless and succeed – was simply beyond belief.

And while still listening in sheer incredulity to the desperate sailors, he took a closer look at their injured mates.

Graves saw his glance and elaborated, "Sergeant Mullroy merely fainted from the heat, but our Commodore is very badly wounded –"

"Can it be – no, it's truly – my old friend Commodore Norrington?! Mary mother of Jesus!"

He was genuinely perplexed. To be honest – he had hoped never to see the Commodore again in his life, for he would have expected to spot him through a telescope, on deck of the Dauntless and ready to fire at himself, dear old Captain Jack Sparrow.

Graves went on, "He nearly drowned. I'm afraid for his life –"

"Afraid for his life?! What about your own life, mate?"

The young officer merely scowled defiantly and in Jack's eyes, this was all he needed to know about a man. Did his inferiors truly care about him? Then he was worth a toast. If they didn't – send him down to old Hob.

The Commodore, fancy that... The chap was hilarious in his stuffy righteousness, a true pillar saint in the making he was. But also a damn fine sailor and – Jack was loath to admit – an overall decent man. He battled with himself for a minute before exclaiming as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "Rodrigo, Marty – help the gentlemen aboard with their casualties. Come on!"

Anamaria would kill him for this, no doubt. But Jack Sparrow wasn't mad; in this moment, he was quite the opposite. He did have some sense of honour in his bones, and he knew very well that the Commodore had treated him with fairness when they had met before. To forsake him and the others, two of them these hilarious flakes that he had once talked to in Port Royal, felt wrong. And the squirming Lieutenant Graves was bound to be some fun on the journey – torn as he clearly was between his duties and the love for his own life, between despising the pirates in front of him and the sheer relief of being rescued.

Weakened as he was, he took it upon himself to lift up the Commodore and carry him over to the boat with great care.

"You're sure you don't need any help, mate?"

"I carried him on my back until here. I can carry him some more," the Lieutenant retorted through gritted teeth.

"What do you mean, you carried him?"

It meant exactly that, even if the whole thing was still beyond the lieutenant's understanding. That he had survived was nothing short of a miracle. The Dauntless' large powder magazines had been hit, and the whole, previously so grandiose ship had blown up with everybody on her in the middle of the tossing ocean. Groves however had merely been hurled into the sea without any further injury worth mentioning, and inwardly blessing the Commodore for his foresight to insist that his men ought to learn how to swim, he had done the crawl hoping that his inner compass didn't deceive him and he was indeed heading west. To have come across the Commodore, who had been like a sort of brother to him for many years now, had crowned this astonishing piece of good luck.

He had literally bumped into the body in the middle of the ocean showing no sign of life. Still hope prevailed, and with the bad omen of an albatross circling in the sky above them like a vulture waiting for its prey, Groves had grabbed his superior and swum for hours before setting eyes at last on exactly the little island they had set their heart on for before the storm had broken. With the very last of his strength he had dragged the two of them ashore, where he had been assisted by the Sergeants Murtogg and Mullroy who had saved themselves on a plank.

A short exploration of the island had proven that no rescue was to be expected here, so they had wrapped up the injured Commodore, eaten some coconuts and prayed. During the course of the day he had come to the conclusion that they must make a fire and pray some more that somebody saw it. With no other fuel the only thing to set ablaze was the island itself, the palms, the undergrowth, and only saving as many coconuts as they could find, they had gone ahead, knowing full well that if they weren't found before coaxing the last bit of moisture out of the coconuts they were as good as dead.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" they were welcomed back on the Pearl, and like always, Jack noticed how pretty his first mate was when she was extremely angry.

"I thought you knew the answer to that question, luv. May I introduce you to these fine gentlemen? This here is Officer Murtogg. The good man that he's just heaving aboard is his friend Mr. Mullroy – passed out, poor chap. This here is Lieutenant Graves –"

"Groves. My name is Groves," the officer corrected him, cautiously trying to prevent further damage of the Commodore whom he and Rodrigo now lifted on deck.

"Excuse me, dear sir, Lieutenant Groves, of course. And the gentleman he's dragging about is – you might have guessed it already by his uncommonly pretty jacket, darling – none other than the good old Commodore Norrington. I assure you, you will find nowhere so fine officers as these four. Lieutenant Graves – sorry, Groves there might appear a bit stiff at first, but he improves on closer acquaintance, I'm sure, and as for the Commodore – I don't need to say much about the Commodore, do I?"

"This is Commodore Norrington?!" Suspiciously, Anamaria stepped a little closer and spotting the improvised bandage around his head saturated with blood, she quickly kneeled down and checked his pulse.

"Bloody hell! Bring him down under deck, and make haste!" she snapped and jumped up again. "Cotton! I need water, clean bandages, and whatever liquor you can find. Oh, and some of you guys – club together and provide the newcomers with some grub."

"Heart of gold." Jack smiled behind her back. "She pretends to be all tough and careless, but she's a saint, you know –"

Lieutenant Groves' expression clearly said that he hoped so and with his superior officer in his arms, followed Rodrigo and Sergeant Murtogg who were carrying the unconscious sergeant under deck. He had yearned for a fast rescue for the Commodore's sake, but he was still doubtful whether this apparent blessing in disguise wouldn't turn out to be quite the opposite.

It stood bad about the Commodore. The woman looking after him shook her head sceptically when removing the makeshift bandages.

"The head wound would be bad enough. You can only tell how much damage it's done once he wakes up. If he wakes up. Because the fever is likely to kill him off first."

She dabbed the wound with a piece of rum-soaked cloth and started unbuttoning his shirt. Groves watched with bated breath, and gave an involuntary pant when spotting the golden chain around his superior's neck, with a dainty golden ring adorned by a beautiful emerald dangling from it.

The woman spared the jewel hardly a look, and only looked up when he spat, "For heaven's sake, take it!"

She whirled around, shooting daggers at him. "I may be a pirate, I may be a runaway slave, but I am no thief robbing a dying man!" she thundered.

"No! No! I mean – take the damned thing off him!"

She frowned. "Is it cursed?"

"You bet it is!"

"Can one touch it? What is it?"

"It's an engagement ring."

"A cursed engagement ring?"

"You may well say the engagement was cursed! I can't believe he's still carrying the bloody thing around his neck!"

She shot him a bemused glance and went on undressing the Commodore without touching the necklace. "For now you'd better regard it as his good luck charm," she muttered, putting a glass onto the man's chest here and there and pressing her ear on top of it.

"Little wonder he's consumed by fever! He's got a bad case of pneumonia, poor fellow. Rodrigo! Fetch me the vinegar!"

Groves rubbed his eyes wearily. "I beg your pardon, Ma'am, but – have you any idea what you're doing?"

"My mother was what you English call a witch doctor. You burned her at the stakes for it. But before that she taught me all she knew. So yes, I do believe I know what I'm doing."

"You're a witch?!"

She laughed scathingly. "I wish I was! You ought to wish I was, for then I might just be capable of saving your Commodore."

To Groves' greatest amazement, Sparrow, who had just joined them, looked just as worried as he felt himself. His typical cockiness had vanished as he murmured, "If the gods are with us, it'll take us ten days to reach Port Royal – can he make it that long?"

She looked up in alarm. "Jack, we can't sail to Port Royal!"

"Yes, we can, Anamaria, and we must."

"He might survive the journey or he might not, I couldn't say. But we surely won't! If we sail there, it'll be the last thing we do in our lives!"

"If I may say something," Groves cut in somewhat timidly, "I am – I was – the First Lieutenant of the Dauntless, and with Commodore Norrington incapacitated, I'm his deputy. That means I can grant you safe-conduct. Please, I beg you, take my Commodore back to Port Royal, and you shall not regret it!"

"The last time he –" she beckoned at Sparrow
"– went to save one of your lot, you thanked him by wanting to hang him! He did!" She cast the unconscious man an angry glance but did not stop dressing his wound either.

"I assure you, the Commodore strongly disliked the idea, but he is a man of the law. You'll find, however, that I am not half as punctilious as he is. I will let you go free, no questions asked."

The woman looked as if she thought him to be as mad as her own Captain, but Jack nodded, "Don't worry, pal, we will take good old Norrington home. You better pray that he makes it until there."

But then a spark of the old craze flickered in his eyes. "Besides – we can't disappoint his bonny lass, can we? Little Miss Swann is too young and too good-looking to fade away as a sailor's widow!"

Groves was perplexed. "But – you know Miss Swann didn't marry the Commodore! She – she's run off with this darned blacksmith!"

"Now did she really!" Sparrow raised his eyebrows. "Silly girl! Will Turner it is then? She could have had me, and she picked the whelp – what say you to that! Hell, I thought she was saving herself up for this fellow there!"