Then, cupping his hands around his mouth, he bellowed, “All hands on deck!”
The deck began filling with sailors, including the ones rousted out of their hammocks by Robby Greene and the third mate. Jack waited until most of the crew was present, then shouted, “All hands to the braces!” As the sailors scattered, he went up the ladder leading to the quarterdeck in a rush. When the helmsman on watch turned to him, he ordered, “Mr. Richards, new course, steer west northwest.”
Crooking his finger at the cabin boy, who was up on the weather deck, watching the activity, Jack beckoned. When young Tim joined him on the quarterdeck, he spoke softly. “Tim, my compliments to Captain Bainbridge. Convey to him we’re changing course and that I request his presence on deck as soon as possible. Step lively, now.”
The lad nodded and raced down the ladder, bare feet slapping against the deck planks. Jack watched him go. He knew it was unlikely that Bainbridge would hurry. The older man was very fond of his port, and tended to drink until after midnight. He’d be hard to rouse. Jack squinted into the distance, where he could barely make out what might be a sail with his unaided vision, and sighed. And the day had started so promisingly, too!
Fair Wind had been sailing nearly due north. Jack’s orders set the helm and the sail crew to changing course by nearly ninety degrees, so Fair Wind showed the strange sail her heels. It took a quarter of an hour for the brig to complete the turn and settle to her new heading.
When the brig was on her new course, Jack ordered his men into the rigging to put on every possible rag of sail. With any luck, he thought, she just took a big prize and her holds are full of spoil. With any luck, the crew’s been celebrating with stolen spirits, and most of them are sleeping it off, and they won’t notice us. With any luck, we can slip away before she even knows we were here.…
While the crew worked busily, swarming up and down the rigging, and the t’gallants began to billow with wind, Jack paced the deck impatiently.
By the time all new sails were set, more than half an hour had passed since he’d first spotted the frigate’s sails. Spyglass in hand, Jack went aft to check on the other ship. He could see her clearly now, still on her previous course. He let out a breath of relief. Then, as he watched from the stern, his jaw tightened.
The outlines of the frigate’s sails were shortening as she altered direction, turning…turning west. There could be no mistake. The Blackwall frigate was altering course, heading straight for Fair Wind.
Jack groaned softly. Even with a good head start, the chances of the heavily laden Fair Wind outrunning the other vessel were slim to none.
Jack heard a step behind him, and turned to find Robby Greene regarding him. On seeing Jack’s expression, Robby held out a hand. “Mind if I have a look, Jack?”
Jack silently handed over the spyglass. The frigate was closer now, easy to see from the taffrail. After a long moment, Robby lowered the glass, his normally good-humored features grim. “Heaven help us. Either the sun has gotten to me, or I know that vessel.”
Jack Sparrow shook his head, grimly. “You’re not seeing things, Robby. It’s Venganza, and we’re her quarry.”
Robby sucked in an audible breath. “Of all the miserable bad luck…”
Jack nodded. “My sentiments exactly.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lady Esmeralda
JACK TURNED AT THE SOUND of heavy feet thumping up the portside ladder, and saw Fair Wind’s captain, Nathaniel Bainbridge, heaving himself up the last step onto the quarterdeck. Robby hastily handed over the spyglass, muttering, “Good luck, Jack,” then turned and headed down the starboard ladder in a rush. Seeing the expression on Bainbridge’s face, Jack knew his friend was right. He braced himself. I’m in for it now.
Jack hadn’t seen much of Fair Wind’s captain since they’d set sail from the brig’s home port of Calabar, on the West African coast. Once Bainbridge had realized that his new first mate was a competent sailor, and, truth be told, a better navigator than he was, he’d happily turned all of his least-favored duties over to Jack—including the early morning watch. There was good reason for the captain’s reluctance to face the bright sun; every night Bainbridge ate a large dinner, then spent hours in his cabin, consuming copious amounts of port. As a result, the old man was seldom seen on Fair Wind’s deck much before noon. As he watched the captain stump toward him, Jack figured that the captain had been enjoying his port until at least midnight. Bainbridge was squinting painfully in the bright sunlight, and his coat hung askew.
Halting before his first mate, the captain barked, “Mr. Sparrow! What is the meaning of this course change?”
“Captain, we’ve a vessel in pursuit,” Jack said, all business. “I thought, under the circumstances, caution was indicated. Pirates sail these waters, sir.” As always when he addressed a superior, he was careful with his wording and diction. Speaking in a lower-class accent made a negative impression on the snobbish officials and officers of the East India Trading Company. At first it had been difficult for Jack to adjust his speech patterns, but over the years, it had become second nature.
Handing over his spyglass, he pointed. Despite Fair Wind’s best efforts, the frigate was visibly closer. It was now perhaps six or seven miles away, visible even to the naked eye. Our top speed with this load of cargo, Jack calculated, is about six knots. Venganza’s is ten, possibly eleven, depending on what she has in her holds, and how much sail she’s carrying. That means she’ll catch us in…his lips moved silently as Bainbridge raised the spyglass and scanned the horizon…about an hour and a half. Presuming Esmeralda doesn’t raise her royals as well as her t’gallants.…
Bainbridge took a long look at their pursuer through the spyglass, then handed it back to Jack, who raised it and looked again. The oncoming vessel was no longer visible in profile, but could be seen bow-on, the squares of her sails billowing like clouds. And yes, she was now rigged all the way to the top of her mast. The Lady Pirate had indeed put up her royals. Less than ninety minutes, then. Seventy, perhaps eighty minutes…
Jack lowered the spyglass, reluctantly, to face Bainbridge, who was regarding him silently, arms crossed. “You changed course to try to evade that ship, Mr. Sparrow?”
“Aye, sir,” Jack said, stiffly. The sarcastic edge in Bainbridge’s tone brought back memories of Captain Teague’s scathing remarks. Teague had never actually carried out his threats to have Jack flogged, but there had been times when Jack had thought that having the cat slashed across his back might have been easier to endure than Teague’s low-voiced scorn.
“Why, Mr. Sparrow?” Bainbridge asked, with exaggerated patience.
“I thought it prudent to change course and put on more sail, Captain, hoping she’d not spotted us. But it appears she has. Just a few minutes ago she changed course, and, I noted, she’s now putting on more sail. She’s in pursuit.” And we can’t outrun her, Jack added, silently.
“Hmmmmph!” snorted Bainbridge. Raising the spyglass, he took another long look, then handed it back. “Correct me if I am wrong, but she looks to be a British ship. A Blackwall frigate, to be exact. Am I correct?”
“Aye, sir.” Jack was glad they were alone.
“And who owns the majority of the frigates produced by the Black-wall shipyard, Mr. Sparrow?”
“The Royal Navy procures them, Captain,” Jack said, his cheeks hot.
“Exactly. So…pirates in pursuit, you say? I think not!” Bainbridge gave a short bark of unamused laughter. “The very idea!”
Jack turned his spyglass over in his hands, thinking hard. He knew the idea of a pirate having a Blackwall frigate as a vessel was indeed far-fetched. Most pirates used smaller vessels—fast, agile schooners and sloops, well-armed and heavily crewed. They were deadly against merchant vessels, but they weren’t ships that could attack and capture a frigate. Frigates were warships, and no sane pirate would tackle a twenty-eight gun frigate. Even the crazy ones—and there were more than a few—would hesitate before
trying it.
Bainbridge evidently realized he’d made his point, because he cleared his throat and moderated his tone. “Mr. Sparrow, you’ve served well on this voyage, so I’m prepared to overlook your…misplaced zeal today. That ship…” he swept an arm at the frigate, “is an English vessel! She’s almost certainly Royal Navy. We should heave to, not make her chase us! She may have news from home, or she may have a crucial message to send on to England with us. She might be in need of supplies. It’s our duty as Englishmen to find out what she wants.”
Jack took a deep breath. “I know it sounds unlikely, sir, but this is the Caribbean. I believe, Captain, that this frigate is a pirate vessel. We need to think about what to do when she catches us, in an hour or so.”
Bainbridge rolled his eyes. “Mr. Sparrow, you’re not listening. That ship is almost certainly a Royal Navy vessel, purchased from Blackwall shipyard. Whoever has heard of a pirate possessing such a ship?”
Jack thought fast, and decided to answer the Captain’s question with the truth. Though of course he couldn’t be candid about how he’d learned it. Squaring his shoulders, he replied, “I have, sir.”
Bainbridge blinked his small, reddened eyes at him. “You have, Mr. Sparrow? You have knowledge of pirates, and their vessels? How came you by such knowledge, pray tell?”
“I…I heard about it in The Faithful Bride, Captain.”
“That tavern in Port Royal? Disreputable place!” Bainbridge regarded him skeptically. “Exactly what did you hear?”
“A man told of a British naval vessel, Captain, just like that one. She’d run aground on a sandbar near the Florida Keys, and there she stayed, her sails flogged to pieces by the wind, all her boats gone. A pirate vessel came along, and found her there. The pirate captain rowed over alone to investigate the frigate. What he found was a ship of the dead, sir. The vomito negro, it was. What we call ‘yellow jack.’”
Bainbridge couldn’t repress a shudder. Stories of ships whose entire crews had succumbed to plagues of various sorts were all too well known. “Go on!” he ordered.
“The captain of this pirate ship was a Spaniard, and he’d had yellow jack when he was a lad, and survived it. They say you can’t get it twice. So he assembled his crew, and demanded to know which of them had had it. He wound up with nearly ten men to go over to the vessel to salvage her. They disposed of the bodies, cleaned up the ship, and towed her off that sandbar. Then the pirate captain took the frigate as his flagship.”
“I see.” Bainbridge eyed Jack suspiciously. Jack was careful to keep his expression blank. “That sounds nearly as wild a tale as ghost stories about the Flying Dutchman. Just who was this man who told you the tale?”
This was more difficult than he’d anticipated. Jack could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. “He was a rough-looking character, Captain. He never gave his name. He said he’d had the story from one of the men who salvaged the vessel.” He dropped his voice to an awed whisper. “I think he may have actually been a pirate himself, sir!”
Bainbridge chuckled, vastly amused. “And you believed this…this tavern tale, Mr. Sparrow?”
Jack hesitated. Finally he nodded, cautiously. “The story had the ring of truth about it, sir.” Jack’s usual gift of being able to spin endless anecdotes couched in deliberately obfuscating language seemed to have deserted him. Almost stammering, he added, “I’ve no personal knowledge, of course, sir.”
“Hmmmmph!” Bainbridge glared at him. “Of course you haven’t. Look at you, a nice young well-brought-up English lad! Shame on you, Mr. Sparrow! The Faithful Bride is notorious! If your sainted mother knew you went into such an establishment, she’d…” Words failed him, and he actually shook a meaty forefinger at Jack. “Really, Sparrow! Listen to yourself! Believing drunken tavern gossip!”
Jack tried to look suitably scolded, but his mouth insisted on twitching. Any moment now he’d burst into laughter at the sheer mad irony of it all. Putting his hand over his eyes, he hung his head, assuming the most abject posture he could manage.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” he managed, in a choked whisper.
“And well you should be, Sparrow,” the captain said, gruffly. “Well, brace up, lad. No real harm done, I suppose.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Jack finally got his face under control and looked back up. I need a drink. I need many drinks, and a salty wench. Two salty wenches, and three weeks in Tortuga.…
“Oh, I’m not really faulting you, Sparrow,” Bainbridge added, with bluff heartiness. “Young, naïve, inexperienced in the ways of the world…lads like yourself tend to have rampageous imaginations. They want adventure, danger, they imagine themselves swashbucklers. So they envision peril in every new sail. But this ship that’s coming after us is one of our own, you’ll see.” Bainbridge smiled. His teeth were large, crooked and yellow. “I’m not going to fault you on this, lad, fear not. We haven’t lost much time, and it’s not a bad idea for the men to have a sail drill. Keeps ’em on their toes, it does.”
Any second now, Jack thought, he’s going to pat me on the shoulder. And then I’ll…I’ll…It was all he could do to keep his face blank. This is even worse than having Teague dress me down. At least HE didn’t try to talk me to death.
Aloud Jack said, tonelessly, “Your orders, Captain?”
“Give the order to heave to,” Bainbridge said. “We’ll wait for them, and I’ll apologize to the captain. Explain that you got a bit…overexcited.” He chuckled. “No doubt we’ll all have a good laugh about it over a glass of port in my cabin.”
For just a moment, Jack considered telling Bainbridge the whole truth. But he probably wouldn’t believe me, and even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything. We can’t outrun her. Revealing why he’d known Venganza would throw away everything he’d worked the past five years to achieve. And, knowing Robby, the lad would be at his side when he was ordered off the ship in disgrace. Robby was too loyal for his own good.
The fact that soon enough Bainbridge would realize his error was small comfort. So start thinking about what you’ll do when Bainbridge realizes the truth. I wonder if I can persuade Esmeralda to negotiate on how much of our cargo she takes?
Squaring his shoulders, he headed forward to relay Bainbridge’s order.
Minutes later, Jack stood on the weather deck, watching the crew hauling on the braces to back the foretops’l. Leaning over the gunwale, he shaded his eyes and watched the now rapidly closing Venganza. The sun was very bright. Jack closed his eyes, and found himself remembering his first real meeting with the woman who was to become known as the infamous Doña Pirata, Pirate Lord of the Caribbean.…
After the unfortunate incident with Baldy Malone, Jack wasted no time in unfolding the plan that had sprung fully-formed into his mind. First, he found a Hazard game and arranged the transfer of a suitable infusion of funds from an unfortunate pirate who was not as lucky—or as skillful at cheating—as Jack was.
After he’d won enough, Jack made a side trip to the berth where Venganza lay, and, in his fluent, if somewhat ungrammatical, Spanish, offered a shilling to the first hand he saw in exchange for the lady’s full name. As he walked back down the dock, he repeated it in his mind. Esmeralda Maria Consuela Anna de Sevilla. A bit longish, but beautiful nonetheless.
When he reached the end of the dock, Jack started to turn left, intending to head back into Shipwreck City. He knew where Teague would take his guests. But then he hesitated, looking down at his boots. A sudden memory of Christophe, always impeccably attired and well-groomed, taking the lady’s hand in his own and kissing it, flashed into his mind.
Thoughtfully, Jack spread his own fingers, regarding them, then imagined himself taking the lady’s hand.
He turned right, heading back toward Troubadour, Teague’s vessel, where he had a berth and kept his sea chest. When he reached the ship, he got a bucket from one of the hands, filled it with fresh water from a public trough, and carried it back aboard. Careful not to splash i
ts contents on the holystoned and scrubbed deck, he went below to his “quarters” aboard Teague’s vessel—a hammock on the crew deck, and, beneath it, the small sea chest containing all his worldly possessions.
Opening the chest, he took out several rags, a sliver of soap, and some oil. First he cleaned and oiled his leather boots, his belt, and the baldric that held his cutlass. The boots took quite a while, but finally Jack was satisfied with them. Taking out a brush, he energetically brushed his best waistcoat, then his coat. He even shined the brass buttons. Then he brushed his ragged old tricorne, wishing he had one of the rakish leather ones. When he’d done the best he could with his admittedly shabby wardrobe, Jack turned his attentions to his person.
Carefully, he washed his face and hands, then, after some consideration, stripped to the waist and washed his upper body, too. After drying off, he put on his “best” shirt, the one that had no visible holes. His hair was a snarled tangle. It took a long time to comb it so it lay smoothly over his shoulders. Finally, Jack ran his fingers over his chin, feeling the bristled stubble, then made a face and sighed. Christophe was always perfectly barbered, damn his eyes. It took a while to locate and “borrow” a razor from another man’s chest—most pirates sported beards—then he had to sharpen the blade. Shaving without a mirror wasn’t easy, but he managed, leaving only what he firmly assured himself was a dashing moustache.
Carefully, Jack re-packed his sea chest, then carried the bucket up the ladder and tossed its black contents over the side into the cove.
Glancing up at the sun, he realized the afternoon was now well advanced. Teague had mentioned that he planned to convene an informal meeting of the Pirate Lords currently present at Shipwreck City, to discuss the rogue pirate attacks. Now that yet another Pirate Lord, Don Rafael, had arrived, that meeting would certainly be held, probably this very afternoon. Jack couldn’t picture Don Rafael turning his granddaughter loose in Shipwreck City, so Esmeralda was almost certainly with him at the meeting—which was doubtless under way.
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 5