Chapter 2: The Black Pearl

Eliza sat on the musty cot, looking around the small, dark, wooden room with the one small window. From Captain Sparrow's introduction, it sounded to Eliza as though surely, she were aboard a pirate ship. But if that were true, these pirates weren't like any she'd ever heard of. That captain certainly liked his rum, and the cad was awfully full of himself…but there was nothing Eliza had experienced on the Black Pearl so far to suggest that these people were the murdering savages her father had always warned her about. They hadn't put her in a dungeon, but in a cabin with another woman. Wasn't it unusual to have a female crewmember on board a pirate ship?

Just as she thought this, the woman in question entered abruptly. "Here are some clothes," snapped the woman, tossing a small pile of garments onto the cot beside Eliza. "Men's clothes, you know…best we can do on ship."

"Thank---" began Eliza.

"See here," continued Annamaria. "You're sitting on MY bed. YOUR bed is that one. Over there." The feisty brown woman pointed to the opposite cot, the one not near the window. "Now listen here, miss. I can't be spending my time protectin' ya here. I have my duties aboard ship. You keep yer nose down and yer mouth shut, ya do what yer told, and watch out for Captain Jack."

"Is he dangerous?" asked Eliza.

Annamaria rolled her eyes. "Depends on yer definition o' dangerous, I'm guessin'. But he'll get ya drunk, steal yer heart, steal yer knickers, then steal yer boat and drag you all over the…"

"Oh," answered Eliza, blushing and not really wanting to hear the rest.

Annamaria continued, gesturing wildly. "Now. Yer on board the Black Pearl whether any of us like it or not, and you've gotta be earnin' yer keep here. Supplies are low, and we're sailing to San Miguel to get us some more."

"San Miguel?" asked Eliza, excitedly. She had been to this port with her father more than once, and enjoyed its colorful marketplaces with squawking parrots for sale, haggling merchants, clanking sliver pitchers hanging from windows, and ladies in their full skirts spinning around the square to the mariachi music. "I've been to San Miguel," she said. "With…my father." Eliza stopped, saddened, and looked at the ground.

"Well, looks like you'll be goin' there again. And seein' as yer takin' up my bunk too, there's probably somethin' I ought call you other than miss. I'm Annamaria."

"Eliza," said the wet girl, softly, not looking up from the floor.

"Well, Eliza," began Annamaria, putting haughty emphasis on her wet counterpart's name. "You'd better get yourself dressed and on deck. Best not to spend too much time around here undressed…savvy?" With that, Annamaria bounced out the door.

Eliza wasn't happy about having to wear men's clothes that smelled funny, but, it was certainly better than scampering about in her dressing gown, with that horny goat of a captain commenting on her "oranges." Scurvy, indeed, she thought indignantly as she put on a yellowed shirt and blue trousers, both which she had to roll up. The red sash she found, she ripped in half and tied one half around her waist to keep her pants up, and with the other half she tied back her raven-black hair. She realized, while taking a long breath and holding her head high, that she didn't even want to know whose clothes these were. She opened the door and made her way back on deck, into the sea air.

"Ah, you've returned, miss," said Gibbs with what surely was the only thing that could pass for a pleasant grin on his hardy face.

"Eliza's her name," yelled Annamaria, as she climbed back up to her post on the poop deck.

"Eliza Herrold," the girl corrected.

"Miss Herrold," said Gibbs, nodding politely. "So you mind tellin' us how it is ye come to be floating in the wide open sea?"

"I was aboard the Esperanza," she began slowly. "My father was Captain Benjamin Herrold, who bought the ship in Lisbon from a Spanish shipwright down on his luck. He was a British Navyman, finished his duties and came home to England only to have my mother up and die on him. I was thirteen. So he booked us passage to Lisbon where he was sure he could get a ship, and get a ship he did. We sailed the Esperanza making deliveries to the settlements, for profit. British crew, Spanish ship, nobody gave us much trouble. Until yesterday."

"Aye, miss," said Gibbs. "These be mighty rough waters for anyone who's not pirate themselves."

"And what kind of pirates might you lot be?" asked Eliza carefully.

"Pirates who wait for the opportune moment," called a voice from above, as Jack Sparrow came swooping down on deck by rope. Jack let go of the rope, hoping for a grand entrance, but lost his balance and fell into a stack of empty crates with a mighty crash. The assembled crew stifled their laughter, shook their heads, and waited for their captain to right himself.

"Now, Miss Eliza," he crooned, struggling to get his balance.

"That's Miss Herrold," said Eliza curtly.

"Ah yes. Miss Herrold then, is it." Jack wheeled around clumsily and began to strut proudly across the deck and making hand gestures he hoped looked dignified. "We are pirates who make wise wagers, acquire and sell things, you know…drink and sail, that sort of thing. No point to be killin' anyone, we'd just get hanged that much faster. Too much blood is sickening, really…don't care for it misself…but sometimes necessary."

"And now I'm on your ship," said Eliza. "So that means you're going to…" She paused, hoping to hear an answer about what her fate was to be.

"Raping and pillaging is for a man what can't woo a lady properly, love," answered Jack, twirling the ends of his mustache as a twinkle of mischief entered his eyes. "So you needn't be worrying about that neither. That's not to say I mightn't try…"

"You won't succeed," interrupted Eliza, as Gibbs chuckled again. A real pistol, he thought as he swabbed the deck nearby.

"Yes, well, there's plenty of time for that," said Jack, smiling drolly. "I'm more interested at the moment in finding out who sank your Daddy's boat, er…ship. Who sank your father's ship?"

"They had a lot of cannons and a lot of men, and must have known what we were carrying and where we were carrying it to," offered Eliza, scrunching up her nose at the thought of this braided, staggering rummy wooing her.

"I see," answered Captain Jack, looking at the sky thoughtfully. "And do you suppose, young miss, that you could provide said information? We can barely use it against you now."

"We were headed to St. John, carrying a shipment of silks from China, precious stones from Africa, and some clothes and furniture which we picked up in Portugal."

"Now Eliza," continued Jack.

"Miss Herrold!"

"So sorry…Miss Herrold…did you see what color coats your attackers wore? See any flags, hear anything yelled?"

"Hard to say," said Eliza. "There was so much going on…the cannons, rails splitting, fire, smoke, swords, guns, shouting…my father yelled at me to stay in my room, so I did. Hard to keep track of what color coats everyone was wearing," she added, in an acid tone.

"Hmm, yes…so…what's to be done with our young and lovely Miss Herrold, then?" asked the captain, eyes gleaming devilishly. "What indeed?" After eyeing Eliza thoughtfully, Jack asked, "You say you've sailed for some years…what skills have you of use to the seaworthy?"

"I can cook," Eliza answered nervously, watching the smiling captain circle her hungrily.

"Can you, now?" asked Jack with a knowing grin.

"Y-yes," she answered, feeling rather small.

"Well then, I'd get you to the scullery then…everyone earns their keep on the Black Pearl, miss! See what we've got, and make it last until San Miguel, savvy?"

Mr. Cotton escorted Eliza down into the area that was the ship's kitchen. Annamaria hadn't been kidding…supplies were indeed very low. Two large bags of hardtack, with weevils squirming among the pieces. Three barrels of oats. Somewhere near her, she heard a cow mooing and the clucking of chickens. Three crates of fruit, including coconuts, a few limes, and bananas that were going bad. Six large sacks of potatoes. Four large barrels of what could only be rum, and a moderately-sized block of salt. Eliza looked at the fireplace where hung the big iron cauldron, glancing at the blackened spoons and tools that hung from the mantel above. Against a small wooden table with knife marks in the grain, Eliza leaned and cried. Mr. Cotton, a grizzled old man who hadn't a tongue to console her even if he'd wanted to, cackled like a madman as he left Eliza in the kitchen.

The stew eaten later that night by the crew of the Black Pearl was a delicacy, they agreed. Eliza had merely used potatoes and eggs, and churned some of the cow's milk into butter to hold the oat-noodles together. Her teenage afternoons spent helping Old Nance in the belly of the Esperanza had served Eliza well. As she sipped the soup Old Nance had taught her to make, she hoped her friend and fellow shipwoman had died quickly and painlessly when the ship went down. Old Nance had been the one person who didn't mind the company, if Eliza was pestering the crew, and Eliza didn't mind helping the buxom, toothless woman who told her many stories of the sea and sang her sea shanties until Eliza laughed herself silly.

The moonlight lilted softly against the black silk of the sails, and a comfortable, salty breeze washed over everyone as they dined.

"By my calculations," began Captain Sparrow, "we're six days out of San Miguel." The crew yelled triumphantly and held up their mugs. "Those on watch, look sharp. Those not, get your sleep. And you…Cotton…the girl is cooking now, so you're looking after the animals."

"Awk," replied Cotton's parrot, perching on the man's shoulder. "Stench o'death, stench o'death." Cotton nodded, grabbed the mop leaning against a mast nearby, and trudged below.

The crew went about their business, securing the ship for the night, as a miniature bald man lifted himself onto the poop deck to conduct his turn on night watch. Jack Sparrow ambled over to the slender young girl drinking her soup, and struck a pose against the railing beside her.

"Delicious," he mused, smiling beckoningly.

"Excuse me?" spat Eliza.

"The stew," he continued, pressing his hands together as though in prayer, attempting to recover the moment. "The stew is delicious. But the oats…those oats are for the cow to eat, savvy? It was hard enough work getting a bloody cow on board the ship, let alone finding something to feed her with, and she's always bloody seasick..." Jack noticed the girl staring off into the sky, holding her empty bowl limply against her thighs.

He picked up a mug, nearby on a barrel. "Rum, love?" he asked tenderly.

"Look," answered Eliza hotly. "I appreciate that you and your pirate crew here have saved my life and placed me into indentured servitude for the next six days. It will keep my mind off losing my father, my friends, and everything I own in a day's space. But I'm going to tell you right now, Captain Sparrow…I'll have none of your rum, and none of your sweet talk. It's unbecoming, and inappropriate, and, and…I'll be leaving you in San Miguel."

"Your choice, love, certainly your choice," mused Jack. "And what will our Miss Herrold be doing, then, all by her onesie in San Miguel with no money and dressed in men's clothing, which, by the way, is property of the Black Pearl…are you quite sure you've thought this one through?"

"Well, I've thought THIS much through," hissed Eliza, grabbing the pirate captain's mug of rum and splashing its contents onto his face. Jack looked surprised for only a moment, then began to lick as much rum as possible from his beard and mustache. Eliza made a disgusted grunt and stomped off to her quarters, wondering how on earth she'd survive six more days in the hospitality of this arrogant drunkard.