On the morning of the third day the mutiny broke out.
I was barely awake when I heard shouts through the thin wall between my cabin and the crew's quarters. My first thought was that they had grown tired of waiting and were planning to break into the chest where the cutlasses and pistols were kept and force Sparrow off the Pearl.
You will be able to understand the measure of my fear, I think, if I tell you I immediately jumped out of my bed and ran to Sparrow's adjoining cabin without even throwing the bedcovers over my petticoats. Sparrow was not asleep however, but standing at his window, looking out to the harbour, its ships just in sight over the horizon.
"Mr. Sparrow!" I hissed urgently, not wanting to disturb him, he looked rather fierce.
"Captain" He proclaimed, not turning, but swinging his arm up in a characteristically affluent gesture as he spoke.
"But, can't you hear?" I trailed off, fearing for the captain's sanity.
"What?" He suddenly turned; the kohl he wore was smudged round his eyes, his normally tanned face ashen and his hands trembling.
"Captain, there's noise next door, I grew afraid..." My voice trailed off, as I realised how childish I sounded. I hated myself for coming to warn him. I turned to leave, just as a sharp scream, trailing into a hideous, blood-soaked gurgle, filled the air.
"Oh, bloody 'ell." Sparrow spoke as he made towards his door, grabbing his weapons as he went. "Come on!" He called back to me as he started up the stairs.
He never reached the top, half way up stood a slave, he was tall and broad and seemed to fill the staircase. He delivered a swift and powerful punch to Sparrow, who immediately fell back on me, pinning me down under his weight.
I believe I must have hit my head as I fell, as I remember nothing more of that day.
When I awoke, it was in a dark and foul-smelling place. Not knowing what else to do, I stayed put and gradually my eyes became accustomed to the dim light and I could see I was below deck, in the brig. As I began to see clearer, I saw the whole crew was here as well. Though the cells were not small, we had a crew of twenty men and I wondered how long we were to stay here. Anamaria sat on a bench, across the cell and I made my way towards her, to find out how we had ended up here.
****
It was the slaves, and not the crew that had mutinied. They had a mind to sail to the Caribbean to join their families and then return to their homeland free men. What they planned to do with us, no one could say, but for the time being, they seemed content to leave us in the brig and bring us food and water when it suited them.
I will not dwell on our time spent in the brig, as even now it is painful to remember. I had thought the time waiting for word from the slave traders was tense, but it was naught compared to the weeks we spent locked in the two small cells that made up the Pearl's brig. The crew, at first were as angry as caged tigers. Sparrow was beaten to a pulp, and lay for many days, unmoving; his face caked in dry blood. He made no retaliation, indeed he seemed to have given up all hope, and I was mighty glad the crew had no weapons or I believe there would have been a dead body in the brig before long.
For myself, that cell may as well have been hell, so dark and far away from salvation it seemed. Though I had never warmed to conditions on the Pearl, before now I had always had my own cabin to retreat into to. I had not realised how much I valued my own space until it was taken from me. The seven people in our cell had no privacy from one another. We had one bucket for personal use, and the slaves would empty it only when we begged them. We were brought no water to wash with, and in the stuffy heat below deck the smell soon became unbearable. My ankle healed slowly and caused me much pain, the dress given to me by Mr. Smyth's wife, dear Maud, became tattered and filthy, the bows fell off and the lace drooped. Most dreadfully for me, my monthly curse arrived during this time, and strips of my petticoats were sacrificed to a modicum of hygiene. You will forgive me for being so crude, but I feel I must convey how bad things were for us.
After the first initial shock and revulsion they days began to blend together into one grey stretch of misery. We could count the passage of time only by means of a single porthole, imbedded in the hull opposite our cells. Four weeks had gone by, I cannot tell you know how any of us bared it. By this point the crew had lost all their venom, they were silent. There was no talk of escaping, or what would happen when we reached the end of our voyage - the brig became our whole world. However, as the weeks passed by, four, then five, hope became to gleam in our eyes - surely we were reaching home now?
Another week passed, making six in all and the sailors began to wonder why we had not reached shore yet. There had been no storms and even by a very conservative outlook we should have been upon Caribbean seas by now.
"Hey!" Anamaria called to the slave, as he prepared to leave, having deposited pan of foul-smelling stew with us. He turned apon hearing her native accent. She began talking in a language we couldn't understand. It seemed to me Anamaria was asking questions but the slave was unwilling to reply. Gradually she got him to speak, yet didn't seem pleased with what he said. She shouted at him and I wondered that she wasn't afraid of him striking her. Yet he simply hung his head and left.
The crew then gathered round her, eager for information. "What did 'e say?"
"Are we near 'home?"
"Whot's takin' so long?"
Anamaria clasped her hands together and looked small and miserable in the cramped cell, burly sailors crowded round her. Her face was sad as she prepared to speak.
"We are lost." She ignored the shouts that arose, and continued. "They cannot sail and they have been headin' out wiv' no sign of land. Appar'ntly it has been getting' much colder. I believe they 'ave steered us too far north." Here she paused "I believe if they continue on this course we'll come across the ice fields and they'll not be able to steer us out of 'em." These words meant nothing to me, but judging by the crew's reaction, we were in some great danger. They began to talk nervously amongst themselves. I sat upon the edge of the narrow bench that served as a bed, Anamaria collapsing next to me.
"Stupid, stupid landlovin' dogs." I heard her hiss, as she pounded her fists on her knees, sharp and bony through poor diet "What a shambles, 'as slavery turned 'em soft! If they could only work wiv' us, we could of all been outta 'ere an' be safely 'ome." She hissed and beat her fists with such violence that I became quite afraid. "Bastards!" thump "Stinking," thump "filthy," thump "Bastards!" Tears began to drip from her eyes and make a slow path down her grimy cheek. I shakily put my arm about her shoulders – now heaving with sobs and comforted her as well as I knew how as the last red streaks of the sunset disappeared from the tiny porthole.
I was barely awake when I heard shouts through the thin wall between my cabin and the crew's quarters. My first thought was that they had grown tired of waiting and were planning to break into the chest where the cutlasses and pistols were kept and force Sparrow off the Pearl.
You will be able to understand the measure of my fear, I think, if I tell you I immediately jumped out of my bed and ran to Sparrow's adjoining cabin without even throwing the bedcovers over my petticoats. Sparrow was not asleep however, but standing at his window, looking out to the harbour, its ships just in sight over the horizon.
"Mr. Sparrow!" I hissed urgently, not wanting to disturb him, he looked rather fierce.
"Captain" He proclaimed, not turning, but swinging his arm up in a characteristically affluent gesture as he spoke.
"But, can't you hear?" I trailed off, fearing for the captain's sanity.
"What?" He suddenly turned; the kohl he wore was smudged round his eyes, his normally tanned face ashen and his hands trembling.
"Captain, there's noise next door, I grew afraid..." My voice trailed off, as I realised how childish I sounded. I hated myself for coming to warn him. I turned to leave, just as a sharp scream, trailing into a hideous, blood-soaked gurgle, filled the air.
"Oh, bloody 'ell." Sparrow spoke as he made towards his door, grabbing his weapons as he went. "Come on!" He called back to me as he started up the stairs.
He never reached the top, half way up stood a slave, he was tall and broad and seemed to fill the staircase. He delivered a swift and powerful punch to Sparrow, who immediately fell back on me, pinning me down under his weight.
I believe I must have hit my head as I fell, as I remember nothing more of that day.
When I awoke, it was in a dark and foul-smelling place. Not knowing what else to do, I stayed put and gradually my eyes became accustomed to the dim light and I could see I was below deck, in the brig. As I began to see clearer, I saw the whole crew was here as well. Though the cells were not small, we had a crew of twenty men and I wondered how long we were to stay here. Anamaria sat on a bench, across the cell and I made my way towards her, to find out how we had ended up here.
****
It was the slaves, and not the crew that had mutinied. They had a mind to sail to the Caribbean to join their families and then return to their homeland free men. What they planned to do with us, no one could say, but for the time being, they seemed content to leave us in the brig and bring us food and water when it suited them.
I will not dwell on our time spent in the brig, as even now it is painful to remember. I had thought the time waiting for word from the slave traders was tense, but it was naught compared to the weeks we spent locked in the two small cells that made up the Pearl's brig. The crew, at first were as angry as caged tigers. Sparrow was beaten to a pulp, and lay for many days, unmoving; his face caked in dry blood. He made no retaliation, indeed he seemed to have given up all hope, and I was mighty glad the crew had no weapons or I believe there would have been a dead body in the brig before long.
For myself, that cell may as well have been hell, so dark and far away from salvation it seemed. Though I had never warmed to conditions on the Pearl, before now I had always had my own cabin to retreat into to. I had not realised how much I valued my own space until it was taken from me. The seven people in our cell had no privacy from one another. We had one bucket for personal use, and the slaves would empty it only when we begged them. We were brought no water to wash with, and in the stuffy heat below deck the smell soon became unbearable. My ankle healed slowly and caused me much pain, the dress given to me by Mr. Smyth's wife, dear Maud, became tattered and filthy, the bows fell off and the lace drooped. Most dreadfully for me, my monthly curse arrived during this time, and strips of my petticoats were sacrificed to a modicum of hygiene. You will forgive me for being so crude, but I feel I must convey how bad things were for us.
After the first initial shock and revulsion they days began to blend together into one grey stretch of misery. We could count the passage of time only by means of a single porthole, imbedded in the hull opposite our cells. Four weeks had gone by, I cannot tell you know how any of us bared it. By this point the crew had lost all their venom, they were silent. There was no talk of escaping, or what would happen when we reached the end of our voyage - the brig became our whole world. However, as the weeks passed by, four, then five, hope became to gleam in our eyes - surely we were reaching home now?
Another week passed, making six in all and the sailors began to wonder why we had not reached shore yet. There had been no storms and even by a very conservative outlook we should have been upon Caribbean seas by now.
"Hey!" Anamaria called to the slave, as he prepared to leave, having deposited pan of foul-smelling stew with us. He turned apon hearing her native accent. She began talking in a language we couldn't understand. It seemed to me Anamaria was asking questions but the slave was unwilling to reply. Gradually she got him to speak, yet didn't seem pleased with what he said. She shouted at him and I wondered that she wasn't afraid of him striking her. Yet he simply hung his head and left.
The crew then gathered round her, eager for information. "What did 'e say?"
"Are we near 'home?"
"Whot's takin' so long?"
Anamaria clasped her hands together and looked small and miserable in the cramped cell, burly sailors crowded round her. Her face was sad as she prepared to speak.
"We are lost." She ignored the shouts that arose, and continued. "They cannot sail and they have been headin' out wiv' no sign of land. Appar'ntly it has been getting' much colder. I believe they 'ave steered us too far north." Here she paused "I believe if they continue on this course we'll come across the ice fields and they'll not be able to steer us out of 'em." These words meant nothing to me, but judging by the crew's reaction, we were in some great danger. They began to talk nervously amongst themselves. I sat upon the edge of the narrow bench that served as a bed, Anamaria collapsing next to me.
"Stupid, stupid landlovin' dogs." I heard her hiss, as she pounded her fists on her knees, sharp and bony through poor diet "What a shambles, 'as slavery turned 'em soft! If they could only work wiv' us, we could of all been outta 'ere an' be safely 'ome." She hissed and beat her fists with such violence that I became quite afraid. "Bastards!" thump "Stinking," thump "filthy," thump "Bastards!" Tears began to drip from her eyes and make a slow path down her grimy cheek. I shakily put my arm about her shoulders – now heaving with sobs and comforted her as well as I knew how as the last red streaks of the sunset disappeared from the tiny porthole.