Disclaimer: See chapter one.
AN: I think I had Jack mention the timeline in the last chapter, but if it was confusing, I apologize and will say that this happens two months after "Salt Spray" and Ana's departure. I'm going to say that it takes about a month (less with the Pearl!) to cross the Atlantic, but if anyone knows that this is wrong, I'd appreciate the help!
So sorry to say this, but I'm going away for the next week to a place where there are no computers, (the horror!) so this will be my last update (unless I can type something quick tonight and tomorrow morning). So I'm apologizing in advanced for the delayed progression of the story, but I promise I'll try to write lots so I can type it all up and post when I get back!
As always, like to hand it to my reviewers. Somehow you always manage to make my day.
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Chapter 3: Stowaways, Cake, and Guns
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July 3
"How'd this 'appen?" Jack Sparrow asked himself in an angry slur as he stumbled through the brig. He clutched a bottle of rum in one hand and the other was flailing about dramatically. How had the bloody whelp and his rum burner talked him into this? Sure, it had started with talking good and easy about getting his coin back, which he had given to her in the first place. . . so, really he had no reason to search her out and get it back.
The second bit about teaching Ana that no woman made a fool out of Jack Sparrow was another measure. He almost laughed aloud at that. He could just imagine Ana's dark eyes narrowing dangerously as her hand rose to sharply smack his cheek and telling him he could kiss some of the most unpleasant places.
He rubbed the abused bone thoughtfully, a small smirk playing across his face. Aye, that woman was fire. It was quite possible that he could order the Pearl to turn around and sail right back to Tortuga and abandon all pursuits of finding the African woman. Hell, he didn't even know where to start. All he knew was it was in a place the Europeans explorers had named Namibia, her tribe was the Himba, and she was herself some type of royalty there. It wasn't much to go on.
Really, it was a fool's errand. And Captain Jack Sparrow was not a fool. So what in blue blazes was he doing out in the middle of the ocean, three weeks out into a venture that could be completely superfluous?
To be frank, Jack Sparrow didn't know. He drank deeply from his bottle and considered this. Still, he was a captain, and a captain never admitted his faults, which could mean one of two things, either of which admitting his shortcomings.
One, that he had given the orders to sail east to the African continent, and to revoke that order would appear as if the captain had taken complete leave of his senses and he himself was inexperienced at his duties. This, of course, could lead to an immediate undelayed mutiny as it were.
Or two, that he could continue the course and complete the errand as it were, but if he were to find Ana would have to admit that he missed her and that he was wrong to say the things he did.
Jack blinked in surprise. Where had that thought come from? Ever since her departure, he had forced all thoughts of Anamaria from his mind as soon as he felt them begin to drift through his thoughts. It must be the rum speaking so poetically.
Jack tripped gracefully over a large crate lying near the edge of one of the brig's cells. He lay sprawled out beside it, staring at the dark wood rafters pensively. Jack felt a twinge of unease as he forced his weak mind away from the subject of a certain woman.
Since boarding the Pearl and telling Gibbs gruffly to set a course due east, Jack had decided there was something the crew was hiding from him. Immediately his gut reaction was to suspect mutiny, and the pirate captain was on constant alert, sleeping with several pistols in his bed. If Ana was here. . .
No, Jack mentally berated himself, Ana wasn't here. If she was, maybe she could have stopped whatever was happening. Loyal as a dog, she was. Jack's eyes narrowed through the dim light, if only she wasn't angry.
He heard a faint noise, like the rustling of fabric and hauled himself up the iron bars to his feet. So it was starting again was it, the mutiny and all. He drew his pistol and dropped his bottle of rum with a loud crash. He heard a muffled gasp to his right and swung around. He could see no none and nothing but the. . .
Jack crept alongside the large crate and regarded it quizzically. It couldn't be. . .could it? Cautiously, he stuck out a leather-booted foot and tapped the edge of the wooden box.
Clunk.
The pirate's eyes narrowed triumphantly. It was hollow. He bent over and picked up the remainders of his rum bottle and flung the intact portion at the wall with a satisfying clatter.
Again, he heard a small sound coming from his right. Jack smirked triumphantly and carefully made loud stomping noises leading towards the stairs leading up to the main deck, clicking his heels softly on the first stairs, as if to sound like someone had climbed them. Then Jack stepped back into the shadows and stood perfectly still.
He didn't have to wait long. There was a loud rustling in the crate and in the dim light, he watched as a figure pushed open the top and climbed out.
"Oh good heavens!" the figure exclaimed in a terrified voice, surveying the mess of broken glass and spilt liquor, placing hands on hips in a typical disapproving gesture.
Jack's face began to twist, not knowing if he should be amused or infuriated. He watched motionlessly as a second, larger figure vaulted out of the crate and looked around. Only when the second figure move close to the first and pressed their faces together did the pirate take action.
With a decisive click, he stepped out into the light and made a loud, "Ahem."
The two people sprang apart and dove into the shadows. Smirking, Jack surveyed them, and rolled his eyes one hand raising to scratch his dark head. "Oh, blast me stars. I swear I coulda sword I 'eard a whelp and 'is rum burner around here somewhere. Must have been me imagination."
Jack walked three steps towards the crate, his beaded hair jangling in the near silence, "But o'course," he continued, suddenly lashing out with his foot and rapping Will Turner across the knees, "I could also be right, savvy?"
The boy rolled out into the light with a loud groan, clutching the place that would be bruised in the near future, muttering something that Jack took to be some colorful language form of agreement.
Elizabeth Swann burst out of the shadows, clipping Jack on the side of the head with her palm. "Don't hurt him!" she commanded shrilly.
Jack looked at her with wide, serious eyes. "Since when do I not punish stowaways on me ship, missy?" At her silence, he continued as if having a conversation with himself, "Ah yes, I seem to 'ave forgotten myself there, ye and Mister Turner are. . .yes, stowaways. And. . .what am I doin'? I think I be punishin' 'em. Hmph, who in blue blazes would'a thought it?"
Elizabeth narrowed her dark eyes at him, shoving a shaking finger in his face, "Don't you patronize me either, Jack Sparrow!"
"Captain, luv," Jack corrected, grabbing Elizabeth's arm and giving a kick in Will's direction to get him moving, roughly ushering the two up the stairs and into the dark grey day. He propelled them against the mainmast and thoughtfully drew his cutlass. "Do ye know what we do to stowaways, mate?" he questioned darkly. His gaze switched to the sky, "Does that look like rain to ye?"
Will stared at him incredulously, while Elizabeth quickly followed Jack's eyes. "Yes," she answered pertly.
"Good," Jack continued like a schoolteacher. "Cause I don't. Ye can be the one to 'plain it t'me." Suddenly he barked for his first mate, "Gibbs!"
The heavy man came bustling out of the cabin, dusting his hands on what looked like an apron, "Aye, Capt'n?" He appeared not to have noticed the two stowaways.
Jack stared at him, "What do ye think yer doin'?"
"I be makin' me a chocolate cake, sir," Gibbs said hesitantly.
"A cake," Jack repeated, his eyes fixed on the pudgy man's sheepish grey eyes.
Suddenly Gibbs appeared to notice Will and Elizabeth and started. His eyes went round in shock and apprehension and his face took on the appearance of a child that had been caught taking the last piece of the cake that he so appreciated. "Mr. Turner! Ms. Elizabeth!" he squeaked, "W-what a . . . surprise?"
Jack sighed and rolled his eyes, "How long, Gibbs?"
"How long what, uh, Captain?" Gibbs asked innocently, licking a streak of batter from his knuckle.
"How long have ye bloody known they were there!" Jack yelled impetuously, jumping up and down in exasperation.
"Uh, who was where?"
Jack growled angrily, realizing with a sudden click that this had been the reason that something was amiss with his crew, "There's . . .no mutiny, then?"
"Mutiny?" Gibbs looked on blankly, "The crew loves ye, Jack. They wouldn't put ye through it again. Why would ye think mutiny?"
Jack chose not to respond and moved to stand by the railing, waving his hand carelessly at the soon-to-be Turners, "Go . . .do somethin' with 'em, Gibbs. I'll deal with 'em later."
"But Cap'n," Gibbs started, "Shouldn't I lock 'em in the brig like we do with stowaways here so they don't escape?"
Jack whirled on him, his eyes glittering dangerously. "Gibbs, we're in the middle of a bloody ocean. There's no where for 'em to go!"
"Aye. . ." Gibbs answered uncertainly. He turned to the Turners, "Ye can have some'o me cake when it's done, follow me."
Jack hung his head in defeat. "We're blasted pirates, savvy? We bake damn chocolate cakes, love our daft captains, and take on bloody passengers. Aye," he continued to tell himself, "Pirates, we are."
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Several hours later, Jack Sparrow stood at the helm. His jagged thought process had driven the captain near daft and hadn't been able to bring himself to speak to the Turners yet, locked in his cabin as they were.
In the still purple darkness of breaking dawn, a motion caught his eye. Despite the gentle rocking of the Pearl, he was able to make out a steadily advancing charcoal smudge. Jack stuck out his booted foot and rapped the salt-crusted brass bell sharply, summoning all hands to deck.
Sleepily, the crew clamored aboard, each clutching either a cutlass or a pistol. Even the Turners came rushing from their cabin, looking more awake than most, giving Jack a reason to doubt they had been sleeping.
"Ship on the horizon," Jack informed them nonchalantly.
Gibbs nodded to the crew and the pirates sprang away from the circle they had enclosed around the helm to trim the sails and approach the guns. Gibbs handed Jack his spyglass and he inspected the advancing ship carefully. Even at its far distance, he could see that it was of Dutch make, and fine shipbuilders they were.
Makers of quick, nimble, and well-armed ships, Jack knew from past history that the Dutch privateers or merchant vessels were not to be taken lightly. In fact, the Pearl itself was a Dutch-made ship that only had been . . .improved for its uses in the Caribbean.
He was faced with a sudden decision: to stand and let it approach, taking the chance of high damages, or to flee, which was surely a blow to the pride. Jack handed the spyglass to his Gibbs, glancing down at him after a few seconds, "What do ye think?" he asked uncertainly.
Gibbs grunted, noting himself the make of the ship, "It's armed," the grubby man growled, confirming Jack's fears.
"Maybe they want t'have tea," Jack quipped, snapping his spyglass closed.
Gibbs sighed, "I don't think so, Jack."
"Captain Jack," Jack reminded him halfheartedly. Coming to a decision, he turned to the crew. "Man the guns! Not one of ye fires except on me command, savvy? Every man his sharpest!"
The Pearl stood her ground as the ship drew closer, the crew standing at attention. Will and Elizabeth hovered near the helm as if anxious to help but unsure how to do so.
She was a finely made ship, this Dutch vessel, with polished light wood and a colorfully painted mast in what appeared to be traditional colors. She was, however, flying no colors, which worried the pirate captain.
Within firing range, the ship seemed to slow and almost stop, drifting in the currents. Even at the distance, Jack could see a flurry of activity on deck from where he stood at the helm. His gaze was suddenly caught by atop the highest mast, a flag was suddenly unfurled. Every muscle in Jack's body went tense.
Red.
Captain Sparrow's heart sank and fear clenched in his jaw. Red: no mercy, no prisoners, merciless slaughter.
"Trim the sails! Full speed!" Jack barked to his crew, who all stood frozen by the sight of the pirate flag. He began to hurried turn the wheel to his right away from the ship as hard as he could, and Will Turner rushed forward to (thankfully) help him.
Jack's voice jarred them out of their petrified stances, and the crew leapt to their positions.
A cannon shot rang out from the other ship, splashing harmlessly in the water nearby. Jack concentrated fully on steering the ship away from this other one, knowing that if these pirates were out for blood and slaughter and trained to do so, there was an icicle's chance in hell the Pearl would make it out unscathed and able to continue her voyage to shore.
"Return fire, Capt'n?" Gibbs requested, twisting his hands anxiously in his vest.
Jack shook his head with gritted teeth as canon shots splashed around them, and he felt several scream into the ship beneath him. "Hold on, love," he muttered, glancing around frantically to be reassured the crew was working to his satisfaction. Seeing that they all were entrenched in their duties despite the loud shots that filled the air, Jack narrowed his eyes and held the helm steady.
Elizabeth Swann looked as if she was about to cry, Jack noticed as his eyes had swept across the ship. Probably brought back painful memories for the lass, he realized. He felt the ship gain momentum beneath him and be pulled along by the strong breezes.
Glancing back, he saw that little by little the distance between the two ships, the latter still firing madly, was increasing slowly.
Around them, the sun was beginning to rise, bathing the sea in her soft orange light. Jack noticed through the tension with satisfaction that the sky was not blood red, indicating a fine day for sailing, and he thanked his luck, small as it were.
Elizabeth let out a little squeal, "We're almost getting away!"
"That's good enough, love," Jack reminded her sharply, "Almost livin' still means yer dead."
However, she was right and after a very tense ten minutes, the pursuing ship had reached the end of the range of its weapons, appearing to be weighed down by something, most likely artillery. The Pearl's crew began to twitter amongst themselves once more, and Jack allowed a relieved sigh.
He leaned back and let the salt breeze shift through his hair. Mr. Cotton's bird was flying around madly, squawking something foreboding, but the crew had let out a whoop and didn't seem to care. The Turners were again embracing, he had noticed with aggravation, and now Jack Sparrow was left to his own devices.
Using the helm, he hauled himself back to an upright position. His eyes caught something on the continually brightening horizon that had not been noticed by him only minutes before. Jack narrowed his obsidian eyes and whipped out his spyglass, surveying the spot. He handed the spyglass to Will Turner, who had magically appeared at his side after Jack had taken interest in the sight.
"Go ahead, lad," Jack told him softly, "Ye know ye want to."
Will Turner grinned at him and threw his arm around his fiancée's shoulders, kissing her cheek enthusiastically.
"Land, ho!"
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AN: I think I had Jack mention the timeline in the last chapter, but if it was confusing, I apologize and will say that this happens two months after "Salt Spray" and Ana's departure. I'm going to say that it takes about a month (less with the Pearl!) to cross the Atlantic, but if anyone knows that this is wrong, I'd appreciate the help!
So sorry to say this, but I'm going away for the next week to a place where there are no computers, (the horror!) so this will be my last update (unless I can type something quick tonight and tomorrow morning). So I'm apologizing in advanced for the delayed progression of the story, but I promise I'll try to write lots so I can type it all up and post when I get back!
As always, like to hand it to my reviewers. Somehow you always manage to make my day.
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Chapter 3: Stowaways, Cake, and Guns
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July 3
"How'd this 'appen?" Jack Sparrow asked himself in an angry slur as he stumbled through the brig. He clutched a bottle of rum in one hand and the other was flailing about dramatically. How had the bloody whelp and his rum burner talked him into this? Sure, it had started with talking good and easy about getting his coin back, which he had given to her in the first place. . . so, really he had no reason to search her out and get it back.
The second bit about teaching Ana that no woman made a fool out of Jack Sparrow was another measure. He almost laughed aloud at that. He could just imagine Ana's dark eyes narrowing dangerously as her hand rose to sharply smack his cheek and telling him he could kiss some of the most unpleasant places.
He rubbed the abused bone thoughtfully, a small smirk playing across his face. Aye, that woman was fire. It was quite possible that he could order the Pearl to turn around and sail right back to Tortuga and abandon all pursuits of finding the African woman. Hell, he didn't even know where to start. All he knew was it was in a place the Europeans explorers had named Namibia, her tribe was the Himba, and she was herself some type of royalty there. It wasn't much to go on.
Really, it was a fool's errand. And Captain Jack Sparrow was not a fool. So what in blue blazes was he doing out in the middle of the ocean, three weeks out into a venture that could be completely superfluous?
To be frank, Jack Sparrow didn't know. He drank deeply from his bottle and considered this. Still, he was a captain, and a captain never admitted his faults, which could mean one of two things, either of which admitting his shortcomings.
One, that he had given the orders to sail east to the African continent, and to revoke that order would appear as if the captain had taken complete leave of his senses and he himself was inexperienced at his duties. This, of course, could lead to an immediate undelayed mutiny as it were.
Or two, that he could continue the course and complete the errand as it were, but if he were to find Ana would have to admit that he missed her and that he was wrong to say the things he did.
Jack blinked in surprise. Where had that thought come from? Ever since her departure, he had forced all thoughts of Anamaria from his mind as soon as he felt them begin to drift through his thoughts. It must be the rum speaking so poetically.
Jack tripped gracefully over a large crate lying near the edge of one of the brig's cells. He lay sprawled out beside it, staring at the dark wood rafters pensively. Jack felt a twinge of unease as he forced his weak mind away from the subject of a certain woman.
Since boarding the Pearl and telling Gibbs gruffly to set a course due east, Jack had decided there was something the crew was hiding from him. Immediately his gut reaction was to suspect mutiny, and the pirate captain was on constant alert, sleeping with several pistols in his bed. If Ana was here. . .
No, Jack mentally berated himself, Ana wasn't here. If she was, maybe she could have stopped whatever was happening. Loyal as a dog, she was. Jack's eyes narrowed through the dim light, if only she wasn't angry.
He heard a faint noise, like the rustling of fabric and hauled himself up the iron bars to his feet. So it was starting again was it, the mutiny and all. He drew his pistol and dropped his bottle of rum with a loud crash. He heard a muffled gasp to his right and swung around. He could see no none and nothing but the. . .
Jack crept alongside the large crate and regarded it quizzically. It couldn't be. . .could it? Cautiously, he stuck out a leather-booted foot and tapped the edge of the wooden box.
Clunk.
The pirate's eyes narrowed triumphantly. It was hollow. He bent over and picked up the remainders of his rum bottle and flung the intact portion at the wall with a satisfying clatter.
Again, he heard a small sound coming from his right. Jack smirked triumphantly and carefully made loud stomping noises leading towards the stairs leading up to the main deck, clicking his heels softly on the first stairs, as if to sound like someone had climbed them. Then Jack stepped back into the shadows and stood perfectly still.
He didn't have to wait long. There was a loud rustling in the crate and in the dim light, he watched as a figure pushed open the top and climbed out.
"Oh good heavens!" the figure exclaimed in a terrified voice, surveying the mess of broken glass and spilt liquor, placing hands on hips in a typical disapproving gesture.
Jack's face began to twist, not knowing if he should be amused or infuriated. He watched motionlessly as a second, larger figure vaulted out of the crate and looked around. Only when the second figure move close to the first and pressed their faces together did the pirate take action.
With a decisive click, he stepped out into the light and made a loud, "Ahem."
The two people sprang apart and dove into the shadows. Smirking, Jack surveyed them, and rolled his eyes one hand raising to scratch his dark head. "Oh, blast me stars. I swear I coulda sword I 'eard a whelp and 'is rum burner around here somewhere. Must have been me imagination."
Jack walked three steps towards the crate, his beaded hair jangling in the near silence, "But o'course," he continued, suddenly lashing out with his foot and rapping Will Turner across the knees, "I could also be right, savvy?"
The boy rolled out into the light with a loud groan, clutching the place that would be bruised in the near future, muttering something that Jack took to be some colorful language form of agreement.
Elizabeth Swann burst out of the shadows, clipping Jack on the side of the head with her palm. "Don't hurt him!" she commanded shrilly.
Jack looked at her with wide, serious eyes. "Since when do I not punish stowaways on me ship, missy?" At her silence, he continued as if having a conversation with himself, "Ah yes, I seem to 'ave forgotten myself there, ye and Mister Turner are. . .yes, stowaways. And. . .what am I doin'? I think I be punishin' 'em. Hmph, who in blue blazes would'a thought it?"
Elizabeth narrowed her dark eyes at him, shoving a shaking finger in his face, "Don't you patronize me either, Jack Sparrow!"
"Captain, luv," Jack corrected, grabbing Elizabeth's arm and giving a kick in Will's direction to get him moving, roughly ushering the two up the stairs and into the dark grey day. He propelled them against the mainmast and thoughtfully drew his cutlass. "Do ye know what we do to stowaways, mate?" he questioned darkly. His gaze switched to the sky, "Does that look like rain to ye?"
Will stared at him incredulously, while Elizabeth quickly followed Jack's eyes. "Yes," she answered pertly.
"Good," Jack continued like a schoolteacher. "Cause I don't. Ye can be the one to 'plain it t'me." Suddenly he barked for his first mate, "Gibbs!"
The heavy man came bustling out of the cabin, dusting his hands on what looked like an apron, "Aye, Capt'n?" He appeared not to have noticed the two stowaways.
Jack stared at him, "What do ye think yer doin'?"
"I be makin' me a chocolate cake, sir," Gibbs said hesitantly.
"A cake," Jack repeated, his eyes fixed on the pudgy man's sheepish grey eyes.
Suddenly Gibbs appeared to notice Will and Elizabeth and started. His eyes went round in shock and apprehension and his face took on the appearance of a child that had been caught taking the last piece of the cake that he so appreciated. "Mr. Turner! Ms. Elizabeth!" he squeaked, "W-what a . . . surprise?"
Jack sighed and rolled his eyes, "How long, Gibbs?"
"How long what, uh, Captain?" Gibbs asked innocently, licking a streak of batter from his knuckle.
"How long have ye bloody known they were there!" Jack yelled impetuously, jumping up and down in exasperation.
"Uh, who was where?"
Jack growled angrily, realizing with a sudden click that this had been the reason that something was amiss with his crew, "There's . . .no mutiny, then?"
"Mutiny?" Gibbs looked on blankly, "The crew loves ye, Jack. They wouldn't put ye through it again. Why would ye think mutiny?"
Jack chose not to respond and moved to stand by the railing, waving his hand carelessly at the soon-to-be Turners, "Go . . .do somethin' with 'em, Gibbs. I'll deal with 'em later."
"But Cap'n," Gibbs started, "Shouldn't I lock 'em in the brig like we do with stowaways here so they don't escape?"
Jack whirled on him, his eyes glittering dangerously. "Gibbs, we're in the middle of a bloody ocean. There's no where for 'em to go!"
"Aye. . ." Gibbs answered uncertainly. He turned to the Turners, "Ye can have some'o me cake when it's done, follow me."
Jack hung his head in defeat. "We're blasted pirates, savvy? We bake damn chocolate cakes, love our daft captains, and take on bloody passengers. Aye," he continued to tell himself, "Pirates, we are."
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Several hours later, Jack Sparrow stood at the helm. His jagged thought process had driven the captain near daft and hadn't been able to bring himself to speak to the Turners yet, locked in his cabin as they were.
In the still purple darkness of breaking dawn, a motion caught his eye. Despite the gentle rocking of the Pearl, he was able to make out a steadily advancing charcoal smudge. Jack stuck out his booted foot and rapped the salt-crusted brass bell sharply, summoning all hands to deck.
Sleepily, the crew clamored aboard, each clutching either a cutlass or a pistol. Even the Turners came rushing from their cabin, looking more awake than most, giving Jack a reason to doubt they had been sleeping.
"Ship on the horizon," Jack informed them nonchalantly.
Gibbs nodded to the crew and the pirates sprang away from the circle they had enclosed around the helm to trim the sails and approach the guns. Gibbs handed Jack his spyglass and he inspected the advancing ship carefully. Even at its far distance, he could see that it was of Dutch make, and fine shipbuilders they were.
Makers of quick, nimble, and well-armed ships, Jack knew from past history that the Dutch privateers or merchant vessels were not to be taken lightly. In fact, the Pearl itself was a Dutch-made ship that only had been . . .improved for its uses in the Caribbean.
He was faced with a sudden decision: to stand and let it approach, taking the chance of high damages, or to flee, which was surely a blow to the pride. Jack handed the spyglass to his Gibbs, glancing down at him after a few seconds, "What do ye think?" he asked uncertainly.
Gibbs grunted, noting himself the make of the ship, "It's armed," the grubby man growled, confirming Jack's fears.
"Maybe they want t'have tea," Jack quipped, snapping his spyglass closed.
Gibbs sighed, "I don't think so, Jack."
"Captain Jack," Jack reminded him halfheartedly. Coming to a decision, he turned to the crew. "Man the guns! Not one of ye fires except on me command, savvy? Every man his sharpest!"
The Pearl stood her ground as the ship drew closer, the crew standing at attention. Will and Elizabeth hovered near the helm as if anxious to help but unsure how to do so.
She was a finely made ship, this Dutch vessel, with polished light wood and a colorfully painted mast in what appeared to be traditional colors. She was, however, flying no colors, which worried the pirate captain.
Within firing range, the ship seemed to slow and almost stop, drifting in the currents. Even at the distance, Jack could see a flurry of activity on deck from where he stood at the helm. His gaze was suddenly caught by atop the highest mast, a flag was suddenly unfurled. Every muscle in Jack's body went tense.
Red.
Captain Sparrow's heart sank and fear clenched in his jaw. Red: no mercy, no prisoners, merciless slaughter.
"Trim the sails! Full speed!" Jack barked to his crew, who all stood frozen by the sight of the pirate flag. He began to hurried turn the wheel to his right away from the ship as hard as he could, and Will Turner rushed forward to (thankfully) help him.
Jack's voice jarred them out of their petrified stances, and the crew leapt to their positions.
A cannon shot rang out from the other ship, splashing harmlessly in the water nearby. Jack concentrated fully on steering the ship away from this other one, knowing that if these pirates were out for blood and slaughter and trained to do so, there was an icicle's chance in hell the Pearl would make it out unscathed and able to continue her voyage to shore.
"Return fire, Capt'n?" Gibbs requested, twisting his hands anxiously in his vest.
Jack shook his head with gritted teeth as canon shots splashed around them, and he felt several scream into the ship beneath him. "Hold on, love," he muttered, glancing around frantically to be reassured the crew was working to his satisfaction. Seeing that they all were entrenched in their duties despite the loud shots that filled the air, Jack narrowed his eyes and held the helm steady.
Elizabeth Swann looked as if she was about to cry, Jack noticed as his eyes had swept across the ship. Probably brought back painful memories for the lass, he realized. He felt the ship gain momentum beneath him and be pulled along by the strong breezes.
Glancing back, he saw that little by little the distance between the two ships, the latter still firing madly, was increasing slowly.
Around them, the sun was beginning to rise, bathing the sea in her soft orange light. Jack noticed through the tension with satisfaction that the sky was not blood red, indicating a fine day for sailing, and he thanked his luck, small as it were.
Elizabeth let out a little squeal, "We're almost getting away!"
"That's good enough, love," Jack reminded her sharply, "Almost livin' still means yer dead."
However, she was right and after a very tense ten minutes, the pursuing ship had reached the end of the range of its weapons, appearing to be weighed down by something, most likely artillery. The Pearl's crew began to twitter amongst themselves once more, and Jack allowed a relieved sigh.
He leaned back and let the salt breeze shift through his hair. Mr. Cotton's bird was flying around madly, squawking something foreboding, but the crew had let out a whoop and didn't seem to care. The Turners were again embracing, he had noticed with aggravation, and now Jack Sparrow was left to his own devices.
Using the helm, he hauled himself back to an upright position. His eyes caught something on the continually brightening horizon that had not been noticed by him only minutes before. Jack narrowed his obsidian eyes and whipped out his spyglass, surveying the spot. He handed the spyglass to Will Turner, who had magically appeared at his side after Jack had taken interest in the sight.
"Go ahead, lad," Jack told him softly, "Ye know ye want to."
Will Turner grinned at him and threw his arm around his fiancée's shoulders, kissing her cheek enthusiastically.
"Land, ho!"
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