A Day to Always Remember
Captain Sir Walter Whinship stepped down from the great, black gelding he'd been forced to ride from Port Royal across rough country for the past four days. Thanks in large part to the recent hurricane, no ships had been available in Port Royal. Those that had stayed in the harbor to weather the storm would not be fit to sail for days or, in some cases, weeks. Consequently, Sir Walter had been forced to hire out the brute and several others when word had come that his agents had captured the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. They had been forced ashore by the storm at Port Antonio on the north-west coast of the island. Their sloop had been wrecked on what passed for a dock in this armpit of a sea town and there were no ships seaworthy here, either.
"Mr. Felds," Sir Walter called as he looked up at the façade of the trading house of the East India Company.
"Yes, Captain?" the young ensign replied handing his reins to one of the men.
"What was the name of the fellow in charge here?"
"Lieutenant Rodgers, Sir."
"Ever heard of him?"
"Yes, Sir." Mr. Felds nodded. "He has a good reputation. Very diligent and trustworthy in all respects."
"A competent man, then," Sir Walter grumbled.
"Um… One supposes, Sir," Felds replied unwisely.
"Does one?" Sir Walter said turning a sarcastically raised eyebrow upon his subordinate. "One supposes, Felds? Truly? One must know, Felds. We shall find out shortly, I think."
Mr. Felds swallowed hard, his young face going pale, he cast his eyes down. "Yes, Captain."
"Sort these animals out and see to the provisioning," Sir Walter ordered as he strode stiffly over the muddy road towards the main entrance of the two story stone pile of the Company's trading house. Like many outposts, this building was part warehouse, part barracks and part fortress, only not on so grand a scale as most. As he neared the large timber doors they opened and from them emerged a tall, slim officer in the black uniform of the Company. The man snapped to attention and gave a very proper salute, waiting for Sir Walter to acknowledge it before dropping his hand.
"Lieutenant Matthew Rodgers, Sir."
"So I presumed," Sir Walter said with a touch of impatience. "I am Captain Sir Walter Whinship, here to take charge of one Jack Sparrow, pirate."
"He is upstairs under lock and key, Sir," Rodgers replied diffidently. "Would you care to refresh yourself before seeing him, Sir?"
"That can wait, Lieutenant."
"Please follow me, then, Sir."
The young lieutenant led the way up a narrow flight of steps to a low door with a pair of Company marines standing guard to either side of it. Rodgers ordered one to unlock the door and then stood aside to allow Sir Walter to precede him into the cell. He came up short when the older man stopped solidly on the threshold. Sir Walter turned a narrowed eye upon the lieutenant and then stepped back into the hall and thrust his face right into the taller man's.
"Is this the only cell in this building, Lieutenant?"
Rodgers didn't know what to think. He knew better than to step back and therefore held his ground, but every instinct was screaming at him to run.
"Well?" growled Sir Walter truculently.
"Yes, Captain!" Rodgers barked. He was rather mortified when his voice squeaked like an adolescent boy's.
"And this is the cell in which your prisoner, the pirate Jack Sparrow, was being held?"
"It is, Captain." Rodgers' stomach suddenly dropped as if it were loaded with lead.
"Then, Lieutenant, I suppose you can explain why it no longer holds him." With that Sir Walter stepped back and pointed imperiously into the dim little cell.
Lieutenant Rodgers stooped and edged past Sir Walter to get into the cell. Morning light filtered through the window on the far side of the room. He frowned with confusion and growing dread. The cell was empty. Sparrow was gone as was one of the three bars that had been mounted in the masonry of the window. The young officer crossed the room to examine the opening more closely and discovered the bar was not actually gone. It was solidly wedged at the bottom of the window. Knotted around it was a crude rope, apparently made from the scraps of a blanket and the burlap sack that had been stuffed with straw to serve as a mattress for the prisoner. The rope dangled out into the small courtyard below.
"Sergeant!" Rodgers roared. "Rouse all of the men! Sparrow's on the loose!"
"Rodgers," Sir Walter snapped. "What does the window let on to?"
"The courtyard, Sir."
"Any exits?"
"Only through the guard room, Captain." Rodgers stepped aside to allow Sir Walter to look for himself.
"Any chance he could have gotten through the guard room?" Sir Walter demanded.
"No, Sir," Rodgers replied firmly. "I or one of my men were awake throughout the night in case he should attempt escape. We remained in the guard room. There have been two guards at this door since we locked him in the night we made port."
Sir Walter frowned down into the courtyard for a long moment, considering possibilities. There were no windows on the ground floor of the surrounding buildings and there was nothing behind which to hide. But there was a covered well.
"With me, Rodgers! Quickly!"
The two officers stormed down the stairs somewhat faster than was wise, but they alighted safely at the bottom and dashed into the guard room and out of the courtyard door. The yard itself was quite small, no more than fifteen feet on any side. Near its center was the well under a rude little awning made from unshaped timbers, shingled with split wood. The Company men lurched to a stop, bracing their hands on the low wall and peered into the inky darkness.
"How deep is this?" Sir Walter demanded.
"I have no idea, Captain," Rodgers said shaking his head. "Do you really think he'd go down there?"
"To give us the slip? Sparrow would dare anything." Sir Walter ground his teeth. "I've encountered this pirate before, Lieutenant. He's as slippery as they come and as dangerous as any living man. I'll have him this time, though. Mark my words. I'll have him!"
"What do we do, Sir?" Rodgers asked, impressed with the determination of the older officer.
"Fetch torches, a lantern and a stout rope," said Sir Walter as he stripped his coat off. "Have Felds bring my pistols."
"You're not going down there, are you, Sir?"
"I said I will have him and I mean to, Lieutenant."
Rodgers issued the necessary orders. The torches were made and the rope and lantern were fetched, but Sir Walter's pistols were not to be found. Felds came into the courtyard walking stiffly as if he were a man going to the gallows.
"Well, Mr. Felds?" demanded Sir Walter.
"Your pistols are gone, Sir." Felds braced himself as Sir Walter's mouth tightened and his fury rose.
"Mr. Felds, you did put them in my pistol buckets before we left Port Royal, did you not?" Sir Walter growled through his teeth.
"I did, Sir," Felds replied shakily.
"You did put the pistol buckets on my saddle, did you not?"
"I did, Sir."
"And yet the pistols are no longer in the buckets?"
"They may be, Sir," Felds said, almost squirming.
"They may be?" screamed Sir Walter, echoes chasing themselves around the small courtyard. "Did you not look?"
"I tried to, Sir."
"Tried?" Sir Walter roared. "Explain yourself, Felds!"
"I tried to look, Sir, but your horse is gone."
Sir Walter was struck dumb. He could only glare at the younger man.
"I gave the animal to the stable master, Sir, when we arrived. He... He took charge of the horses and assured me they would be well tended."
"Stable master?" Rodgers interrupted, puzzled.
"Yes, Lieutenant," Felds nodded. "A tall man with a gray frock coat and those strange braids many of the locals wear. Odd as he was he seemed perfectly competent, Sir."
"Never mind the torches and the rest, Rodgers," growled Sir Walter.
"Sir?" Mr. Felds asked confused.
"We have no stable master, Ensign," Rodgers said looking up at the window of the empty cell. Had he done so earlier he might have noticed the scuff marks on the wall and the scrap of blanket fluttering from one of the roof beams.