Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: Date and age check: this chapter is set in early 1673, about eighteen months after the events of the previous chapter. Jack is now 29 and has been captain of the Pearl for nearly four years. Will Turner is, at this point, nearly nine.
And thanks to Zwarte Perel for advice on historical etiquette!
----
"Remind me why we're here?" Jack said, as the anchor chain rattled down. The rain was bouncing off his hat, and the scuppers were running with water. The crew looked miserable, and the Black Pearl tired and battered after her journey across the Atlantic.
"Because you wanted to come," Anamaria pointed out, her hair twisted up under her headscarf, and her coat drenched. She took her hands off the helm, and put them in her pockets.
"Did I?" Jack took off his hat, tipped the water out of the brim, and put it back on. "Bloody England."
"The men look happy," Anamaria observed, and then clarified her statement. "Most of them."
Jack looked over his ship, and saw she was right. The Englishmen on the crew were indeed smiling, content to be safe in Portsmouth harbour. Everyone else looked as morose as he felt, under the rain and the grey skies.
He sighed, and gave a shout to call his men together. "Welcome to England, gentlemen! We've two weeks here. You've all got your winnin's, here in old Portsmouth is the place to spend 'em."
"So long as it stops raining," their Spanish cook muttered.
"With you there, Juán," Jack said, devoutly. He swept the crew with his eyes. "But remember, mates, we're merchants."
They looked at each other; a motley crew of men with straggly beards, a variety of torn and filthy clothing, and deadly cutlasses strapped to their waists. Anamaria frowned.
"Merchants?" she said.
"It's worked for me before," Jack pointed out, and twenty pairs of eyes shifted to their captain. As outlandish as ever, he stood with hand on hip, the other resting on the rail by his side. By now, his hair was thick with beads, and gold glinted in his mouth when he smiled (the result of a run-in with a Portuguese man o' war six months earlier). Nobody could mistake Jack Sparrow for anything other than a particularly exotic species of pirate. "Just a case of being convincing," he pursued, "and of not mentioning ..." he waved a hand, "certain activities. The ship'll be anchored here should you wish to remain aboard. Questions, you know where to come."
The pirates dispersed, in small groups, and shortly the first boats were lowered and paddled away across the harbour. They disappeared quickly into a damp haze.
Jack went down to his cabin and changed out of his wet clothes into some dry breeches and a shirt, and settled to write the log and decide what goods he wanted to get rid of. The Black Pearl's hold was full with gold and textiles and even a cache of weapons, all taken from merchant ships on the voyage across the Atlantic. It had been a rich and rewarding journey, with good skirmishes and no lives lost. But Jack, pushing damp hair off his face, wondered now why he had decided to come east in the first place.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, with pickings in the Caribbean uncharacteristically thin, and several of the men voicing wishes to go home and see family. Jack had decided that he would take them there himself, attack some ships on the way, and ... he admitted to himself that there the arguments ran thin. He no longer had any connections in Portsmouth, save Bootstrap Bill Turner, and he had another life apart from the Pearl. But his mates, Dick Welsh and a gruff Scotsman named Bobbie MacPherson, were keen to go ahead with the plan, and accordingly they had sailed.
A large drop of water ran off his hair and landed on the logbook. Cursing to himself, Jack reached for a strip of leather and tied the bulk of it back, where it dripped peaceably down his back instead.
There was a knock on the door, and Anamaria poked her head round it. "You will have to row yourself if you want to go ashore tonight," she said. "The rest of the men are going now."
"You too?" Jack asked.
"Hot meal and a glass of ale," Anamaria said. "Not going to turn that down, am I?"
"Go!" said Jack, gesturing. "Go, go."
She shook her head at him, and went.
Jack went ashore the next day, with samples of some of their booty tucked into a pocket. He had only vague ideas of where to sell the goods, and planned to sound out the local merchants in a tavern or two.
In the first inn he tried, a seedy establishment in a back street, he mentioned his quest casually to the barman, before settling down with a tankard of ale at a table. After a slow half-hour nursing the drink, nobody had approached him, and so he moved on. At the second tavern - Flint's old haunt, the "Anchor and Chain", he had more luck. The first person to come up to him and slide into a seat opposite him was an old, weathered, intelligent-looking man in a blue serge coat.
"Hear you have stuff to sell."
Jack put his tankard down, and nodded. "Aye."
The man folded his hands in front of him. "Hear too that you came in on the Black Pearl. What's happened to Charles Flint?"
"Killed," said Jack, briefly. "Some four years back."
"Pity," said the man. "Good man." He held out a hand. "Samuel Idle."
"Jack Sparrow," Jack introduced himself, shaking Idle's hand. "Captain of the Black Pearl."
Idle nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Captain Sparrow. Now, what do you have?"
Pulling the samples out of his pocket, Jack spread them out on the table. He had brought a snippet of fine silk, an engraved Portuguese dagger, and some pieces of jewellery. The merchant leaned over and examined the items closely.
"Nice."
"Thanks."
Idle picked up the bit of silk, and fingered it. "I like this. How much have you got?"
"Five fifty-yard lengths, different colours," Jack said. "Wrapped against salt damage."
"How much are you asking?"
"Twenty guineas a bale," Jack said.
"Twelve."
"Fifteen."
"Fourteen."
"Fifteen," Jack repeated.
"I'll take three of them," Samuel Idle decided. "My warehouse is in King William Street. Bring the fabric there tomorrow." He touched the jewellery. "I'll have some of these necklaces also - just right for the wife."
Jack offered a smile. "Agreed. Forty-six guineas the lot."
"Done." The two men shook hands again. Idle stood up. "Pleasure doing business with you, Captain."
"Mr Idle," Jack returned. The merchant put his hat on and slipped away.
Jack drained his tankard, grinning to himself. That was a good proportion of his cargo disposed of in one easy transaction, and for a tidy sum.
Shortly afterwards, another merchant came up and Jack was able to sell off most of the cache of weapons to him. With England still recovering after civil war, weapons were valuable - particularly good pistols. Jack promised to have the arms delivered the next day, and left the tavern satisfied with his day's business.
It was mid-afternoon, now, and Portsmouth's streets were busy with people out shopping, talking, going about their everyday business. The rain had stopped and the sun was out, and Jack, sauntering along with his hands behind his back, almost felt for a moment as if he liked his home town.
He had his eyes turned upwards to study the signs swinging above shops, and so failed completely to notice the slim figure examining a butcher's window. When he walked into her, she yelped and jumped back, a hand going to her breast. Jack moved backwards too, already apologising profusely and floridly.
"Why," the woman said, interrupting him, "isn't it Jack Sparrow?"
Jack looked at her sideways. She was an attractive woman, with dark hair in a tight bun underneath her bonnet, and she was still young though her brow showed lines of care. Her clothes were simple and sober and spotlessly clean, and she held a basket containing carefully wrapped parcels.
"Might be," he hedged.
"Elsie Turner," she said, with a little laugh. "We met once before, years ago."
Recollection came flooding back, and Jack gave her a bow. "Mrs Turner, o' course. I don't know how I could have forgotten."
"I expect you've had other things on your mind," she said.
"You could say that, aye," he agreed. "How are you - and how's old William?"
"Well," she said. "But come, Mr Sparrow, we cannot stand blocking this doorway like this. Will you join me for a turn by the harbour?"
He did not correct the wrong title, and agreed to the walk. They set off together, Jack matching her pace and keeping a polite distance from her.
"Bill talks about you, occasionally," Elsie Turner said, hooking her arm more comfortably under the handle of her basket. "He wonders how you are doing."
"Not bad," Jack said. "I wonder about him, meself. Glad to know he got home safe, the other year."
Elsie navigated a puddle. "I wished he had not been away so long."
"Sometimes these things cannot be helped," Jack said, shrugging. "He missed you, and your lad."
"Will?" Elsie smiled. "Little Will." She lost her smile. "It took him months to know his father, Mr Sparrow. A boy needs a father."
"Least Bill cares about his son," Jack said. "I've no doubt he came away from you so as to support you better, Mrs Turner."
She shrugged her thin shoulders. "Maybe. He certainly came back with plenty of riches. But riches are not everything, Mr Sparrow."
Jack said nothing. Nearby, a clock struck four, and Elsie Turner started. "Goodness ... I must be going, Will will be back from school before I'm home if I don't hurry. I shall tell Bill you are here."
He had been hoping she would say this, and thanked her with palms together and a little bow. "Tell him the ship's anchored in her usual berth. He'll know where."
She nodded, and turned away. "I will. Goodbye, Mr Sparrow." With a rustle of skirts, she was gone.
"It's Captain Sparrow!" Jack said, to the space where she had been.
Over the next few days, Jack and his crew (when they could be roused from drinking in the town's taverns) delivered the goods and got their money. A merchant who put in an offer for some of the jewellery seemed inclined to back down, when they arrived with it, but the sight of three cutlass-wielding pirates behind Jack persuaded him he would be better to hand over his money.
Three of the men came to see Jack during the week, and resigned their places on the ship. Jack had been expecting some crew losses, and paid them their wages cheerfully enough. Dick Welsh had made some noises about leaving, saying he was "gettin' too old for this lark", but when Jack mentioned heading back to the Caribbean via North Africa, Welsh nodded and agreed.
They were now two nights away from leaving Portsmouth, with all their goods sold and all necessary repairs done. In accordance with Jack's instructions, the crew had kept a low profile and not got into any trouble - though Anamaria confided to her captain that the sight of so many Royal Navy vessels made her fingers itch for a blade and a confrontation.
"Likewise, love," Jack said. "But Portsmouth's not the place for that." They were sitting on barrels on the main deck of the Pearl, watching the sun set over the town, passing a bottle of rum from hand to hand.
The second mate, MacPherson, took the bottle from Jack. "Aye, but get some o' those Sassenachs out in clear water, and we'd gi' them a run for their money," he said.
For a few moments, they sat in silent contemplation, all thinking of capturing some proud frigate and turning her pirate.
"Beautiful," said Jack, to himself.
Anamaria accepted the rum. "That skiff is coming our way," she pointed out, gesturing with the bottle.
"You're right, lass," MacPherson said, getting to his feet and going to the side to get a better look at the little boat bobbing across to them. It was one of the rowing boats that could be hired, together with an oarsman, for a few pence, from the harbour. As Anamaria and Jack joined MacPherson at the rail, the boat's passenger stood up and waved a hat.
"Black Pearl ahoy!" he called, in ringing, familiar tones. "Permission to come aboard?"
"Bootstrap!" said Jack. "Throw him a line, Ana." To the boat, he cried back: "Permission granted!"
The little skiff pulled in alongside the Pearl, and Bill Turner paid off his oarsman before grabbing the line thrown him by Anamaria, and hauling himself up the side of the ship. MacPherson helped him over the rail.
"Thanks, Bobbie," Bootstrap said. He glanced at Anamaria. "My, you've blossomed, love."
She blushed furiously and scowled at the deck.
"Lady wife remember I was here, then, did she?" Jack asked.
"The day you met her," Bill said, with a touch of reproach in his tone. "It's taken me a week to work me notice and convince her we needed the extra cash. If you're willin', captain, I'd like to join your crew - again."
"Seems to me you're forever coming and going," said Jack.
Bootstrap shrugged. "You'd be within your rights to refuse me, Jack. 'Tis difficult to form a crew when people leave all the time. But I passed the other day on an errand, and the old Pearl was there calling at me."
"She does that." Jack patted the rail. "And what do Mrs and Master Turner have to say about this?"
"Not happy," confessed Bill. "I reckon Elsie's worked out I'm no merchant sailor. But she'll say nothing, for the boy's sake. I've told her I'm sailing, and that's an end."
"Then you shall sail," Jack said, more pleased than he let show.
When the Black Pearl hoisted her dark sails and glided out of Portsmouth harbour, two days later, standing on the wharf watching were two figures. One of them clutched the hand of the other, and both waved at the departing ship. From her stern, Bill Turner waved back, his eyes damp.
Jack glanced once at his friend, and then turned his attention to the set of his sails and the passage out of the Solent towards open water.
Author's note: Date and age check: this chapter is set in early 1673, about eighteen months after the events of the previous chapter. Jack is now 29 and has been captain of the Pearl for nearly four years. Will Turner is, at this point, nearly nine.
And thanks to Zwarte Perel for advice on historical etiquette!
----
"Remind me why we're here?" Jack said, as the anchor chain rattled down. The rain was bouncing off his hat, and the scuppers were running with water. The crew looked miserable, and the Black Pearl tired and battered after her journey across the Atlantic.
"Because you wanted to come," Anamaria pointed out, her hair twisted up under her headscarf, and her coat drenched. She took her hands off the helm, and put them in her pockets.
"Did I?" Jack took off his hat, tipped the water out of the brim, and put it back on. "Bloody England."
"The men look happy," Anamaria observed, and then clarified her statement. "Most of them."
Jack looked over his ship, and saw she was right. The Englishmen on the crew were indeed smiling, content to be safe in Portsmouth harbour. Everyone else looked as morose as he felt, under the rain and the grey skies.
He sighed, and gave a shout to call his men together. "Welcome to England, gentlemen! We've two weeks here. You've all got your winnin's, here in old Portsmouth is the place to spend 'em."
"So long as it stops raining," their Spanish cook muttered.
"With you there, Juán," Jack said, devoutly. He swept the crew with his eyes. "But remember, mates, we're merchants."
They looked at each other; a motley crew of men with straggly beards, a variety of torn and filthy clothing, and deadly cutlasses strapped to their waists. Anamaria frowned.
"Merchants?" she said.
"It's worked for me before," Jack pointed out, and twenty pairs of eyes shifted to their captain. As outlandish as ever, he stood with hand on hip, the other resting on the rail by his side. By now, his hair was thick with beads, and gold glinted in his mouth when he smiled (the result of a run-in with a Portuguese man o' war six months earlier). Nobody could mistake Jack Sparrow for anything other than a particularly exotic species of pirate. "Just a case of being convincing," he pursued, "and of not mentioning ..." he waved a hand, "certain activities. The ship'll be anchored here should you wish to remain aboard. Questions, you know where to come."
The pirates dispersed, in small groups, and shortly the first boats were lowered and paddled away across the harbour. They disappeared quickly into a damp haze.
Jack went down to his cabin and changed out of his wet clothes into some dry breeches and a shirt, and settled to write the log and decide what goods he wanted to get rid of. The Black Pearl's hold was full with gold and textiles and even a cache of weapons, all taken from merchant ships on the voyage across the Atlantic. It had been a rich and rewarding journey, with good skirmishes and no lives lost. But Jack, pushing damp hair off his face, wondered now why he had decided to come east in the first place.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, with pickings in the Caribbean uncharacteristically thin, and several of the men voicing wishes to go home and see family. Jack had decided that he would take them there himself, attack some ships on the way, and ... he admitted to himself that there the arguments ran thin. He no longer had any connections in Portsmouth, save Bootstrap Bill Turner, and he had another life apart from the Pearl. But his mates, Dick Welsh and a gruff Scotsman named Bobbie MacPherson, were keen to go ahead with the plan, and accordingly they had sailed.
A large drop of water ran off his hair and landed on the logbook. Cursing to himself, Jack reached for a strip of leather and tied the bulk of it back, where it dripped peaceably down his back instead.
There was a knock on the door, and Anamaria poked her head round it. "You will have to row yourself if you want to go ashore tonight," she said. "The rest of the men are going now."
"You too?" Jack asked.
"Hot meal and a glass of ale," Anamaria said. "Not going to turn that down, am I?"
"Go!" said Jack, gesturing. "Go, go."
She shook her head at him, and went.
Jack went ashore the next day, with samples of some of their booty tucked into a pocket. He had only vague ideas of where to sell the goods, and planned to sound out the local merchants in a tavern or two.
In the first inn he tried, a seedy establishment in a back street, he mentioned his quest casually to the barman, before settling down with a tankard of ale at a table. After a slow half-hour nursing the drink, nobody had approached him, and so he moved on. At the second tavern - Flint's old haunt, the "Anchor and Chain", he had more luck. The first person to come up to him and slide into a seat opposite him was an old, weathered, intelligent-looking man in a blue serge coat.
"Hear you have stuff to sell."
Jack put his tankard down, and nodded. "Aye."
The man folded his hands in front of him. "Hear too that you came in on the Black Pearl. What's happened to Charles Flint?"
"Killed," said Jack, briefly. "Some four years back."
"Pity," said the man. "Good man." He held out a hand. "Samuel Idle."
"Jack Sparrow," Jack introduced himself, shaking Idle's hand. "Captain of the Black Pearl."
Idle nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Captain Sparrow. Now, what do you have?"
Pulling the samples out of his pocket, Jack spread them out on the table. He had brought a snippet of fine silk, an engraved Portuguese dagger, and some pieces of jewellery. The merchant leaned over and examined the items closely.
"Nice."
"Thanks."
Idle picked up the bit of silk, and fingered it. "I like this. How much have you got?"
"Five fifty-yard lengths, different colours," Jack said. "Wrapped against salt damage."
"How much are you asking?"
"Twenty guineas a bale," Jack said.
"Twelve."
"Fifteen."
"Fourteen."
"Fifteen," Jack repeated.
"I'll take three of them," Samuel Idle decided. "My warehouse is in King William Street. Bring the fabric there tomorrow." He touched the jewellery. "I'll have some of these necklaces also - just right for the wife."
Jack offered a smile. "Agreed. Forty-six guineas the lot."
"Done." The two men shook hands again. Idle stood up. "Pleasure doing business with you, Captain."
"Mr Idle," Jack returned. The merchant put his hat on and slipped away.
Jack drained his tankard, grinning to himself. That was a good proportion of his cargo disposed of in one easy transaction, and for a tidy sum.
Shortly afterwards, another merchant came up and Jack was able to sell off most of the cache of weapons to him. With England still recovering after civil war, weapons were valuable - particularly good pistols. Jack promised to have the arms delivered the next day, and left the tavern satisfied with his day's business.
It was mid-afternoon, now, and Portsmouth's streets were busy with people out shopping, talking, going about their everyday business. The rain had stopped and the sun was out, and Jack, sauntering along with his hands behind his back, almost felt for a moment as if he liked his home town.
He had his eyes turned upwards to study the signs swinging above shops, and so failed completely to notice the slim figure examining a butcher's window. When he walked into her, she yelped and jumped back, a hand going to her breast. Jack moved backwards too, already apologising profusely and floridly.
"Why," the woman said, interrupting him, "isn't it Jack Sparrow?"
Jack looked at her sideways. She was an attractive woman, with dark hair in a tight bun underneath her bonnet, and she was still young though her brow showed lines of care. Her clothes were simple and sober and spotlessly clean, and she held a basket containing carefully wrapped parcels.
"Might be," he hedged.
"Elsie Turner," she said, with a little laugh. "We met once before, years ago."
Recollection came flooding back, and Jack gave her a bow. "Mrs Turner, o' course. I don't know how I could have forgotten."
"I expect you've had other things on your mind," she said.
"You could say that, aye," he agreed. "How are you - and how's old William?"
"Well," she said. "But come, Mr Sparrow, we cannot stand blocking this doorway like this. Will you join me for a turn by the harbour?"
He did not correct the wrong title, and agreed to the walk. They set off together, Jack matching her pace and keeping a polite distance from her.
"Bill talks about you, occasionally," Elsie Turner said, hooking her arm more comfortably under the handle of her basket. "He wonders how you are doing."
"Not bad," Jack said. "I wonder about him, meself. Glad to know he got home safe, the other year."
Elsie navigated a puddle. "I wished he had not been away so long."
"Sometimes these things cannot be helped," Jack said, shrugging. "He missed you, and your lad."
"Will?" Elsie smiled. "Little Will." She lost her smile. "It took him months to know his father, Mr Sparrow. A boy needs a father."
"Least Bill cares about his son," Jack said. "I've no doubt he came away from you so as to support you better, Mrs Turner."
She shrugged her thin shoulders. "Maybe. He certainly came back with plenty of riches. But riches are not everything, Mr Sparrow."
Jack said nothing. Nearby, a clock struck four, and Elsie Turner started. "Goodness ... I must be going, Will will be back from school before I'm home if I don't hurry. I shall tell Bill you are here."
He had been hoping she would say this, and thanked her with palms together and a little bow. "Tell him the ship's anchored in her usual berth. He'll know where."
She nodded, and turned away. "I will. Goodbye, Mr Sparrow." With a rustle of skirts, she was gone.
"It's Captain Sparrow!" Jack said, to the space where she had been.
Over the next few days, Jack and his crew (when they could be roused from drinking in the town's taverns) delivered the goods and got their money. A merchant who put in an offer for some of the jewellery seemed inclined to back down, when they arrived with it, but the sight of three cutlass-wielding pirates behind Jack persuaded him he would be better to hand over his money.
Three of the men came to see Jack during the week, and resigned their places on the ship. Jack had been expecting some crew losses, and paid them their wages cheerfully enough. Dick Welsh had made some noises about leaving, saying he was "gettin' too old for this lark", but when Jack mentioned heading back to the Caribbean via North Africa, Welsh nodded and agreed.
They were now two nights away from leaving Portsmouth, with all their goods sold and all necessary repairs done. In accordance with Jack's instructions, the crew had kept a low profile and not got into any trouble - though Anamaria confided to her captain that the sight of so many Royal Navy vessels made her fingers itch for a blade and a confrontation.
"Likewise, love," Jack said. "But Portsmouth's not the place for that." They were sitting on barrels on the main deck of the Pearl, watching the sun set over the town, passing a bottle of rum from hand to hand.
The second mate, MacPherson, took the bottle from Jack. "Aye, but get some o' those Sassenachs out in clear water, and we'd gi' them a run for their money," he said.
For a few moments, they sat in silent contemplation, all thinking of capturing some proud frigate and turning her pirate.
"Beautiful," said Jack, to himself.
Anamaria accepted the rum. "That skiff is coming our way," she pointed out, gesturing with the bottle.
"You're right, lass," MacPherson said, getting to his feet and going to the side to get a better look at the little boat bobbing across to them. It was one of the rowing boats that could be hired, together with an oarsman, for a few pence, from the harbour. As Anamaria and Jack joined MacPherson at the rail, the boat's passenger stood up and waved a hat.
"Black Pearl ahoy!" he called, in ringing, familiar tones. "Permission to come aboard?"
"Bootstrap!" said Jack. "Throw him a line, Ana." To the boat, he cried back: "Permission granted!"
The little skiff pulled in alongside the Pearl, and Bill Turner paid off his oarsman before grabbing the line thrown him by Anamaria, and hauling himself up the side of the ship. MacPherson helped him over the rail.
"Thanks, Bobbie," Bootstrap said. He glanced at Anamaria. "My, you've blossomed, love."
She blushed furiously and scowled at the deck.
"Lady wife remember I was here, then, did she?" Jack asked.
"The day you met her," Bill said, with a touch of reproach in his tone. "It's taken me a week to work me notice and convince her we needed the extra cash. If you're willin', captain, I'd like to join your crew - again."
"Seems to me you're forever coming and going," said Jack.
Bootstrap shrugged. "You'd be within your rights to refuse me, Jack. 'Tis difficult to form a crew when people leave all the time. But I passed the other day on an errand, and the old Pearl was there calling at me."
"She does that." Jack patted the rail. "And what do Mrs and Master Turner have to say about this?"
"Not happy," confessed Bill. "I reckon Elsie's worked out I'm no merchant sailor. But she'll say nothing, for the boy's sake. I've told her I'm sailing, and that's an end."
"Then you shall sail," Jack said, more pleased than he let show.
When the Black Pearl hoisted her dark sails and glided out of Portsmouth harbour, two days later, standing on the wharf watching were two figures. One of them clutched the hand of the other, and both waved at the departing ship. From her stern, Bill Turner waved back, his eyes damp.
Jack glanced once at his friend, and then turned his attention to the set of his sails and the passage out of the Solent towards open water.