Rated M just in case (mild violence and swearing)
Chapter 2 More of the Rest of the Story
Holmes moved purposefully through the town. Although he preferred to operate at sea, the tall pirate knew this town like the back of his hand. He knew every street, every alley. He knew where the lamps were lit and where the shadows were deepest.
The captain kept a firm grip on his companion's arm to provide much needed but entirely unwelcome support. Despite his pallor and his poorly hidden grimaces of pain, Watson kept moving forward with his typical bullheaded determination, leaning heavily on a cane, which the buccaneer had borrowed from a Dutchman flying three sheets to the wind.
And in spite of Watson's initial protests, the doctor wore the captain's rather too large watch coat over his own torn and bloody garments.
Initially, Holmes had argued that the injured and shaking physician obviously needed the coat more than did the Scourge of the West Indies. He had argued this in vain.
Then the piratical genius had changed tactics, he had cleverly pointed out that the long coat would hide the bloody dressings, which covered most of the doctor's thigh, thus improving their chances of escaping successfully.
Watson finally succumbed to Holmes's superior logic with good grace, wearing the warm coat and only occasionally complaining about the too long sleeves or the hem of the coat…"which hovers around my ankles like a bloody trap. And it looks stupid. No, I know it looks stupid, like I was some boy barely breeched, who's gone and taken his father's greatcoat. And I saw that, Holmes. Don't you dare smile! Don't you dare!" and "Did you see that, Captain? Your great, bloody coat keeps tripping me up. It's going to be the death of me; I've always known you'd be the death of me, Holmes, but I little suspected that your coat would be the actual instrument of my demise…"
From the corner of his eye, Holmes watched Watson struggle to navigate the ruts in High Street, while muttering about the deadly coat.
The captain subtly shifted his hand to grip underneath the wounded man's arm, so that he could more easily support Watson when he stumbled. Watson noticed the shift and grumbled louder, saying ungentlemanly things under his breath, which the pirate captain studiously ignored.
It was now impossible, of course, for them to make their scheduled rendezvous with The Hound at the mouth of Skip Rock Creek. That site was located several miles to the east and was accessible only by a long trek through thick jungle. But with the doctor's wound, the rendezvous might as well have been half-a-world away. Doctor Watson would be lucky to make it to the harbor at this rate.
And it was to the harbor they must go. Holmes planned to obtain a small boat to ferry his friend, his particular friend, to safety. There were many fishing boats to choose from, preferably they he could borrow one with a single mast.
The old wharf had the additional benefit of being deserted at night; plus, it was close to the mouth of the harbor and not too close to the frigates anchored in the middle of the bay.
"You should just leave me," hissed Watson. "I'm slowing you down too much."
"My dear Watson, did you injure your head in one of your brawls tonight?" asked Holmes, solicitously
"I'm serious. You could leave me at the tavern and then make your escape…"
"You must have damaged your brain, if you think that I would ever abandon my one true friend under any circumstances. My one true friend, whose loyalty I would never doubt, not even for a moment!"
Normally, the captain did not repeat himself, because repetition was a waste of time and incredibly dull. However, Holmes had found it necessary to repeatedly tell Watson that he had never doubted the doctor's faithfulness, not for a moment.
"But I do think that you could leave me temporarily," began the stubborn physician. "Then you could send for me later."
"You are delirious. You insult me, by suggesting that I would leave you wounded and in danger. You insult me by…"
"All right. All right. I'm sorry," apologized the doctor. "I just wanted to help."
"You can help by shutting up; there is a checkpoint up ahead," murmured the buccaneer bending to reach Watson's ear.
Holmes veered hard aport, to avoid the redcoats, who had set up a barricade in front of Mrs. Turner's Milliners. Only the captain's firm grip on the shorter man, kept Watson from over-setting with the abrupt course change.
"Was that strictly necessary?" hissed Watson, when they reached the relative safety of a dark alley. He clung rather desperately to the captain in an effort to remain upright.
"Only necessary if we wish to avoid re-capture, dear Doctor," said Holmes. "It is not my fault that your distraction stirred up the anthill in the first place."
"My distraction?… My distraction emptied the fort, so that I could get you out of gaol," said Watson, releasing Holmes's shirt and leaning against the squalid wall of the public house.
"Yes, and the fort's soldiers fled the fort only to fill the streets, Watson," explained the buccaneer. Holmes crept to the end of the alley to peer into the next street. This road, boasted only a few, mostly small lamps. He returned to his suffering friend "And all these soldiers mean that frequent course corrections might very well be necessary."
"Well," snapped the doctor, "at least warn me next time, perhaps you could call out 'hard abaft the portside beam' when next you change course."
Holmes stared with wide eyes at his doctor, attempting to decipher Watson's inexplicable gibberish. "What can you mean, my dear doctor?"
"Oh come now, Captain Holmes," said Watson smirking. "D'you think I haven't picked up some of your sea jargon after all this time?"
"But it made no sense."
"Of course it did. You say things like that all the time!" said Watson in all seriousness.
The captain suppressed a grin and nodded gravely, "Yes, I suppose I do say something like that…at times."
"Well, are we going to weigh anchor or what?" asked Watson, successfully utilizing a seagoing phrase..
"Indeed," said Holmes, his lip twitching ever so slightly. "We shall endeavor to make way down Cooper's Lane. I doubt we pass by all the watches and checkpoints un-challenged. When accosted, you will pretend to be overcome with drink and I will be your loyal friend in act and in fact. I, your most devoted friend, who never doubts your friendship and faithfulness for a moment, will be escorting back to your berth."
"Yes," nodded Watson, his forehead wrinkled in thought.
"To provide realism, naturally I shall have to support you," continued the buccaneer.
The doctor narrowed his eyes and curled his lip upwards, "I do not require any assistance aside from this blasted cane."
"I will support you in order to make our ruse believable," asserted the captain. "Consider it an order."
Watson's eyes narrowed further. Watson disliked when Holmes pulled rank on him off ship.
"Yes…Sir," said Watson, as if the very words left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Oh come along, doctor, the sooner we're at sea the better we'll both feel."
"Maybe you'll feel better," muttered Watson. The rest of his complaint was cut off as he struggled to bear weight on his injured limb. He barely muttered when Holmes took his arm, leading him into Cooper's lane.
As they made their slow, weaving way toward the water's edge, they saw quite clearly how the anthill had been stirred up by the earlier cannonade. Indeed the ants swarmed in all directions.
Soldiers rushed about in the dark, shouting, "Who goes there!" or "What's the password?"
"There isn't any password," the captain muttered in Watson's ear. "The idiots!"
Watson grinned back fiercely, in spite of his gritted teeth.
Under a few scattered lanterns, townsfolk gathered to pass on rumors of pillaging pirates OR possibly the long awaited French invasion OR maybe the local soldiers had all gone amok raping and looting... so that no woman was safe, said the women congregating on the streets.
No one was quite sure what the truth was, except that it was a dark and dangerous night, and no good would come of this for anyone. For sooth, it was cause for concern and endless discussion.
"They are as witless as a boobies," Holmes murmured, trying to buoy Watson's sinking spirits. The doctor, flashed his friend a smile in a face as white as new drawn sails.
The watch had stopped them only once, and, thinking them a pair of drunken merchantmen, had only ordered them to return to their ship forthwith.
Stumbling awkwardly over wooden planks, which had been laid down across the muddy street, Doctor Watson put too much weight on his leg. He gasped and ducked his head down to his shoulder, to hide his grimace of pain.
Now the pirate captain grit his teeth. Watching his friend suffer was becoming intolerable. Once more he wondered why he hadn't obliterated that colonel, and yet again he promised himself revenge on everyone who was responsible for Watson's injuries. And make no mistake; the captain had not forgotten Watson's black eye or that cut on his head either. There would be payback, swore the Scourge of the West Indies, dreadful payback…
Watson swayed alarmingly, leaning heavily against the buccaneer.
"Come now, Watson," said The Scourge softly. "We'll stop here just for moment. You can sit on this convenient bench and…"
"Stop it!" demanded Watson harshly, even as he sat heavily on the bench outside a dark tavern. "Stop coddling me! I'm fine…No," said the doctor, raising his hand, "I do realize that I've got a nasty little cut, but we also need to press on before somebody, aside from Moran, notices that we've run off."
'Somebody?' thought Holm, 'Somebody' meaning Miss Morstan. Clearly Watson does not wish to fall into HER clutches again.'
Captain Holmes heartily agreed with that sentiment.
"Let's just keep moving," added the doctor, struggling to stand.
"Fine," said Holmes, worry making his voice sharp. The captain reached out to support the doctor.
"I can walk…"
"You cannot" stated the worried and frustrated buccaneer, tugging on the cherished, long, black plait, which hung down his back. "You cannot walk on your own. Stop being so stubborn! Let me help you. Lean on me. That's an order, doctor!"
"You can't give me orders; we're on land," muttered the doctor under his breath, but he didn't pull away as the pirate wrapped his long arm around his waist.
Doctor Watson had spent most of his adult life landlocked first as a student reading medicine and then as an army surgeon. This meant that the good doctor had a sadly muddled view of maritime law, yet he regularly brought up his version of these laws.
Of course neither Captain Holmes nor any of his crew could understand why the doctor thought that pirates would follow the precepts of maritime law in the first place.
Aboard The Hound, everyone from the lowliest cabin boy to Captain Holmes simply humored their invaluable and beloved physician. Usually everyone just pretended to agree with Doctor Watson when he attempted to explain sea-law or his take on the seafarer's moral philosophy.
'Watson is an idiot,' thought the buccaneer, not for the first time. He pulled his idiot close, and kept his silence, as the idiot expounded on his rights under maritime law.
"Halt, you two! Halt!" Shouted a soldier, who unfortunately, was more inquisitive than the regular night watch. "I don't know you two. What're you…"
Holmes smiled broadly, his face shadowed in spite of a nearby lantern. "We're a bit late like, yewr 'onor, drawled the captain "My friend, Jackie 'ere? Woll, 'e 'ad a bit too much to drink, on account of 'is missus givin' 'im a son. 'Is missus wot lives in Charlestown and not ta other one."
"Yes, well, that's all well and good," said the redcoat dismissively, "but what are you doing still about? Are you both deaf? There's been an attack on the town, and you should be aboard your ship, and you are not."
The soldier was an idiot and pedantic, which was even worse, thought Holmes.
"Therefore," said the pedantic idiot, "I am placin' you both under…"
"Peter," Watson sang out, as he grinned foolishly and swayed back and forth, like a canvas torn from its clews.
Holmes hoped to hell that Watson was more alert than he appeared… and that he wouldn't exacerbate his leg wound…or give them away…or fall unconscious in spite of his standing orders not to faint.
"Peter? Who's this Peter? And what in the hell happened to yor face?" demanded the soldier, who moved in, eyeing the battered doctor, "Here, you been fightin'." The soldier appealed to Holmes. "Here, this man's been fightin'."
"Peter! We're here for the Blue Peter*! It waz flyin' jusssssssss this morning'!" said Watson explosively.
"Good lord, man," exclaimed the soldier. "Were you supposed to be on the Silver Nereid? She sailed afore noon." The soldier began to chuckle darkly. "You two are stranded my friends, and that means you're fair game. There's a bounty for able-bodied seamen, as all good tars know. Come now, me hearties, it'll go easier on you, if you come with me peaceful like…"
Holmes chopped his hand down onto the man's neck.
"It would be grossly inappropriate for me or my friend to be pressed* into service aboard one of His Majesty's ships," said captain Holmes, who covered the soldier's mouth until he passed out. He dropped the heavy lout to the ground.
"What," gasped Watson, "What the hell took you so long? …I thought I was going to have to take him out m'self."
"I was waiting for the right moment, and I would advise you in future, not to advertise yourself as available for the press gangs, as I do not relish having to come after you should you be taken up, Doctor," said Holmes sternly, using the soldier's belt to restrain him, "Not that I would ever question your loyalty, doctor. On another note, I seriously doubt whether you are capable of 'taking out' anyone just now."
Watson scowled but could no longer deny this rather obvious fact, since he was hard pressed to remain standing even with the aid of a cane.
Holmes dragged the fallen redcoat into the shadows. Then he pulled his friend's arm over his shoulder, wrapped his own arm around the doctor's waist and restarted their shambling progress toward the deserted fishing dock. They quickly passed under the oil lamp, which lit up the sign for Moffat's Victualing and Dry Goods, and which had also illuminated their encounter with the pedantic soldier.
"Hey! Hey! Wat's goin' on down there?" an observant redcoat from the top of the street. He began to lumbered towards them slowly. Then two more lumbering redcoats joined the first.
"Run,Watson," said the buccaneer.
They scurried toward the fishing boats, as fast as Watson could hobble with his captain's support.
Another soldier suddenly stepped out of the shadows, with his gun half raised. Holmes swung the doctor into the wall of a warehouse and out of harms way, then he lunged forward, driving his fist into the unprepared redcoat's face.
The soldier raised a hand to his face, and Holmes wrenched the musket out of his other hand. The soldier, no more than a boy, fled back into the warren of warehouses and unused dry-docks.
The buccaneer shoved the musket into Watson's hands, forcing him to drop his cane. Then Holmes used both his arms to all but carry his doctor to safety.
"It's…no use. You should leave me, Capt'in," gasped Watson. "Get yourself back to The Hound and…
"Don't be an idiot," snapped Holmes.
Gunfire erupted behind them.
"You'll…never make it to the boats…not with me," cried Watson.
"Do stop repeating…this drivel…" said Holmes panting heavily. "We only… have to make it… as far as that crane,"
"Crane?" said Watson, wrinkling his face. "That crane? But what good…"
"Don't argue… with your captain," said Holmes with a twisted grin, "Don't you know… it's mutiny?"
A musket ball hit the planking, not two feet from the pair of pirates; and splinters flew in all directions.
Watson did not continue arguing but instead concentrated on holding on to both the musket and his friend, until they ducked under the dubious cover of the wooden hoist.
"We stop here… Watson, for just a moment," said Holmes, leaning his doctor against the crane.
The captain grasped the musket and turned toward the oncoming soldiers, "I have only the one shot, no more cartridges… … must make it count." He muttered, raising the musket to his shoulder.
"Make it count? Then givethat gun to me," demanded Watson, reaching for the gun.
Holmes hesitated for a moment, then surrendered the gun. Watson was a much better shot than the buccaneer, especially with a musket.
The acknowledged marksman took a moment to ensure that the gun was primed, even tamping down the cartridge again.
"Right," said Watson, turning and raising the musket to his shoulder. "Better brace me, Captain, " he added, as he wavered unsteadily on his bad leg.
The pirate captain stood behind his doctor, arms wrapped around his waist. "Lean all you like, Doctor, I have you," he said, bracing his leg behind Watson's good leg,
"I see them…There's…the three of 'em," said Watson slowly as he raised the musket.
"No, no, Watson! Not the bloody soldiers!" shouted Holmes. "Shoot the lamp, the lamp hanging over the wagon."
"The lamp? At Moffat's? I don't see…"
"You see but you do not observe. The lamp is …Can you just trust me this time?" asked Holmes.
"Right. Yes…" Watson took a breath and leaned his weight against the buccaneer. His leg was weak, but his arms were rock steady. He sighted down the barrel…and fired. The recoil would have knocked the doctor over, if his captain hadn't held on to him so tight.
The oil lamp must have been struck. It wobbled; it slowly tipped over, falling into a wagonload of hay.
Flames burst out instantly, threatening Moffat's Establishment, 'which would be no great loss,' thought Holmes, 'as Moffat's quality has suffered of late'. He watched as two of the soldiers stopped, staring stupidly at the conflagration; perhaps, they would even try to put it out.
Watson, finally realizing that this was a diversion, grinned wildly at the buccaneer.
The third redcoat was more tenacious than the others. He continued advancing towards Holmes and Watson, but he moved slowly, keeping under cover, clearly fearing more musket fire from the two escapees.
"Well done!" said Holmes, dragging his surgeon turned sniper over to a piling and setting him against it. "Capital job! As ever, you astound me with your remarkable marksmanship. Now, take this coat off…"
"No, I don't want to," said Watson, he pulled away as Holmes tugged the coat off his shoulders. "Holmes, stop. I just got warm..."
"John Watson, there isn't time! Must I give yet another order or will you just trust me? Take off that coat!"
"FIne. Fine. Certainly, or do I have to say aye, aye Captain, Sir?" asked Watson, as the coat was torn off and tossed aside. Watson immediately began shivering and hugged his arms to his chest, generally looking quite miserable.
"Do shut up, Watson," suggested Holmes, forcing himself to ignore his friends suffering, "We are nearly there."
"Where?" asked the doctor, confusion warring with misery on his expressive face.
The buccaneer did not answer. He ran back to the crane, his head tilting to one side, as his sharp eyes studied the levers and lines.
Nodding to himself, Sherlock Holmes scanned the harbor, choosing a target.
He whipped his stern glance back toward the doctor, who was capable of pulling self-sacrificing stunts at the most inopportune times.
"Do not move an inch, Watson!" ordered the pirate captain pointing his long finger at the tawny-headed man, just to be sure. "Not an inch! That's an order!"
Watson's jaw jutted stubbornly, but he did not move.
Then Holmes adjusted a lever…then he knocked a chock free…then he pulled another lever. The cable and its hook dropped from the boom, hitting the elevated pier with a loud crack.
Holmes raised yet another lever, then shouted, "Stand ready, Watson!"
The doctor looked around uncertainly, his arms dropping to his sides. "What?"
The buccaneer grasped the cable with both hands and charged toward the doctor.
"Grab on to me, and never let go!" shouted Holmes.
Wide-eyed, and mouth agape, Watson hugged the pirate around his waist as they crashed together.
"Christ!" gasped the physician, as the buccaneer's momentum carried them both over the lower docks. The cable played out, casting them out over the water studded with boats and skiffs.
"Never let go, John!" roared Holmes. Having reached his goal, he let go the cable and clutched his friend's shoulders. Together, they plummeted straight down into the waiting black waters of the bay.
A/N There are one or two chapters left in the rest of this story.
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Nautical Jargon: explained by the noted expert on maritime affairs, Doctor John Watson, and edited by an anonymous seaman with asides.**
*'Canvass torn from its clews'- a loose sail flapping in the wind. (The way some men's tongues flap when they imbibe to much rum)**
* The Blue Peter-a blue flag with a white center. It signals that a ship is ready to sail and that all her crew and passengers should be on board or risk getting left behind. (Sadly certain physicians have been known to ignore the Blue Peter causing ships to miss their tide)**
*Press Gangs-In the 18th and 19th centuries, the British Royal Navy conscripted sailers by impressment. Able-bodied sailors were essentially kidnapped (legally) and forced to serve aboard Naval ships. While sailors (of any nationality) were the preferred targets, non-sailors were sometimes impressed, and prison convicts were also forced to serve aboard ship. Many sailors were required to sail the ships but the large numbers were especially needed to man and fire the cannons. Other countries also impressed sailors but not nearly as much as did the British Navy. Impressment was perfectly legal and considered necessary to maintain the British Navy, which in turn defended Britain and her maritime interests. (This section is too faulty to be edited. The noted expert's explanation will have to do. The noted expert should confine himself to medical matters.)** (Some seamen are unable to appreciate the layman's point of view and insist on using jargon and whatnot, which is best left aboard ship.)* (By laymen, our noted expert probably means lubber)** (Don't tell me what I mean. Go and edit your diary.)* (He means log)** (I hate you.)* (No, you don't)** (No I don't. But I should.)*