Disclaimer: see chapter 1
----
Deschamps looked doubtfully out at the approaching vessel, and back at Jack. "Are you sure we can take her, captain?"
"Are we not the Nictaux?" Jack asked. "We'll take her." He squinted up at the sails. "Two points to starboard!"
At the helm, MacDougall adjusted as his captain asked. Jack looked out at the sea, watching the merchant frigate a short distance behind, and grinned at the prospect of a fight. His men were already ready, armed and waiting, and the cannon were loaded with shot. It had been a few weeks since they had had a proper burst of violence, and some of the pirates were clearly itching for a chance to exercise their sword arms. Truth be told, Jack himself was itching for a chance to exercise his sword arm. And so he had rather disregarded Deschamps' concerns about the relative size of the frigate when compared to the Nictaux.
He turned his head to Deschamps. "Run out our colours, Mr Deschamps."
The Frenchman nodded, still looking somewhat unhappy, and went to obey. Soon the wind blew out the faded sable of the Jolly Roger, the sun catching the grinning white skull. Jack watched the frigate intently to see how she would respond, and felt the familiar surge of excitement course through him when she began to ready her guns. The snub noses of the cannon poked out of the larger ship's sleek side, and through his telescope Jack could see men hurrying about the frigate's deck.
He looked up again at the tell-tales, and nodded. Now was the right time.
"Bring her round!" he sang out, his voice carrying to the topmasts.
MacDougall hauled on the helm, the men hauled on the sheets, and the Nictaux swung around to rush back towards the frigate. Jack drew his sword.
"One shot broadsides!" he called. The ship shuddered as the first gun crew fired their cannon, the ball splashing into the sea a few yards distant from the frigate. "Heave to and prepare to board!" Jack ordered.
The pirates cheered, and those not occupied with taking in sail seized the grappling ropes, ready to throw them across the rapidly-decreasing gap between the two vessels. But then there was a boom, a cloud of acrid smoke, and the Nictaux lurched.
Jack's free hand flew out, searching for something to hold.
"Cap'n, we've been hit!"
"Return fire!" Jack shouted. "Return fire at will! And board her, you lubbers!" He ran to the side and peered over, trying to see the damage.
The air now was full of smoke and noise as the two ships fired at each other. Some of the pirates had swung across to the frigate, following their captain's orders, and through the smoke the sound of blades clashing could be heard.
Jack gritted his teeth. The Nictaux did not seem to be taking on too much water, and was holding her own for now. He called out another command to keep firing at the frigate, and taking hold of a nearby shroud, launched himself across the chasm of water between the vessels.
Landing with his accustomed agility, Jack looked around for the frigate's captain. He appeared to be on the quarterdeck, shouting orders and encouragement to his men. Jack gripped his sword and set off.
He was dodging a duel and weaving around the frigate's mainmast when the crack sounded. Automatically, Jack looked up, expecting to see one of the frigate's masts begin to fall, but a shout from MacDougall aboard the Nictaux caught his attention. His eyes flicked across to his own ship, and horrified he watched as the foretopsail, and the section of foremast it was rigged to, toppled slowly to the deck.
The crew of the merchant frigate cheered, and renewed their efforts in the many small hand-to-hand fights that were going on. Jack hesitated, uncertain, his attention torn between the crippled Nictaux and the captain of the frigate. He had two options - either continue the fight, try and take the frigate and abandon his graceful French lady; or return to the Nictaux while she could still limp away, and save her.
"Captain!" It was Sim, his arm bleeding. "Captain, we've lost three men, they're dead. Stabbed. What are we going to do?"
Jack looked at the young man, at the plea in his eyes, and made his choice. He sheathed his sword.
"Back t' the Nictaux!" he shouted, raising his voice above the clamour of the swords and the cries of the duellers. "Back to the Nictaux!"
Sim shot him a grateful look, and grasping the nearest line swung back to the pirate ship. Jack repeated the order, and slowly the pirates began to respond, one by one leaving their fights with a last angry thrust of a blade or a swing of a fist. The merchant sailors jeered them off, but the captain on the quarterdeck watched impassively.
Jack waited until all his men were safely back aboard their vessel, and casting a regretful glance towards the bodies of the three dead pirates, sprawled on the frigate's deck, he gave the merchant captain a brief, polite bow. Then he took hold of a shroud and returned to the Nictaux.
The men had already begun to clear the debris of the wrecked foremast. In falling, it had demolished a section of rail and torn a hole in the decking. MacDougall had ordered the main foresail to be furled, and had rigged the mizzensail. Jack hurried to the helm.
"Will she sail?"
"She'll try," the Scotsman said. "We've little choice, though, cap'n - it's sail or wait here to be blown apart." He gestured at the frigate, where the crew were hurrying around, laden with shot. Jack realised that the captain was not going to let them escape that easily. He nodded.
"Then let's get underway. Turn her into the wind, Mr MacDougall."
MacDougall nodded, and obeyed. Jack called orders to the crew, and to their credit - even with their injuries - they hastened to act. Shortly, the Nictaux was moving away from the frigate, albeit slowly. A last shot landed just short of the stern.
"Cowards," said MacDougall bitterly, adjusting so that the ship's few sails had all the wind they could get. "Could they nae just let us go?"
"No," Jack said, watching the Nictaux's wake lengthen, "they couldn't. Few men would."
Deschamps came to the helm, his face streaked with blood from a cut on his forehead.
"Alors," he said, shortly. "What 'appens now, capitaine?"
Jack turned, and looked at his ship. The crew had gathered on the main deck; a ration of fresh water had evidently been drawn and those skilled in surgery were beginning to patch up the injured. A pile of crumpled canvas lay below the shortened foremast, the rigging tangled about it. It was a sad sight.
He straightened his hat and swordbelt.
"How far d'you think we can get?" he asked his mates.
MacDougall and Deschamps exchanged glances.
"Given fair weather," ventured MacDougall, "we might make Cuba in three or four days."
The three men's eyes went up to the sky.
"But a storm could come over, any moment," Deschamps pointed out.
"And if that happens, we're done for," Jack agreed. "Well, we ain't got a lot of choice. We set a course for Cuba, keep close to whatever land there is, and …" he raised his hands to the sky, "hope." The corners of his mouth twitched, but he could not manage a proper smile. "Get the injured settled and below. Extra rum all around. Keep them that are able on deck."
"Aye, cap'n."
"Oui." Deschamps' brief acknowledgement of the order told Jack all he needed to know about his first mate's current opinion of him. He nodded, and turning, went below.
Jack was not one given to brooding over mistakes. He had always been of a philosophical mind, the sort of man who turned events to his advantage, or cut his losses cleanly. The loss of the Black Pearl, all those years before, had hit him hard - had, indeed, shaped the pirate he was today - but despite being ever on the lookout for a way to regain her from the mutinous Barbossa, he had always tried to remain cheerful and optimistic. At the very least, he had always tried to give the impression of being cheerful and optimistic. He had a reputation to maintain, after all; he was Captain Jack Sparrow.
But in the silence of his cabin, with the broken Nictaux creaking her way to Cuba, he was forced to admit he had this day made a bad mistake. The frigate had been too well armed, too large to take on. He should have turned and run when he saw she was not going to back down from their attack. He had been too concerned about his own reputation and the reputation of his ship to consider the safety of the Nictaux and those aboard her; and crew and vessel had paid a heavy price.
He took off his sword, laying the heavy belt on the table. The compass that did not point north still swung from its cord, as it had done for the past eight years: a reminder of his other great mistake. Jack flipped open the lid and looked at the needle, swinging round, and then with a sigh he closed it. Now was not the time to be nostalgic. Now was the time to get ship and men safe into harbour, before one of the Caribbean's sudden and violent storms hit.
Leaving his cabin he went down to the hold, where three pirates were occupied in pumping out the bilges. They were ankle-deep in seawater.
"Is she emptying?" Jack asked, surveying the work.
"Not really, cap'n." One of the men straightened, wiping his brow with a bare arm. "I reckon we're takin' on water gradual-like. Crack, not a hole."
"Get the carpenter on to it," Jack said. "Good work, lads."
They smiled, briefly, and touched their hands to foreheads before continuing the pumping.
Up on deck, the crew were swabbing away patches of blood from the earlier surgery. Some of them were bandaged themselves, but seemed healthy enough. They greeted Jack cheerfully enough as he crossed to the quarterdeck, where MacDougall was alone at the helm.
"Deschamps?" Jack asked.
"Gone to get some kip," MacDougall said. "Wind's dropping for the evenin'."
"We'll keep pressing on overnight," said Jack. "I'll steer for the next watch, let you and Deschamps rest."
"Aye, cap'n." MacDougall nodded.
Jack gave him a reassuring grin and went off to find the cook and tell him to get some food underway.
The night watch passed uneventfully, the wind remaining light but steady. Alone at the helm, Jack had plenty of time to review recent events in his mind, and to plan the next few days. The priority was of course to find land, and land where a new foremast could be found. Though they had only lost the top half of the mast, the whole thing would have to be replaced. Jack wished he had a length of timber on board that could be used as a jury rig, but there was nothing.
At the end of the watch, Deschamps came on deck.
"Bonjour, capitaine."
"Bonjour," Jack returned. "Ye're still angry, aren't you?"
Deschamps took the wheel, his eyes lifting to the sails, before he answered.
"You are the captain," he said. "But yes - I suppose I am angry. We did not need that frigate."
"Life's not about what you need," Jack returned. "It's about what you can do. What's possible - savvy?"
"Taking that frigate was not possible," Deschamps said. "She was too big. Her captain, too bold."
"And our captain, too bold too?" said Jack. "Aye. I know." He paused. "Be that as it may be, Mr Deschamps, I am still captain; and I'll do all I can to get this vessel to land in one piece. You know that?"
"I would never doubt that," Deschamps replied. "Any man can make a mistake, even the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow."
Jack grinned, and bowed. "Glad that's settled. Well, I'm to me bunk. Steer her safe, Mr Deschamps."
"Oui, capitaine." Deschamps smiled, and Jack went off to catch some sleep moderately content.
----
Deschamps looked doubtfully out at the approaching vessel, and back at Jack. "Are you sure we can take her, captain?"
"Are we not the Nictaux?" Jack asked. "We'll take her." He squinted up at the sails. "Two points to starboard!"
At the helm, MacDougall adjusted as his captain asked. Jack looked out at the sea, watching the merchant frigate a short distance behind, and grinned at the prospect of a fight. His men were already ready, armed and waiting, and the cannon were loaded with shot. It had been a few weeks since they had had a proper burst of violence, and some of the pirates were clearly itching for a chance to exercise their sword arms. Truth be told, Jack himself was itching for a chance to exercise his sword arm. And so he had rather disregarded Deschamps' concerns about the relative size of the frigate when compared to the Nictaux.
He turned his head to Deschamps. "Run out our colours, Mr Deschamps."
The Frenchman nodded, still looking somewhat unhappy, and went to obey. Soon the wind blew out the faded sable of the Jolly Roger, the sun catching the grinning white skull. Jack watched the frigate intently to see how she would respond, and felt the familiar surge of excitement course through him when she began to ready her guns. The snub noses of the cannon poked out of the larger ship's sleek side, and through his telescope Jack could see men hurrying about the frigate's deck.
He looked up again at the tell-tales, and nodded. Now was the right time.
"Bring her round!" he sang out, his voice carrying to the topmasts.
MacDougall hauled on the helm, the men hauled on the sheets, and the Nictaux swung around to rush back towards the frigate. Jack drew his sword.
"One shot broadsides!" he called. The ship shuddered as the first gun crew fired their cannon, the ball splashing into the sea a few yards distant from the frigate. "Heave to and prepare to board!" Jack ordered.
The pirates cheered, and those not occupied with taking in sail seized the grappling ropes, ready to throw them across the rapidly-decreasing gap between the two vessels. But then there was a boom, a cloud of acrid smoke, and the Nictaux lurched.
Jack's free hand flew out, searching for something to hold.
"Cap'n, we've been hit!"
"Return fire!" Jack shouted. "Return fire at will! And board her, you lubbers!" He ran to the side and peered over, trying to see the damage.
The air now was full of smoke and noise as the two ships fired at each other. Some of the pirates had swung across to the frigate, following their captain's orders, and through the smoke the sound of blades clashing could be heard.
Jack gritted his teeth. The Nictaux did not seem to be taking on too much water, and was holding her own for now. He called out another command to keep firing at the frigate, and taking hold of a nearby shroud, launched himself across the chasm of water between the vessels.
Landing with his accustomed agility, Jack looked around for the frigate's captain. He appeared to be on the quarterdeck, shouting orders and encouragement to his men. Jack gripped his sword and set off.
He was dodging a duel and weaving around the frigate's mainmast when the crack sounded. Automatically, Jack looked up, expecting to see one of the frigate's masts begin to fall, but a shout from MacDougall aboard the Nictaux caught his attention. His eyes flicked across to his own ship, and horrified he watched as the foretopsail, and the section of foremast it was rigged to, toppled slowly to the deck.
The crew of the merchant frigate cheered, and renewed their efforts in the many small hand-to-hand fights that were going on. Jack hesitated, uncertain, his attention torn between the crippled Nictaux and the captain of the frigate. He had two options - either continue the fight, try and take the frigate and abandon his graceful French lady; or return to the Nictaux while she could still limp away, and save her.
"Captain!" It was Sim, his arm bleeding. "Captain, we've lost three men, they're dead. Stabbed. What are we going to do?"
Jack looked at the young man, at the plea in his eyes, and made his choice. He sheathed his sword.
"Back t' the Nictaux!" he shouted, raising his voice above the clamour of the swords and the cries of the duellers. "Back to the Nictaux!"
Sim shot him a grateful look, and grasping the nearest line swung back to the pirate ship. Jack repeated the order, and slowly the pirates began to respond, one by one leaving their fights with a last angry thrust of a blade or a swing of a fist. The merchant sailors jeered them off, but the captain on the quarterdeck watched impassively.
Jack waited until all his men were safely back aboard their vessel, and casting a regretful glance towards the bodies of the three dead pirates, sprawled on the frigate's deck, he gave the merchant captain a brief, polite bow. Then he took hold of a shroud and returned to the Nictaux.
The men had already begun to clear the debris of the wrecked foremast. In falling, it had demolished a section of rail and torn a hole in the decking. MacDougall had ordered the main foresail to be furled, and had rigged the mizzensail. Jack hurried to the helm.
"Will she sail?"
"She'll try," the Scotsman said. "We've little choice, though, cap'n - it's sail or wait here to be blown apart." He gestured at the frigate, where the crew were hurrying around, laden with shot. Jack realised that the captain was not going to let them escape that easily. He nodded.
"Then let's get underway. Turn her into the wind, Mr MacDougall."
MacDougall nodded, and obeyed. Jack called orders to the crew, and to their credit - even with their injuries - they hastened to act. Shortly, the Nictaux was moving away from the frigate, albeit slowly. A last shot landed just short of the stern.
"Cowards," said MacDougall bitterly, adjusting so that the ship's few sails had all the wind they could get. "Could they nae just let us go?"
"No," Jack said, watching the Nictaux's wake lengthen, "they couldn't. Few men would."
Deschamps came to the helm, his face streaked with blood from a cut on his forehead.
"Alors," he said, shortly. "What 'appens now, capitaine?"
Jack turned, and looked at his ship. The crew had gathered on the main deck; a ration of fresh water had evidently been drawn and those skilled in surgery were beginning to patch up the injured. A pile of crumpled canvas lay below the shortened foremast, the rigging tangled about it. It was a sad sight.
He straightened his hat and swordbelt.
"How far d'you think we can get?" he asked his mates.
MacDougall and Deschamps exchanged glances.
"Given fair weather," ventured MacDougall, "we might make Cuba in three or four days."
The three men's eyes went up to the sky.
"But a storm could come over, any moment," Deschamps pointed out.
"And if that happens, we're done for," Jack agreed. "Well, we ain't got a lot of choice. We set a course for Cuba, keep close to whatever land there is, and …" he raised his hands to the sky, "hope." The corners of his mouth twitched, but he could not manage a proper smile. "Get the injured settled and below. Extra rum all around. Keep them that are able on deck."
"Aye, cap'n."
"Oui." Deschamps' brief acknowledgement of the order told Jack all he needed to know about his first mate's current opinion of him. He nodded, and turning, went below.
Jack was not one given to brooding over mistakes. He had always been of a philosophical mind, the sort of man who turned events to his advantage, or cut his losses cleanly. The loss of the Black Pearl, all those years before, had hit him hard - had, indeed, shaped the pirate he was today - but despite being ever on the lookout for a way to regain her from the mutinous Barbossa, he had always tried to remain cheerful and optimistic. At the very least, he had always tried to give the impression of being cheerful and optimistic. He had a reputation to maintain, after all; he was Captain Jack Sparrow.
But in the silence of his cabin, with the broken Nictaux creaking her way to Cuba, he was forced to admit he had this day made a bad mistake. The frigate had been too well armed, too large to take on. He should have turned and run when he saw she was not going to back down from their attack. He had been too concerned about his own reputation and the reputation of his ship to consider the safety of the Nictaux and those aboard her; and crew and vessel had paid a heavy price.
He took off his sword, laying the heavy belt on the table. The compass that did not point north still swung from its cord, as it had done for the past eight years: a reminder of his other great mistake. Jack flipped open the lid and looked at the needle, swinging round, and then with a sigh he closed it. Now was not the time to be nostalgic. Now was the time to get ship and men safe into harbour, before one of the Caribbean's sudden and violent storms hit.
Leaving his cabin he went down to the hold, where three pirates were occupied in pumping out the bilges. They were ankle-deep in seawater.
"Is she emptying?" Jack asked, surveying the work.
"Not really, cap'n." One of the men straightened, wiping his brow with a bare arm. "I reckon we're takin' on water gradual-like. Crack, not a hole."
"Get the carpenter on to it," Jack said. "Good work, lads."
They smiled, briefly, and touched their hands to foreheads before continuing the pumping.
Up on deck, the crew were swabbing away patches of blood from the earlier surgery. Some of them were bandaged themselves, but seemed healthy enough. They greeted Jack cheerfully enough as he crossed to the quarterdeck, where MacDougall was alone at the helm.
"Deschamps?" Jack asked.
"Gone to get some kip," MacDougall said. "Wind's dropping for the evenin'."
"We'll keep pressing on overnight," said Jack. "I'll steer for the next watch, let you and Deschamps rest."
"Aye, cap'n." MacDougall nodded.
Jack gave him a reassuring grin and went off to find the cook and tell him to get some food underway.
The night watch passed uneventfully, the wind remaining light but steady. Alone at the helm, Jack had plenty of time to review recent events in his mind, and to plan the next few days. The priority was of course to find land, and land where a new foremast could be found. Though they had only lost the top half of the mast, the whole thing would have to be replaced. Jack wished he had a length of timber on board that could be used as a jury rig, but there was nothing.
At the end of the watch, Deschamps came on deck.
"Bonjour, capitaine."
"Bonjour," Jack returned. "Ye're still angry, aren't you?"
Deschamps took the wheel, his eyes lifting to the sails, before he answered.
"You are the captain," he said. "But yes - I suppose I am angry. We did not need that frigate."
"Life's not about what you need," Jack returned. "It's about what you can do. What's possible - savvy?"
"Taking that frigate was not possible," Deschamps said. "She was too big. Her captain, too bold."
"And our captain, too bold too?" said Jack. "Aye. I know." He paused. "Be that as it may be, Mr Deschamps, I am still captain; and I'll do all I can to get this vessel to land in one piece. You know that?"
"I would never doubt that," Deschamps replied. "Any man can make a mistake, even the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow."
Jack grinned, and bowed. "Glad that's settled. Well, I'm to me bunk. Steer her safe, Mr Deschamps."
"Oui, capitaine." Deschamps smiled, and Jack went off to catch some sleep moderately content.