A/N: I want to apologize for missing the usual daily update-the document loader refused to load my next chapter. Here it is. Sorry for the delay!
--Cal--
Chapter 9: Accession
General John Depp had just returned to Valley Forge. He sat with Admiral Sparrow, who never ceased in pestering him about 'who was the one complaining about being a soldier?' to which his response was 'it was common soldier I objected to'.
The man was huge, a scowling hulk, rode at the head of a long column of troops who were as raged as their commander. They passed through the outposts to unexpected cheers, moved through the frozen earthworks as huddled soldiers rose to greet them. They pushed their way up the long snowy hill to the plateau, each man amazed at the sight of this strange new town, built by the hands of Washington's army. The cabins were waiting, the grim vacancies created by so many who were sick or simply gone. As they spread into their new homes, their fresh fires added new clouds of smoke to the vast sea of black air that drifted over Valley Forge. They did not complain of the choking misery of the cabins, the hard cold ground kept away by the thin layers of worn blankets. Instead, they were grateful for the shelter, the long miserable march from Saratoga now complete. It was a homecoming of sorts, this hearty regiment of Virginians, led by the crude and powerful man who inspired as much good humor in the army as the passion for a good fight. With word of the return of these lean and victorious riflemen, the stories began to flow, the pride of accomplishment, these men who had done so much to destroy Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne. As their revelry began, their leader continued on to headquarters. Daniel Morgan had returned to Washington's command.
Morgan was quite a hit with Jack Sparrow and his crew. The tall Virginian had a flair for the dramatic, something that endeared him greatly to Jack. He also had a habit of informality, even being heard calling General Washington 'George'. The group of them, Admiral Sparrow, Captain Sparrow, Captain Gibbs, General Depp, and Morgan were enjoying a good round of spirits—commonly known as rum. While doing this, they passed around their stories; many of Morgan's were definite tall tales, some weren't. But the real difficulty was in telling the difference with the tales of Jack Sparrow.
"…and then they made me their chief," Jack finished his old story.
"Hah! Jack, that is the biggest crock I have ever heard," Morgan laughed.
"Oh? How 'bout this one, eh?" Jack then proceeded to recount what happened with the cannibals that believed him a god. "Of course, it's a very common mistake, but it's not that often that I'm selected to be the main course because of my deity." He also related the particulars of his escape, including being an overlarge shish-ke-bob, falling through several bridges, practicing pole-vaulting and running for his life, finally escaping on the Black Pearl. "And then I shouted back to the, "Alas, my children. This is the day that you will always remember as they that you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow."
Gibbs chocked. "Actually, sir, I believe yer exact words were 'this is the day you will always remember as the day that you almost—', then a wave hit ye, and then you finished very dourly, 'Captain...Jack Sparrow'."
Morgan roared. "Sparrow, I'm more inclined to believe his story than yours!"
"Oh, no, sir; the rest of its true—'e just ne'er said 'caught', that's all," Gibbs stopped him.
Morgan's eyes widened to approximately the size of saucers. "True? That story?"
"It's remarkable how often the truth is stranger than fiction, isn't it, mate?" Sparrow looked cock-headed at Morgan.
"Indeed, Jack." He leaned back. "Tell me, what's the difference between truth and fiction?"
"Fiction has to make some sort of sense, whereas truth...there's no requirement for sense at all."
"Right you are, Jack." Morgan rose. "Well, gentlemen—m'lady," he nodded at Mera belatedly.
"A lady? Where?" Both Sparrows turned to look behind them.
Morgan chuckled. "Like father, like daughter." He bowed to them all theatrically. "You will always remember this as the day that you first met Mr. Daniel Morgan."
He managed to shut the double-doors just in time to catch Jack's sword between them, the point not three inches from his face. Beyond the door, he could hear very distinctly, "Geroff me! That slimy Yank stole my line!" Smirking, Daniel Morgan went away to another parlor, where he, Greene, and Washington would speak of Saratoga and the skill of Horatio Gates—or miserable lack thereof, Morgan thought darkly. He entered the room, and shut the door.
A/N: Would some history buff please tell me Daniel Morgan's rank?
I also feel that this has gone unmentioned long enough: this story and many details therein would not be possible without the work of Jeff Shaara. I thank him very much, and hope he forgives me for occasionally stealing from his work.
