Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: 1) Thanks for all the feedback on dialogue for the last chapter - it was useful and reassuring! 2) Apologies for the length of time it's taken to get this chapter up. Real Life. It's a nuisance.
----
Jack stepped ashore, swayed, and put out a hand to a nearby helpful bollard to steady himself. The ground righted itself, and gingerly he let go of the bollard and looked about him with interest. Seagulls swooped and called their harsh cries, and the air smelt of fish and of salt. All around Jack were warm Yorkshire voices, advertising wares and shouting orders.
"Swift!" Jack was roused from his reverie by his captain's shout. "Swift, get a move on!"
He turned, and went to help with the unloading.
He had stayed with Anamaria and her aunt in the small house above Tortuga Town for nearly seven months, helping them mind their little farm and doing bits of carpentry work for their acquaintances. From time to time he and Anamaria would take a small boat out fishing, thus satisfying Jack's sea longing. But their friendship had changed. It was built on comradeship and companionship, two sailors together - but a physical element had entered into it. When Jack was a young man, Anamaria had still been a girl. In the time she had spent away from him, she had become a lovely woman; exactly the sort of woman Jack went for. Spirited, opinionated, and unwilling to tolerate any patronising. And in odd moments he had found himself watching her as she moved around, her hair long and loose down her back and her eyes sparkling.
He knew that Anamaria had long fancied him in her turn, and though she had not recently mentioned it, he reckoned that her feelings had, in all likelihood, not changed. There were only so many moments of physical tension Jack Sparrow could take, and eventually he decided to leave before he acted on his desire and ruined a good friendship.
Leaving from Tortuga on a privateer, Jack jumped from ship to ship over the course of the next two years. Merchants, pirate vessels, fishing boats - he tried them all, crossing the Caribbean before moving south and then north. He had had no particular aim, save one day to regain the Black Pearl.
Of her, little definite news was heard. The rumour was that she was terrorising the outlying islands, looting and killing, leaving no survivors. But Jack caught no sight of his beloved ship or her mutinous crew, and after a year of aimless sailing, he resolved to leave the West Indies and go back to England. And so he had left a pirate ship, the Lady Marguerite, and joined the Rose, a small merchant vessel bound for Whitby in Yorkshire. He was still using the name of James Swift, and the ruse seemed to be working. Every now and then someone would lower their voice and tell a tale of the dreaded Black Pearl and her late lamented captain, Jack Sparrow. Jack listened with a small, grim smile on his lips, for the tales were not, after all, completely false. For the moment Jack Sparrow was dead.
Now, in Whitby, the Rose's cargo was being unloaded. She had come back heavily laden, untouched by pirates, and the goods stored in her hold would make her captain and the financial backers rich men. The sailors stood to earn a tidy profit, too, for their work on the voyage. Most of the men had said they would put the money aside to settle down, or else give it to their long-suffering wives waiting for them at home. Jack was unsure what to do with his.
He accepted a crate of sugar cane from one of the other men, and trotted back down the gangplank with it. A cart had arrived to take the goods, and they loaded it quickly. As well as the sugar, the Rose was carrying rum and textiles and other exotic produce.
It took the crew two hours of hard work to empty the hold, and four cartloads of goods had clattered off along the cobbled harbour street by then. The sailors were summoned back on board by their captain, paid and given leave to go ashore.
"Coming for a drink, Jim?"
"Thought you had a lass waiting for you here, Dick," Jack said.
Dick, a man of about Jack's age - though he looked older - smiled sheepishly. "I do. But if I go 'ome now, she'll not let me away again. So I'll have a few pints afore I go to her."
"Sounds an admirable plan," said Jack, clapping Dick on the back. "Lead the way!"
They were joined by three other crewmen from the Rose, Whitby men all of them. The little group walked up through the winding, sloping streets of the town; the old abbey on the hillside opposite and the harbour below. Dick led them to a cosy inn, named the 'Jolly Sailor', and they settled down with mugs of ale.
"To the Rose, and a safe homecoming," said the oldest of the group, Amos.
"To the Rose," the others echoed, their mugs touching. They drank deeply.
"So," Dick said, "I'll be heading home to me wife, once we've warmed our stomachs a little. Reckon she'll be glad to see me?"
"Overjoyed," said Jack, seriously.
"My Annie will be," Amos said, wiping ale from his beard. "She's grown used to me not being there, but she's always happy to welcome me home. And I'll be right glad of her cooking."
"Weeks o' ship's biscuit," agreed the fourth member of their group, the ship's cook Heppelthwaite.
"Eh, you did a good job with what you had," Dick said, reassuringly. "That piece o' shark young Billy caught was tasty."
Billy, at just 22 the youngest man on the crew, beamed at the praise. "I'll be going back to my folks," he said, swallowing a gulp of ale. "Reckon father'll want me to help him on his boat for a bit."
They all looked at Jack. "What about you, Jim?" Amos asked. "You're not from these parts - will you be wanting to go south?"
Jack drank deeply before replying. If he were honest with himself, he was not very sure what he was going to do. He had come to Whitby mainly to get away from the Caribbean for a bit, but it was true he had no roots in the town. He did not really fancy going south to Portsmouth, where there was a chance he would encounter people who knew Jack Sparrow - his father, if he were still alive; or, worse, Elsie Turner and her small son William, living reminders of the late Bootstrap Bill.
"Mebbe," he said, grinning. "No plans, no ties ... none of these apron strings for me. Who'd want to be attached to one woman for the rest of his life?"
"When the woman's my Annie," said Amos, his voice warmly satisfied, "there are no complaints. You'll find someone, Jim, mark me words." He nodded at Billy. "You too, lad."
"Well," said Billy, "there's this lass ..." He jumped into a description of some pretty girl who worked as a seamstress, and Jack listened and thought of Anamaria's flashing dark eyes and slim body, wondering why he had left her.
They stayed in the inn for an hour or so, downing another pint each before the married men agreed they should be heading to their wives, and Billy said he ought to be getting home for supper. Jack turned down their offers of a bed for the night, saying he'd either get a room in a tavern or sleep aboard the Rose. They bade him goodnight, and headed off in their separate directions.
Jack wandered back down to the harbour, examining the various ships and boats at anchor, from small Whitby cobles to larger vessels like the Rose herself. Lanterns shone from many cabins, as fishermen made preparations for the early start on the morrow. Aboard the Rose, though, all was dark, and Jack regretfully gave up his idea of sleeping aboard the ship. He turned around, and with his hands stuck in his sash began to wander back towards the busiest part of town to find a cheap room in an inn for the night.
He paused to look at a pretty little fishing boat, her hull painted a salt-bleached blue, her sails tidily furled. Inscribed on the stern in neat black letters was the name 'Jenny'. As Jack ran his eyes over her lines, the lantern light below went out, and a figure came up on deck, closing the hatch to the cabin behind him. He looked up at Jack on the quayside.
"Evening. Admiring my Jenny?"
"Aye, I am." Jack nodded. "Pretty little boat."
"She is that." The Jenny's owner stepped ashore, casting a look back at the boat to check she was ready to be left. He nodded to himself, and then looked at Jack. "Why - you're not Jack Sparrow, are you?"
Jack, automatically, prepared to deny his very existence, but he paused and peered back at the other man's face in the darkness. "Thornton?"
"Aye," the old sailor said. "Thornton it is. But Jack! I never thought to see you here in Whitby?"
"Never thought to come here," said Jack, "but things have turned strange, mate, since you left Tortuga all those years back."
Thornton, once first mate aboard the Black Pearl, looked critically at Jack. "I see there's a deal of stories to be told," he said. "Come home with me and we'll tell them, and then if you're not busy tomorrow you can come out fishing."
Jack looked at Thornton. His face was more lined now than it used to be, but still possessed piercing blue eyes under a mane of grey hair. The eyes, so far as he could see in the gloom of the Yorkshire evening, were pleased to see him. He returned Thornton's smile.
"I'd be glad to," he said. "And a spot of fishing wouldn't go amiss, neither."
Thornton turned, and led the way towards the bridge that crossed the harbour. "Tell the truth, I could do with your help," he said.
"Then you have it!" said Jack.
The old sailor nodded. "Ta. Before then, tell me what's become of the Pearl."
Jack took a deep breath, and began.
Author's note: 1) Thanks for all the feedback on dialogue for the last chapter - it was useful and reassuring! 2) Apologies for the length of time it's taken to get this chapter up. Real Life. It's a nuisance.
----
Jack stepped ashore, swayed, and put out a hand to a nearby helpful bollard to steady himself. The ground righted itself, and gingerly he let go of the bollard and looked about him with interest. Seagulls swooped and called their harsh cries, and the air smelt of fish and of salt. All around Jack were warm Yorkshire voices, advertising wares and shouting orders.
"Swift!" Jack was roused from his reverie by his captain's shout. "Swift, get a move on!"
He turned, and went to help with the unloading.
He had stayed with Anamaria and her aunt in the small house above Tortuga Town for nearly seven months, helping them mind their little farm and doing bits of carpentry work for their acquaintances. From time to time he and Anamaria would take a small boat out fishing, thus satisfying Jack's sea longing. But their friendship had changed. It was built on comradeship and companionship, two sailors together - but a physical element had entered into it. When Jack was a young man, Anamaria had still been a girl. In the time she had spent away from him, she had become a lovely woman; exactly the sort of woman Jack went for. Spirited, opinionated, and unwilling to tolerate any patronising. And in odd moments he had found himself watching her as she moved around, her hair long and loose down her back and her eyes sparkling.
He knew that Anamaria had long fancied him in her turn, and though she had not recently mentioned it, he reckoned that her feelings had, in all likelihood, not changed. There were only so many moments of physical tension Jack Sparrow could take, and eventually he decided to leave before he acted on his desire and ruined a good friendship.
Leaving from Tortuga on a privateer, Jack jumped from ship to ship over the course of the next two years. Merchants, pirate vessels, fishing boats - he tried them all, crossing the Caribbean before moving south and then north. He had had no particular aim, save one day to regain the Black Pearl.
Of her, little definite news was heard. The rumour was that she was terrorising the outlying islands, looting and killing, leaving no survivors. But Jack caught no sight of his beloved ship or her mutinous crew, and after a year of aimless sailing, he resolved to leave the West Indies and go back to England. And so he had left a pirate ship, the Lady Marguerite, and joined the Rose, a small merchant vessel bound for Whitby in Yorkshire. He was still using the name of James Swift, and the ruse seemed to be working. Every now and then someone would lower their voice and tell a tale of the dreaded Black Pearl and her late lamented captain, Jack Sparrow. Jack listened with a small, grim smile on his lips, for the tales were not, after all, completely false. For the moment Jack Sparrow was dead.
Now, in Whitby, the Rose's cargo was being unloaded. She had come back heavily laden, untouched by pirates, and the goods stored in her hold would make her captain and the financial backers rich men. The sailors stood to earn a tidy profit, too, for their work on the voyage. Most of the men had said they would put the money aside to settle down, or else give it to their long-suffering wives waiting for them at home. Jack was unsure what to do with his.
He accepted a crate of sugar cane from one of the other men, and trotted back down the gangplank with it. A cart had arrived to take the goods, and they loaded it quickly. As well as the sugar, the Rose was carrying rum and textiles and other exotic produce.
It took the crew two hours of hard work to empty the hold, and four cartloads of goods had clattered off along the cobbled harbour street by then. The sailors were summoned back on board by their captain, paid and given leave to go ashore.
"Coming for a drink, Jim?"
"Thought you had a lass waiting for you here, Dick," Jack said.
Dick, a man of about Jack's age - though he looked older - smiled sheepishly. "I do. But if I go 'ome now, she'll not let me away again. So I'll have a few pints afore I go to her."
"Sounds an admirable plan," said Jack, clapping Dick on the back. "Lead the way!"
They were joined by three other crewmen from the Rose, Whitby men all of them. The little group walked up through the winding, sloping streets of the town; the old abbey on the hillside opposite and the harbour below. Dick led them to a cosy inn, named the 'Jolly Sailor', and they settled down with mugs of ale.
"To the Rose, and a safe homecoming," said the oldest of the group, Amos.
"To the Rose," the others echoed, their mugs touching. They drank deeply.
"So," Dick said, "I'll be heading home to me wife, once we've warmed our stomachs a little. Reckon she'll be glad to see me?"
"Overjoyed," said Jack, seriously.
"My Annie will be," Amos said, wiping ale from his beard. "She's grown used to me not being there, but she's always happy to welcome me home. And I'll be right glad of her cooking."
"Weeks o' ship's biscuit," agreed the fourth member of their group, the ship's cook Heppelthwaite.
"Eh, you did a good job with what you had," Dick said, reassuringly. "That piece o' shark young Billy caught was tasty."
Billy, at just 22 the youngest man on the crew, beamed at the praise. "I'll be going back to my folks," he said, swallowing a gulp of ale. "Reckon father'll want me to help him on his boat for a bit."
They all looked at Jack. "What about you, Jim?" Amos asked. "You're not from these parts - will you be wanting to go south?"
Jack drank deeply before replying. If he were honest with himself, he was not very sure what he was going to do. He had come to Whitby mainly to get away from the Caribbean for a bit, but it was true he had no roots in the town. He did not really fancy going south to Portsmouth, where there was a chance he would encounter people who knew Jack Sparrow - his father, if he were still alive; or, worse, Elsie Turner and her small son William, living reminders of the late Bootstrap Bill.
"Mebbe," he said, grinning. "No plans, no ties ... none of these apron strings for me. Who'd want to be attached to one woman for the rest of his life?"
"When the woman's my Annie," said Amos, his voice warmly satisfied, "there are no complaints. You'll find someone, Jim, mark me words." He nodded at Billy. "You too, lad."
"Well," said Billy, "there's this lass ..." He jumped into a description of some pretty girl who worked as a seamstress, and Jack listened and thought of Anamaria's flashing dark eyes and slim body, wondering why he had left her.
They stayed in the inn for an hour or so, downing another pint each before the married men agreed they should be heading to their wives, and Billy said he ought to be getting home for supper. Jack turned down their offers of a bed for the night, saying he'd either get a room in a tavern or sleep aboard the Rose. They bade him goodnight, and headed off in their separate directions.
Jack wandered back down to the harbour, examining the various ships and boats at anchor, from small Whitby cobles to larger vessels like the Rose herself. Lanterns shone from many cabins, as fishermen made preparations for the early start on the morrow. Aboard the Rose, though, all was dark, and Jack regretfully gave up his idea of sleeping aboard the ship. He turned around, and with his hands stuck in his sash began to wander back towards the busiest part of town to find a cheap room in an inn for the night.
He paused to look at a pretty little fishing boat, her hull painted a salt-bleached blue, her sails tidily furled. Inscribed on the stern in neat black letters was the name 'Jenny'. As Jack ran his eyes over her lines, the lantern light below went out, and a figure came up on deck, closing the hatch to the cabin behind him. He looked up at Jack on the quayside.
"Evening. Admiring my Jenny?"
"Aye, I am." Jack nodded. "Pretty little boat."
"She is that." The Jenny's owner stepped ashore, casting a look back at the boat to check she was ready to be left. He nodded to himself, and then looked at Jack. "Why - you're not Jack Sparrow, are you?"
Jack, automatically, prepared to deny his very existence, but he paused and peered back at the other man's face in the darkness. "Thornton?"
"Aye," the old sailor said. "Thornton it is. But Jack! I never thought to see you here in Whitby?"
"Never thought to come here," said Jack, "but things have turned strange, mate, since you left Tortuga all those years back."
Thornton, once first mate aboard the Black Pearl, looked critically at Jack. "I see there's a deal of stories to be told," he said. "Come home with me and we'll tell them, and then if you're not busy tomorrow you can come out fishing."
Jack looked at Thornton. His face was more lined now than it used to be, but still possessed piercing blue eyes under a mane of grey hair. The eyes, so far as he could see in the gloom of the Yorkshire evening, were pleased to see him. He returned Thornton's smile.
"I'd be glad to," he said. "And a spot of fishing wouldn't go amiss, neither."
Thornton turned, and led the way towards the bridge that crossed the harbour. "Tell the truth, I could do with your help," he said.
"Then you have it!" said Jack.
The old sailor nodded. "Ta. Before then, tell me what's become of the Pearl."
Jack took a deep breath, and began.