Liberty, Equality. Fraternity -by Cunien

Just a note to say thankyou again for lovely reviewing type people. You are all so nice. Also, just quickly - I don't know if I've explained before, but Jack occasionally jumps around from present to past tense. This is deliberate. Like when you're talking, and you can say and then I said or So I'm like - does that make any sense? I've read stories where it jumps around and it's confusing. But this is most definitely deliberate!

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!

Oh and the song The Goodman' is a traditional english one, which I heard on a cd by the brilliant Kate Rusby. I missed out some of the verses though.

Haven't done a disclaimer in a while, so here goes -
Things That I Would Be If I Owned PotC: 2. Smug.

Chapter 6- Revelations.

My head was up there in the clouds with my angel, and therefore, not concentrating particularly hard on the task at hand. I came slamming back to earth as someone shouted my name.

I said, looking back to see who it was, and realising with a jolt that I'd been trying to feed thin air into the grinders for the past few minutes.

My fingers were a breath away from the massive steel jaws. For some reason, and don't ask me how or why, everything became suddenly clear.

I could feel a bead of sweat trickling down my back.

The sickly sweet smell of sugar sap was so strong it burnt the inside of my nose.

The guard's arm tensed on the machete in grim anticipation

Something jerked me backwards, so suddenly I felt like I'd left my stomach behind.

That about finished me off, and I threw up everywhere. In the grinders too.

I made a mental note not to drink any rum derivative of this particular batch.

I remember thinking, God, this lass better be worth it. Because I knew, as clear as day, that somehow this wouldn't be the last time I almost died for or because of this one.

After the initial uprising, so to speak, there wasn't much in my stomach to bring up, so I just sat there heaving for a while, feeling Nathan's hand squeezing my shoulder. It was him who'd pulled me out of harm's way.

Through my daze, a whistle blew, and everyone began to file out of the building. I turned around and let Nathan and another man walk me through the doors.

Gabriel and the Angel had left, thank God. Perhaps she hadn't seen me make a prize fool of myself. Because there's nothing that impresses the ladies quite like a man throwing up all over himself is there?

Outside the Grinding house, the slaves began walking up the hill, and for a horrible moment I thought we were going back to the fields once more. But then, we passed the fields, and I was so happy I could have done a little jig if it weren't for the fact that I could barely walk.

Gabriel's men were walking up the hill too, but they seemed to be accompanying rather than herding us. Right at the top of the slope, we crested the hill to see a village spread out, in front of small fields and paddocks. The guards left us for the night and fairly sprinted down the hill, heading towards the port, where rum and whores were waiting. A few grumbling souls split off from the rest and stopped at little huts at the bottom of the hill, obviously on night watch.

Now, I've spent most of my adult life trying to avoid a number of things, and one of them was the slave trade. Yep, old Jack kept his nose clean on that account. I knew nothing about it, about what happened in the plantations. I drank the rum and tried very hard not to think about where it came from.
Selfish you may say, but what can one soul like myself do to change something so vast as this? Well, we'll come to that later won't we?

So I was completely caught off guard when I entered the village. Small children, those too young to work all day, ran out of the huts to meet their parents. There were a few cows and sheep in the paddocks, if rather mangey looking ones. Some of the huts open doors shone yellow with the light of cooking fires inside, but I wanted nothing of this. I felt I'd been slow cooked over hot coals all day. Right then I wanted nothing more than to go down to the beach and lie in the lovely, cool, fresh surf.

After the hardships of the day I had half expected the slaves to have been locked in cells at night, but there I was, walking into their own little village.
Nathan spoke quietly to me as we walked.

This is our village. In the fields we grow vegetables, to eat and to trade with in the sunday market. Sunday is our day of rest. That is where we hold the market. he said, pointed towards a small clearing, bordered on one side by thick forest. In fact, most of the village was on the very edge of the tree-lined slopes.

This is my home. You will stay here with my family. says Nathan.

I moaned, trying very hard to make my mouth open and say Thankyou very much but I'd like to sleep at the bottom of the ocean please. Alas, my entire body wasn't being very co-operative right then, so a small bleat was all I could muster.

The hut was made of mud bricks and wood, exactly like the ones I'd seen on my travels in Africa. There was only one room, but it was cordoned off in one place with brightly coloured curtains. In the middle was a small cooking fire, with a pot boiling stew.

As we walked in a woman looked up and smiled at Nathan, speaking to him in a language I couldn't make head nor tales of. She caught sight of me and gasped, springing up wearily.

It is well, Sarah. He is one of us. Nathan said, in english so as to settle me a little I think.

This is my wife, Sarah. She does not work, for now. We have just been blessed with a daughter. he paused and looked at his wife, Her name is Anne. Nathan said, emphasising the name. Sarah scowled at him and muttered something, but to be honest I was too exhausted to wonder what that was all about.

Nathan and the other man helping me walk lay me gently on a pile of blankets on the floor, like a baby. I tried scowling but to no avail. The other man spoke quietly to Nathan, and then left, while Sarah rummaged around on the other side of the room for something. She handed a small clay pot to her husband, and he crossed over to me and lifted my arm gently. It felt like a bloody dead weight.

This will help you. he said, scooping a dollop of a whitish salve from the pot and spreading it carefully over my hand and arm.

It felt like he was coating my skin in ice, and I shuddered and moaned, but this time in a happy way, because it felt so good. I smiled crookedly at Nathan, and he took that as sufficient thanks.

Getting there. I managed.

He picked up my other arm and started there too. By the time he was smoothing it gently over my nose I was barely conscious enough to realise.
But that was okay.

I dreamt of rolling around in the surf with my angel.

The next day held much of the same - we got up at the break of dawn, which wasn't really a problem because I'm used to that. I sometimes feel sorry for people who sleep in beds, inside. They must never be able to drag themselves out in the morning. It's easy as anything when you're sleeping in a bush, or with your face smashed up against some broken bottles on a bar. A hammocks not to bad, as I got the hang of them almost straight away. The trick is, once you're in, to lie very very still until morning.

But here we were sleeping on the floor, and although my body swore bloody Mary at me for disturbing it, I managed to get up. I felt better. Okay, I felt a little bit better, but when you've felt as bad as I have, a little can make all the difference.

Sarah gave us some stew and water, and made me rub in more of the salve over my arms and face, so as to become acclimatised to the sun. Nathan introduced me briefly to others in his extended family, his brother Samuel and his wife Hannah, and their children....well I can't remember their names. There were about 6 of them after all.

And then, before the sun had even risen we heard shouts outside the hut. Gabriel's men were walking about, along with some of the black Overseers, who shouted in strange languages. It didn't matter that I couldn't understand, because it was as clear as day what they were saying - get out and to the fields or you'll be sorry.

None of us wanted to be sorry.
We got out of their sharpish. But before the village was out of sight behind the ridge, I turned around to get a good look, and was surprised that I hadn't noticed last night quite how big it was. It was the size of a town, perhaps even a city, but those words seem to imply prosperity, so it could only really be called a village.

I asked quietly, trying not to draw any attention to myself (and that's the first time that can be said about Captain Jack Sparrow), How many slaves are in New Providence?

Many. Thousands. Our Master owns all the slaves and the only plantations on the island, but they are all on this side. Half of the island is un-inhabited.

And how many white men are there here? I asks.

Including you? he smiles. There are maybe five hundred in Nassau Port. Perhaps one hundred here in the plantation. Maybe less.

I stopped dead in my tracks, until one of Gabriel's men cracked his cat-o-nine tails a little too close for comfort, and I shuffled on again.

Only a hundred?! I whispered, more to myself than anything.

Well that was interesting. Very interesting.

With the proper amount of wit and cunning, a dash of guile and a smidgen of wiliness, it is in fact, possible for a single man to come up against a hundred men and walk away unscathed.
Honest.

And this is when the thoughts of escape really began to gather in my mind.
Which is why I did what I did later that day. But I'm getting ahead. Again.

This time in the fields, Nathan and I were given scythes to cut the cane.

Now this may seem like a mistake to you and I eh? Giving poor desperate souls like myself a very long pointed object like a scythe. I mean, you don't see the Grim Reaper going about his business with butter knife do you? No, there's something very wicked about a scythe.

But wait for the opportune moment says I, instead of blowing all my chances in my eagerness.

While we worked, some of the Africans began to sing, a deep rhythmic chant that we worked to. Nathan turned to me and said, I will sing you a song from my tribe, the Olinka. He looked very sad when he began to sing - just for a moment it flashed across his face, but then I think he must have been ashamed, because as suddenly as it appeared it was gone.

The song was a happy one, and a good one to work to. Some of the others joined in and soon I could hear the chant being passed on down the line, far into the distance, to the other end of our row, and then on to the other rows across the field.

So I got it into my head to sing them a song, from London, where I spent most of my childhood.

It's called The Goodman'. I chose it because it's one of the few I know that isn't rude. This normally isn't a problem, but I didn't want to offend my new friends so quickly. Well alright, there are a few rude verses, but I didn't sing those. It goes like this:

The good man he came home one night,
You good man home came he,
There he spied an old saddle horse,
Where no horse should there be.
It's a cow, it's a cow! cried the good man's wife,
A cow just a cow, can't you see?
Far have I ridden, much I've seen,
A saddle on a cow has never been.

The slaves, seemed to like it, so I carried on.

The good man he came home one night,
You good man home came he,
There he spied a riding coat,
Where no coat should there be.
It's sheets, just sheets! cried the good man's wife,
Sheets just sheets, can't you see?
Far have I ridden, much I've seen,
But buttons on a sheet have never been.

The good man climbed the stairs that night,
When the good man home came he,
There he spied a handsome man,
Where no man should there be,
It's the maid, it's the maid! cried the good man's wife,
The milking maid can't you see?
Far have I ridden, much I've seen,
A beard on a maid has never been.

Those of the slaves that could understand english laughed uproariously, and so did a few of the guards nearby.

Thankyou, ladies and gentleman. I says, bowing.

Someone nearby began a song again, and soon everyone had joined in.

I said, able to speak freely now that the loud singing all around was covering my voice from prying ears.

Yesterday, in the Grinding house, there was a woman with Gabriel - do you know her?

I felt that the opportune moment I was awaiting was drawing nearer. If I was going to risk my neck trying to scarper, I wanted to know everything about my angel while I still could. Maybe then, if I did end up with my throat cut, she could help me on the other side, so to speak. After all, an angel like her should have some pull with the Lord above, and a man that's led a life like man needs as much help as he can to pry those pearly gates open when his time comes.

Nathan looked at me wearily.


Oh just curious. says I, trying to look innocent. Admittedly this is something I need to practice a lot more to be convincing.

She is going to marry the Master. She is of his family - a cousin perhaps? I don't know. I only say what I have heard, and much of it might be wrong. Just rumours. he shook his head dismissively.

I pleaded.

He sighed, dumping another basket of cane behind to where another was waiting to strip the leaves from the plant.

She is to marry him, but they say she..., he looked wearily around, she does not think him a good man. I cannot say any more Jack. I know nothing else.

Nathan's tone made it clear the conversation was over. But it didn't matter, because the spark of hope inside me had been given a gust of air, enough to make it flare up into a leaping flame.

So it was of my angel I thought on, all through the morning. I was beginning to fear the opportune moment would never make itself known, until an unspoken shiver seemed to run up the line of slaves. The singing stopped, and the pace of work quickened. Before long I could hear a familiar voice floating up the row.

Well hello, Gabriel, thinks I.

He didn't even look at me as he neared, and stopped to speak to one of the guards nearby.

Here it is. The moment.

I sprinted away from the line, and Jack's a nimble fellow when there's need. One of the guards made a dive for me. I heard him crash to the ground behind, not even laying a finger on me.

And there he was, and there was my scythe, lifting up and hooking around, and what's this? Gabriel Jones, standing there stock still with Jack's blade at his throat.

Everything stopped. A hundred eyes turned to me, and that's the way I like it.

I whispered in his ear, one arm gripping him to my chest and another, steady as a rock holding the scythe a hair's breadth from his skin.

He laughed, not sounding afraid in the least. I jerked the scythe a little closer, trying my hardest to think menacing thoughts.

Gabriel nodded, a tiny fraction of a movement, so as not to provoke me. But it was enough to signal to one of the guards. He grabbed a slave with a jerk and held a pistol to his head in front of me.

You're a reasonable man. spat Gabriel with disgust. I'm not.

I could feel my heart beating faster and faster as the adrenaline pumped through me. The slaves eyes were wide and fixed on mine.

Kill me and they'll kill him. Even you should understand that. I can't make it any simpler.

And there's those things called morals again.

If I kill Gabriel, then I know they'll shoot the slave.

But one slave, just one, for the life of a man like this. Is it worth it? Shouldn't I ask him?

I looked at the slave. His chest was heaving now, his breath coming in short gasps.

he begged in a ragged voice. My name is Dawit! he blurted, I have a wife named Jira! I have two daughters and a son...

It was as though he was trying to make me know him. Make it harder for me to condemn him to death. He was trying to tell me his whole life story to make himself human in my eyes.

I lowered the scythe.

And the guard pulled the trigger.

TBC.....

Thanks again for reviews, me lovelies!

sammyjo3 - yes, here is more!

Rat - the same to you!

Savvylicious01 - sarcasm noted

Otherhawk - yep, Jack sure is one to veer off topic. I think the problem is that he has too many tales to tell, and only one lifetime to tell them in!

ping*pong5 - Unfortunately it's not the lovely Anamaria, sorry! She does however feature very prominently in my other fic A boat with my name on it.' *cough*shameless plug*cough*

Cal - what can I say? Thanks again for your massive review! It's such a joy to know that you're enjoying it, and that you're feeling so sorry for Jack! Never fear though - Jack always comes out on top. If a little roughed up along the way.

Anna Summers - Thankyou! I'm impressed at the speed you zipped through the chapters!

CaptainCatalina- whoa, whoa! That's quite a thing to say Cap'n! I mean, there aren't many things that are better than rum. Maybe you just having been drinking the best kind of rum. And I'll accept the cheers' from the H.M.S Catalina, even if it does sound suspiciously like a Naval ship...

Jaina Kenobi - I'm pleased that you trust me, but don't be so hasty! I'm not sure I even trust myself! And I certainly don't trust Jack!

Thanks again everybody!x.x.x