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Now, both Mrs. Davenport and Mrs. Walker were what some people would call insufferable matchmakers. Since one lived in a house full of young ladies and the other had a number of mostly young and mostly gentleman lodgers, why, it was little wonder that not a week went by without some picnic or tea party or evening with some musical entertainment – properly chaperoned, of course. In truth, I found it rather pleasant – perhaps partly because half pay rarely leaves a man sufficient funds to indulge in most forms of entertainment.
And partly because of Miss Jane Badcock.
Oddly enough, I find myself unable to recall the first time I saw her or spoke with her. It simply happened and at some point it seemed the most natural thing in the world to stand next to her or ask her opinion about this or that. She had a sweet smile and I soon learned that we shared tastes when it came to literature.
At some time the two old sisters began to share knowing looks in my presence or stop their conversation when I drew near. I did not mind their assumptions, but continued to talk with Miss Badcock, take walks with her, enjoy her company – always properly chaperoned. Of course.
I knew little of Miss Badcock’s personal history. She was neither daughter, niece nor cousin, but a somewhat more distant relation of the Goodyears. She was a somewhat pretty girl with little in the way of money – I always supposed that she had been sent to London in the hopes of attracting a suitable suitor.
And so it was that in the mornings I would go to the Admiralty in the hopes of a commission and, as those hopes were ever shattered, I began to consider if it would be appropriate to marry while still on half pay or if it would be more proper to wait until I could actually support a wife and perhaps some children in a respectable manner. Eventually I settled on a compromise and hoped that it would not have to be too long an engagement.
We had been meeting increasingly often, Miss Badcock and I, and I fancied that she had shown some inclination towards me. Particularly in the last couple of weeks, during which her smiles had been common and her laughter almost more so. I had even fancied that she had winked at me, almost coyly.
Finally came the day when we were alone together and I found myself sweating nervously, not exactly certain of how to put the necessary question into actual words.
I need not have been so nervous. As it happened, it was Miss Badcock who opened her mouth to speak first – and as she spoke, I felt the blood drain from my face.
She told me that she was with child. She told me that of course everyone would assume that I was the father, that everyone would assume that there had been unchaperoned meetings. She told me that I had no choice but to marry her – and soon. She threatened to destroy my reputation and my career both. And finally she demanded money.
I honestly cannot remember how I managed to answer her or what exactly my answer was. All I know is that I somehow managed to promise her money, more money than I could truly afford, without promising her a husband. Then we parted.
For the second time in my life I visited a bathhouse to scrub myself clean of a kind of intangible filth.
I did not sleep that night.
The next morning found me at the Admiralty as the first among hopefuls, desperate for a commission, desperate for a way to get far away from London, far away from the adventuress and whatever men she had fornicated with, far away from the child that was not mine.
There was no post for me that day, nor on the second, but on the third day Lady Luck at long last deigned to smile at me. Apparently, one Lieutenant Redford had managed to involve himself in a brawl and had emerged less than unscathed. In fact, his present condition was such that the ship he served aboard as third lieutenant – the HMS Dauntless – was due to leave without him within the week, to bring the new governor of Jamaica to his new home and afterwards to stay in the Caribbean as the new flag ship of the Jamaica squadron. Of course, there was no way the governor was to be inconvenienced by the delay caused by a lieutenant, so a replacement was needed. The post was mine if I wanted it.
And so it was that I found myself aboard a ship that I did not know would one day be mine to command, heading for a posting that was most unpopular among the officers of the Navy – particularly because of the great likelihood of never coming home to England again, having met one’s end at the claws of some tropical fever.
In my darker moments I found that the thought actually appealed to me.
Behind me I left a somewhat confused Mrs. Walker, who though used to the abruptness of the demands of the service, had begun to expect a certain event to occur before my inevitable departure. Fortunately, she did not ask any questions. Even more fortunately, I contrived to avoid seeing Miss Badcock for the brief period of time before I left London behind.
It was a balm to my soul to leave her and almost her entire sex far behind, to be aboard a ship that of the female persuasion only carried the nanny goat that supplied the milk for Captain Farrow’s tea, a few ships cats (one of which left precious little doubt as to her gender by determining that the ideal place to have her litter was in the good governor’s second-best wig) – and a tiny girl with a somewhat annoying love of pirate tales, which a good number of men from before the mast were quite happy to cater to.
For every mile the ship left behind I found myself feeling slightly better. I did my duties and did them well, despite the slight resentment from a couple of my messmates who had rather liked Lieutenant Redford and were less than happy about me taking his place, even if he himself was most of all to blame. To my surprise, I would often find myself conversing with the good Governor Swann, an elderly gentleman with whom I ought to have had little in common considering our difference in station, and with his daughter.
The voyage went well – we had fair winds and encountered only the traces of pirates, but none of the despicable breed dared to show themselves – and soon enough we anchored at Port Royal. Governor Swann assumed his position in society and – on his daughter’s insistence – found a position for the young Mr. Turner in town. The boy had become something of a favourite in the officers’ mess and had been offered a place as midshipman, but Miss Swann and he had apparently grown rather friendly despite their great difference in class, and he accepted the position as a blacksmith’s apprentice instead, so as to remain in the same town as his new friend.
Personally, I found myself transferred to the Zephyr, a small, but swift vessel that was ever in need of both officers and crew due to the climate as well as the fact that her standing mission was to hunt pirates and privateers – the Interceptor had been intended to take her place. I did not mind, even though she was a less prestigious ship to serve aboard than the Dauntless. After all, I was now second lieutenant, and I found a pair of fast friends in two midshipmen who in truth were quite old enough to pass for lieutenant themselves – Andrew Gillette and Theodore Groves.
And so life passed, with weeks at a time spent at sea, hunting pirates, smugglers and hostile privateers, occasionally escorting convoys and – depending on which way the political winds had blown a couple of months earlier in far-off Europe – taking prizes and engaging enemy ships in battle. I acquitted myself well during all of this, as did I on the few occasions when I was charged with leaving the Zephyr to visit the islands held by foreign powers and seek whatever pertinent information I might find in a clandestine manner. Perhaps that is why, when the captain and the first lieutenant both perished during an encounter with a particularly vicious band of Dutch privateers, I was given command of the ship.
The Zephyr was in many ways home, but so was Port Royal, whereto I found myself returning every few weeks for provisions, repairs and orders – and often I found myself a guest at the governor’s mansion at such times. He and I had remained friendly since the shared crossing. At his table I would often find myself socializing with my superior, the old Admiral Giddens, whose flagship the Dauntless had ever been destined to be. It was he who eventually recommended me for promotion to post-captain and gave me the position of Captain of the Dauntless in his place, since his duties tended to demand that he remain ashore.
I suppose I ought to be praising luck for my successful career at such a young age, but in truth I suspect that it was partly Governor Swann’s support and partly the fact that many better men were reluctant to accept a station in the fever islands.
The admiral took me into his confidence, listened to my proposals and my advice, explained matters of policy to me. In short, he was a mentor to me. I grieved when a slippery step in Fort Charles cost him his life.
Admiral Adorno, his replacement, fell sick with yellow fever within a week of his arrival and died soon after. During all this time I served as senior naval officer, with the kindly advice of Governor Swann. Still, it was a surprise when the new ship for our Jamaica squadron, the Interceptor, did not bring another replacement, but a promotion for me.
Now, during all these years, the only female company I had sought was in a discreet house of ill repute in Port Royal. Occasionally I had participated in various social occasions which brought me into contact with the colony’s eligible ladies, such as they were – planters’ daughters, merchants’ sisters, officers’ widows. All quite suitable for a man of my station, yet not a one appealed to me.
Then Miss Swann began to join her father at dinner, playing the part of hostess to perfection. At first I found it hard to think of her as a woman, the image of the child still in my mind from the distant days of our crossing, for I had only infrequently had occasion to see her since. Soon, I noticed that she was a lovely a young woman and quite intelligent, if still somewhat given to slightly improper flights of fancy – which somehow made her more appealing still.
Of course I knew that she could never be my wife, I harboured no such illusions. A rich young heiress wed to an admittedly successful naval officer, whose pirate-hunting would never bring in the rich prizes spoken of in the stories and whose accomplishments in the service were too remote and not often enough against esteemed enemies to earn him a title? Unlikely. Imagine my surprise when, on the eve of the Interceptor’s arrival, Governor Swann made it clear to me in a private conversation that he was most receptive to the idea of me as a son-in-law.
And so, on the day of the ceremony to mark my promotion, I gathered all my courage and dared to hope that the third time might actually be the charm, as they say. It was not. Which, of course, brings me right back to where I started.
Cool blackness falls on me, as if a lonesome cloud has blocked the sun momentarily. When it does not cease, I sit up straighter and open my eyes, looking up at the silhouetted form of – who else? Why, Captain Jack Sparrow, of course.
”Nice nap, was it, my dear Commodore James?”
”I was thinking.”
”’Course. Just resting your pretty eyes, aye?” He grins. Infuriating man.
”Was there something you wanted, Captain Sparrow?”
”Aye, well, see, it seems to me that I’ve been a – a less than perfect host, as it were, what with not spending any time with my honoured guest!”
”I see.” I see that whatever it is he wants I ought to refuse it, ought not to risk spending one moment more than absolutely necessary in the company of this man, lest he suspect. ”I imagine you must be rather busy, refitting the Pearl. A captain can hardly be faulted for having little time to spare from his ship.”
”True, but still, that’s no excuse, savvy? That’s why we’re going on a picnic.”
”A picnic?” I can feel my eyebrow rising of its own volition.
”Aye, a picnic.” A grinning madman, that is what he is, but a grinning madman who is now gesturing to the basket at his feet. ”I’ve got us a nice supper here and”, he bends down and roots through the basket’s contents before triumphantly straightening to present a book, ”and old Willy himself. And I know the perfect spot.”
I should refuse, should not risk his company, not dare, not when he is grinning like this, the gold in his mouth outshone by the gleam in his eyes, not even though it is made even more tempting by the simple fact that for the last few days my only real company has been Silver and Gold, and even they have preferred exploring the island to keeping me company most of the time. But on the other hand I must not risk him suspecting that anything is different. Besides, if I refuse, he will probably simply find some way to force me to do as he wishes – as he has done before.
”Very well then, Captain Sparrow.” I say, having first sighed my best long-suffering sigh, then getting to my feet. ”Lead on, MacDuff.”
He picks up his basket and begins to do as he is told for once, then turns back, still grinning.
”Oh, and Commodore James.”
”Yes, Captain Sparrow.”
”I seem to be recalling that you were supposed to be calling my good self Jack, aye?”
”Very well then. Lead on – Jack.”
He grins even wider and does exactly that, basket bouncing in his arms and with me following at a sedate pace.
He leads us past the Black Pearl herself, lying like a huge, beached whale, taut ropes pulling her to the side to expose her vulnerable underside. Of course Jack himself stood at the helm when she was carefully beached, having been emptied of everything that could be removed to lighten her just that extra bit. Nobody else was allowed to steer her into the shallows in the sheltered cove, nobody else was trusted with his precious ship.
He leads us past the tents, put haphazardly here and there, past the tent that he and I have supposedly been sharing since the landing, though most nights I have had it to myself. At one end stands my ship’s chest, my wrinkled, but clean clothes all present and accounted for inside it.
He leads us past the cooking fire, where a couple of men are busily preparing the crew’s dinner. They pause to shout something at their captain and he waves at them.
He leads us past the make-shift pig pen. Any other captain I know would have let them run wild and forage for themselves in the forested part of the island, rather than trouble his men with the extra work. Furthermore, this island seems to have avoided the seeding of all manner of livestock done by the early Spaniards – some future castaway would probably be most grateful if a couple of pigs managed to get themselves left behind. Yet Jack has insisted on the pen, and as far as I know has not deigned to explain this eccentricity.
He leads us into the forest, along the crystal clear stream that empties into the cove, the ready source of fresh water being invaluable, even if most of the crew prefer more potent beverages. We walk underneath the canopy of leaves, through a world bathed in green light, occasionally forced to wade through the shallow water when the undergrowth proves impenetrable. The third time Jack nearly slips on the rocks in the stream bed, and I relieve him – despite his protests – of the basket, citing my distinct lack of desire for a wet meal. He puts on his most affronted expression, then grabs the book and leaps away from me, holding the volume triumphantly – and stumbles over a rock, only this time he does not manage to remain on his feet. He looks even more affronted at my laughter at the sight of him sitting in the stream, then he too cannot stop himself from laughing. Oh well, at least the book did not get soaked as well, and he will soon dry in this heat. Somewhere between the trees are birds – I cannot see them, but I can hear them, calling, twittering, singing. A huge dragonfly – brilliantly green and blue, a living gem, easily as large as my hand – hovers in front of me, not an inch from the tip of my nose. Then it is gone.
He leads us past the lake which feeds the stream, itself feed by a picturesque triple waterfall that springs forth from some inaccessible points high up on the cliff. Usually a few members of the crew can be found here, amusing themselves, swimming and laughing or enjoying each other’s company in the relative privacy (not that being deprived of said privacy will make them stop, unless a man was to quite literally stumble over them, and even then only for as long as it takes to thoroughly express their opinion about people not looking where they are damn well going.) It is quiet now, the only movement a startled bird suddenly taking wing, and I expect this to be the setting for Jack’s picnic, but as it turns out I am mistaken.
He leads us into the dark green twilight among the trees, where no creek or large animal has carved a convenient path for us, but to our right is the cliff, imposingly tall and very hard to miss. The ground grows steeper and at times one has to cling to branches. Somewhere in the darkness is movement and noise, points of brilliant colour darting away. Once I stumble and look down to see not the expected root, but a scaly, sinuous, sapphire blue snake vanishing into the undergrowth.
He leads us into the light.
I stand blinking, raising a hand to shield against the brilliant light of the sinking sun after the twilight between the trees. Then I put down the basket and take a step forward to better survey my surroundings.
We are as best I can tell well over halfway up the cliff, on what seems to be a naturally formed ledge running along it. Most of it is covered in the forest we have just made our way through, but for some reason no trees have laid claim to the very tip of the ledge (which is small, but not small enough for a man or two to feel in danger of tumbling down). Instead the ground is covered with a layer of soft, green grass. I turn to look at the way we came and find myself face to face with what at first glance seems a solid wall of green dotted with flowers in every colour of the rainbow.
”Well, Commodore James, does it meet with your very fine self’s approval?”
”Oh. Yes. Indeed. It is a remarkable place, Jack. But how did you know it was here?”
”Found it the last time around, savvy?” He grins like a very satisfied cat and sets about unpacking the basket.
I step to the very edge of the ledge to properly take in the view. This whole side of the island is laid out before me, a magnificent sight. I can see the sheltered cove with the Pearl in it, the pirates gathering at a tiny spark of a cooking fire. I remember how Jack insisted on sailing all the way around the island after he woke up again after the storm, as if he knew that cove was there to be found. At first I was dismissive of his claims of having found ’his’ island, but now? Now I am no longer certain.
Chapter continues here.
From: (Anonymous)
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