Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien

You'll have to forgive me - I am sooo sorry that I haven't updated for ages! Firstly, my computer went kaput and random things vanished, like my lovely new well written chapter 3. I also just realised that chapter 2 has gone walkies, and as the gale force winds we have here at the mo have made the phone lines go funny, I'm finding it hard to get online to find the previous chapter - *therefore*, I am a little in the dark while writing this.
Secondly - I have been working full time flat out and don't get much time at all to do anything at all. I have no life.
And thirdly - what little time I have had was spent either trying to scrape together a portfolio so I can dazzle potential future tutors with my amazing animation skills so they'll let me into Uni, or writing a LotR fic that I've had in mind for ages.

There you go.

Do you forgive me then? Do I have to pull a sad puppy-dog face? Or do a little dance for you?

Also I beg forgiveness for any mistakes - grammar, spelling or otherwise - believe it or not I did get my A-level in english (Oy! - don't laugh)

Warning: Maybe some mild cockney swearing, and violence too - Jack thinks nothing of it, so don't trouble yourself over it. He's like a cartoon character - he just bounces right back!

Chapter 3 - The Great Escape.

Down in the hold I sat staring at the barrels in front of me, while nursing my wounds and my very bloody nose. I've come to the conclusion that my nose must be made of steel, as I've only broken it once, despite being beaten up more times than I can count.

I was a bleedin state. Even my bruises had bruises.

But there's nothing like a little time to yourself to get the old mind working, and I've found a cell is the best place to think.

Within an hour I'd come up with 32 fabulous escape plans. I was especially fond of numbers 3 and 27.

In the end I just picked the lock with one of the trinkets in me hair. Not just a pretty face see? I couldn't remember where I'd picked this particular accessory up, or why I'd put it in my hair, but I must have had a good reason at the time.

Well, either that or it was one of the bits and bobs that's got tangled up in there over the years. You'd be astonished at what I've found in my hair, but no more than me - and I'm not one to be surprised at much. You could have blown me down with a feather one night when I lay down and felt what turned out to be a fork digging into my neck.

So this method of escape may not have been as glamorous as the other 32, but it did the job, good and proper.

Anyway, by the time I was reunited with my crew I'd have even myself convinced that I'd scraped through the hull with my fingernails, run through at least 20 of Gabriel's crew in an elaborately choreographed skirmish, before swinging on the rigging to freedom.

So this cell door goes swinging open, right, and I hobble out, on account of my war-wounds, only to trip, hop around a little bit as I try to find a foothold, and crash to the floor.

After checking that my nose wasn't spread across my face, because it most definitely felt like it, I got up to glare at the offending object. I'd caught my foot on the corner of a pallet - one of many in the hold. Each pallet had 4 or so barrels, branded with the letters G.J', strapped securely to it. They were only the barrels I'd been staring at for over an hour, but somehow I'd managed to forget them in my eagerness to limp away.

I'd seen these barrels before. I wondered for a moment what might be in them. And suddenly! - wait!

Something, about sugar?
About why I was in this hold to begin with? About a convoy of ships? Gabriel's ships, carrying......?

I'm ashamed to say that it took me about a minute to work it out, but when the realisation came it was as sweet as the rum inside the barrels.

So, there I am.
In a hold.
Alone - no, not alone. With rum.
So I sit down to have a little tipple, you know, wet the old whistle.

Well, it's rum ain't it? Did you expect me to think rationally?

And d' you know? You'd be surprised how much rum a man can get through when he sets his mind to it.

I've never been one to dwell on trivialities, such as - is it wise to point and laugh at that Naval officer's wig? What will be the consequences of me abducting the beautiful daughter of the Governor of Martinique? Or, who owns this rum?

The next morning I woke up to a sharp slap round the face.

The walls of the hold were moving anyway, as they're wont to do when a man's drunk more than his body weight in the Caribbean's finest rum - but even so I could tell that we weren't in Kinsgton harbour anymore. If you've spent as much time on the sea as I have, you begin to feel the difference between a docked ship and one that's sailing. It's like the difference between asleep and awake.

Sometime in the night I'd pulled a few coils of rope around myself and snuggled up to sleep. I'm surprised Gabriel's men had come down to pay me a little visit earlier, as I vaguely remember singing my little lungs out at one point, making a devil of a noise. They must have thought I was insane!

Gabriel wasn't best pleased when he found out how much rum I'd taken off his hands.
Again.

Well, really, he put me in a hold with a shoddy lock and a hundred barrels of rum - if I can harness sea turtles and ride them to freedom, escaping a cell like his was always going to be a doddle - cause I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, luv. What did he expect?

I tried to tell him this, but the only thing he could think of to say was , before kicking me in the head.

Always had a way with words did Gabriel.

I came to as they dumped me on the deck, and immediately wished I hadn't. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pass out again, even though I went about slamming my head on the deck a few times. Well, it was going to happen anyway - I'd much rather do it to myself than let Gabriel's men have the pleasure.

Gabriel stared down at me like he had a nasty taste in his mouth.

I gave up with head butting the deck and hoping for unconsciousness and looked up at Gabriel, a look of surprise on my face.

Oh says I Lovely morning eh? Nice stiff breeze - see you've got all the sails out - must be in a hurry - don't tell me - north-west - Cayman Islands? - Lovely this time of year.

He kept staring at me, as though I was too insignificant to answer.

No? Cuba?

New Providence. he said after a while. Nassau, to be more precise.

Oh yes, yes, Nassau! Wonderful!......That's where you'll be letting me off, then?

Gabriel laughed.

There are only 3 men I know who can laugh like that - Barbossa, Commodore Norrington, and Gabriel Jones. It's the type of laugh that makes you cold just to hear it, leaving you with no doubt that the laugher knows something you don't. Something that you'll find out, soon enough.
But you won't find it funny.

In a manner of speaking. he said.

TBC.....

Sorry it's so short - there will be more (hopefully) as soon as possible, so this is just a taster to stop you from abandoning this story, and to prove I haven't been carried off by evil pirates, thus explaining my lack of updates.

For the sake of this story, there are sugar plantations on New Providence - it probably wasn't even called that back in the 18th century, but there we go.

You may be thinking - if Jack can pick a lock with a trinket in his hair, why didn't he do so when he was imprisoned in Port Royal, in the movie? Well, firstly, the lock on Gabriel's cell was, according to Jack, shoddy. And also, I don't think Jack would remember his name if he didn't have a sparrow tattooed on his arm. Recalling how he escaped that cell, at the opportune moment, is beyond him. Besides, like he said, he had even himself convinced that he'd swashbuckled guards and the like. And when you've been imprisoned as many times as Jack, they all merge into one.

And finally- HAPPY NEW YEAR!