Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien

Right, I'm starting this now, before I've even posted the last chapter on fanfiction.net, in the vain hope the momentum will keep me going all the way through chapter 5! I haven't posted here yet as the site was messing me around last night and wouldn't even let me sign in, but I have posted on my livejournal. In future, I will most likely post there first, even if it's a couple of hours ahead of ff.net. It won't be more than a day or so ahead though, so don't worry if you don't fancy nipping over to check it out at my livejournal!

Anyway, I again beg forgiveness and hope that you won't desert me and Jack through our trials and tribulations. Thanks for reviewers that I haven't thanked for the past two chapters also.

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!

Haven't done a disclaimer in a while, so here goes -
Things That I Would Be If I Owned PotC: 1. Rich.

Chapter 5 - Fields of Gold.

Through the night, the stocks seemed to increase ten times in weight, until I felt like I was being folded neatly in half. I couldn't stand with my little friend on my shoulders. I couldn't kneel, and if I sat or lay down I would never be able to haul myself up again.

So I squatted on my heels and felt miserable as the weight of the stocks pushed my shoulders down further and further. By morning my squat had folded into a kneel, my head and shoulders pinned to the floor and my arse in the air.

Even I admit this must have been a funny sight to the men that came to get me just before sunrise. So I summed up the energy to laugh good naturedly along with them as they hefted me upright, none too ceremoniously.

The men got me the right way round, and I fell over a few times, just for good measure, and because I was feeling a little light headed to be honest. Then they took off the stocks, oh thankyou God, and left me there for half an hour to collect meself. I could hear them sitting outside the locked door, drinking rum and making lewd jokes that weren't very funny really. Honestly, my dear old mum could have taught them a thing or two about the meaning of rude, I can tell you.

After not nearly long enough, I hear the keys go click in the lock, and the doors open once more. I was expecting to see Gabriel Jones, and honestly it would've been only polite for him to pay me a little visit, seeming as I was there at his bequest and all. But no, it was only the same ruffians as before, which annoyed me no end.

Don't get me wrong - going on my experience so far, time alone with Gabriel Jones was never to my benefit, but for some reason the thought that he'd already forgotten me didn't sit too well.

But these men didn't seem to care that I thought I should have been treated a little more important like. They hauled me up, which was a bit of a waste of time, because they went on to push me out the door and flat on my face once again.

They found this very amusing of course.
Ha ha...' I laughed along with them, as it seemed the wisest thing to do at that moment, Give us a hand up boys?' I asked, reaching up towards them.
One of them looked at my hand with distaste, as though he might catch a disease from touching me. Well, it didn't seem to bother them last night when they were getting my blood sprayed all over their faces did it?!

Instead he wrapped a hand around my hair and tugged hair enough to pull it out, and suddenly I found untapped reserves of strength and decided I didn't need any help getting up after all, thankyou very much.

Silly bugger. He was more likely to find something un-savoury in my hair than on my hand. I prayed that that fork was still in there, or any other pointy objects likely to cause harm to anyone foolish enough to stick their hand in.

Now you may think that I'm a bit of a girl's blouse eh? To let them have their sport with me and not fight back. Well I'll tell you, Jack Sparrow ain't no pansy. When it comes to a fight I'll take on anyone and no mistake. But there's no point in starting something you ain't going to finish. Or come out of alive for that matter. Wait for the opportune moment, says I, and escape with all your limbs attached and useable.

Plus there's always that English pride. Stiff upper lip and all.

I let them march me off, let them try and trip my legs from under me a few times.

I said I let them try.

Meaning I didn't punch their lights out. I did however, do a little skip, a little dance, and managed to avoid their poorly aimed kicks enough times for them to get bored.

So there we are, marching along at a fair pace, uphill towards some sort of complex of buildings and fields that stretched up towards the forested mountains. The main building was huge, and had a large chimney belching out smoke and steam into the clear Caribbean sunrise.

As we near the buildings, I can see streams of people, in and out of the buildings, hurrying around at their business, and it's only then I realise: they're all Africans. All slaves.

In these parts, there are a number of trades for a man of my nature and skills: pirate, privateer, or slaver, amongst many.

The last two make me sick just to think of them. Privateer takes away your dignity and slaver your humanity.

It's not like me and the Pearl haven't been offered the chance. Easy, quick gold. No questions asked. All you have to do is sail to Africa, get drunk off your face and enjoy the local customs of Marrakech or Whydah as you let someone else load up your cargo, then sail back. Easy as pie.

Cept it's not, is it?

Oh no. You don't spend as many years in the Spanish Main as I have and not come out a little wiser for it.

Cos there's these things called morals' right? And they're tricky buggers and all.

One time, we were sitting in this tavern in Tortuga, me and the boys. So we strike up conversation with the fellow sitting near us, and soon enough the conversation turns into drinks all round and there's no stopping us.

He was a normal looking fellow. That's the catch ain't it? Even old Jack, who's known his fair share of knaves and generally evil folk, gets caught out every here and there. You always go on first impressions. Always. That's why I take such care over my appearance ain't it?

You expect evil men to look evil. Like Gabriel. With that glint in their eyes that tell you that they're not like you. And that's when it gets scary, when you just can't figure out the person you're talking to.

But this fellow was as ordinary as any. Just your average pirate it seemed.

Til talk turns to business, as it's wont to amongst men of our profession. And before you know it he's propositioning us - Take your fine ship there. At Whydah there's call for men like you. Fill your holds with blacks and your pockets with gold, as I always says! And you may take your pick of them. Any thing that catches your eye - boy, girl - whatever takes your fancy!'

Bootstrap tenses beside me. I can feel his anger, white hot, just like mine.
The air is like when you're up in the top sails just before a storm, when you can feel the lightning buzzing around you and all your hair stands on end.

Time to leave.

Cept it seems like me and Bootstrap are the only ones that want to stay well away from this business. I may have a lot of things on my hands, but the blood of innocents isn't one of them. There's a line, and once your sailed past it there's no going back. That's the kind of thing as changes a man.

Barbossa and the others weren't of the same mind though, and I argued long and hard through the night to settle them.

Those were amongst the first rumblings, but there were many more to come. More that made me wish, in time, that Bootstrap would let me make him my First Mate instead of that Snake Barbossa. But I didn't and years on I was left sitting on a beach watching the Pearl sail away into the horizon.

But that's another tale entirely, and back to ours.

As we neared the complex and I realised what this was about, I stopped in shock. The ruffians had no thought of letting me pause to take in the sight, and pushed me forward again.

I'm ashamed to say I couldn't stop staring once we neared the main building.
I've been to Africa before, and not just into the ports where there are more English and Spanish and Portuguese than natives. No, I've been inland, up the rivers once. To places where I was the first white man they've ever seen. In some of those places I don't think I gave a very good impression of my race in general. But again, that's a tale for later.

So this wasn't about seeing so many African people, it was that the people in front of me didn't look like people. Their eyes were blank like dolls, like they were all still asleep or something. I mean, it was early in the morning but that's not what I'm talking about.

It was quite a sight to see. So many people, but so little human emotion. No anger at the way they were being herded like cattle and whipped like dogs. There were Gabriel's men, standing every here and there with cat'o'nine tails and ugly looking knuckle dusters about their hands. Mostly they just shouted, or spat, but sometimes, if a slave stumbled or caught their eye, they'd go at them just to fight the boredom more than anything I think.

But we kept marching, past the building. Carts rumbled by, already loaded high with crops, and I turned around to see them pull up at the buildings, and the slaves hurry to unload them.

Everything here was done at three times the pace of normal life - it was a lot like being on a ship. Everyone had their job to do. Except I don't beat my men to the ground if they looked at me wrong. That's not to say I don't want to, with a few of them on a number of occasions.

Anyway, soon we're up climbing a slope that's tall with cane, and then reaching the top of the little hill, we got to the fields proper. Stretching out as far as I could see was a mass of sugar cane, waving in the slight morning breeze. Every here and there a head poked out above the crop - slaves hard at work.

The fields were planted in long rows, and each of these had a line of slaves working on it. Prowling up and down beside them were Gabriel's men, and to my surprise, a few African overseers cracking whips and shouting orders in a steady rhythm that the slaves worked to.

So my two friends march me up to one of Gabriel's men, and this time I'm caught off guard and don't notice the foot that comes to swipe my legs from under me until it's too late, and I'm smack on my knees on the ground. Bloody hurt too.

The men spoke for some time, with me on the ground kneeling before them in a way that made me blush red hot with anger. But I hold my tongue, and soon enough they've handed me over to the other man without so much as an introduction. He smiles grimly at me and prods me along till we reach a particular row and he shoves me there in between two slaves.

One of them looked up at me for a moment, and I noticed the surprise at seeing a white man like me amongst them. But he hides it well, and goes back to work.

Do as I do. someone whispers, so quiet I might have imagined it, and now it's my turn to be surprised, because his english is good, with only a hint of an accent. By all rights it's probably better than mine.

So I did. I copied the man next to me, and the man next to him, and the woman next to him. In front of us, a row of slaves cut the sticky cane and passed it back. We stripped the leaves and put it in baskets behind us. Soon enough the baskets were full, and another slave, normally a child, would replace the basket before disappearing off down the long winding rows of cane.

The sun rose high, and still we worked. Before I know it it's midday, the heat is unbearable and I'm sticky with sap and feeling like I'd very much like to throw up right now please.

Another day of heat stroke.

I could feel the skin on my face and hands crackle and burn, which is really saying something as I've spent so much time outside there's no part of me that's not brown.
And I mean no part.

After a few hours, the man next to me grabbed my arm gently and stopped my work, with a careful glance around to check no guards were watching.

No. You do it wrong. Like this. he said, showing me how to strip the leaves from the cane without ripping the skin of the plant and covering myself in sap. It is much easier. he smiled gently, and I thought he might possibly be an gift from God.

Jack. My names Jack. I croaked.

He nodded in greeting.

And then he turned back to his work so fast I thought I may have dreamt the whole thing.

A little after mid day, the people around me started to slow down and the pace stopped. To my unbounding joy, the line of slaves starts to move off, to be replaced by another, and I'm being shuffled along with them.

Once we reached the road, we stopped and were allowed to drink some water and rest for a while. To be honest I was afraid that if I sat down I would never get up again, but I found some shade and rested a while.

Too soon though, we're off again, walking back towards the buildings.

And here the hell really started.
Because if I thought it was bad outside, then it held nothing on inside the buildings, where the grinders rumbled on, filling the air with a cloying smokey heat.

People came with carts, unloading sugar. We put the sugar in the grinders, at the same time trying very hard not to put our fingers in the grinders. More carts came, and yet more sugar. All day.

To be honest I can't say much more than that, because I sort of...went somewhere else, if you catch my meaning. The heat and the fumes and the toil had set my mind back somewhere. Somewhere nightmarish and horrid, but at least far far away from the grinders, and the guards with their machetes ready to sever our arms if they got caught in the machines.

The sun dipped low, and lamps were lit. But still the work went on, the heat was as intense and the light so bad it started getting dangerous. As if it hadn't been before.

And then, through the haze, two figures approached, and something happened that gave me a little strength and hope.

It was Gabriel Jones, and a woman. They were far away, and I couldn't see them all that well, or indeed, have the time to look at them too closely. Not wanting to make too close a friend of a cat'o'nine tails at that particular moment.

They stood and spoke for some time - Gabriel seemed to be explaining to her how everything worked. And then, a shaft of late evening sunlight broke through, and struck the woman. And her hair was red-brown like rum.

And I saw an angel.
TBC.....

Hellooooo! Sorry it's a bit of a weird chapter - lots of angst and heat stroke - yum! Sorry again, hang about and we can get to the good stuff soon enough!

Right, I haven't done a Thanks' thing for a while, so here goes :

Simply Sara- First Mate! Nice to see you! Glad you're enjoying Jack's one-liners! Thanks so much for your continuing lurverly reviews!

Rat - See, I didn't leave Jack that way for too long... Thanks for your praise!

ping*pong5 - Yay! A new reviewer! Welcome aboard and I'm glad you're liking it so far!

Jaina Kenobi - Jack always pulls it off! You'll see!

Fidin - declarations of love are always welcomed, as are big starry anime eyes!

Mythical Assassin - I'm going as fast as I can! Well, that's not strictly true... Thanks for your nice review! I shall try and post more often as I'm going away for a few months in April and want to get a lot, if not all of this finished by then. Improbable, not impossible.

Cal - how do you find time to write such wonderful long reviews! They always make me feel so coochy! You make me blush! Thanks so much for your encouragement and lurverly reviews!

Otherhawk - Yay! Another new reviewer! Glad you've come aboard too, especially if you're going to continue with the nice reviews...but I guess that depends on me and Jack eh?

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! I know it shouldn't be about that, and it isn't only, but it's so nice to know that people are enjoying the tales. You're reviews really help me get my arse in gear and post again, and are so encouraging! I love you guys!x.x.x