Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: last chapter before Christmas, hopefully not the last before the New Year. Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate, to all of you, and thank you so much for reading!
----
Jack was swabbing the decks, pushing a mop to and fro. The Lucky Venture was making good speed under a fair wind, and Captain Jones was pleased with their progress. For the moment, there were few tasks to be done, and so the crew had been set to essential cleaning and maintenance tasks.
Refilling his wooden pail with a neat flick of the wrist, Jack took a step forward to work at a stubborn mark on the decking. It had been a long time since he had worked like this, but perversely he found he was quite enjoying it. The physical effort numbed the still-present pain of the Black Pearl's loss; and when the sails needed setting he was invariably sent aloft. The old exhilaration from being high up, the waves foaming below, had not faded. But he missed the feel of a ship underneath his hands, and pausing now in the swabbing, Jack looked up at the quarterdeck, where the Lucky Venture's bo'sun was at the helm.
The crew of this merchant vessel were a good group of men. Keen and committed, and faithful to their captain, they were lively and good-humoured. At night, when the ship was riding under little canvas, a fiddle was usually produced, and the sailors sang songs and told tales until it was time to bed down. Jack found himself wishing he could tell one of his own stories, but that would have given him away as a pirate, and so he bit his tongue and listened to the others.
So life was not too bad, and Jack reflected, as he emptied the pail and stowed the mop in its place, that at least he had a keel underneath his feet and sails over his head. Better than rotting on an island.
As the sun set that evening, clouds were beginning to roll in. Jack looked up at the sky and frowned to himself.
"What is it, Mr Swift?" Captain Jones asked, passing.
"Weather, cap'n," said Jack. "It's going to blow."
Jones turned his eyes to the sky. "Aye, I imagine it is."
"It's going to blow hard," Jack said.
The captain, hands behind his back, looked at Jack. "I haven't sailed much in the Caribbean, Mr Swift - how bad can these storms get? We were safely at berth in San Juan last week."
Jack met Jones's gaze. "Bad," he told the captain. "When a Caribbean wind blows, she blows. Rain pours down - none of your English drips. If it starts to pick up, you need to reef, and reef quick. Mainsail and foresail will carry her. And a firm hand on the tiller."
"I shall bear your advice in mind," said Jones. "Thank you, Mr Swift."
Sure enough, when Jack was awoken for his night watch, the wind had got up and rain was lashing the deck. He crammed his hat on his head, pulled on his coat and went out into it.
The two principal sails were already reefed, and the others furled, but the wind was such that the ship was driving along at a fair pace. Jack was directed to stand ready by the shrouds, should the sails need more work. He gripped the lines with one hand, bracing himself against the pitching of the vessel in the high seas, and prepared to ride out the storm.
Throughout the night, the Venture tossed and pitched on the waves. Rain was pouring down, sending sheets of water on to the deck. Jack was devoutly grateful for his boots, keeping his feet dry, and his hat, which was keeping most of the rain off his face. As he clung to his shroud, he found himself grinning through pure exhilaration.
They sailed on, and it kept blowing. At the helm, the bo'sun clung to the wheel, holding the ship on her course.
There was about an hour of the watch to go when it happened. A sudden gust of wind brought the boom of the mizzenmast around, landing the bo'sun a solid thwack on the head. He crumpled to the deck, and the ship shuddered, bereft of her guiding hand.
Jack, standing at his post, saw the blow before it happened, and even as the bo'sun fell, he was moving. He moved as quickly as he could given the roll of the ship, and was soon at the helm. The bo'sun appeared to be breathing, and Jack gave him little thought before he took hold of the wheel.
The Lucky Venture responded quickly to his touch as Jack hauled her back on course. He felt the vessel pick up speed again, and glanced upwards to check the set of the two sails.
"Haul away on port side!" he called, raising his voice so it carried over the storm. The other sailors started at hearing the command, but obeyed quickly. Jack grinned, as the Venture steadied and then drove forward anew.
The captain appeared up the steps to the quarterdeck, pulling on his coat as he came. Evidently he had been awoken by the shudder moments before. He started at seeing Jack at the helm, but then caught sight of the bo'sun, who was now stirring and trying to sit up.
"I'm holding a nor'easterly course, captain," Jack said. "Sails trimmed a little. Bo'sun got his noggin bashed by the boom."
The captain leaned over and peered at the compass, swinging before the helm. "Good," he said, his voice slightly puzzled, before going to help the bo'sun.
Jack held the helm, bracing against the storm, until the watches changed and another man took over. Dripping wet, he went below, finding himself yawning widely, but still full of adrenalin.
Captain Jones's cabin door opened as Jack went past it. "Mr Swift."
Jack turned on his heel. "Yes, cap'n?"
"Come in a moment, would you?"
Taking off his hat and shaking it out, Jack followed Jones into the cabin.
The captain sat down in a comfortable chair and waved Jack into another. "A tot of rum?"
"Aye. Thank you." Jack accepted the cup and swallowed some of the warm sweet liquid. It trickled into his stomach, warming him somewhat.
"Where did you learn to steer like that, Mr Swift?" Jones asked, without preamble. "The men said as soon as Mr Viera went down, you took the helm, reset the sails - and, I imagine, prevented us from being further swamped with water. Showed some initiative."
"Sensible thing to do, seemed like," Jack said easily. "Didn't want the ship to go down, lose a mast, anything like that, savvy?"
"But you've steered a ship before," Jones pressed.
Jack swallowed another gulp of rum. "I have."
"What sort of ship?" asked Jones.
Pausing, Jack thought of the Black Pearl, her dark sails and graceful lines, and the way she surged easily through the water. "A bark, bit like this one," he said, eventually. "Lovely ship."
"And you were, what?" pursued the captain. "The mate? Bo'sun?"
"Occasional helmsman," Jack said. "Nothing more."
Jones watched him for a few moments, without saying anything. "I have a feeling," he said, "there is something you're not telling me, Mr Swift."
More than a bit, Jack thought to himself, but he said nothing, instead simply grinning. "Don't reckon so," he said. "Hope I didn't do wrong, taking the helm, cap'n?"
"No, you did right," the captain said. "Thank you, Mr Swift - that'll be all."
Jack stood up and went off to his hammock.
After that, Jack found himself with more responsibility aboard the merchant ship. The men accorded him more respect, seeing an experienced seaman as well as a hard-working crew member. Yet he still felt separate from them, careful what he said and what he did; and he was careful not to roll up his right sleeve and expose the "P" brand of the East India Company.
They were well into their voyage by now. No land was in sight. Below the ship's keel ran the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean, and only the occasional sail was seen on the horizon. Until the day when towers of canvas were seen behind, closing in on the Lucky Venture. Jack, on lookout duty, sang out: "Ship ahoy, straight astern!" and put the ship's telescope to his eye to try and see her colours. There were none, and he frowned to himself. Many had been the time that the Pearl had shown her pirate's flag late, when their prey could not escape.
He tucked the telescope in his belt and shimmied down the rigging, landing lightly on the deck. Crossing to stand below the quarterdeck, he looked up at Captain Jones.
"No colours, cap'n."
Jones took out his own telescope and looked astern. "Brigantine. Thank you, Mr Swift - return to your post, if you will."
Jack nodded, and shortly was back at the crow's nest, shading his eyes and watching the brigantine approach. As the day drew on, she grew closer and closer, evidently loaded more lightly than his ship. He could soon see men hurrying around, and a full set of cannon on either side of the main deck. Someone was at the stern with an armful of dark material. The black flag streamed out behind the brigantine, and Jack Sparrow's gold-glinting smile matched the grin on the face of the skull and crossbones.
Pirates.
Author's note: last chapter before Christmas, hopefully not the last before the New Year. Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate, to all of you, and thank you so much for reading!
----
Jack was swabbing the decks, pushing a mop to and fro. The Lucky Venture was making good speed under a fair wind, and Captain Jones was pleased with their progress. For the moment, there were few tasks to be done, and so the crew had been set to essential cleaning and maintenance tasks.
Refilling his wooden pail with a neat flick of the wrist, Jack took a step forward to work at a stubborn mark on the decking. It had been a long time since he had worked like this, but perversely he found he was quite enjoying it. The physical effort numbed the still-present pain of the Black Pearl's loss; and when the sails needed setting he was invariably sent aloft. The old exhilaration from being high up, the waves foaming below, had not faded. But he missed the feel of a ship underneath his hands, and pausing now in the swabbing, Jack looked up at the quarterdeck, where the Lucky Venture's bo'sun was at the helm.
The crew of this merchant vessel were a good group of men. Keen and committed, and faithful to their captain, they were lively and good-humoured. At night, when the ship was riding under little canvas, a fiddle was usually produced, and the sailors sang songs and told tales until it was time to bed down. Jack found himself wishing he could tell one of his own stories, but that would have given him away as a pirate, and so he bit his tongue and listened to the others.
So life was not too bad, and Jack reflected, as he emptied the pail and stowed the mop in its place, that at least he had a keel underneath his feet and sails over his head. Better than rotting on an island.
As the sun set that evening, clouds were beginning to roll in. Jack looked up at the sky and frowned to himself.
"What is it, Mr Swift?" Captain Jones asked, passing.
"Weather, cap'n," said Jack. "It's going to blow."
Jones turned his eyes to the sky. "Aye, I imagine it is."
"It's going to blow hard," Jack said.
The captain, hands behind his back, looked at Jack. "I haven't sailed much in the Caribbean, Mr Swift - how bad can these storms get? We were safely at berth in San Juan last week."
Jack met Jones's gaze. "Bad," he told the captain. "When a Caribbean wind blows, she blows. Rain pours down - none of your English drips. If it starts to pick up, you need to reef, and reef quick. Mainsail and foresail will carry her. And a firm hand on the tiller."
"I shall bear your advice in mind," said Jones. "Thank you, Mr Swift."
Sure enough, when Jack was awoken for his night watch, the wind had got up and rain was lashing the deck. He crammed his hat on his head, pulled on his coat and went out into it.
The two principal sails were already reefed, and the others furled, but the wind was such that the ship was driving along at a fair pace. Jack was directed to stand ready by the shrouds, should the sails need more work. He gripped the lines with one hand, bracing himself against the pitching of the vessel in the high seas, and prepared to ride out the storm.
Throughout the night, the Venture tossed and pitched on the waves. Rain was pouring down, sending sheets of water on to the deck. Jack was devoutly grateful for his boots, keeping his feet dry, and his hat, which was keeping most of the rain off his face. As he clung to his shroud, he found himself grinning through pure exhilaration.
They sailed on, and it kept blowing. At the helm, the bo'sun clung to the wheel, holding the ship on her course.
There was about an hour of the watch to go when it happened. A sudden gust of wind brought the boom of the mizzenmast around, landing the bo'sun a solid thwack on the head. He crumpled to the deck, and the ship shuddered, bereft of her guiding hand.
Jack, standing at his post, saw the blow before it happened, and even as the bo'sun fell, he was moving. He moved as quickly as he could given the roll of the ship, and was soon at the helm. The bo'sun appeared to be breathing, and Jack gave him little thought before he took hold of the wheel.
The Lucky Venture responded quickly to his touch as Jack hauled her back on course. He felt the vessel pick up speed again, and glanced upwards to check the set of the two sails.
"Haul away on port side!" he called, raising his voice so it carried over the storm. The other sailors started at hearing the command, but obeyed quickly. Jack grinned, as the Venture steadied and then drove forward anew.
The captain appeared up the steps to the quarterdeck, pulling on his coat as he came. Evidently he had been awoken by the shudder moments before. He started at seeing Jack at the helm, but then caught sight of the bo'sun, who was now stirring and trying to sit up.
"I'm holding a nor'easterly course, captain," Jack said. "Sails trimmed a little. Bo'sun got his noggin bashed by the boom."
The captain leaned over and peered at the compass, swinging before the helm. "Good," he said, his voice slightly puzzled, before going to help the bo'sun.
Jack held the helm, bracing against the storm, until the watches changed and another man took over. Dripping wet, he went below, finding himself yawning widely, but still full of adrenalin.
Captain Jones's cabin door opened as Jack went past it. "Mr Swift."
Jack turned on his heel. "Yes, cap'n?"
"Come in a moment, would you?"
Taking off his hat and shaking it out, Jack followed Jones into the cabin.
The captain sat down in a comfortable chair and waved Jack into another. "A tot of rum?"
"Aye. Thank you." Jack accepted the cup and swallowed some of the warm sweet liquid. It trickled into his stomach, warming him somewhat.
"Where did you learn to steer like that, Mr Swift?" Jones asked, without preamble. "The men said as soon as Mr Viera went down, you took the helm, reset the sails - and, I imagine, prevented us from being further swamped with water. Showed some initiative."
"Sensible thing to do, seemed like," Jack said easily. "Didn't want the ship to go down, lose a mast, anything like that, savvy?"
"But you've steered a ship before," Jones pressed.
Jack swallowed another gulp of rum. "I have."
"What sort of ship?" asked Jones.
Pausing, Jack thought of the Black Pearl, her dark sails and graceful lines, and the way she surged easily through the water. "A bark, bit like this one," he said, eventually. "Lovely ship."
"And you were, what?" pursued the captain. "The mate? Bo'sun?"
"Occasional helmsman," Jack said. "Nothing more."
Jones watched him for a few moments, without saying anything. "I have a feeling," he said, "there is something you're not telling me, Mr Swift."
More than a bit, Jack thought to himself, but he said nothing, instead simply grinning. "Don't reckon so," he said. "Hope I didn't do wrong, taking the helm, cap'n?"
"No, you did right," the captain said. "Thank you, Mr Swift - that'll be all."
Jack stood up and went off to his hammock.
After that, Jack found himself with more responsibility aboard the merchant ship. The men accorded him more respect, seeing an experienced seaman as well as a hard-working crew member. Yet he still felt separate from them, careful what he said and what he did; and he was careful not to roll up his right sleeve and expose the "P" brand of the East India Company.
They were well into their voyage by now. No land was in sight. Below the ship's keel ran the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean, and only the occasional sail was seen on the horizon. Until the day when towers of canvas were seen behind, closing in on the Lucky Venture. Jack, on lookout duty, sang out: "Ship ahoy, straight astern!" and put the ship's telescope to his eye to try and see her colours. There were none, and he frowned to himself. Many had been the time that the Pearl had shown her pirate's flag late, when their prey could not escape.
He tucked the telescope in his belt and shimmied down the rigging, landing lightly on the deck. Crossing to stand below the quarterdeck, he looked up at Captain Jones.
"No colours, cap'n."
Jones took out his own telescope and looked astern. "Brigantine. Thank you, Mr Swift - return to your post, if you will."
Jack nodded, and shortly was back at the crow's nest, shading his eyes and watching the brigantine approach. As the day drew on, she grew closer and closer, evidently loaded more lightly than his ship. He could soon see men hurrying around, and a full set of cannon on either side of the main deck. Someone was at the stern with an armful of dark material. The black flag streamed out behind the brigantine, and Jack Sparrow's gold-glinting smile matched the grin on the face of the skull and crossbones.
Pirates.