On deck all was eerie, silent commotion. The crew were working hard, and the Pearl was running along on a brisk breeze that revived me somewhat. But there was none of their usual song or easy conversation. No calls from rigging to deck, no "One, two, heave" as sails were adjusted and unfurled. There were fragments of twisted and shattered wood on deck, hinted at cannon fire and a quick escape on our part.
I spied Anamaria on the quarter deck, staring at the horizon behind us as Sparrow stared ahead into the low afternoon sun. I ran haphazardly across the deck, thinking only to find out from my friend what had transpired. She turned, hearing my slippers on the steps:
"Jesus!" She shrieked, her face suddenly pale despite her colour "Catherine!" I could only stare at her, perplexed. Sparrow glanced over to me, raised an eyebrow and then fixed his gaze back to the bowsprit.
"What?" I glanced down at myself, touched my face "What's wrong?"
"I thought, I.." She stammered, gripping onto the rail for support. "There was so much blood, you fell when he shot. I, I thought…." I could see her lip start to tremble, in a second I was sweeping her up in a tight embrace, as I held her I could feel her dense, small body leaning itself totally against me.
"I'm not dead, I'm not dead."
"Oh, thank god." I could feel her tears against my cheek. Her hands grasped hungrily in my hair, combing through the dry blood and finding my mutilated ear. We clung together for a second longer, then, composed, she pulled away.
"I can't come to the galley tonight." She said, after a moment of silence. Since I joined the Black Pearl, it has become my habit to spend my evenings helping Anamaria in the galley. It was unheard of for a Quartermaster to also be a cook, but her combination of African and French cuisine was unbeatable and no other in the crew could match it – nor did she wish them to try. "Can you cook on your own? Just a stew or something, and take it down to the crew?"
"Of course." I wondered what could be so important that Anamaria would loosen her tyranny of the galley, much less give it up for the whole evening.
She would not tell me however, and I left her on the quarter deck, back turned on Sparrow as they both stared out into the ocean.
That night I let the salted pork stew boil almost dry, listening to the sounds of Butler's funeral. In naval fashion he had been sewn into his hammock, and, with a canon to weight him, was released to the sea, whose dark waters would claim him until judgement day. Anamaria had not begged leave of cooking duties to pay her respects – herself, Captain Sparrow and Gibbs, the boatswain, were locked away in the Captain's quarters all evening, seemingly in a private council.
When I called to offer them dinner, there was a sense of a conversation stopped mid-flow, of myself as a trespasser in a confidential meeting. They took no food - though Sparrow looked pale and in sore need of sustenance.
It was down below decks, in the dark, cramped, overheated Berth where the pirates ate, slept and lived. The place I always tried to avoid, where I finally learnt something of our voyage and purpose.
I sat amongst the crew, at least, those who were off duty, others were still above, guiding the ship. They took their food sitting in small groups around rickety tables, lounging on hammocks, or clustered together on steps. They looked shaken and tired after their day, as well they might, and my tasteless meal was taken without joke or comment. Their conversation seemed furtive and uncomfortable. At first, the snatches I heard made no sense, but gradually I began to see what we were about, and what a foolish, selfish mission Sparrow had set his crew.
Jack Sparrow had bet the Black Pearl in a card game on Tortuga. And lost.
He managed to charm three weeks grace out of his debtor, and was now trying to capture the Pearl's worth in gold. Even in piracy's "Golden Age", twenty years past, this would have been a fool's errand. The Pearl was no typical Jamaican pirate sloop, but a three-masted frigate, with forty guns and a solid, weathered hull. If England owned her she would be a man of war; a fourth rate Ship of the Line. She was old, but her age only served to prove her strength and heighten her value.
At a guess, I would apportion nearly half of my father's considerable fortune to buy her at her full worth (and no pirate would demand less). To attempt to amass this amount in three weeks, on the Spanish Main, from ships well trained and well aware of the threat of pirates was sheer lunacy.
I was heartily relieved to discover the crew were of the same mind as me. It was against every pirate code to gather a prize no one would see a share of, they reasoned – and it was certainly not allowed under the articles they had signed upon joining the Pearl.
For a while longer after the meal, the men stayed in their closed groups, but as the rum began to flow, singing was taken up – old sea shanties, sang in rounds, and after a time they were gathered round one central table, voices raised in unison. I stayed out of the circle, until I caught Cotton's eye and was ushered to his side.
Cotton was a kindly looking man, and I had an idea he was once an honest gentleman, and a fancy his honest, loving family were still out there somewhere. Whether this was true or not he couldn't say, for some accident had taken his tongue from him many years ago and he was now a mute. He hummed along to the tune, and swayed back and forth, mug in hand with such reverence and feeling I couldn't help but smile, and I sang twice as loud to make up for his loss.
The man's parrot, however, was not mute and the bird's voice was raised loudest of all until the rolling tune came to an end, when it began picking at the man's sash and squawking "Wind in yer sails" despondently.
For a while all sat in contented silence, their weather-beaten faces softened by the lamplight.
It was the dull thud of a tankard against the table which broke happy stillness of the group. Everyone, especially me, jumped. Cannonball Jeff, the man who slammed his drink down, now leaned forward in his seat – wide arms resting on his stretched out legs, confident he had the attention of everyone at the table.
"Well lads, here's how it's fallen to. Butler dead, and no one to care for our wounded – save that snivelling she-pirate." One or two gave a slight cough at hearing Anamaria spoken of so. I myself bridled and made ready to stand, before Cotton placed a warning hand on my knee. Jeff continued "What Sparrow's asking of us, it's against the Code. And my good lads, I don't have to tell you how it goes with Captains who break the Code"
The men shifted in their seats and looked at each other cautiously. They had been saying much the same to each other all evening, but to hear the words dragged out of dark corners and into plain sight was difficult.
"None one want to give up Black Pearl." Muttered one man, it was Peublo, ex-Spanish Navy and one of the younger members of the crew, shy because of his bad English.
"We can easily find another ship." Spoke up the man next to him, clapping the youth heartily on the back, he flinched slightly.
"Not now." Refuted Duncan, the ship's carpenter. "Fifteen years ago maybe. Now even Tortuga's closing down. I'm for holding fast to what we've got." The red-faced Irishman slammed his fist onto his knee for emphasis and there were one or two quiet "hear, here"s from around the table. I kept my eye on Jeff. I didn't trust him – I saw how humiliated he had been when Sparrow punished him for taking me, and his face had been dark ever since. I had it in mind that he had been planning this, and now the tide was turning against him.
"Boys, boys – that's no way to speak. Duncan – I've seen you hold your own in many a fight, which is why it pains me to see you become Sparrow's dog."
The carpenter, a man fully big as fat old Jeff, stood up deliberately and spoke in his gruff, simple accent:
"Say that again Cannonball, and you won't live to see it said a third time." Jeff rose in own seat, and one or two others with him.
"I don't want any quarrel with you, save your anger for the mutiny." If the silence had been stiff before, you could now cut it with a knife.
"Mutiny?" Duncan didn't sit down, but stood his ground, hand poised at the hip. It was then I realised that in the day's confusion and grief at loosing Butler, no one had thought to gather up the arms and return them to the magazine with the canon and shot. These angry men held knives, daggers, cutlasses, pistols and muskets – and they talked of mutiny.
"Mutiny" Jeff repeated, grinning as he did so. "Nothing against it in the Code, if the Captain's done you wrong." The crew were still hesitant. I could see Jeff's frustration mounting.
"What would we do?" Asked Chang, the gunner – a shrewd and calculating man if ever I saw one.
"Do?" Jeff boomed. "Do? Well, we'd do what any mutineers do, go to the captain in, put our case to him, and declare a new captain." Many looked relieved at this.
"We not kill Sparrow then?" Peublo asked.
"Jesus, you welp! NO – we not kill Sparrow, though s'help me god wouldn't it help things if we did…" Jeff caught Duncan's eye and left off.
"I suppose you want to be captain?" The Irishman asked
"Aye"
"Then, ye'll know the Code demands you face Sparrow in a duel." Jeff grunted, but the rest of the crew murmured agreement. "T'is true Jeff, and you know it. Will you face the Captain as an honest man?"
Jeff sneered
"I'll face him as a pirate" No one laughed "Alright, alright – tomorrow, at first light, we put our case. And then the duel."
"We demand our share of the prize." Duncan corrected. "If he refuses, god help him, they'll be a duel."
This seemed to satisfy everyone, and the party broke up, I stayed seated, taking in all I had heard. Alone at the table, I must have caught Jeff's eye, and he called out:
"Hey, wench." Instantly all attention was on me. "You talk to your little pal about this, and you'll regret it." He drew his sword. I was mortally afraid, but some stubborn part of me though 'What a swaggering bully!'
"Will I indeed sir?" In a second I was inches off the floor, being held up by the 'kerchief of my dress, Jeff's bloated face almost touching mine.
"Aye, missy. Regret it is what you'll do. And I'll tell you forwhy – out of the two of us, there's only one captain prepared to take you home."