High Tide

Chapter 5


Aboard the Privateer ship, the Black Pearl - Caribbean Sea


“Where be Jack?” Mr. Gibbs asked the bos’n as he climbed below decks.

“In ‘is cabin,” came the reply from the shadows where the aging sailor sat working a knot. “’E’s readin’ again. Didn’t know the cap’n could read.”

“Course he can read,” Gibbs said quickly. “Pretty good at figurin’ too. But that ain’t none of our business, now is it?”

Not waiting for a reply, he moved on through the hallway, sidestepping the occasional crate or rope as he made his way to the stern and the captain’s cabin. A sharp rap on the door earned him a muffled “Enter” and he pushed the door open. As Gibbs stepped inside the dimly lit room, he found Jack stretched out on the window seat with one knee propped up supporting an elbow. He was indeed reading, a tattered copy of William Shakespeare’s sonnets that looked as though it had seen better days.

“We’ll be coming up on the Reaper within the hour. Cap’n Hawke’s already runnup a flag o’truce.. We’re trimmin’ sail.”

“Humph,” Jack grunted not looking up.

“Jack? Did ye not hear me? We be advancin’ on the Reaper.”

“Yes, Gibbs. I heard you. I’ve not lost me hearing yet. Just me mind,” the captain replied, snapping the book shut. “Well, we can’t be letting good old Captain Hawke wait, now can we?”

The toothy grin he flashed Gibbs was deceiving in its joviality. On that particular afternoon, Jack felt far from cheerful. He was in fact, feeling quite morose. Yet, he had a job to do and articles to hammer out. There were moments when he regretted accepting Swann’s commission as a privateer. This was one of them. He was a pirate, through and through. Playing bureaucrat and errand boy for the governor went against the grain.

Swinging his legs around, Jack hopped down from the window and after tossing his braided hair over his shoulder placed the worn pages in a desk drawer. “Ever wonder just what in the name of all that’s holy you’re doing?” he asked Gibbs as he slipped an arm inside a particularly garish frock coat of plum-colored velvet. At the other man’s confused expression he continued, “Think about it for a moment. We are born to whatever station the good Lord sees fit. We live a bit. Some of us even manage to live well. Then, we just up and die. So, what I ask you is the bloody purpose?”

“Are ye feelin’ all right, Cap’n?” Gibbs asked as he handed Jack his hat, not certain what had prompted this sudden descent into melancholy.

“Never better. Ignore me ramblingsust ust the subtle inference of the eternally philosophical question ‘whnd ind its literary impact.” Then realizing that he’d managed to confuse his friend further, Jack added with another smile, “That’s the problem with books. Make ya think too damned much. Where’s me rum?”

Glad to be on more comfortable ground, Gibbs handed the captain his flask and opened the door. “Too much thinkin’ ain’t good for a body. But drinkin’, there’s something that’ll heal what ails ye.”

The sun was getting lower over the horizon as the Black Pearl came along side her one time nemesis, the Lady Reaper. The other ship had seen recent cannon fire and was in dire need of replacement timber. Captain Hawke was standing at the helm, one hand grippthe the ship’s wheel. The other was gripping a gilt-handled cutlass, which rested on one lushly curved hip.

The smile Jack had been wearing grew wider as he hoisted himself onto the deck. Looking out across the narrow stretch of water that separated the Pearl from the Reaper, he noted that Hawke wasn’t taking any chances and that her guns sat at the ready. That girl never did take any chances, he thought to himself.

“Hello, love,” Jack called out, standing with legs braced apart and arms crossed over his chest. His right thumb idly rubbed at the emerald ring he wore on his index finger of the same hand. For a moment his mind strayed to his life before the Pearl, but Jack forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

“Hello, yourself, Sparrow,” Hawke called back. “How we doin’ this?”

“Anyway you like, love,” he replied with a suggestive wink. “But if you’d be so kind as to come aboard, we can settle the King’s business then be onto more pleasurable subjects, eh?”

With a loud and boisterous laugh, Captain Hawke grabbed a line and swung aboard the Pearl, followed by her first mate. “It’s good to see ya, Jack.”

“You too, Red,” Jack said, motioning for her to precede him. The trio, accompanied by Mr. Gibbs and Ana Maria, went below decks to settle a dispute between Captain Hawke and his majesty, the King of England. Red didn’t recognize certain islands as being under British rule and targeted said islands on a regular basis. Governor Swann had petitioned Jack to intervene using his influence with the lady pirate in order to urge her to desist. The Navy had its hands full in its attempt to apprehend the notorious and black-hearted band of pirates who had taken to calling themselves ‘the Scourge’. Swann and Norrington had made them a priority, leaving Jack to handle petty squabbles and disputes amongst the lesser criminal elements.

The former pirate had no real authority where the law was concerned but was a tremendous buffer, filtering out the more unsavory of his kind. For Jack, the title of ‘privateer’ gave him a freedom he hadn’t felt in some time. There was no noose looming in the distance, sized just for him. He was able to enjoy the sea and its bounty without fear of swinging from the end of the hangman’s rope.

Now as he sat around a creaking wooden table slapping his former enemy on the wrist for doing the very same thing he at one time had done, he felt like the hypocrite he knew himself to be. Red was aging fast and her crew with her. Hell, they all were. It wouldn’t be long before they all became obsolete. But looking at the flame haired woman across the table from him, he could see the evidence of too many days spent under the sun and too many battles fought. Women like Red were too few. Strong and resil, lo, loyal and true. That was Red. So much like a girl he once knew. Bah, he said to himself. No more of that. No more thoughts of yesterday. There’s only the here and now.

A few hours and a few more bottles of rum later, Red had promised to behave. They were all having a roaring good laugh over Mr. Gibbs' exaggerated tale of Jack’s escape from Barbosa and his crew when Ana Maria mentioned wishing she could have seen the look on Norrington’s face when Jack escaped hanging in Port Royal. The name Norrington was both feared and revered by Caribbean pirates and any news of the Commodore was automatically noteworthy.

Red had recently departed Port Royal, having snuck ashore to see her sister, and had some rather interesting news of the Commodore to share. “Word has it the Commodore recently got hisself hitched.”

“Who’d wanna marry that stuffed shirt?” Ana Maria asked taking the nearly empty bottle of rum from Gibbs.

“That’s the real funny part,” Red replied. “Seems he married some blue-blooded bitch from jolly ole’ England. And married by proxy to boot.”

“Now that is interesting,” Jack said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Who the bloody hell cares if Norrington married?”

“Maybe a good shaggin’ will calm the good Commodore down, loosen that collar of ‘is along wif ‘is breeches,” Gibbs interjected setting off another round of laughter at the small table.

“Word is the chit’s an orphan and her uncle arranged the marriage,” Red continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “It’s not so odd either considering the girl’s more’n twenty.”

“Tell me again,” Jack said, toying with his ring absently. “Why are we discussing the Commodore’s wedded bliss?”

“Cause that’s all anyone’s talking about in Port Royal. Lady Sommerford is quite the on dit, if you know what I mean,” she answered with a nudge of her arms in Jack’s ribs.

“Lady Sommerford?” he asked, his face suddenly ashen.

“Ain’t you been listenin’?” Gibbs asked, pausing only to take a long swallow of rum. “Your friend, the Commodore, married this Lady ...er…Sommerford, that’s it, by proxy more’n four months ago. Everbody’s talkin’ about it cause she’s s’posed to arrive in Port Royal this week.”

“Jocelyn’s coming here?” Jack asked in a rough whisper.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” his first mate answered. Then, “How do ye know ‘er name’s Jocelyn? Red said she never found out what ‘er whole name was.”

“Lucky guess. Well,” Jack said as he came to his feet. “I think we’ve finished here.”

Jack’s sudden change in demeanor not to mention the abrupt change of subject had Gibbs scratching his head. Ever since things went south with Barbosa, Jack had been tightlipped to be sure. But Gibbs had never seen him clam up so quickly or so thoroughly before. Best to do what the Captain said.

“You ‘eard ‘im,” he said. “Get on wif ya. Ye done drunk enough of our rum anyhow.”

With mumbled protests and unsteady feet, Red and her first mate staggered out of the cabin and made their way back to the Reaper. Below decks on board the Pearl, Jack Sparrow was sitting with elbows braced on his knees and his head in his hands, cursing the fates once more.

He was still cursing when Gibbs returned. The older man tapped his shoulder with a fresh bottle and took up a chair opposite his long time friend. “I know ye play things close to the vest, Jack. But are ye sure this ain’t somethin’ you need to talk about?”

Kohl rimmed eyes looked up and Gibbs was shocked to see moisture pooling in their corners. “Fifteen years is a long time to be keeping this to m’self, mate.”

“Aye, that is a mighty long time.”

“And I’ll keep it awhile longer, savvy?” Jack didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he darted out of the cabin and taking the stairs two at a time headed up on deck. When he reached the helm, he pushed Ana out of the way, earning himself a swift punch in his ribs.

“What are ye doin’, Jack?” Gibbs asked when he caught up to the captain.

“Changing course, Mr. Gibbs,” was the reply.

“And where be ye headin’?”

“Port Royal, mate. Now, show me that horizon,” he quipped as he spun the wheel, effectively changing the course due North, bound for Port Royal.