Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: I'm overwhelmed at the expressions of sadness for Flint's death! I had no idea he was so popular. Thank you all. As you see, this ain't over yet, but the end is nearer than it was. Enjoy.
----
"We commit the body of our captain, Charles Flint, to the ocean he sailed for so many years," Jack said. "And the body of John Pin, first mate of this vessel. May they be forgiven for their many sins, and rest in peace." He nodded, and the two corpses, weighted down with cannonballs, splashed into the water below the Black Pearl and sank, slowly.
There was silence, as the crew watched the bodies disappear. Jack put his hat back on, and turned to the men.
"Before we broach a barrel o' rum, I'd like to have a word with you all," he said, climbing up a step towards the helm so he could see the entire crew. They watched him, thirty pairs of eyes, showing doubt and mistrust, fatigue and grief. Bootstrap gave him a reassuring grin. "Afore old Flint died," Jack began, "he gave me the Pearl, and named me captain. I see, looking at you, most of you aren't happy. Captain Flint was a good man, and a good pirate. But you reckon he made a mistake naming me - you think I'm too young." There was a muttering amongst some of the crew. Jack sent a look in their direction. "Some of you," he said, "think I'm daft. But like it or not, I'm captain of this ship now. You don't like it, the way off is over there." He waved a hand towards the open sea. "Swim to shore, take a dip, brave the sharks and the waves."
One of the pirates snorted, audibly. "Lad wouldn't do that," he said, to his neighbour.
Jack drew his sword, and it rasped out of the sheath and shone in the sun. "You've no idea what I'd do and what I wouldn't," he told the pirate. "Fancy finding out?" He turned the sword, the blade glinting.
The other man grunted something, and looked down at the deck. Jack smiled. "Good. Now, gentlemen, the rules of this ship remain the same as they ever were. No killing without reason, no ravishing of a lass who doesn't want to be ravished. Equal shares of any spoil, equal shares of work aboard. You'll all remain on the same watches. Mr Turner?"
Bootstrap looked up. "Aye, sir?"
"You'll be first mate and in command of the starboard watch. Mr Welsh?"
The pirate who had taken the helm immediately following Belaying Pin's death stepped forward. "Yes, cap'n?"
"Second mate, port watch. Starboard watch is on now until," Jack looked up at the sun and made a quick mental calculation, "four bells. We sail west, and we're putting in at Guadeloupe."
"Guadeloupe it is, cap'n," Bootstrap returned, smartly, going to the helm.
Jack swept his crew with his eyes. "One more thing. If we catch sight of that merchant ship, I want to know. Immediately. And the rule on killing is relaxed for them." He slid his sword into the sheath at his side, and paused, a hand in the air. "And one other thing. No more 'lad', no more 'Jack'. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? Now, let's open that rum and toast Cap'n Flint and the Belaying Pin."
Someone disappeared below, and returned with a barrel and some cups from the galley, and soon those pirates not otherwise occupied were busy drinking. Jack watched for a few minutes, and then went up to the helm.
Bootstrap, one eye on the compass, glanced at him. "Well done," he said softly. "You won 'em over."
"Most of them," Jack agreed, hoping that his friend was right. "I didn't reckon this was going to happen so soon, Bill. Always knew it would happen, one day or t'other - the Pearl an' me, we were meant for each other - but not this quick."
"No time for regrets," Bootstrap pointed out. "Captain died doing what he loved, and he knew you'd take care of his ship. Now you've got to do it as best you can, keep that promise you made to him."
Jack managed a smile. "Ah, William, mate, he should've named you captain."
"He knew what he was doing," Bootstrap countered. "As you know well." He cast a longing look towards the rum. "You going to go and get a drink?"
"No." Jack shook his head. "Go on. I'll take the helm."
Bill handed over the compass. "Thanks." He paused. "And thanks for making me mate - I won't let you down, Captain Sparrow."
Jack touched his hat in salute, and Bootstrap went in search of rum.
Moving to the helm, Jack curled his fingers around the spokes of the wheel, feeling the power of the ship running through him. Gently, he turned the wheel a fraction to the left, and the Black Pearl responded, her timbers creaking as she shifted in the water. The jib boom swung to the side, and the sails went limp as they lost the wind. Jack smiled, and adjusted back on to the original course, west for Guadeloupe. The sails filled again, and the ship picked up speed.
"That's it, lass," Jack murmured. "Behave now for old Jack, won't you? It's you and me, from here on."
He stayed at the helm until old Dick Welsh arrived for the beginning of his watch and took over. Jack told him to keep a course for Guadeloupe, and received a hearty, "Aye, aye, cap'n!" in return.
Jack passed the men on the main deck, still toasting their fallen leader and singing shanties off-key. Bootstrap looked up as he passed. "Rum?" he suggested, bleary-eyed.
Taking the proffered bottle, Jack swigged down a gulp. "To Captain Flint," he said.
"Skinflint!" came back the chorus. Jack passed the bottle back to Bootstrap, and bowing slightly to the men, disappeared below.
He stopped first in the foc'sle, to collect his hammock and other belongings, and then made his way to the stern of the ship.
The door of the captain's cabin was closed, and Jack paused before pushing it open. It felt wrong, going in without a summons from Flint, particularly as nothing inside had been touched. A coat was thrown haphazardly over a chair, and the blanket on the narrow bed was pushed back rather than folded neatly.
Jack put his own things on the floor, and stood hands on hips to survey the cabin. It was, to his eyes, huge. Dominated by the mahogany table, there were also five glazed windows, three looking out over the stern and one on each side of the ship. A lantern swung, unlit, in front of the middle window. Dotted around the cabin - hanging from the ceiling, and on walls, and placed on the floor or on shelves - was an assortment of objects from all over the world. Inca totems mingled with African pottery, paintings of the English countryside with Indonesian silverware. Jack found tinder and flint and lit the lantern, and prowled around the cabin to examine the decorations. He touched a few of them, and picked the odd vase or bowl up to look at it closer, but he moved nothing.
In the corner, behind a tattered curtain, Captain Flint's spare shirts and breeches were folded on a couple of shelves. Flint had been a much taller, broader man than Jack, and so now Jack took the clothes off the shelves and put them in a pile, to be disposed of later. In their place, he put his own spare clothes.
Now he turned his attention to the table, and the piles of books and parchments on it. There was a log, of where they had sailed and the ships they had looted; charts covering the Caribbean, the Latin American coast, and the East Indies; as well as an assortment of collected essays and some plays in English, Spanish and French. Jack pulled out a chair, and sat down to examine the documents.
Three hours later, with the lantern on the table to light the pages, he was still reading. He had put his feet up on the table, and was slowly working through the captain's log, lips moving as he made out the words.
Finally, Jack reached the end of the log; the last page with anything written on it. After that, the leaves were blank. He brought his feet down off the table, and got up to search the cabin for a quill and some ink. They were on a shelf by the bed, and Jack brought them to the table, and sat down again. Pulling the chair in, he dipped the quill in the ink, thought for a moment, and laboriously set to writing.
It took him an hour to complete the entry, and he finished with ink liberally splotched over face and hands, but the words were down on the page. A faithful account of the day's events, and their current course and destination.
Jack left the log open so that the ink could dry, and slowly stood up. His fingers ached from writing, his eyes from squinting at the page. He hung the lantern on its hook by the window, where it swung gently with the movement of the ship, and took off his headscarf and sash and boots, piling them by the bunk.
He blew out the lantern, and stood still for a few moments in the dark. His feet easily found their balance as the Black Pearl tipped from side to side in the waves under her keel, and he listened to the sound of the ship, forging through the water.
A yawn caught him out, and Jack found his blanket, felt his way to the bunk in the dark, and wrapping himself in the blanket, fell instantly into a deep sleep.
Author's note: I'm overwhelmed at the expressions of sadness for Flint's death! I had no idea he was so popular. Thank you all. As you see, this ain't over yet, but the end is nearer than it was. Enjoy.
----
"We commit the body of our captain, Charles Flint, to the ocean he sailed for so many years," Jack said. "And the body of John Pin, first mate of this vessel. May they be forgiven for their many sins, and rest in peace." He nodded, and the two corpses, weighted down with cannonballs, splashed into the water below the Black Pearl and sank, slowly.
There was silence, as the crew watched the bodies disappear. Jack put his hat back on, and turned to the men.
"Before we broach a barrel o' rum, I'd like to have a word with you all," he said, climbing up a step towards the helm so he could see the entire crew. They watched him, thirty pairs of eyes, showing doubt and mistrust, fatigue and grief. Bootstrap gave him a reassuring grin. "Afore old Flint died," Jack began, "he gave me the Pearl, and named me captain. I see, looking at you, most of you aren't happy. Captain Flint was a good man, and a good pirate. But you reckon he made a mistake naming me - you think I'm too young." There was a muttering amongst some of the crew. Jack sent a look in their direction. "Some of you," he said, "think I'm daft. But like it or not, I'm captain of this ship now. You don't like it, the way off is over there." He waved a hand towards the open sea. "Swim to shore, take a dip, brave the sharks and the waves."
One of the pirates snorted, audibly. "Lad wouldn't do that," he said, to his neighbour.
Jack drew his sword, and it rasped out of the sheath and shone in the sun. "You've no idea what I'd do and what I wouldn't," he told the pirate. "Fancy finding out?" He turned the sword, the blade glinting.
The other man grunted something, and looked down at the deck. Jack smiled. "Good. Now, gentlemen, the rules of this ship remain the same as they ever were. No killing without reason, no ravishing of a lass who doesn't want to be ravished. Equal shares of any spoil, equal shares of work aboard. You'll all remain on the same watches. Mr Turner?"
Bootstrap looked up. "Aye, sir?"
"You'll be first mate and in command of the starboard watch. Mr Welsh?"
The pirate who had taken the helm immediately following Belaying Pin's death stepped forward. "Yes, cap'n?"
"Second mate, port watch. Starboard watch is on now until," Jack looked up at the sun and made a quick mental calculation, "four bells. We sail west, and we're putting in at Guadeloupe."
"Guadeloupe it is, cap'n," Bootstrap returned, smartly, going to the helm.
Jack swept his crew with his eyes. "One more thing. If we catch sight of that merchant ship, I want to know. Immediately. And the rule on killing is relaxed for them." He slid his sword into the sheath at his side, and paused, a hand in the air. "And one other thing. No more 'lad', no more 'Jack'. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? Now, let's open that rum and toast Cap'n Flint and the Belaying Pin."
Someone disappeared below, and returned with a barrel and some cups from the galley, and soon those pirates not otherwise occupied were busy drinking. Jack watched for a few minutes, and then went up to the helm.
Bootstrap, one eye on the compass, glanced at him. "Well done," he said softly. "You won 'em over."
"Most of them," Jack agreed, hoping that his friend was right. "I didn't reckon this was going to happen so soon, Bill. Always knew it would happen, one day or t'other - the Pearl an' me, we were meant for each other - but not this quick."
"No time for regrets," Bootstrap pointed out. "Captain died doing what he loved, and he knew you'd take care of his ship. Now you've got to do it as best you can, keep that promise you made to him."
Jack managed a smile. "Ah, William, mate, he should've named you captain."
"He knew what he was doing," Bootstrap countered. "As you know well." He cast a longing look towards the rum. "You going to go and get a drink?"
"No." Jack shook his head. "Go on. I'll take the helm."
Bill handed over the compass. "Thanks." He paused. "And thanks for making me mate - I won't let you down, Captain Sparrow."
Jack touched his hat in salute, and Bootstrap went in search of rum.
Moving to the helm, Jack curled his fingers around the spokes of the wheel, feeling the power of the ship running through him. Gently, he turned the wheel a fraction to the left, and the Black Pearl responded, her timbers creaking as she shifted in the water. The jib boom swung to the side, and the sails went limp as they lost the wind. Jack smiled, and adjusted back on to the original course, west for Guadeloupe. The sails filled again, and the ship picked up speed.
"That's it, lass," Jack murmured. "Behave now for old Jack, won't you? It's you and me, from here on."
He stayed at the helm until old Dick Welsh arrived for the beginning of his watch and took over. Jack told him to keep a course for Guadeloupe, and received a hearty, "Aye, aye, cap'n!" in return.
Jack passed the men on the main deck, still toasting their fallen leader and singing shanties off-key. Bootstrap looked up as he passed. "Rum?" he suggested, bleary-eyed.
Taking the proffered bottle, Jack swigged down a gulp. "To Captain Flint," he said.
"Skinflint!" came back the chorus. Jack passed the bottle back to Bootstrap, and bowing slightly to the men, disappeared below.
He stopped first in the foc'sle, to collect his hammock and other belongings, and then made his way to the stern of the ship.
The door of the captain's cabin was closed, and Jack paused before pushing it open. It felt wrong, going in without a summons from Flint, particularly as nothing inside had been touched. A coat was thrown haphazardly over a chair, and the blanket on the narrow bed was pushed back rather than folded neatly.
Jack put his own things on the floor, and stood hands on hips to survey the cabin. It was, to his eyes, huge. Dominated by the mahogany table, there were also five glazed windows, three looking out over the stern and one on each side of the ship. A lantern swung, unlit, in front of the middle window. Dotted around the cabin - hanging from the ceiling, and on walls, and placed on the floor or on shelves - was an assortment of objects from all over the world. Inca totems mingled with African pottery, paintings of the English countryside with Indonesian silverware. Jack found tinder and flint and lit the lantern, and prowled around the cabin to examine the decorations. He touched a few of them, and picked the odd vase or bowl up to look at it closer, but he moved nothing.
In the corner, behind a tattered curtain, Captain Flint's spare shirts and breeches were folded on a couple of shelves. Flint had been a much taller, broader man than Jack, and so now Jack took the clothes off the shelves and put them in a pile, to be disposed of later. In their place, he put his own spare clothes.
Now he turned his attention to the table, and the piles of books and parchments on it. There was a log, of where they had sailed and the ships they had looted; charts covering the Caribbean, the Latin American coast, and the East Indies; as well as an assortment of collected essays and some plays in English, Spanish and French. Jack pulled out a chair, and sat down to examine the documents.
Three hours later, with the lantern on the table to light the pages, he was still reading. He had put his feet up on the table, and was slowly working through the captain's log, lips moving as he made out the words.
Finally, Jack reached the end of the log; the last page with anything written on it. After that, the leaves were blank. He brought his feet down off the table, and got up to search the cabin for a quill and some ink. They were on a shelf by the bed, and Jack brought them to the table, and sat down again. Pulling the chair in, he dipped the quill in the ink, thought for a moment, and laboriously set to writing.
It took him an hour to complete the entry, and he finished with ink liberally splotched over face and hands, but the words were down on the page. A faithful account of the day's events, and their current course and destination.
Jack left the log open so that the ink could dry, and slowly stood up. His fingers ached from writing, his eyes from squinting at the page. He hung the lantern on its hook by the window, where it swung gently with the movement of the ship, and took off his headscarf and sash and boots, piling them by the bunk.
He blew out the lantern, and stood still for a few moments in the dark. His feet easily found their balance as the Black Pearl tipped from side to side in the waves under her keel, and he listened to the sound of the ship, forging through the water.
A yawn caught him out, and Jack found his blanket, felt his way to the bunk in the dark, and wrapping himself in the blanket, fell instantly into a deep sleep.