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The Sacking of Port Royal
by TortugaBlack

CHAPTER 14: The Definition of a Pirate

Topside again Sparrow and Turner joined the Pearl’s crew along the starboard railing to watch Hayes and his men row back to the Rona. The incoming tide of dark water rolled under the small dinghy, bucking it gently from side to side as the boat made slow progress toward the pirate sloop. A couple of lanterns had been dropped over the side of both ships close to the waterline to light their way.

The late night breezes shifted and onboard the darkened Pearl, Jack Sparrow glanced skyward. Cold starlight alone bathed the deck and put dark shadows where none had been before. He nodded with satisfaction. The dark of the moon would make sighting the expected fleet difficult, but the starlight would keep it from being impossible.

“What now, Jack?”

The inquiry at his elbow brought Sparrow out of his reverie, making him aware again of the young man standing at his side and that awareness bringing with it the sudden and unsettling realization that he liked having the boy there. An amused grin pulled momentarily at one side of his mouth as he thought of the discomfort that would cause a certain young woman.

“We wait,” he answered, a little more gruffly then he’d intended and that, too, he blamed on Elizabeth Swann for the touch of guilt he’d momentarily experienced where Will Turner was concerned. He settled his attention back on the small dinghy that had reached its destination, discharged its passengers and was being secured on the deck of the Rona. A moment later the faint light by which the crewmen worked was hooded.

“How many ships are you expecting?”

Jack Sparrow stood silent for several moments, arranging his thoughts on the matter at hand. “When we weighed anchor for Port Royal, four ships had signed on.” He turned his attention back to the man at his side. “Hayes made mention of another during our meeting.”

“Five ships and the two we’re interested in,” Will calculated uneasily. “Jack, even if Reyes and Pease pull out as expected, we cannot stand by and watch Port Royal destroyed by the pirate crews of five ships!”

“They’re doing what they do,” Sparrow answered philosophically, his eyes drifted momentarily heavenward as he waited for the boy to put into words what the pirate had already heard in his voice, the one thing more likely to get the boy killed than his inexperience…his conscience.

“You’re a pirate,” Will emphasized with feeling. “If you feel that way, why aren’t you sailing with them?”

Sparrow peered back at him sharply. “Because, Mister Turner, it wasn’t the–”

“–Opportune moment?”

Wheeling from the rail to face the young blacksmith, his coat tails flaring away from his lithe figure, Sparrow raised a finger to make a point in his defense. Reading the idealistic stance of a man not to be swayed and the stubborn set of Will’s jaw, the argument he had thought to make seemed suddenly pointless. “Right.” Dropping his hand, Sparrow tilted his head, observing the other man closely, waiting for him to continue.

“But you see nothing wrong with attacking another pirate vessel. No…” Will corrected righteously, “two pirate vessels, fighting their crews…men like yourself…and taking their ships.”

“No, mate, because that’s what I do.” Sparrow took a step back and spread his arms wide. “I’m a pirate.” He sobered, having had enough of what he felt to be undeserved abuse. “And you, Mister Turner, signed to help me do it, are you forgetting that?”

“No,” Will replied regretfully. “I haven’t forgotten. Nor am I likely to forget it was I who put Elizabeth in danger by bringing her aboard the Pearl.”

Disappointed and angered at having to put into words what should not have to be said between them, Sparrow moved closer. “Mister Turner, attacking helpless folk in their beds or killing those who rise up against me with pitchfork and frying pan is not my way. I do not kidnap helpless women or rape them. Nor do I take human stock to be sold into slavery.” He flashed the young blacksmith a sly smile, the devil’s own light flickering for a brief moment in the ink-black eyes. “But I see nothing wrong with taking from those who do, savvy?”

“Therefore, you are a good pirate,” Turner sarcastically concluded.

“No, mate,” Sparrow replied with undeniable pride. “I am very good pirate.”

“Cap’n!”

Their conversation cut short by the first mate, the two men watched the bewhiskered man striding toward them.

“Mister Gibbs, you have news?”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Gibbs shifted his attention from one man to the other as if sensing the tension between them. “The first sails have been spotted.”

Leaving Gibbs to follow in his wake, Sparrow shouldered past Turner, striding urgently toward the main mast; the two men followed. Reaching the foot of the mast, Sparrow nodded to the crewman stationed below the mast and peered aloft. As if waiting for their arrival, the men were rewarded with two quick flashes from the nest.

“Jack?” Will questioned, his eyes on the dark figure above them.

“One flash, the flotilla’s been spotted. Two flashes, they’ve changed course for Port Royal.” Sparrow motioned his first mate to his side. “Mister Gibbs, how many? Do we have a count yet?”

Gibbs turned to the deck watch. “Sailor, what have ye for the cap’n?”

Mister Cotton stepped forward coming to stiff attention. The beautifully colored parrot on his shoulder spread its wings. “Two by sea. Two by sea! Squawk!” the bird gruffly announced. From behind his back, hidden from Turner’s sight, the old man spread five fingers. A mischievous wink of an eye was given to captain and first mate.

“Mister Cotton’s bird reports five ships, Cap’n,” Gibbs reported in straight-faced gravity.

Will Turner tilted his head with a look of suspicion toward the bird that had spoken for the mute pirate.

“Thank you, Mister Cotton’s parrot,” Sparrow acknowledged, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere as he turned his eyes toward the nest.

“You’re going to take the word of a – a bird?” Will asked in disbelief.

Sparrow looked up in mock surprise. “Mister Cotton’s parrot has always been a man – a bird – of his word, why would I not trust what he has to say?”

Will Turner, speechless at the absurdity of Sparrow’s comment, missed the quick conspiratorial glances exchanged among his three companions.

“Mister Gibbs.” Sparrow shifted his attention back to his first mate.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“Send the pre-arranged signal to the Rona, then weigh anchor and make ready to sail.” He touched a finger to his tongue, lifted it skyward and nodded with a grin. “The wind has shifted in our favor. Mister Gibbs, once clear of the cove, stay to deep water close to the coastline. At my signal hands aloft to loose t’gallants.”

“Aye, Cap’n!” Released to his duties, Gibbs hurried off to do Sparrow’s bidding.

Several quick flashes of light were exchanged between the two ships and moments later the crews of both scurried to make ready to sail. Silhouetted forms bent over windlasses and put their backs into the labored rhythm of drawing the heavy anchors from the depths, the wood groaning against the drag of the rope. Other shadows swarmed aloft releasing sails and freeing lines. With the creak of wood and the billowing snap of canvas freed to gather the wind, both ships awoke. Allowed to take the freshening breezes, the Black Pearl, with the Rona in her wake, slipped gracefully out of the cove.

Sparrow stood beside the deck watch, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt, his eyes on the nest above, seemingly oblivious to the activities around him. Unconsciously, Will Turner took a wide-legged stance at Sparrow’s back, his hand on his own sword as he attempted to grasp all that was happening around them.

From the nest came two more flashes. An eager grin touched the pirate captain’s lips and he turned to the young man he knew instinctively would be at his back. “All have arrived, Mister Turner, and we await the first shot!”