Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. Nor do I own the British Navy.

Is it true we're not allowed to personally respond to reviews? If so grr. If not

To Jackeroe: Long live Bloody Jack! (That's where you got your name, right?)

Chapter 2

The next moments passed like a blur. Will was greatly outnumbered, and press gangs were known for their rough fighting. He had never even drawn his sword. Some of the group had been hiding in the opposite alley, and the moment he had headed over to the group, they snuck up on him. But even without his sword he managed a few good blows. The confrontation ended quickly and Will was tied like a pig and tossed unceremoniously into a cart. There were already two other men there.

Both seemed to be asleep when he was dragged over, but one man opened his eyes. Will studied his fellow victims. The two were gagged and tied, and after a moment he felt rough hands gagging his own mouth. He prayed that it was just clothe and not knickers or a sock. Some of it was over his nose, and he could see it was just clothe.

The awake man had fair hair that went to his chin. His eyes were an ocean blue and ever alert. Except for a dark smudge on the side of his face, it was a handsome man. Unlike the ruffians that captured them, he was very clean and his clothes were sharp, but were a bit tousled from his encounter with the gang.

The other man was not so fortunate. His clothes were very dirty and torn. A few places had patches His hair was a filthy, scraggily mop that was receding from his hairline. For a moment it looked like there was dirt in it, but then Will realized it was caked on blood.

There was a jolt and Will heard a grinding. The cart was moving. Perhaps the press gang wanted to move closer to where there were a few taverns. It was easier to capture a man already incapacitated by alcohol than it was to capture a fit sober man. Will looked at the man with the blue eyes. The man shrugged and fell asleep. Will tried, and eventually the cart's steady movements lulled him.

After a short time Will was abruptly awakened by a big man being thrown on top of him. It had been hard enough for him to breath with the gag in his mouth and over his nose, but now it was really hard to breath. There was a jolt as what had to have been another body was tossed in as well. It felt as if his lungs were being crushed. He closed his eyes while trying to steady his breath, and when he opened them there was a shock of red hair in front of him.

"These five'll do," a voice said. Will instantly knew it was the man who had been asking him all the questions earlier.

"You sure? Maybe we should get one more, cause the Irish bloke don't look too good. You hafta hit 'im so hard?"

"Yes, he fought like the Devil himself. Besides, we got a swordfighter an' a blacksmith. People like that are gems. They be strong blokes, every one of 'em. Might get ourselves a bit of a something extra for them."

"But five ain't our best haul. We had seven that one time…"

"Shut up you slack-jawed idiot! If we don't hurry we'll be late. Now, you boys stay here and…" Will listened to them talk for a while longer, but fatigue took over and he slept. When he awoke again he felt the bobbing of the sea. They were on their way to a ship instead of a dock. Will had hoped that if they were delivered to a docked ship escape would be easier. There was no way he could escape swimming, especially because it was dark. The English Channel was unforgiving.

Because of the man on top of him, Will didn't see the ship looming a few yards away. He didn't see the group of men huddled beneath a cloud of lanterns leer at the boat or throw down a line. The first thing he saw on the HMS Dragonfly was the deck as he was tossed on it like a fish. The next thing he saw was the bum of another man being thrown on top of him. For the second time in so many hours he lost his breath.

Thankfully the man was hauled up by some midshipmen and his gag removed. The men hauled him over to what was most likely the captain. The leader of the gang went with them, negotiating a price.

"What's your name?"

"Benjamin Seymour." Just from his voice it was easy to tell that the man wasn't completely conscious. Either that or he was still drunk.

"Benjamin Seymour, sir," the captain corrected. "I am Captain Moyer, and you'll be doing as I say from now on. Put him in the books as Able-bodied Seaman, Mr. Dane."

A small man bobbed at the captain's side, and he began scribbling furiously into his log. When he was finished he looked expectantly at Moyer, awaiting the next man. The Irish man was brought over. He was in a better state of mind than his friend.

"Name?"

"Gregory Fredrick, sir," he sneered. From those three words rang a fine Irish accent. He seemed like a man that if you met, you'd remember.

"You're a bit thin. How 'bout a Foretopman Mr. Dane? Didn't we lose one a while back?"

"Aye sir," Mr. Dane said. He hovered near the captain like a puppy dog awaiting a bone. Gregory was taken away and joined Benjamin by a Marine. The two started talking in low whispers until the Marine hissed something at them and rested a hand on his sword.

The next man brought over was the one with the blue eyes. The press gang leader started talking at the sight of him.

"He claims to be an expert swordfighter. I figure he should be worth a bit more than the others," the dirty man said in gravely tones. His eyes kept shifting around the deck, as if afraid that there was no good going on.

"Alright Master Swordsman, what's your name?" Captain Moyer asked in an amused voice. He doubted that the gang member was telling the truth, and for good reason. Many slave traders tried to give their 'goods' more skills for better prices.

"Joshua Clark," he replied in a quiet voice. "And I am an expert swordsman."

"Prove it," the captain said calmly. "That one has a sword, fight him."

It took Will a moment to realize they were talking about him. Two men lifted him and untied him while the gang man started to protest.

"I was about to get to him. He's a blacksmith. I want more for 'im as well," the man whined.

"Robert, I want them to prove it. If you keep pestering me, I might not take either."

Joshua was given a sword from a Marine, and he started looking it over. From where he was standing, Will could tell the quality was poor. The sword he had on him was a nice one he had constructed himself. It wouldn't bejust tofight anyone unfamiliar to their sword.

"Excuse me, Captain, but this isn't a fair fight," Will called over the deck.

"And why is that?" Moyer asked in a bored voice. "Do you know him to be a sword fighter?"

"No, but I have made and fought with many swords myself. The blade that was given to him is unbalanced and it top-heavy. If struck in the right spot, the blade would come off the hilt."

The captain considered this, and took Joshua's sword. He looked it over and then whacked it onto the deck. Just as he had said, Will saw it come apart.

"Robert, I will not pay extra for Mr. Clark. If he had been a sword fighter, he would have known the sword was a poor quality. When you met him, he most likely lied to scare you off. Not many people want to fight with a trained enemy. But I'll still take him," he waved a dismissive hand as Robert opened his mouth to say something. "Mr. Dane, Able-bodied seaman.

"And you, what is your name?" Moyer was looking at Will, and for a moment he seemed shocked with recognition.

"Will Turner." The captain froze, his eyes wide. There was some murmuring on the deck from the oldest sailors. "The Second," he added shyly. Although he heard he looked like his pirate father, he didn't want to be mistaken for him on a ship of Navy officers.

There were more mutterings from more members of the crew, and Will heard one whisper about the Black Pearl. These people had heard of him alright.