Rescued

"Now this is interesting…"

Captain Jack Sparrow – he set great store by the correct use of his title – thought to himself, and like so often, he had uttered his thoughts loudly. Next to him, old Gibbs nodded and looked into the same direction like his Captain, spitting to the floor and muttering, "Shall we take a look at it?"

"Most certainly so, Mr. Gibbs," Jack replied in his usual manner. "Whoever is making such a lovely bonfire must be in want of some spectators!"

All they could see right now was some black smoke on the Eastern horizon, but obviously, there was a great fire causing it, and navigating towards its origin, they passed the remains of what must have been a large ship once. Planks and pieces of charred sails floated on the waves, and with some frowns, they passed them, trying to figure out what might have happened here. Two nights ago, there had been one of the most devastating storms in this area in a decade, but this did not explain why the fabric of the sails seemed to have been destroyed by fire, and with a long pole, Cotton fished out one of the rags.

"I've changed me mind, Mr. Gibbs! This isn't simply interesting, this is downright odd," Jack said, his lips pursed and his head tilting from one side to the other while examining the pieces of linen. Gibbs nodded once again, and Jack fumbled with his telescope until he had a clear view at the place where the fire seemed to come from.

"It's an island," he said matter-of-factly, "Somebody's having a barbecue!"

Anamaria cautioned him, but he shrugged off her objections. "My dearest Anamaria, I see no reason whatsoever to worry. We show up, have a steak or two, and perhaps some glass of Rum – can't let them celebrate all on their own, can we?"

Anamaria sighed gravely. She was used to Jack's spleens, but sometimes he was plainly getting on her nerves. She knew as well as him that it was no 'barbecue' they were sailing to, but she did not have a share of his unequalled confidence. What if it was a trap? And if it wasn't, but a signal for help – how should they help anyone? They hadn't harboured in two months, their provisions were running out. Wasn't it far more cruel to give the possibly ship-wrecked people on that godforsaken island some hope, just to let them down then?

But there was no arguing with Captain Jack Sparrow – note the title, please – because he simply pretended to be deaf, or twisted and turned all arguments against him so long until they were in his favour. In all those years that she knew him by now, she still hadn't decided whether he was a lunatic, a bastard, or simply the worst drunkard that she had ever come across.

"Oh! Oh!" he cried, clearly enraptured with what he saw through the telescope. "It's my old friends!"

"East India Trading Company?" Anmaria suggested dryly. "But then, it'd be more of a tea party than a barbecue, right?"

"Nope, luv, very wrong indeed. It's the Blue Coats! Four or five of them, I can't say for sure –"

"Clean the lenses then or get sober, for heaven's sake!"

"It's a very impertinent thing to say to your captain, luv!"

She groaned and tried to point out to him at least one of the fifty reasons why it was everything but smart to sail towards a bunch of British officers, after they had escaped them so ingeniously for some months now, but Jack thought rather the opposite. Of course.

"I'd reckon it a marvellous thing to do, dear Anamaria – fancy the stupid looks on their faces when we pass them with a cheerful 'Ahoy there'!"

She manoeuvred the Pearl as close to the shore as she could; she needed no telescope to see the excited waves of the people on the beach – four people, although only two were waving, and she felt some pity with the poor guys. They did think their saviour was coming across them, only to disappoint them and leave them to die.

"Is't possible," Jack gnarled with a tinge of surprise in his voice, "I know these fine men!"

"Come off it, Jack, even I can see that they're Navy officers. Don't puff yourself up like that!"

"You mistake me, luv!" He sniggered brightly. "I don't mean to say I know their uniforms, every idiot knows their uniforms, Mr Cotton's parrot would recognise their uniforms, if I come to think about it – but I know the fellows themselves! Personally! The right one there, what's his name – Chandelier or something. He is the Second Lieutenant of the Dauntless!"

The mere mentioning of the name caused Anamaria to shudder. The Dauntless! Oh great! So it was a trap, and somewhere, possibly directly around the bend of the shore, she was waiting to sink them!

"Let's turn around, Jack! It's not too late!"

"Hoh hoh, darling. Not so fast. I wonder what my ol' hearties are doing on this lovely day! Look at them, how they're happy to see me!"

She snatched the telescope from him to have a look herself. Yes, it were four British Navy sailors – silly lot, despite the dazzling heat, they were still wearing their pernicious coats! And for them, it must be even hotter, as they seemed to have set half of the island on fire. What would explain the charred sails. Or not.

Two of the men were lying flatly on the beach, she noticed now, not wearing their jackets but having them spread over them. Dead bodies? To keep away the flies? She had heard stories – oh boy, not even members of the Royal Navy appeared to be entirely safe from condescending themselves so far as to eat their own dead mates in times of dire need!

Jack insisted on taking one of the boats and row over, no pleads and no menace could object him from this plan. Gibbs, Carlyle and Rodrigo would go with him, although their faces showed quite clearly that they would have preferred to just sail away again, but what could one do when Jack Sparrow had set his mind on something?

Yes, Captain Jack Sparrow – he hated it that even his crew sometimes forgot the proper use of his title – wasn't simply will-strong, he was downright reckless. But his experience seemed to confirm his suspect that one could only win when daring something, and although he couldn't have explained it himself, he sensed that it would be worth to inspect the lot over there. The two officers who were still able to stand up-right ran into the water, boots and all, to welcome them, and to Jack's greatest delight, he saw ol' Chandelier stop dead for a second when recognising him.

"Good morning me ol' fellows – what got ya blazing so early? Lieutenant Chandelier! What a pleasure to see ya again!"

"Captain – Sparrow?!" This wasn't Chandelier, but a lesser rank whose name he had forgotten, but whose somewhat sheepish face seemed very familiar.

"Yes, it's me!" Jack cried happily, "But I'm afraid I can't remember your name, good sir!"

"Murtogg," the man replied, dumbfounded still, and received an elbow from his boss.

"Captain Sparrow – we are – glad to see you, too –" It was obvious how hard it was for the poor, certainly exceedingly decent officer to talk to Jack Sparrow – Captain Jack Sparrow! – like that. As it turned out, and Jack wouldn't have believed it, hadn't their grave faces confirmed it to be true, the Dauntless hadn't only got herself into that terrible storm the other night, no! They had also been attacked, which was as weird as Jack had ever heard a story. He might be daft, but one had to be really, really deranged to dare attacking a ship like the Dauntless, and in the middle of a storm, too! And while still listening to the desperate sailors, he took a closer look at their injured mates.

Chandelier pointed at them. "Our Commodore is very badly wounded. We fear for his life –"

"Fear for his life?! What about your own lives, mates? Is it – no, it's truly – my old friend Commodore Norrington?! Mary mother of Jesus!" He was genuinely perplexed. To be honest – he had hoped to see the Commodore never again in his life, for he would have expected to see him through a telescope, on deck of the Dauntless and ready to fire at himself, dear Captain Jack Sparrow. But under these circumstances, he couldn't deny a certain satisfaction, delight even, and it was no malice concerning the obvious bad state of the otherwise so funny Commodore. He fought with himself for some minutes, before exclaiming as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "Rodrigo, Carlyle – help the gentlemen aboard with their casualties. Hush hush!"

Anamaria would kill him, no doubt. But Jack Sparrow wasn't mad, in this moment, he was quite the opposite. He did have some sense of honour in his bones, and he knew very well that the Commodore had treated him with fairness when they had met before. To leave him, and the others, two of them being these hilarious spinners that he had once talked to in Port Royal, wouldn't be right. And the squirming Lieutenant Chandelier could well turn out to be some fun – he was torn between his duties and the love for his own life, between loathing for the pirates in front of him and the worry for his boss' well-being. In Jack's eyes, this was all he needed to know about a man. Did his inferiors truly care about him? Then he was worth a toast. If they didn't – send him down to old Hob.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" Anamaria welcomed them back on the Pearl, and like always, Jack noticed how pretty his First Lieutenant could get when she was extremely angry.

"I thought you knew the answer to that question, luv! May I introduce you to these fine gentlemen? This here is Officer Murtogg. The good man that he's just heaving aboard is his friend Mr Mullroy – passed out, poor bloke. This here is Lieutenant Chandelier –"

"Chandler. My name is Chandler," the officer interrupted him, carefully trying to cause no further damage with the Commodore that he and Rodrigo now carried on deck.

"Excuse me, dear sir, Lieutenant Chandler, of course. And the gentleman he's lifting up – you might have guessed it by the pretty stripes on his jacket, darling – is good old Commodore Norrington. I assure you, you will find nowhere so fine officers as these four." He tried to make his voice sound more serious, for he thoroughly meant what he was saying there. "Not in the world, you shall find some nicer fellows than Mr Murtogg and Mr Mullroy, good Lieutenant Chande- sorry, Chandler there might appear a bit impenitent on the first try, but he improves, trust me, and as for the Commodore – I don't need to say much about the Commodore, do I?"

"This is Commodore Norrington?!" Suspiciously, Anamaria stepped a little closer, and seeing the bandage around his head, saturated by blood, she quickly kneeled down and checked his pulse.

"Bloody hell! Bring him down under deck, and make haste!" she snapped and jumped up again. "Cotton! I need water, clean bandages, and whatever liquor you can find. Oh, and some of you guys – club together and provide the newcomers with some food for a start!"

"Heart of gold!" Jack smiled behind her back at Chandler. "She pretends to be all tough and careless, but she's a saint, you know –"

Lieutenant Chandler's expression said clearly that he hoped so and followed the others who were carrying the two lifeless bodies. He had wished for a fast rescue, for the Commodore's sake, but he was still insecure whether this particular one wouldn't turn out to be disastrous. He himself had found him, floating without any sign of life in the middle of the ocean. An albatross had circled in the sky above them like a vulture waiting for prey. Chandler had meant him to be dead, but thought it to be his duty to bestow him with a real grave instead of leaving him behind for the sharks to feed. He had swum all night, until the morning sun revealed the most wonderful sight in a situation like his – the little island they had prayed for, and with his last capacities, he had dragged the two of them on shore. He had gotten help by Sergeant Murtogg, who had saved himself and his friend on a plank. A short exploring tour of the island had proven that no help was to be expected here, they had wrapped up the two injured, fed on some coconuts and prayed. During the night, they had come to the conclusion that they would make the fire, and as they had got no additional assistance, they had known that they would have to set the palms on fire, which would mean that they'd either be found within the next two days or would starve to death, robbing themselves of the only food.

How he had survived this inferno was still beyond his understanding. The Dauntless' large powder stores had caught fire, and the whole, formerly so majestic ship had blown up with everybody on her, in the middle of the tossing ocean. It was a miracle, and that he should have found the Commodore, who had been like a brother to him for many years now, had crowned this most astonishing rescue. But it stood bad about him. The woman who took care of him shook her head in helplessness after freshening up his bandages.

"He's got the fever, and I can't say what it is about his injuries," she said lowly, and to Chandler's greatest amazement, Jack Sparrow looked just as worried as he felt himself.

His old cockiness had vanished, and he murmured, "If the gods are with us, it'll take us ten days to reach Port Royal – can he make it so long?"

She looked alarmed. "Jack, we can't sail to Port Royal!"

"Yes, we can, Anamaria, and we must. I owe this man something."

"He might survive the journey or not, I can't say. But honestly, Jack, think of it! If we sail into that Port, it will be the last thing we'll ever do in our lives!"

"If I may say something," Chandler interrupted somewhat timidly, "I am – I was – the First Lieutenant of the Dauntless, and with Commodore Norrington unconscious, I represent him now. I can grant you safe-conduct! Take my Commander back to Port Royal, and you shall not regret it!"

The woman, Anamaria, looked as if she thought him to be as mad as her own Captain, but that one nodded. "I thank you for this, buddy. Don't worry for that, we will take good old Norrington home. Better pray that he makes it until there."

Gibbs nodded as well, even more gravely. "Good man, the Commodore. Stiff as a poker, but good."

"Yes, he is. I've served under him for ten years" Chandler confirmed, a lump in his throat.

A spark of the old craze returned to Jack Sparrow's eyes. "Besides – we can't disappoint his bonny, can we? Little Miss Swann is too young and to good-looking to fade away as a sailor's widow!"

Chandler was perplexed. "But – Miss Swann hasn't married the Commodore, Captain Sparrow, and I don't think she will. Oh, I forget, you don't know that. She – she's run off with this young blacksmith!"

"Now did she, after all…" Jack Sparrow raised his eyebrows. "Silly girl! I would have thought her to be a bit more – what do you mean, she run off with the blacksmith?!" He shook his head, "Will Turner it is then? Hell, I thought she was saving herself up for this fellow there! She could have had me, and she picked the whelp – what say you to that!"