Yet again, usual disclaimers apply throughout this tale. If you recognise it, it probably belongs to the Mouse – else it is mine!
Chapter 3 – Rescue of a Sorts
Year 1 - October
"Captain! Ship's boat off the starboard bow!" Joshamee Gibbs cried. A small boat was floating towards them, untended with no visible crew. Never one to turn down anything free, he reached across the distance with a gaff, caught the hooked pole over the gunwale and hauled the boat towards the Black Pearl. "Mary, mother of God!" he exclaimed. "Give me a hand, Zeke! There's a woman in it!"
Most of the crew dashed over to the rail, helping to secure the small boat against the side of the Black Pearl as Joshamee climbed gingerly down into the boat. "She's alive!" he gasped as he checked her pulse. He struggled to pick her up in the bobbing boat, being very surprised at how light she was. He gently passed the small, unconscious woman up to Zeke Jones, whose strong black arms lifted her easily over the ship's rail and laid her gently on the deck. Her salt-rimed clothes were torn and she was battered and covered in bruises. "There's a child too!" Joshamee cried, reaching for the young boy who, until now, had been concealed by the woman's long grey skirts. He passed the unconscious child up as well before looking around small boat for anything of value or of use. His eyes fell on a bundle of cloth wedged in the bow. He frowned. "What the... Jesus!" Joshamee jumped backwards in shock, nearly capsizing the boat as the dead body of a baby fell at his feet.
"Gibbs?" Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl peered down at him over the ship's rail, beads jangling, frowning as he tried to see what had been dropped. His quartermaster, Joshamee Gibbs, was a religious man and apart from the occasional cussing, rarely swore.
Joshamee looked up at him in disbelief. "A babe, Jack!" he gasped, forgetting honorifics in the shock of his gruesome discovery. "A little girl I think… dead." Tenderly, hands shaking, he re-wrapped the small body in the white cloth and passed the child up to Jack. "Boat's not much..." he called.
Jack's experienced eye ran over the boat, noting the poor condition of practically every part of it. He was amazed it had not sunk in the storm the other night. It was not worth salvaging. "Sink it!" he ordered, before laying the child's corpse gently down onto the deck. Joshamee was probably correct in assuming the baby was a girl, the clothes too fussy for it to be otherwise.
He leaned over the woman, checking her pulse. She was weak, very weak, and did not stir as he picked her up. He pursed his lips, recognising that it was not a good sign. For a moment he considered taking her to the small stern cabin that they used as a sick bay, but it was a dark place and he did not feel it was suitable for a woman. Nor did he trust every member of his crew with an unconscious woman he admitted to himself, especially a pretty woman such as he held in his arms. He made his decision and turned sharply, heading in the opposite direction towards his own cabin.
"Bring the boy, Jones. They need liquids... clear broth or somethin'..." He laid the woman upon his own bunk as Zeke placed the child next to her. Ned Cotton, the crew's most experienced medical person, had found a clean cloth and sat beside them, dribbling water into their mouths, ensuring that they swallowed but did not choke. He held her bloody, raw hands to Jack, eyes questioning. "Rowin?" Jack shrugged, although there had been no oars in the boat. He frowned, realising that this was one mystery that would have to wait until the woman woke and left Ned to his ministrations, quietly shutting the cabin doors.
"What about the babe, Captain?" Joshamee stood quietly by the small wrapped corpse on the deck.
Jack looked sadly at the pitiful bundle. "Store 'er somewhere safe Gibbs, but not th' hold. Needs t' be respectful, like..." At least his time pretending to be a priest had taught him something about the proper care of the dead, he mused.
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That night Jack slept propped uncomfortably upon a chair, booted feet precariously balanced upon the large oak table. He refused to leave his own cabin and felt, too, that somebody should be there in case the woman woke. He looked at her as she slept, her red hair splayed across her face. She had not stirred, but the child whimpered occasionally. He was relieved to see that both were breathing more easily and their colour had improved. Ned was hopeful that they would wake soon and continued tending them intermittently throughout the night. Jack held a lantern for him as he applied a pungent salve to her hands before gently binding them again. She had obviously been rowing for some time, but from where?
After falling off the chair for the second time, Jack gave up trying to sleep and stomped up on deck, taking the wheel from his new helmsman, Oran Booth, who nodded his thanks and headed for his hammock. Perhaps spending some time on the quarterdeck would help him decide what to do about the mysterious woman he had rescued from the sea – he always thought best when at the helm.
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