As promised by Anamaria, we reached Africa in a little over three weeks The
crew wanted to land immediately and spend a couple of nights sampling the
bars and taverns before any work got underway, but Sparrow would not allow
it. His plan was to wait for a ship to plunder before we went to shore.
Waiting, just out of view of the harbour was a gruelling business. The crew were edgy and ready to fight, all around the becalmed ship I saw them sharpening their cutlasses and counting out power and shot. Sparrow along with Gibbs and Anamaria who I had since learnt was the quartermaster; a second in command and the only one capable of dealing out rations, rewards and punishments, spent most of their time in the captain's dining room. What they were discussing I did not know, but I often heard their low, harsh voices carrying on long into the night. I myself grew more and more nervous about what Sparrow's plans in Africa had to do with me.
Luckily we did not have long to wait; we had arrived near the shores of Accra, one of the busiest English merchant ports in the whole of the empire. My own dear island, with its grand docks and sturdy fort was a mere rural trading post in comparison. Only three days after sighting land, Sparrow spotted a merchant 'Barq'. A good ship to plunder on account of its cumbersome shape. I had already learnt that the Pearl was a Galleon, heavily armed and unusual for a pirate ship. Most pirates had small ships that had little firepower, but were easily movable.
I stood on the deck, watching as the ship grew closer. Sparrow had ordered the pirate colours to be flown and the sight of that strip of black, fluttering in the wind high above my head filled me with dread.
"Alright, yer scavernous dogs!" Sparrow strode the deck like a general preparing his troops for battle. "Swords, pistols and grapples at the ready! Take whatever cargo ye find, an' be in an' out as quick as yer can." He held his sword high in the air. "Attack." He brought his sword down with a heavy stroke and the ship shuddered as we let out a broadside of cannonfire onto the barq. It tilted towards us at the crew flew across in a flurry of grappling hooks and weapons, glinting in the sunrise.
Across on the deck of the other ship I could here the outraged shouts of the merchant crew and the angry battle cries of the pirates. Anamaria was the first to return, her face and coat splattered with blood and her left eye swollen and bruised. She carried a large, plain chest. With a flick of her sodden hair she threw the trunk down on the deck and made short work of the lock with a blow from her cutlass. Kneeling almost reverently she opened the lid. Inside were several bolts of silk, brightly coloured, but almost falling to pieces. As Anamaria lifted out a roll, a small insect stirred and fluttered out of the chest.
"Moths. Shit."
I stood opposite her, unsure how to reply. She looked up, squinting at the fast-rising sun, as the other crew began to return, carrying similar looking trunks.
"Right," Duncan, a broad-chested Irishman strode across the deck. "Lets get these bastards open, shouldn't take but a minute – they're shoddy pieces of work." Duncan was the ships carpenter, and passionate about his work. As he unhooked the axe he perpetually carried about his waist, Anamaria stepped forward, almost comically small against his huge frame.
"I'm the quatermas'er 'ere my boy an' I'll say when we open the chests." "Never thought I'd see the day when I'd have to take orders from some bloody woman." He muttered in his thick accent, though I noticed he stepped back sharply. Jack was the last man to return from the ship, a sly grin on his face.
"Well done lads – to the rum!" Was all he said before he staggered below deck. I followed him – the stench of blood and sweat on deck was overpowering.
I stepped carefully down the narrow staircase, my eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, I made to pass through Sparrow's room quickly, then I noticed him sitting at his battered desk, slumped down, eyes glazed over.
"Mister Sparrow!" I ran to the prone figure, I confess I almost thought him dead.
"Captain." He sat up swiftly. "'Ello love."
"Are you alright?"
"Fine, fine." He turned and winced "Could do wiv' a lit'le 'elp wiv' this arm, though." I glanced down, his left arm hung helplessly by his side. "Dislocated, ain't it? I need yer to pull it back in."
"What?" I stuttered
"It's easy – but I can't do it meself, savvy?" Using his good arm he took hold of my hands and placed the limp limb in them. "Jest pull 'ard as yer can, then bring it upwards till yer 'ear it click."
I shuddered as he stood up and leant towards me - his lifeless arm made my skin crawl. I suppose I must have looked very foolish to Sparrow, shivering and stuttering over what he saw as an easy task. I tried to get a grip on the arm, but failed. I gave it a gentle tug, but Sparrow only pulled away and winced in pain. I stared at him, helpless.
"Bloody 'ell, will you jest do it!" He snapped suddenly and his words shocked me so that I brought the arm up and heard the click before I had time to think.
"Jesus," He continued, moving his arm gently "Were that so bloody 'ard?"
I began to cry. I felt so ashamed, I knew sailors expected women on ships to be tough, but damn it – I wasn't some female pirate with a hard life of lessons behind me. I was a lady trained in dancing, sewing and playing the pianoforte! I sank into the chair, embarrassed and miserable.
"Oh, no, no, no." Sparrow was kneeling at my side in a second. Gesticulating wildly in his drunken manner. "Don't cry, shush, shush. Come along Cathy." I looked up, stunned out of my tears by his easy use of my first name. His eyes seemed full of concern. I noticed his arm was draped over my shoulder, his sleeve was tattered and the skin underneath seemed cut and bruised. His face was close to mine, I could smell blood and unwashed body; I caught his eye for a second, then looked away. His intimacy was unnerving.
"Captain Sparrow, I will thank you to keep your hands off me." I had indented to snap angrily, but the words came out watery and unsteady.
He laughed, and in a second that intimacy was gone. He stood hurriedly.
"'Ave it yer way then Miss. Barbrook." He strode over to a chest of drawers and began rooting around, leaving me sat, sniffing and pathetic. He pulled out a roll of linen, several bottles and a pair of what looked like metal pincers "I've got me wounds to attent to an' I certainly wouldn't want to upset yer sensibilities by doing it in front of you." His grin was brief and cold – had this been another man, I would have believed his feelings had been hurt.
He sat beside me at the desk, and set to his bloodied arm with the pincers, squinting in the dim light of the oil lamp.
"What are you doing?" I asked, edging away from the gory sight.
"Getting the shot outta me arm." His words were crisp and even. Not wanting to leave, I watched with a kind of horror as the tears dried on my face. It was hard work; 'shot' I learnt, were tiny particles of gunpowder and bullet; and they were embedded in the flesh of Sparrow's arm. Every pinch of the tweezers forced a gasp from Sparrow, and the occasional oath, calling for rum. After a while he seemed to give up and began to dress the wound with the linen. He was just tying the final knot when Gibbs entered.
"Beggin' yer pardon Jack, but the crew wanna speak to yer."
****
We have over twenty crates of spices, thirty rolls of silk and the ivory from forty elephants!" He shouted triumphantly. There was a cheer and Sparrow stood proudly, resting one hand on the wheel of the ship. But through the cheers one crewmember called:
"Whot about the gold, Jack?" And others took up the cry
"Yeah, we were promised gold."
"Whot good's spices to us?"
Sparrow looked taken aback, he walked forward unsteadily, holding his hands up to try and silence his crew.
"Mates, are we not sailing fer the Gold Coast?" He asked, pointing ahead of the Pearls' prow to the land, encased in mist. "An' there we'll get all the bloody gold yer scavinous sea-dogs could poss'bly want; savvy?"
This seemed to satisfy the crew and another cheer went up.
"Rum all round!" Called out Gibbs from the rear of the crowd. Sparrow caught the boatswain's eye and I noticed a concerned look pass between the two men.
Waiting, just out of view of the harbour was a gruelling business. The crew were edgy and ready to fight, all around the becalmed ship I saw them sharpening their cutlasses and counting out power and shot. Sparrow along with Gibbs and Anamaria who I had since learnt was the quartermaster; a second in command and the only one capable of dealing out rations, rewards and punishments, spent most of their time in the captain's dining room. What they were discussing I did not know, but I often heard their low, harsh voices carrying on long into the night. I myself grew more and more nervous about what Sparrow's plans in Africa had to do with me.
Luckily we did not have long to wait; we had arrived near the shores of Accra, one of the busiest English merchant ports in the whole of the empire. My own dear island, with its grand docks and sturdy fort was a mere rural trading post in comparison. Only three days after sighting land, Sparrow spotted a merchant 'Barq'. A good ship to plunder on account of its cumbersome shape. I had already learnt that the Pearl was a Galleon, heavily armed and unusual for a pirate ship. Most pirates had small ships that had little firepower, but were easily movable.
I stood on the deck, watching as the ship grew closer. Sparrow had ordered the pirate colours to be flown and the sight of that strip of black, fluttering in the wind high above my head filled me with dread.
"Alright, yer scavernous dogs!" Sparrow strode the deck like a general preparing his troops for battle. "Swords, pistols and grapples at the ready! Take whatever cargo ye find, an' be in an' out as quick as yer can." He held his sword high in the air. "Attack." He brought his sword down with a heavy stroke and the ship shuddered as we let out a broadside of cannonfire onto the barq. It tilted towards us at the crew flew across in a flurry of grappling hooks and weapons, glinting in the sunrise.
Across on the deck of the other ship I could here the outraged shouts of the merchant crew and the angry battle cries of the pirates. Anamaria was the first to return, her face and coat splattered with blood and her left eye swollen and bruised. She carried a large, plain chest. With a flick of her sodden hair she threw the trunk down on the deck and made short work of the lock with a blow from her cutlass. Kneeling almost reverently she opened the lid. Inside were several bolts of silk, brightly coloured, but almost falling to pieces. As Anamaria lifted out a roll, a small insect stirred and fluttered out of the chest.
"Moths. Shit."
I stood opposite her, unsure how to reply. She looked up, squinting at the fast-rising sun, as the other crew began to return, carrying similar looking trunks.
"Right," Duncan, a broad-chested Irishman strode across the deck. "Lets get these bastards open, shouldn't take but a minute – they're shoddy pieces of work." Duncan was the ships carpenter, and passionate about his work. As he unhooked the axe he perpetually carried about his waist, Anamaria stepped forward, almost comically small against his huge frame.
"I'm the quatermas'er 'ere my boy an' I'll say when we open the chests." "Never thought I'd see the day when I'd have to take orders from some bloody woman." He muttered in his thick accent, though I noticed he stepped back sharply. Jack was the last man to return from the ship, a sly grin on his face.
"Well done lads – to the rum!" Was all he said before he staggered below deck. I followed him – the stench of blood and sweat on deck was overpowering.
I stepped carefully down the narrow staircase, my eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, I made to pass through Sparrow's room quickly, then I noticed him sitting at his battered desk, slumped down, eyes glazed over.
"Mister Sparrow!" I ran to the prone figure, I confess I almost thought him dead.
"Captain." He sat up swiftly. "'Ello love."
"Are you alright?"
"Fine, fine." He turned and winced "Could do wiv' a lit'le 'elp wiv' this arm, though." I glanced down, his left arm hung helplessly by his side. "Dislocated, ain't it? I need yer to pull it back in."
"What?" I stuttered
"It's easy – but I can't do it meself, savvy?" Using his good arm he took hold of my hands and placed the limp limb in them. "Jest pull 'ard as yer can, then bring it upwards till yer 'ear it click."
I shuddered as he stood up and leant towards me - his lifeless arm made my skin crawl. I suppose I must have looked very foolish to Sparrow, shivering and stuttering over what he saw as an easy task. I tried to get a grip on the arm, but failed. I gave it a gentle tug, but Sparrow only pulled away and winced in pain. I stared at him, helpless.
"Bloody 'ell, will you jest do it!" He snapped suddenly and his words shocked me so that I brought the arm up and heard the click before I had time to think.
"Jesus," He continued, moving his arm gently "Were that so bloody 'ard?"
I began to cry. I felt so ashamed, I knew sailors expected women on ships to be tough, but damn it – I wasn't some female pirate with a hard life of lessons behind me. I was a lady trained in dancing, sewing and playing the pianoforte! I sank into the chair, embarrassed and miserable.
"Oh, no, no, no." Sparrow was kneeling at my side in a second. Gesticulating wildly in his drunken manner. "Don't cry, shush, shush. Come along Cathy." I looked up, stunned out of my tears by his easy use of my first name. His eyes seemed full of concern. I noticed his arm was draped over my shoulder, his sleeve was tattered and the skin underneath seemed cut and bruised. His face was close to mine, I could smell blood and unwashed body; I caught his eye for a second, then looked away. His intimacy was unnerving.
"Captain Sparrow, I will thank you to keep your hands off me." I had indented to snap angrily, but the words came out watery and unsteady.
He laughed, and in a second that intimacy was gone. He stood hurriedly.
"'Ave it yer way then Miss. Barbrook." He strode over to a chest of drawers and began rooting around, leaving me sat, sniffing and pathetic. He pulled out a roll of linen, several bottles and a pair of what looked like metal pincers "I've got me wounds to attent to an' I certainly wouldn't want to upset yer sensibilities by doing it in front of you." His grin was brief and cold – had this been another man, I would have believed his feelings had been hurt.
He sat beside me at the desk, and set to his bloodied arm with the pincers, squinting in the dim light of the oil lamp.
"What are you doing?" I asked, edging away from the gory sight.
"Getting the shot outta me arm." His words were crisp and even. Not wanting to leave, I watched with a kind of horror as the tears dried on my face. It was hard work; 'shot' I learnt, were tiny particles of gunpowder and bullet; and they were embedded in the flesh of Sparrow's arm. Every pinch of the tweezers forced a gasp from Sparrow, and the occasional oath, calling for rum. After a while he seemed to give up and began to dress the wound with the linen. He was just tying the final knot when Gibbs entered.
"Beggin' yer pardon Jack, but the crew wanna speak to yer."
****
We have over twenty crates of spices, thirty rolls of silk and the ivory from forty elephants!" He shouted triumphantly. There was a cheer and Sparrow stood proudly, resting one hand on the wheel of the ship. But through the cheers one crewmember called:
"Whot about the gold, Jack?" And others took up the cry
"Yeah, we were promised gold."
"Whot good's spices to us?"
Sparrow looked taken aback, he walked forward unsteadily, holding his hands up to try and silence his crew.
"Mates, are we not sailing fer the Gold Coast?" He asked, pointing ahead of the Pearls' prow to the land, encased in mist. "An' there we'll get all the bloody gold yer scavinous sea-dogs could poss'bly want; savvy?"
This seemed to satisfy the crew and another cheer went up.
"Rum all round!" Called out Gibbs from the rear of the crowd. Sparrow caught the boatswain's eye and I noticed a concerned look pass between the two men.