Chapter 4: 1717 Trapped in dangerous Waters
It was late after midnight when the door to the captain's cabin got opened and Bill Turner had a look in: "Pat?"
Buried amongst maps and sea charts, a huge stack of books and lots of nautical instruments sat Patrick Swallow working at his writing desk. He raised his head when he got aware of the sudden draft of fresh air coming from the opened door and let go the quill when he recognized who it was who dared to disturb him at this late hour: "Bill! Come in, come in, my friend. You have some pleasuring news for me?"
"Barely!" Bill replied: "Although my intentions are only the best, as you know." He closed the door and had a curious look at the utter chaos keeping hold of the entire room: "And as I can see you're eagerly searching for a way out of this mess. Or how else shall I understand this very special kind of chaos prevailing within here?"
Patrick just shrugged and threw a bottle of rum over to his first mate: "Don't ask, just drink! It will keep you save from unwanted answers. In addition, it will make this situation much more bearable. Don't you think as well...?"
The 'situation' he referred to was also known as 'calm' and becalmed they were.
Both!
His "Silver Stream" and Rosalind's "Eagle's Wing". For more than a week, by now. On the open ocean, too far away from the next shore and far enough out at sea to watch how the supplies ran shorter day by day.
The fact, that they had, indeed, stored more than enough rum, but that, at the same time, they would suffer a lack of fresh water, soon, finally led to the one and only solution they had left: The water got rationed while the rum did not and due to this, his men found themselves caught within a persisting state of being enjoyably foggy-brained. Just able to keep the ship on a steady course which, due to the lack of a fresh breeze, was the same senseless than trying to fill a bucket with water using a mesh.
So far, Patrick succeeded in keeping his crew busy with some meaningful duties and they had started to work on everything they weren't able to do while sailing through heavy weather or getting engaged in a sea fight. During the first days, the men didn't mutter, but when day after day passed by without a hint of a change they started to show their displeasure. Of course, everyone aboard knew that neither the captain nor the crew was to blame for the calm, but for no one knew how long this state would last, they searched for a way to let out their frustration.
Meanwhile, the whole deck and the ship's walls got scrubbed and swabbed, the ropes, sails and hammocks got fixed, the brig got cleaned and the weapons, the powder and the guns got checked if they were still in good order. The "Stream" glistered as if she just got launched and while the ship's cook tried to prepare relishable meals with all he was able to find, Bill Turner struggled about something totally different – about something having nothing to do with the calm, the running short of fresh water or with everything else belonging to their awkward situation.
He scratched the back of his head, sheepishly, and started humming and hawing until Patrick finally asked him with a boyish grin: "Tell me, Bill, why do I have such a vague feeling that you don't want to talk to me about the calm or the men's moral? If it is something important to you let it out, otherwise I would be grateful if you would leave me alone..."
"It is important and, yes, it's important to me but not necessarily to you..."
"Oh, good!" Patrick used the sleeve of his shirt and wiped his brow in played relief then he gave his first mate a wink and said: "I've not to expect a mutiny then...?"
"No!"
"So, what the hell is it then, mate? Come on, for sure, it can't be much worse than to be becalmed and to be trapped somewhere in the nowhere. Well then..."
"Elianor!" Bill cleared his throat:" It's about Elianor...!"
"Ah! As I thought! What's wrong with her?"
"Nothing! But, Pat, you know..."
Patrick looked at him with a smirk then he took a deep draft from out of his bottle and leaned back within his chair.
For sure, it was all about Elianor, Bill Turner's beautiful and strong-minded lover, who obviously preferred to live amongst a band of rough and unwashed pirates instead of being trapped behind high garden walls, of being forced to use embroidery hoops instead of grapnels and of being wanted to join soirees and mime a well educated lady. He had no other explanation for the fact that she stayed aboard his ship after they had dropped the survivors of the shipwreck at Tortuga: Instead of disembarking, she and Bill fell in love at first sight.
Patrick had no doubt that she was the daughter of a well known and well reputed family. The way she used to speak, her attitude and, of course, her noble paleness had told him their own story, back then. Meanwhile, she looked like a piratess to the core. Her honey coloured hair made up a very delicate contrast to her tanned skin and her big blue eyes used to shimmer out of her equally tanned face. She did not need long to get used to sword, cutlass and pistol, but still her most dangerous weapon was her keen mind. Her tactical skills and her talent to negotiate in a way that, in the end, no one could be sure any more whose idea it really had been not to scuttle each other, spared the "Silver Stream" from ending up at Davy Jones' Locker more than once throughout the bygone years.
Elianor and Bill shared a spruce mansion at close range to both, harbour and tavern, and even if they weren't married, yet, there was no one all around the hidden bay who'd doubt them to belong together. Patrick and the crew accepted it and whoever came across her greeted Elianor in honest respect - for her kindness and courage, but also for her ability to swear and curse like a true pirate.
And so Patrick himself answered his question: "Well then, Bill, admit it before we'll all die from thirst, sunstroke or madness. Will you make your pretty little English lass the respectable Madam Turner?"
"You know, most of the men think that we already are..."
"Be glad, we don't have a cleric aboard who'd constantly preach you a sermon because you're not!"
"No, but we have a captain aboard who'd be allowed to marry us..."
"Very well then, Bill Turner, I promise that I'll marry you and your bonny lass as soon as we got out of the mess we're sitting in, at the moment, and that we'll have a proper feast as soon as we'll return to our cosy little island. Will this do to answer your question?"
"Aye, captain!" Bill replied beaming.
With break of dawn, fog came up and when Jack came to the deck to turn the hourglass and to ring the bell, there was nothing to spot but a thick, tight white wall where the night before the "Silver Stream" could have been spotted although she drifted within visual and hearing range. He raised his head, but not even the crow's nest was to spot any more.
Jack shivered within the cold and clammy air, but he didn't want Jacobsen to notice, who sashayed over to him now.
"Eerie, isn't it, lad?"
The versed sailor also shivered. If due to the cold or to just hide his growing discomfort wasn't easy to say. But he was right. Except of their own damped voices and the silent gurgling of the waves, no other sound was to hear at all. Almost as if the dense mist wanted to prevent any other sound from reaching them.
"I've a very bad feeling about this." Jack whispered: "We should run out the oars and make our exit as quick as possible!"
"Oh dear, son", Jacobsen looked at him in amusement: "if we would always follow our guts, we'd miss a lot of proper preys and we'd have to do a lot of work. Don't you think as well?"
"Don't make me a fool, Mister Jacobsen. Before your eyes I might be still just a boy, but this does not make me a chump. I assure you, something's definitely wrong and we should ready the ship for a sea fight!"
Jacobsen cocked an eyebrow and furrowed his brow. This lad was wonderful with being a problem equal what he would do. Rosalind Stevens would throw him overboard, if he would raise an alarm and if he'd have the crew man the stations, especially if it should turn out as having been in vain. The same would apply, if he'd decide to ignore a situation like this because he supposed it to be of no danger and they would get attacked out of the blue in the end.
Therefore, he mumbled something Jack wasn't able to understand. "Bad conscience?" He grinned, instead.
"No", the older man snarled at him: "I'm just not sure what to do."
"That's easy, mate. All you have to do is go below, wake up Rosalind and inform her about everything we talked about. I'll take your watch until you're back."
"Don't dare doing anything stupid, lad! Mark my words!"
With it Jacobsen vanished in the direction of the captain's cabin. It was just after he went below when a silent gurgle was to hear somewhere in front of them.
Jack wasn't sure if he could really trust his senses for the sound did not recur and for he still wasn't able to spot anything around him as the fog seemed to get thicker and more and more dense. It was impossible to make out a move or anything else.
When he wasn't able to forget about his bad feeling and when Jacobsen did not return either, he decided to talk to Rosalind himself. He jumped down the steps to her cabin, had a short knock and went in without waiting for her reply. Rosalind waved him to come closer. Her face showed a stern expression and she stared at her sea charts as if they could tell her what to do next. Her long black hair surrounded her like a cloud while she stuffed her shirt into her pants and tiredly buried her face within her hands. For a split second she resembled Caithleen that much that she could go for her older sister.
Jack cleared his throat and remarked: "Something's going on outside..."
Jacobsen shot him a glare: "Keep quiet! The boy is spotting ghosts, ma'am. There is nothing outside but us, the sea, this goddamn fog and the nightmares of this young fellow..."
"Jack?" Rosalind gazed at him inquiringly: "What is it you wanted to tell me?"
He did not hesitate, pushed past Jacobsen and had a look at the sea charts himself. His eyes widened in disbelief when he got aware of the bearings marking their current position: "These are our bearings?"
"Why do you ask?" Rosalind's scepticism calmed down the more confident he got and she added: "I marked them yesterday evening."
"And there is no doubt about it?"
"No, lad, except the usual imprecisions due to the waves and the ship's moves."
"Then we should make our exit, immediately. The most inconspicuously as possible, as silent as possible and as fast as possible..."
"Won't you be willing to explain why?" Jacobsen crossed his arms in front of his chest and exchanged a look with Rosalind.
"Because, Mister Jacobsen, this is exactly the position where a fresh water well is to be found." Jack pointed at a little spot at the chart marked only a few miles away from their actual position and went on: "It's the only well within a circle of miles which means that every vessel sailing within these waters and being in need of fresh water will without fail call at this isle. Savvy? Merchants, pirates, privateers and not to forget the King's Navy. We're lying exactly on their route and if we won't take our leave, soon, as long as the fog covers our withdrawal, we'll become an easy prey. Let me tell you this, mate."
"Where from will you know this, son?"
"Well, it's true that I did not sail under the command of Edward Teague very often, but, trust me, mate, if I did, my father came right to this isle to store fresh water if he wanted to hunt for a prey. Trust in me or leave it, Sir, but don't hesitate any longer to make a decision." Jack gazed at Jacobsen, first, then at Rosalind: "Captain?"
She nodded: "Well then, let's make a try to leave these waters. Who will take care that the 'Stream' gets to know?"
They had no time left to think it over: The cry came from the crow's nest: "Ship ahead! Hard to port!"
The same moment the alarm got rung...
A ship approached out of the nothingness. Soundless, it slipped to a position exactly between "Wing" and "Stream" and prevented so that the two pirates were able to get what was going on. And the aggressor made no secret out of his intentions.
When Jack, Rosalind and Jacobsen reached the deck the first salvo hit the water surface next to them.
"Hitting the aim by startling the opponent!" Jacobsen hissed: "They are testing from out of which distance they're able to get us without getting harmed themselves. Damn! Their captain must be up to every trick!"
"Mister Jacobsen, that will be enough! I'm no loggerhead, either! So, don't hang around here wasting your breath! Have the men ready the guns and man the stations. Hurry!" Rosalind yelled.
She ran across the deck, jumped up the stairs leading to the helm and pushed the man aside, who was waiting for her orders. With a firm grip, she took the helm and tried to bring the "Wing" around, very well in the know that this was a rather unnecessary try without the slightest breeze. And she had no men left to have them take the oars.
One of her cannoneers stumbled up to the helm: "Captain, which target shall we shoot at? There's nothing to spot at all!"
"What are you? Landlubbers or pirates? If there is nothing to spot align the guns after the sound of theirs. And if this does not work try to come up with something else except you want to get scuttled together with our good old nutshell and end up at Davy Jones' Locker!"
"Aye, captain!"
"And you? What about you, Jack Sparrow?" She gazed at him: "Why are you still here? Go! Search for Caithleen. She shall prepare a broadside and I want you to help her. She knows what to do, but this case seems to be a little different. And don't forget: I don't want to see the two of you on deck. Got me, son?"
"But Rose..."
"No talking back, Jack! I don't want to see you up here! That's an order!"
Jack did not dare to answer back. Up till today, their trips had been more or less harmless, but this was totally different. Neither did they know who the aggressor was nor which intentions he had. Only one thing was dead certain: He was hell-bent on sending the "Wing" and the "Stream" down to the depths - and he was lucky to be able to act from out of such a perfect backing due to this bloody fog.
Jack did not know how much time passed by since the first balls smashed into the "Wing", but it could not be long ago. When he found Caithleen below, she was already busy preparing a broadside and a grin enlightened his face: She was a true pirate lass.
No!
She was his pirate lass!
As the battle raged on, the fog got bit by bit replaced by gun smoke, by fume and by smoulder and the skull and crossbones hang motionless from the main mast.
When the "Wing" got hit and shaken by another salvo, Jack dragged Caithleen with him over to a quiet corner of the cannon deck. He had a quick look around and what he saw did not please him. They had lost too many men and guns, already, to wait for an upcoming breeze any longer. Amongst wreckage and debris lay wounded and dead and their screams and moans got drowned by the riot coming from the deck.
Jack gazed at Caithleen. Her face was covered with smut and dirt and a thin trickle of blood ran down her neck. She looked exhausted, but she wasn't willing to give in. Together, they tried to help the wounded, but, mostly, their skills weren't good enough to do much more but the most necessary. They started to feel helpless due to the mess and the loss of lives and due to the smell of death, powder, burning wood and blood.
"I need to do something." Jack explained to her: "I have to talk to Rosalind, again! Will you get on with this until I'm back?" He caressed her cheek and dragged her in his arms. She was alive and her warmth felt so pleasurable. Caithleen only nodded and he went on: "I cannot look on helplessly how the ship and our crew will perish. I'll be back as soon as possible." He breathed a kiss upon her lips and had a deep look into her eyes, then, he searched for some weapons amongst the dead. He found a handful of pistols, a suitable sword and a cutlass, took what he needed and hurried up to the deck.
He wasn't prepared for what he found up there. A barrel of tar did keel over and its content – spread round the whole deck – caught fire. The flames enlightened the whole scenery in an eerie play of light and shadow and the fog still absorbed enough of the sounds that the sight appeared unreal and haunting.
Jack stumbled, slipped and wasn't able to prevent falling. Too late he realized that it was a puddle of blood which made him slip and that it was a dead body which let him stumble. It was the man who used to keep watch up at the crow's nest. The continuing salvos must have tossed him out of the nest and smashed him on the deck. Jack had to fight his rising nausea when he got aware of the sight. If these were just the losses of lives and the damage they sustained due to the balls smashing into the "Wing" what would happen to them if the other crew would board?
He had no answer to it, but before he was able to do anything, another ball came whizzing and smashed into the "Wing" below the helm. Somewhere behind him he heard a familiar voice yell: "Captain! Rosalind! You have to stay awake!"
Jacobsen!
And Rosalind!
"Bugger!" Jack managed to stumble back to his feet. He was covered with blood being not his own, smeared with tar and smut and he felt growing weak.
The ship groaned and moaned while he cleaved up to the helm and while he was on his way he was able to catch a look at their opponent. It was a warship, an English warship with its black and yellow hull, but as far as he could see there were no soldiers aboard.
"Buccaneers!" He whispered to himself: "Privateers in the name of the King!"
He had not enough time to wonder about it. When he reached the helm his whole attention belonged to Rosalind. The smash of the latest ball had torn her from her feet and buried her under debris and a chest full of grapnels, cutlasses and ammunition. Her leg got screwed down under it and while Jacobsen tried to get rid of the debris with bare hands he raised his head just to see Jack dropping down on his knees beside him: "What are you doing here, lad?"
Before Jack could give him a reply he felt Rosalind's hand grabbing his arm with some astonishing strength: "No need to send him away, mate. Let him stay."
Her voice sounded flat and it took her great effort just to think. The pain she suffered from must have been unbearable and when Jack had a look into her face he saw that it was covered with cuts and scratches. Her shoulder got speared by a sharp splint and her left hand's wrist seemed to be broken. The worst sight, though, was still her leg. It got torn open by several splints and it got broken like slivered glass. Blood poured out of the wounds and she got visibly paler. Nevertheless, the grip she held Jack's arm with was determined and firm. She looked straight into his eyes and said: "You'll help Jacobsen to get rid of this bloody chest and then you'll take command."
Jack shook his head, shocked by what he just heard, but Rosalind forced him to lock eyes with hers: "You will take command, Jack Sparrow! You're in charge, now! I'm barely able to do it as you can see. So, I'm not willing to discuss this! Bring us out of here, Jack. Save the crew and the ship – at least what remains of both. I know you can..."
"Aye, captain!"
"And, Jack, I don't care about the how! Got me? You're the captain of the 'Eagle's Wing' now. Your ship, your decisions..."
With this she lost consciousness.
Jack did not hesitate and prepared to fulfil her order. He told Jacobsen to take her below then he jumped down the stairs and hastened over the deck. Once again he hurried down the steps to the cannon deck and as soon as he found Caithleen he started to explain: "Rosalind got hurt. I'm in charge, now. So, Caithleen, please listen to what I'm telling you now. Load the guns with everything we have left. Prepare another broadside and wait for my order. I've not enough time to give you some more details. Just trust me, love."
He was already on his way back to the deck when he heard Caithleen yelling orders below, then he was in need for his senses to fulfil Rosalind's wish. Their opponents prepared to board and the first grapnels got swung into the rigging and over the rail.
"All hands on deck!" He yelled: "Who's not busy with the guns, prepare to fight! Cut the ropes and keep these bloody scallywags at bay! They want to take the ship as a prize for the Crown and us for the gallows! They are privateers! If you love your freedom, send them down to the Locker!"
Rosalind's crew gazed at him in astonishment, first, then the men followed his orders with growing enthusiasm. He gave them back a spark of hope.
"Listen to me!" Jack went on: "Your captain trusts in you and so do I! Go and get them and get your prize! For Rosalind Stevens!"
The same moment chaos broke loose when the crews of both ships lunged at each other.
Amidst the fight, Jack got aware that Jacobsen stumbled out of the captain's cabin. He grasped the man with his sleeve and dragged him with him: "Tell me, mate, are you able to set their sails on fire? If the 'Stream' did not get notice of what's going on here, yet, she will if Patrick sees the flames. I've no idea how long we can make stand against this enemy, but without Patrick it won't be all too long..."
"Aye! I agree! I'll try my very best!"
"Good man!"
"Jack!" Jacobsen held him back: "Good luck, son!"
They both vanished into opposite directions and Jack just wanted to give the order for the prepared broadside when a voice sounded over the deck: "Where's your captain, you pitiful landlubbers? This wreck must have a captain, mustn't it? C'mon, you coward! Face me that I can take you over to England! It's one rotten pirate less within these waters when you'll dance with the wind!"
"You're nothing different, I think!" Jack reached for a rope and swung over the deck to come to stand right in front of the puzzled stranger: "Well, if I think it over, I've to admit that there is one difference between you and me: I'm a pirate and you're a privateer. I scuttle ships for my own pleasure while you're scuttling them for the King's pleasure. Aren't you ashamed of doing so, mate?"
"Listen to me carefully, lad: I want you to step out of my way! I'm not indenting to do any harm to you. All I want is your captain!"
"I'm sorry, mate, as it seems I am the captain and I don't believe I'm willing to accompany you on your trip back to England. No offence meant, and I'm sorry that I've to say that, but it's better for you and your crew if you make your exit now!"
The other burst out laughing: "You're great, lad, and you own a strange sense of humour!" He got stern the same moment: "But I don't! Take me to your captain or..."
"Or? You're going to kill me?" Jack grinned: "Enjoy yourself, mate!"
With a swift and fluid move he drew his sword and lunged at the stranger. Both blades clashed with tremendous impact, but Jack managed to slip through the strikes of his opponent again and again, jumped over them or ducked down from them.
All aboard the "Eagle's Wing" the men fought for their lives and for their ship and Jack himself felt that he grew weak with every new strike. Sweat poured down his brow and into his eyes and his strength began to leave him when he finally got aware that the sails of the enemy's ship burst into flames. He got that caught by this sight that he almost overlooked the pistol his opponent aimed at him with. The shot cracked and he escaped the bullet within just a hair's breadth.
"Missed!" He taunted and then everything happened at the same time. Jack used this one moment the stranger was distracted and yelled: "Caithleen! Do it now! Fire!"
Just a split second later, the salvo hit the foreign ship and the "Wing" broke free. Within the same moment, it sounded like an echo when a ghost ship appeared out of the dense fog firing out of all cannons. It was the "Stream" and she came alongside to their enemy.
Caught by her sight Jack forgot about his opponent. This was when the other slapped him violently and he collapsed to the deck. Barely with conscious he got aware of how the stranger built up over him. A white hot pain ran through his body as if it wanted to tear him into pieces when the stranger pushed his blade through his shoulder, that deep that it speared it and got stuck within the deck's planks.
Jack heard himself scream and tears welled up within his eyes while he felt blood running down his shoulder, soaking his shirt and the ground below him.
The stranger laughed a dirty laugh and looking at him like through a veil Jack noticed that he grasped for another blade. He knelt down on one knee by Jack's side, grasped him with his hair and forced the boy to face him: "Now, captain, I'll pin you to the deck for a second time and then I'll watch how your young and precious life will leave you. I'll watch how you'll bleed to death, how your breath will ebb away and how your gaze will break. I enjoy this moment, you know, to watch when a life flees a human body, especially if it is as young as yours..."
He wasn't able to finish his perfidious plan. A shot cracked and before Jack drifted away into a merciful fainting he was convinced that it must have been Bill Turner who saved him...