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The Sacking of Port Royal
by TortugaBlack

CHAPTER 19: The Taking of the Morning Star

Under the heavy shroud of early morning fog, Captain Jack Sparrow again ordered the longboats into the water and tied alongside the Pearl. Cloaked in the silent darkness, the pirate put a spyglass to his eye and studied the ghostly outline of the ship the governor’s daughter had identified as the Morning Star. Broadside to the bay with her starboard guns trained on the headwaters and her white sails half-raised, she waited for her prey poised like an Irish racer at the tape. Lowering the glass, Sparrow looked eastward. With the fog bank settling around them and with the further cover of the lagging darkness, he judged the Pearl would have the advantage for the time needed, but not much more. A hint of a smile quirked one corner of his mouth as an early morning breeze played with the beaded braids in his hair.

Turning from the Pearl’s railing, he hastened forward eagerly. At his lifted hand a crewman sprang to the shrouds and climbed through the rigging to the fighting top. From there he signaled the Spot. The brig, already on course for Port Royal, filled her sails; her colors of skull and crossed bones against a field of black rose up the main mast and fluttered open. His crew in place and ordered to silence, Sparrow approached the helm. Ana Maria, her hand steady on the wheel, nodded to him.

“Your orders, Captain.”

Sparrow looked quickly about. The crew, busy at their tasks, paid neither any heed. Stepping behind her, he moved closer. With his hands locked behind his back, he lowered his head until his chin braids gently caressed her neck and he could breathe in the scent of her. He touched lips to the gentle curve of her neck then regretfully pulled away. “Hold her steady, Helmsman. You know what to do…”

A brief smile touched the dusky lips of the young pirate, “Aye, Captain…steady as she goes.”

Standing along the port rail of the foredeck, Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner watched covertly, the one in surprise, the other with interest.

Embarrassed and fearful of being noticed by the two, Elizabeth turned away from the very intimate moment they had witnessed, drawing Will’s attention back to her. “Do you know his plans?”

“Does anyone?” Will shrugged, drawing her close. “We’re moving.”

The Pearl edged forward, her smoky sails merging with the darkness, the eerie wisps of fog giving the pirate galley both cover and a surreal ghostliness. Elizabeth Swann shivered, fighting the memories forever in her nightmares of the Black Pearl moving silently out of just such a fog bank after the deadly attack against the merchant ship which had carried a young cabin boy named Will Turner. She leaned back into the comforting arms of the man she loved. “Do you…remember?” she whispered.

“Yes.” With his face next to hers, Will put his lips to her ear. “One of the worst – and best days – of my life.” As they watched, the phantom-like Spot sailed eerily in silence across the open waters toward the mouth of the bay.

“If she’s spotted, won’t they open fire on her?”

“Yes, but there’s still enough darkness to cover her approach to the bay and no one, including the crew aboard the schooner, will be looking for a pirate brig sailing into the bay.” Feeling the rightness of his deductions, Will smiled at the craftiness of the pirate captain. “The Spot must be the diversion Jack spoke of,” he surmised wisely. “To engage her, the schooner will be forced to turn her back to the west, leaving an opening for the trapped ships…and her stern to the Pearl.”

“By then the Spot will have entered the bay,” Elizabeth finished, then frowned. “But she’ll also be sailing into the long-nines of the Dauntless, surely it’s not in Jack’s plans to put ship and crew at serious risk?” Will remained silent, as puzzled as she.

From the comfort of each other’s arms, but alert to the drama unfolding before them, the young couple watched in nervous anticipation as the Pearl, shrouded in the protection of the remaining darkness and deepening fog bank, stalked the unsuspecting ship at the head of the bay. Unnoticed, another figure moved with the same silent grace from the darkness to join them at the rail.

“Mister Turner, it’s time to get to the boats.”

The young couple turned to face the pirate captain who stood, feet braced comfortably against the motion of his ship.

Jack Sparrow had discarded the battered tricorn and the greatcoat in favor of the less cumbersome attire of bandana, jerkin, and open-necked shirt; the butt of his flintlock protruded from the sash at his waist, the newly-forged sword sheathed at his hip. In the surreal atmosphere of darkness and fog, the pirate captain seemed as much a part of the Black Pearl as the dark sails above or the boards of her deck.

Will Turner loosened his hold on Elizabeth and she stepped reluctantly out of his arms. For a moment, their gazes met and held, silently exchanging feelings of caring and devotion they could not speak aloud. Her arms empty, her body already losing the shared warmth, she watched the man she loved follow Sparrow aft. The two men, she conceded reluctantly, shared a friendship she would never fully understand; a friendship she also feared would always be a part of her and Will’s lives. He’s mine, Jack Sparrow, she vowed determinedly. I’ll share, if I must, but you shall not take him from me.

Elizabeth glanced towards Ana Maria at the helm. Two women. Two men. Worlds apart. Their eyes met and for a brief moment a mutual understanding joined them. Where would they be when the new day dawned? She shivered with fear of the unknown and turned back to the rail to wait for the fates to show her the way.

v v v v v

Gathered aft, two groups of his crew stood armed and waiting. With a gesture to one, a whispered order to another, Jack Sparrow moved comfortably and confidently among then, assigning each to a boat. It did not escape his notice that each man he passed nodded in greeting and gave place to the young blacksmith beside him.

His orders given and the boats assigned, Sparrow again put a glass to the approaching headwaters of the Port Royal Bay. The Spot had slowed and as he watched, a longboat eased out of her wake, turned and rowed strongly away from the brig and into the deepening fog bank, leaving her a rogue on a collision course with the Dauntless.

From the Morning Star, a shout was heard; the pirate brig had been sighted. With the turn of her wheel, the shift of a boom, and the grace of a dancer, the schooner came hard about to face the intruder, putting her stern to the Pearl. But it was already too late; the Spot had cleared the mouth of the bay. In a futile attempt to stop the brig, the Star fired her forward eights. But the Spot raced on. To the rear of the schooner, the Black Pearl, a black phantom, crept closer.

Against the darkness, a tiny flicker of red and yellow marked the Spot’s progress. In less time then it took to identify the cause, the colors intensified along the broad deck of the brig. Now under full sail, the Spot charged down on the unsuspecting Dauntless, the British man-o-war’s stern to the approaching rogue. Driven by the same breezes that filled the Spot’s sails, flames danced along her decks, jumped to the masts and reached ravenously for the great sails.

Lowering the glass, Sparrow raised a hand to his helmsman and the Pearl slowed her advance well astern of the British schooner, but within easy reach of her by longboat. With a signal for silence, he motioned his crew over the side and into their assigned boats.

Gesturing Will over the rail, Sparrow took one last look at the flaming pyre that had been the Spot, charging on its unerring course towards the still unsuspecting stern of the Dauntless, before he followed.

With the oarsmen of both boats putting their backs into their labors, the oars silently rose and fell as the skiffs were drawn swiftly across the misty waters between the Pearl and the unsuspecting schooner. Reaching the stern of the Morning Star, the boats drifted alongside, careful not to strike the hull. There they waited.

From the deck of the Black Pearl, Elizabeth Swann watched in morbid fascination as the flaming Spot raced across the bay toward the Dauntless. The British warship, caught between the deep waters at the base of Fort Charles and the rogue ship, had been left with little room to maneuver and no room to avoid the collision that seemed inevitable. Gun crews at the long-nines sent desperate shots at the flaming masts in hopes of dropping them and slowing the ship, but to no avail. With the Jolly Roger flying from the top of her main mast, flames eating at her billowing sails, the Spot’s blackened hull struck the stern of the Dauntless, driving the man-o-war forward and hard against the sea wall of the fort. Locked between native stone and the pirate brig, the Dauntless sat helpless, her stern engulfed in flames, her guns silent, the gunnery crews blinded by the enveloping smoke. Sailors and Marines alike rushed aft with boat hooks in a desperate effort to push flaming bits of timber and shreds of burning canvas from the decks of the man-o-war.

Across the bay aboard the Morning Star, the purpose of her location momentarily forgotten, sailors, and officers alike rushed to the bow where they watched in shocked silence as the pirate brig, engulfed in her fiery shroud, struck the Dauntless. At the schooner’s stern, two longboats eased into position.

In the distraction and confusion of the rogue ship’s attack, grappling hooks found purchase along the maiden vessel’s stern and the first of the Pearl’s boarding party climbed the attached ropes to drop silently to her decks. A moment later with weapons drawn, they moved cautiously on the starboard quarter to cover the arrival of those from the second boat, leaving one man behind to keep the longboat alongside the schooner. The last man to step onto the Morning Star, Jack Sparrow took quick stock of the situation and dispensed his orders through fluent hand signals to his crew. Soundlessly, they spread out and cautiously moved forward.

Recovering from the surprise of the attack and suddenly reminded of their duties in harshly shouted orders from their officers, the Star’s crew scattered to their stations. Immediately, the small schooner answered her helm, swinging gracefully and smartly about to cover the western end of the bay, again closing the way to the pirate sloops under siege. At her stern, one longboat, tied off by a line from the railing, stayed in her wake as she made her turn, while the other, manned by a single oarsman, dropped back until the Star again faced the west before moving up and taking its position abaft the port beam, the small skiff bumping the schooner’s hull now and again in an attempt to stay close.

Before the Star had completed her turn, the first British sailors were taken from behind by the forward wave of the boarding party, rendered unconscious and left for the second wave to bind, gag, and push out of sight. The pirates, skilled and experienced at ambush, moved through the small British crew like wisps of smoke, dropping them and moving on. They had reached amidships before the first shout of alarm came and the first armed resistance was met.

Flashing steel in the hands of the attacking force struck weapons from surprised hands, while fists, sword hilts, and pistol butts quickly rendered the British seamen unconscious. Relentlessly the pirates moved along the starboard and port sides of the small schooner, rolling over the British before most could reach a weapon or find a way of fending off the unexpected attack.

Reaching the fo’c’s’le unchallenged, Sparrow gathered his crew and warily took stock of the quiet ship, a feeling of cold unease in his gut. “Any officers taken?”

La Bouche stepped forward. “Aye, Captain, a Tory lieutenant and a couple of Marines.” He grinned, his teeth startlingly white against the blackness of his skin. “The ship is ours.”

Sparrow nodded to the hurrahs of his crew, but his uneasiness grew. “Make another sweep of the ship, I want no surprises,” he ordered. “When you’re sure we have the last, put them over the side in longboats without oars. The morning tide will take them shoreward.” Making another visual sweep of the open deck, Sparrow slipped his pistol into his sash and sheathed his sword. “Once the boats are safely away, I’ll need three volunteers to man the Star, the rest of you return to the Pearl.” He turned again to the black crewman. “Mr. LaBouche, you have something for me.”

“Aye, Captain.” The black crewman stepped forward, reached into his shirt and pulled forth a folded bundle of black material. He handed it to Sparrow.

Taking it Sparrow turned back to his crew. “Get on with it, you scabrous dogs, dawn will soon be upon us!” Sparrow stood aside as the crew scurried to follow his orders, leaving him alone on the deserted deck to admire the craftsmanship of the small schooner and the clean utilitarianism of her design. She was everything Will Turner had said her to be. Under Norrington’s command, she would have been an undeniable force to be reckoned with in the Caribbean. By stealing her – commandeering her, he mentally corrected – he had forestalled the inevitable, but it was foolishness of the shortsighted not to realize more of her kind would follow.

Walking forward Jack Sparrow cast a satisfied glance toward the burning hulk of the Spot. The Dauntless, at her mercy still hard against the sea wall, cloaked in rolling clouds of smoke and unable to move, would be trapped there until the remains of the pirate vessel could be pulled away from her stern. He sent a solemn salute in the direction of the wounded man-o-war, then turned his back and moved to the rail. From there he watched the Star’s longboats with their bound cargo released to the shifting morning tides.

At the stern, LaBouche and two other crewmen held the ropes to one of the Pearl’s boats steady as the remaining members of the boarding crew slid over the side and into the crowded boat. Grappling hooks along the schooner’s stern railing were pulled free and tossed to the men waiting in the boat below. A wave to those still onboard and the skiff pulled away from the schooner, turned and stroked powerfully back toward the Black Pearl.

“Mister LaBouche, take the helm; the rest of you hoist the anchor, then man the braces!” With a nod to his helmsman, Sparrow turned again to the bay and watched the masts of the pirate fleet appear out of the lingering darkness and drifting fog. “And when you’re able, Mister LaBouche, let’s open the door and see if those poor excuses for pirates and scalawags can find their way home.”

“Aye, Captain. Put your backs to it, mates, the light’s soon upon us!”

Mounting the steps to the quarterdeck, Sparrow strode purposefully to the stern where the Union Jack hung limply from its standard, wet and lifeless. With a satisfied grin and amused thoughts of a certain British commodore, he hauled the British flag down, dropped the pennon unceremoniously at his feet and removed the dark bundle from his shirt. With one last glance toward the trapped fleet, he attached the stoutly sewn ties to the line, pulled it taut and started it upward. The flag climbed steadily up the staff, caught the wind and opened to display white skull and crossed cutlasses against a black field; the colors of the Black Pearl and a signal to the pirate fleet that one of their own now guarded their escape.

A moment later the flag spotted, the wounded sloops still afloat opened their sails to the freshening breezes and made for the open waters beyond the bay. Those unable to make it out of Port Royal’s waters were left behind, their crews rescued from the sea, when possible, by those making their escape.

Reaching the safety of open waters, one of the small battered sloops paused long enough to send a parting shot well ahead of the Star’s bow in gratitude before trimming her tattered sails and coming about on a course that would take her to Tortuga.

Sparrow touched fingertips to his forehead in an answering salute as the fleet disappeared into the morning fog. Behind him he could hear his crewmen struggling to bring the Star’s anchor up from the bottom. Short-handed as they were, it would be a few minutes yet before they could get underway. A light splash, followed by another and he rolled his eyes heavenward. Especially, if they didn’t put their backs into it and stop losing the last few feet of anchor chain to Davy Jones. With the Dauntless helpless and the Star under his command, Jack Sparrow slowly relaxed and allowed his thoughts to wander.

Once the Star was ready to sail, he would send Will Turner back to the Pearl with the remaining boat and take the helm until they were clear of Port Royal and safely away. He smiled in anticipation of the joy and the pride of ownership he would see on the face of his quartermaster when she stepped aboard her own ship. Of course, as captain of the Morning Star she would have to reserve most of that joy for later during those special hours they would share in her cabin or his aboard the Pearl. An anticipatory grin broke the stern features of the pirate captain. Before that, however, he reminded himself, he would have to see that Bootstrap’s boy and the governor’s spirited daughter were returned safely to the lives both thought they wanted. He shook his head, remembering the note Elizabeth Swann had left at her bedside the night before. She was going to be doing a lot of explaining before that was allowed to rest. He chuckled again at the thought. Under his feet the Star began to move.

v v v v v

At the helm of the Morning Star, Jean La Bauche lifted a triumphant fist with a shout as the pirate fleet made their escape from the bay, adding his cheers to those of his crewmen when the last of the fleet sent a shot across their bow. With the Dauntless unable to fire on them because of the billowing dark clouds of smoke that continued to drift across her decks and the fort guns silenced for probably the same reasons, the small sloops had been relatively safe until the smoke cleared and daylight left them sitting targets. He glanced eastward and frowned. Their reprieve would have been short-lived indeed had not the Morning Star been taken by Jack Sparrow.

Shifting his attention fore, his frown deepened. Judging by the slow turn of the windlass, his two crewmen were not applying themselves with the necessary vigor to raise the heavy anchor before daylight. “Put your backs into it, ye’ sea dogs!” he called out sternly. “Or you’ll have us under the fort’s guns with first light and hanged at Gallows Point by the last!”

“Well spoken, pirate.”

The hard-edged words tempered with soft sarcasm, accompanied by the touch of the cold barrel of a pistol in the hollow behind his right ear, silenced the black crewman. A quick glance toward the men at the windlass and the pirate knew he could expect no help from that quarter. Both men had lowered their heads and their backs to the task of raising the anchor, neither aware of the man who stood at his back.

“Not a word, ” the voice cautioned. “Lash the wheel.” The cocking of the pistol, loud enough to make him draw a quick breath, put La Bauche into action. Slowly but cautiously, he did as he was told. Again he glanced toward the creaking of the windlass, but his hopes were quickly dashed. The crewmen were hard at their task, made harder still, he knew as the great anchor was dragged from the sea.

“Now move toward your shipmates – slowly…” The pistol stayed at his ear. “If you attract their concern, you’ll be the first to fall. Do you understand…pirate?”

La Bauche was no fool; he nodded and stepped away from the wheel, moving slowly but casually toward the windlass. The men, sensing his approach, only lowered their heads farther and put more effort into their task, fearing his wrath and their captain’s disapproval. A sense of movement, a flash of blue, and a crashing blow was the last the black crewman remembered as he slumped to the deck.

Stepping swiftly past the stricken pirate, the tall man in powdered wig and Naval uniform moved in on the laboring crewmen, taking down first one, then the other with a hard blow from his pistol against the backs of their heads before either had realized his presence. The windlass groaned to a stop, then reversed on its own as the heavy anchor, freed, plunged back to the depths.

The British officer hurriedly glanced aft before slipping his pistol into the belt at his waist. Swiftly, one after the other, he grabbed each of the two crewmen by an ankle, pulled them to the starboard railing and wrestled each over the side and into the water. Checking each time to be sure the slight splashes had gone unnoticed by the pirate in greatcoat and dreadlocks at the stern watching the fleeting sloops. Returning for the black pirate, he groaned under the weight of the bigger heavier man. Weary from the struggle and unable to balance the dead weight momentarily on the railing as he had the others, the British officer released his hold and the black pirate went over the side, the splash of his entry louder than the others. Silently swearing at the unwelcome noise, the officer pulled the pistol from his belt, stepped away from the rail and hard against the mainmast, carefully putting it between his body and the stairs leading to the quarterdeck. When no shout of alarm or movement came from that direction, he slowly relaxed.

Keeping an eye toward the stern, he moved backward to the windlass and felt down the taut anchor rope to its open port. From his belt the officer pulled a boarding axe and with one mighty stroke parted the rope. Leaving the blade of the axe embedded in the railing, he returned to the wheel and checked the lashing before slipping quietly across the deserted deck to take cover behind the stairs leading to the quarterdeck. The ship, free of its anchor and the wheel lashed, started drifting slowly toward the western end of the bay. If nothing stopped her progress, she would beach herself on the rocks in the shallows below Gallows Point.

Still undetected the British officer quickly mounted the stairs to the quarterdeck, the new wood solid under his weight. At the top he spotted his quarry, the pirate’s back to him, legs braced to the motion of the ship. He straightened in grim recognition. Slowly silently he moved forward, his pistol covering his advance.

“Thank you, Captain Sparrow, for getting us ready to make way. We’d have had a hard time of it by ourselves.” The voice was soft in its sarcastic mockery.

Jack Sparrow stiffened at the familiar words spoken by a voice he knew only too well. The words gave a new harsh reality to what he already knew. The ship was under way, slowly, but gathering speed. Their course had not changed or he would have been aware of the shifting booms and the creak of filling sails as they were raised and positioned to catch the wind. But she was moving…adrift? The splash he’d heard – the anchor cut loose – or his men forced over the side. Alive or dead? He had no way of knowing.

Grimacing, the captain of the Black Pearl pivoted gracefully to face his adversary, his arms flung wide and well away from his weapons. The ink-black eyes, kohl enhanced, held no fear or surprise at finding a cocked pistol frighteningly close to his body and in the steady experienced hand of Commodore James Norrington. Lowering his arms, but still keeping his hands carefully away from sword hilt and pistol butt, Sparrow sighed in mock exasperation. “That’s Commodore – Commodore Sparrow.”

A look of mocking bemusement crossed the British officer’s features. “With the coming dawn, I find it likely the Black Pearl will be seen not far off our stern, Sparrow, but one ship – fine as she is – does not make a fleet, Captain.”

“But two fine ships flying my colors do.” Sparrow raised his voice hoping it would carry to the man in the longboat drifting alongside the Star. “Captain Norrington.”

With his ire rising, the British officer’s voice hardened. “Commodore Norrington to you, pirate, and if you are referring to the brig currently lodged against the stern of the Dauntless – and quickly being reduced to cinders – I fear your rank of commodore will be short-lived.”

“Fancy me forgetting something of such importance.” Jack Sparrow took a careful step to one side until the flagstaff at the ship’s stern was in full sight of the British officer. “It would seem three ships fly my colors.” A look of mock seriousness touched the pirate’s handsome features. “But you’re right, mate, I may have been amiss in stating your rank.” He tipped his head in jeering respect of the other, his eyes never leaving the pistol in Norrington’s hand. “Forgive my attempt at kindness, mate. On reflection, you have in truth lost this pretty boat to my fleet, which would have taken your rank from commodore to captain. However…” the teasing grin flashed gold, but the eyes remained hard, “the Dauntless now burns against the seawall below Fort Charles. By my count, Lieutenant Norrington, you have run out of ships...and ranks.”

The muscles along the officer’s jaw line visibly tightened at the sight of the black flag on the mast of the Morning Star and at the mockery in the pirate’s words. “Enough of this, Sparrow…”

“Commodore Sparrow,” the pirate insisted with another flash of gold, only to grow serious as the pistol moved closer.

“This ship is far from taken, pirate, and the Dauntless only crippled,” Norrington stated in cold anger. “You have avoided my rope twice. You will not a third.” He thumbed back the hammer, cocking his weapon in harsh emphasis. “Now drop your pistol and baldric and kick them aside…carefully.”

Left no choice and reading the grim purpose in Norrington’s eyes, Jack Sparrow dropped his left hand and carefully did as he was told. His weapons fell to his feet.

“Kick them aside,” Norrington repeated, putting a hard edge to his order. “Now step past me – slowly.”

Sparrow swept his weapons aside with his boot, but kept his attention on the leveled pistol in Norrington’s hand. A quick glance over the officer’s shoulder showed him the western bank of the bay as they sailed closer. “My crew?”

“Over the side.” Norrington kicked the weapons further from his captive. “If they don’t drown, they’ll have a long swim ahead of them.” Stepping aside, Norrington motioned Sparrow toward the stairs. “Now move ahead of me down to the main deck and to the helm.”

Staying port side, Sparrow edged carefully past the armed officer. His men knew of the boat tethered to the side of the Star; if able, they would make for it. With no one at the helm to turn the schooner’s sails to the wind, the Star’s progress would remain slow, giving them ample time, he hoped, to scramble into the skiff and up her rope. They would know of the danger and would come aboard prepared for it. His thoughts again settled on the young blacksmith. If the lad remained cool-headed and allowed the Pearl’s jettisoned crew to come to his rescue, the boy might still remain anonymous for his part in the attempted commandeering of the British warship. Stay where you are, Will Turner, and don’t do anything stupid, he mumbled under his breath.

Satisfied with having finally silenced the irritating pirate, Norrington fell in step behind Sparrow. “Once we’re at the helm, you will take the wheel, with both hands,” he emphasized, “and keep them where I can see them, Captain Sparrow, or you will finish your last voyage face down on the deck.” He touched the pistol to the back of the pirate captain, than backed off before Sparrow could use the contact to any advantage. “Now move.”

“How was it, Commodore, that you were not on deck when your ship was taken?” Sparrow pressed loudly, slowing his steps to buy time for his crew in the water.

“I was below in my cabin entering the final log to our journey and was unaware of your attack until you had taken my crew,” Norrington defended. “I had no choice but to wait for an opportunity to retake her.” Reaching out with his free hand, Norrington pushed the stalling Sparrow toward the stairs and followed him down.

“More interesting still, how was it possible for my crew to sweep her twice and not be aware of your presence?”

“This ship was built to my specifications, pirate, there are areas of her your crew were not aware of when they made their sweep. “

“In other words, you hid,” Sparrow teased, reaching the helm.

“Grab that wheel, Sparrow, and keep your hands in sight!”

v v v v v

Upon delivering Sparrow and his boarding party to the unsuspecting British schooner, Will Turner sat patiently in the longboat. Except for a few soft muted sounds of struggle, the commandeering of the Star seemed to have been handled quickly and efficiently.

He had watched the schooner’s boats drift away from her side, catch the early morning tide, and bob erratically, but steadily, in the direction of Port Royal, her bound cargo helplessly struggling to free themselves while, at the same time, trying to avoid tipping the small boats. He smiled, sure that the humor of the situation had not been lost on the captain of the Black Pearl. At the speed of the small boats’ progress, it would be daylight before they reached the bay and attracted the attention of anyone. Whether found by civilian or military, the humiliation for the British sailors would be spoken of for many days to come – another knife of irritation inserted in the righteous side of Commodore Norrington by the pirate he had attempted to hang more than once.

Turner slowly shook his head; the humiliation of his crew on top of losing the new ship would not be something the British officer would endure silently. If Sparrow thought himself in the bead of the officer’s gun sights before, he was sure to know his actions of tonight would put him on Norrington’s short list to be hunted down and hanged without excuse or trial. It had been a bold move, but not one that had surprised Turner.

Having endured his own humiliation more than once at the hands of Norrington, while being called the ‘worst pirate’ the commodore had ever seen, Jack Sparrow seemed more than willing to put himself at the top of Norrington’s ‘wanted’ list for a chance to prove again and again that he was ‘the best pirate’ the British officer would see while serving in the Caribbean.

Hailed by the boarding crew in the second boat, Turner gave an answering wave and watched them put their backs into their return to the Black Pearl. Counting the bobbing heads against the semi-darkness, he calculated Jack Sparrow and two, maybe three, of his crew had remained aboard the captured vessel.

From his position on the port side of the schooner, Will couldn’t see the western end of the bay where the pirate fleet had been pressed to avoid the heaviest barrage from the fort, but he had heard their parting shot sent well ahead of the Star, and knew they had made their escape from the bay and would now be well into open waters and sailing away from the sure death they had faced only moments before…at least those still able to make the run.

A splash, then another, pulled his attention again from his thoughts. He frowned. Had there been two…or three splashes? He was unsure and berated himself for having allowed his attention to wander. Reaching for the rope that bound his boat to the schooner, he pulled it closer to the ship’s hull, while he tuned his senses to the sounds around him. It was quiet. Too quiet? He didn’t know, but waited anxiously. Thrashing from the opposite side of the schooner? Could there be someone in the water? Now alert to the possibility of trouble, Will was suddenly conscious of the distance that had lengthened again between the British schooner and the small boat; the Star was moving! For a moment, he relaxed, then stiffened. The sails had not moved, but remained half raised, the booms unchanged. She was moving not away from Port Royal’s bay, but towards its western edge and his small boat was being pulled along with her.

He looked up at the ship’s railing far above his head, but could see nothing aboard her from his position so low in the water. By now he should have had some contact with Sparrow, if nothing more than to explain the change of course. Therefore, he reasoned, once again Jack Sparrow’s plans had gone awry. How badly? With the pirate captain, it was always impossible to tell. But more and more his instincts pointed to a suspicion that at least a couple of the Pearl’s crew had gone overboard. Forced? Why else? The splashes had come from the starboard side. If the men were alive and able, they would know of the longboat tethered abaft the Star’s port beam and would make for her. But the schooner was moving, and should her speed increase, they would be unable to swim fast enough to catch her.

His decision made Will grabbed the tethering rope with one hand and, with the blade of his boarding axe, cut it close to the bow with the other. Taking a firm grip on the rough rope, he shoved the axe handle under his belt, kicked the boat free and, hand over hand, Will climbed until he was just below the port railing at mid ship. There, with a booted foot in an open gun port, he rested. Below him the longboat bobbed in the gentle morning chop, drifting slowly away from the departing schooner. If the crew could reach it, they would have little trouble rowing after the Star. With the end of the rope he hung from trailing in the water, they would be able to again tether to the Star and climb aboard…hopefully in time…to get Jack Sparrow out of whatever trouble the unpredictably brash pirate captain had found himself in.

Shifting his attention back to his own precarious position, Will Turner was thankful for the final dregs of darkness that would enable him to remain unseen for a little while longer; long enough, he hoped, to get some inkling of the situation onboard.

Using his foot to bear most of his weight, he eased up until he could see through the port railing. The ship looked deserted. To the fore he could see the wheel lashed in place, but no one at the helm. Shifting his weight and swinging his body slowly in the other direction, he looked aft and stiffened. At the stern he had caught movement. Straining against the darkness that now was more foe than friend, he tried to make out the shadowy figures of what looked to be two men.

Holding himself in place, his arms straining against the drag of his body and his hands white-knuckled around the coarse rope, he was thankful for the hours at the forge that had strengthened the one and callused the other. He was uncomfortable but in no fear of falling. He could maintain his position, hopefully for the time needed to figure out what he faced and decide if it was something Jack Sparrow couldn’t handle alone.

Voices, low at first, then louder reached the Pearl’s swordsman but he could not make out the words nor recognize the voices. However, the tones of the conversation were obvious, one in teasing mockery, the other in sarcastic monotone. He listened in dismay. If he were pressed to put names to the voices, he would have said it was a verbal give and take between a man trying to buy time and another trying to contain his anger – Jack Sparrow and Commodore Norrington. Will’s blood ran cold. The likely situation became frighteningly clear. Somehow Norrington had been missed when the crew made its sweep of the ship prior to their return to the Pearl. The British officer had surprised the remaining crew when they had been ordered fore to ready the schooner to sail and Jack had gone to the stern – to do what? Of course, he reasoned, the pirate fleet would have been Sparrow’s first concern. The only way to alert the fleet that their way out of the bay was clear past the Star was to remove the Union Jack from her stern. Although he couldn’t see the flagpole from his precarious position, Will was willing to bet Sparrow’s colors now flew in the place of the British flag. Since both men were at the stern, it was likely that’s where Norrington had gotten the drop on the pirate captain.

Movement from the stern, a rise in voices and Will Turner pulled his head below the railing, allowing his body to slip carefully down until he was confident he could not be seen by those on deck should they walk along the port rail. The strain on his arms and hands was becoming uncomfortable and he realized he would soon have to relieve that strain or lose his grip on the rope. Without the skiff under him, he would fall into the sea and be as helpless to rescue Sparrow as the crewmen he hoped were struggling toward the boat left adrift for them. Above him the voices became louder, then passed his location and moved fore. His worst fears were realized. Norrington, once again, had managed to get the drop on Jack Sparrow and the Morning Star was on a collision course with the western shoreline. With dawn’s first light, Norrington’s Marines would see the ship and rush to the commodore’s aid. Once aground and surrounded by overwhelming odds, Jack Sparrow would again await the hangman’s pleasure.

Quickly Turner regained his position at the rail and again shoved a booted foot into the gun-port, easing the strain on his arms and hands. His biceps ached and twitched from the prolonged strain, his hands reddened by the rough rope, but unharmed thanks in part to the leather padding still bound around his sword hand. The rough leather had kept that hand firm on the rope, while his left had grown sweaty and begun to slip. He anxiously checked the schooner’s position. The western shoreline could be seen in the fading darkness and the first light of dawn was at their backs…they were about out of time. He glanced fore. Jack stood at the helm, his hands on the wheel, Norrington behind him, his pistol at the pirate’s back.

Will closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. In an attempt to keep him from being drawn into the life his father had lived…the life of a pirate…a life that promised a short and often violent end, Jack had ordered him not to get involved in the raid. If he rushed to Jack’s aid, he would take another step in that direction. Only this time it would be a step he could not retrace. There was no way he could get over the rail and behind Norrington without the British officer seeing him. Once he was seen, his life would change. There would be no reasonable excuse for his actions when he stood before the British officer in clothing spattered with blood, on the deck of an embattled British warship, coming to the aid of a known pirate. There would be no leniency afforded him this time by Governor Swann. And what of Elizabeth? If he took this step, she would be lost to him forever. He could not ask her to give up all that she had to follow him into lawlessness.

Looking up, Will saw the beginnings of the shallows ahead of the ship. Glancing down and port aft, he was rewarded with the sight of a longboat moving towards him, shadowy figures straining at the oars in an attempt to catch the Star. They would make it soon…but not soon enough. With another sigh, Will Turner made his decision and knew it was the right one…the only one…his conscience would allow him to make.

v v v v v

Jack Sparrow stood at the helm, his hands on the wheel of the Morning Star as she moved ever closer to the shallows above Gallows Point. Had his crew made it to the longboat? Might they even now be rowing in an effort to catch up with the Star? Or had Will Turner been forced to release the tether and row to their rescue? It was supposition at best and a last gasp of hope for the desperate. It was also possible, he reminded himself, that the young blacksmith was still in the skiff being pulled along at the schooner’s port side wondering what had set her adrift toward the shallows. If that was the case, the lad had to know something was wrong. Sparrow’s hands tightened on the wheel. If the son of Bootstrap Bill got it into his head that his help was needed, Sparrow had little doubt the boy would outlaw himself in an effort to come to his rescue; he’d done so before. Sparrow hoped it would not be necessary, but those hopes were rapidly dwindling.

The touch of cold iron ripped Sparrow’s attention back from the direction his thoughts had taken him and he jerked his head about in surprise. Norrington, the pistol momentary shoved in his belt, had come up behind him and without warning snapped an iron to his right wrist and another to his left, the chain between the two threaded through the inner spokes of the wheel. With an inbred instinct for survival and the surprise of the sudden action, Sparrow yanked frantically at the chain. His actions ceased with the touch of cold steel at his temple.

“Now why did you have to go and do that, mate?” Sparrow fenced lightly, growing still under the pistol’s touch. “Just when we were getting along so well.”

“Because, Captain Sparrow, I think we are soon to have company and I wouldn’t want you to ruin the surprise.” With the pirate chained to the wheel, the British officer pulled a laced handkerchief from a breast pocket, wadded it into a tight ball and shoved it into Sparrow’s mouth. “Now we won’t have to listen to anymore of your nonsense, pirate.

Sparrow stood in stunned silence. Surprise? We? Sparrow rolled his head back and for a brief moment closed his eyes as the truth of the situation took form in a mind still reeling from the sudden turn of events. Shaking free of the numbing effects of Norrington’s comments, Jack Sparrow’s mind clicked into high gear. It had been a trap from the moment the British officer had found his ship under attack, Sparrow reasoned. His mistake had been in once again underestimating the British officer. This time it might cost more lives than just his own.

“Drop your pistol, Commodore, and step away.”

Commodore James Norrington slowly turned, his pistol held in a non-threatening manner, its barrel pointed downward. There was no sign of surprise as he stared into the youthful features of the young blacksmith and the bore of a flintlock pistol in his hand. “Very rash, Mister Turner, very rash. But you do seem to make a habit of that, don’t you?”

Will’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “It is not my wish to harm you, Commodore, but I will ask you only once again to drop your weapon and step away from Jack.”

Allowing the pistol to drop carelessly from his hand, Norrington studied the young man before him, taking in the sword scratches on his face and the dried blood on his clothing. “Had a busy evening, have we, Mister Turner?” His gaze hardened. “It would seem you have stayed true to your blood and followed in the footsteps of your father.”

Behind the British officer, Jack Sparrow fought desperately to turn enough to make eye contact with Bootstrap’s son, mumbling frantically through the gag, but to no avail. The boy’s attention was on Norrington. Sparrow sighed in helpless frustration.

“I am not a pirate,” Will denied softly. “Nor did I…or Jack…take any part in the attack against Port Royal.”

A look of disbelief and boredom crossed the commodore’s face. “Really, Mister Turner, you expect me to believe that when you stand before me in clothing soaked with blood, your face scratched from battle, sword and axe at your belt and a pistol on a Naval officer aboard a commandeered British warship?”

Knowing the man’s observations could not be easily explained and no longer having the desire to do so, Will Turner stiffened in acceptance. “You’re right, of course.” He cocked the pistol. “Now release Jack and quickly!”

“I think not, Mister Turner. Gillette!”

Jack Sparrow sighed through his gag and slumped helplessly against the wheel.

From behind him Will Turner felt the hard bore of a pistol. A hand reached over his shoulder and jerked the flintlock from his grip, then shoved him roughly forward. Stumbling into the pirate bound to the Star’s wheel, Will turned to face the gloating countenance of the commodore’s favorite lackey, Lieutenant Gillette.

“Well done, Lieutenant.” Norrington’s attention returned to the suspected pirate. “Did you really think you had not been noticed, Mister Turner? From below deck we could hear your boat bumping against the Star’s hull.” Picking up his pistol, Norrington again covered the young blacksmith. “Now step lively and help the lieutenant trim the sails. Sparrow, you have the wheel, on my signal you will come about. I see no good reason to ground the Star now that we have all the players aboard.”

Suddenly and without warning, materializing out of the last dregs of darkness, the form of a wooden lady with arm held high, a bird taking wing from her outstretched hand, came at the Star from her port bow. The schooner shuddered as the massive hull of the Black Pearl struck her with a glancing blow, pushing the Star away from the shallows. With a dozen grapping hooks dragging ropes thrown over her rails, the two ships were drawn together. Men armed with cutlasses and pistols swarmed over the side of the galley and onto the deck of the schooner.

Taking advantage of the attack, Jack Sparrow kicked out, catching Norrington a hard blow to the lower back. The British officer, thrown forward, stumbled into the unsuspecting blacksmith, taking them both to the deck. Forcing his tongue behind the wad of perfumed material, Sparrow worked the gag loose and spat it out. “And he calls himself a man…”

Unarmed and bound to the wheel of the Star, Sparrow watched the first wave of his crew charge past Gillette, shoving him roughly aside in their fervor to reach Norrington. Off balanced by the unexpected attack, Gillette stumbled, righted himself, then turned his pistol towards Jack, his expression leaving no doubt of his intention.

Seeing the weapon leveled in his direction and far too close for comfort, Sparrow threw himself to the deck and scurried behind the wheel, his bound arms stretched to their limit.

Struck hard from behind by the second wave and just before being borne down by the overwhelming weight of numbers, Gillette pulled the trigger.

A sharp crack and Jack felt the hard thump of the ball hit the solid wood of the wheel only inches from his face; his eyes widened to his danger. “Will someone, please, disarm that idiot before he kills someone!” Sparrow shouted from the slim protection offered by the ship’s helm. “Like me…” he finished under his breath, realizing his order had likely gone unheard in the chaos of shouts and scuffling bodies moving in and around the two British officers.

Rough hands grabbed Gillette and Norrington, wrestled both to their feet and, to Sparrow’s relief, disarmed them. Others helped Will Turner up and quickly moved him away from the captured officers. Standing amid the angry boarding crew from the Black Pearl, both men gave in to the helplessness of their situation and fell silent.

His arms forced behind him, Norrington stood tall amidst the armed pirates, his demeanor seemingly unaffected by his danger as he watched a man with heavy muttonchops laced with gray, push to the front and stop before him; the commodore’s eyes widened in surprised recognition. “Mister Gibbs. So this is what has become of you. Sailing under the colors of a pirate.”

“Aye,” Joshamee Gibbs replied with a smirk. “It pays better than the Navy, commodore, and the hours are less demanding.” Reaching into the officer’s clothing, the Pearl’s first mate made a quick and thorough search, found the key he sought, and tossed it to the young blacksmith. “Will, lad, would you be kindly releasing the captain from the wheel of our quartermaster’s ship?”

Will Turner grinned and pushed past the British lieutenant held by his arms between two burly crewmen. Reaching Jack’s side, he quickly freed the anxious pirate.

“You’ll not get away with this, Sparrow…nor you, Turner,” Norrington threatened in cold certainty.

“Oh, I think they already have.”

Norrington stiffened in the arms of his captors, then watched in stunned surprise as Elizabeth Swann shouldered her way through the surrounding crew to stand before the startled officer.

“Elizabeth.” His face registered his dismay.

“Where is my father, James? He left Port Royal with you.”

“He was on the Dauntless and is, no doubt, home by now and worried, I’m sure, at finding you absent upon his arrival.” He sought her gaze and held it. “It was hard enough to think I had lost you to a lowly blacksmith, Elizabeth, but now I find you here…at his side…” He glanced down at her attire in horror. “Dressed as – as–”

“A pirate?” she finished for him. “Looks can sometimes be deceiving, James.” She stepped closer. “Will…and Jack…brought me aboard the Pearl to save me from the attack on Port Royal.”

“While that might seem a charitable act to some–” the commodore’s hard gaze sought and momentarily held the amused one of the pirate captain. Sparrow gave him a quick smile and a flash of gold, but made no retort. “–It cannot justify their attack against Port Royal, the Dauntless, and this ship. These men will hang for actions in these waters this night, Elizabeth.”

“Will Turner had no part in the attack against Port Royal…nor did Jack Sparrow or the crew of the Black Pearl,” Elizabeth snapped, disappointed in the stubborn disbelief she could read in the officer’s eyes. “But you’re not going to believe that, are you? Even from me.”

Norrington pulled his attention from the young woman and gazed about him, taking in each member of the Pearl’s motley and angry crew before returning his gaze to the woman he had once offered his heart. “Even if that were true, Elizabeth, and they were innocent…” He shifted his gaze again toward Sparrow, then back to the woman standing before him. “…A word not usually associated with pirate, what of their involvement in the taking of this ship, a ship of His Royal Majesty’s fleet? That alone and of itself is a hanging offense.” He shifted his attention again to the pirate captain who stood to the right of the young woman, then to the young blacksmith who stood on her left, his hand in hers. “There will be no clemencies given this time, Elizabeth, no head-starts, only ropes reserved at Gallows Point!”

“Careful, James,” Elizabeth cautioned with a smile. “I wouldn’t speak of hanging at the moment, were I you.”

“Aye!” Gibbs and several others pushed forward menacingly. “Twice you have tried to hang our captain,” the first mate accused. “And had we not stopped you, you would have attempted to do so again. You threatened three of the crew and threw them overboard with no regard for their safety.” Mumbles of agreement surged through the crew, while Jack Sparrow looked on in eye-rolling amusement.

“Really…” Norrington snapped in cold defiance. “What I have done, Mister Gibbs, is my duty; to my country, to my command and to the people of the Caribbean upon whom the likes of you prey.” He turned to face Elizabeth again. “Say what you will in their defense, Elizabeth, but past deeds speak against them. They are pirates and the scourge of the Caribbean.” He turned his gaze to the young blacksmith at her side. “And Mister Turner has outlawed himself by his willing participation in the attack against this ship and her command.”

“Will was not among the boarding party who captured your ship, James,” Elizabeth argued angrily. “He only came aboard when he feared Jack’s life was in danger. You would outlaw him for that?”

“Indeed,” Norrington replied stubbornly.

“Through you have no proof, you would outlaw a fine man merely by association!”

Norrington met her anger with disbelief. “Look at him, Elizabeth, and tell me his actions this night were those of an honest blacksmith!” Norrington hardened his resolve. “He was given clemency for his actions not once, but twice by your father, for illegal actions taken in the company of pirates. The next time I have him before me, it will be on a gallows trap.”

“And you don’t think it possible that your words here alone – forget your actions against Jack Sparrow and his crew in the past – might not warrant some forgiveness on your part, James?” she suggested. Murmurs from the crew at her back rose in anger and several voiced the suggestion of allowing the commodore a rope of his own.

For the first time, Norrington felt the uncertainty of his situation. “It would be a death sentence for every man here if Gillette or I were harmed in any way.”

“Aye, but you forget, mate, by your own words we are pirates,” Sparrow interjected, stepping forward and into the face of the British officer. “And hanging innocent British officers from their own yardarms is what pirates do.” Sparrow pushed further into the face of the visibly shaken officer. “And whatever offenses you charge to my name…and the names of my crew…the fact is…” he paused and a fleeting smile touched his sensuous lips, “we’ve already been condemned to your rope and can only hang once.” Sparrow eased back with a teasing manner, but a serious light flickered in the dark eyes. “Now, mate, as commodore of this fleet,” Sparrow swept the air with an outstretched arm to take in the Star and the Pearl. “I hereby offer you a chance to save yourself…and…” Sparrow looked down his nose at Gillette. “…This piece of bilge scum…from my crew and their ropes.”

Norrington remained wisely silent, but his gaze bore into that of the pirate captain with open distain from the helplessness of his situation.

“Now you could delay us further and…” Sparrow looked to the east where the first rays of dawn were struggling toward the horizon. “We can all attend your and the lieutenant’s hanging or…” He pointed to the Star’s starboard railing. “I can offer you the same courtesy you once accorded me…a long swim and a day’s head-start.” Sparrow smiled. “What say you, Captain Norrington?”

Ignoring the pirate’s dig, Norrington shifted his attention away from Sparrow. “Elizabeth, what am I to tell your father?”

Elizabeth Swann turned her attention from the officer to look into the handsome features of the young blacksmith. “Tell him I’m with the man I love…and at his side I will stay.”

“And the taking of this ship…?”

Elizabeth met the officer’s anguish. “That you will have to take up with Jack. You’re a good man, James Norrington, but I fear this battle has already been decided – and you lose.” She smiled sadly at the hurt she read in the officer’s eyes. “Now I suggest you take Jack’s offer before he changes his mind.”

The crew sent up a cheer, enveloped the British officers in their midst and roughly pushed them toward the starboard railing. Once there each officer was grabbed unceremoniously by arms and legs and, with another vigorous cheer, heaved overboard.

Jack Sparrow pushed his way to the rail and called down to the two men thrashing in the warm waters of the Caribbean. “Thank you again, Commodore, for the fine ship…and do let me know when you have another like her, won’t you?” Turning on his heel with a flourish of swinging braids, dreadlocks, and beads, Captain Jack Sparrow addressed his crew. “Mister Gibbs, to the helm! Unlash the boats, ye seadogs, strike the sails and bring her about! We sail for home!”