Pirate in the Blood
It's a beautiful late summer day. Anne's at work. Emma's at a hockey game. I am alone in the house for the first time in yonks.
So I typed up
Pirate in the Blood
Part 2
Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment only and I am making no profit from it. "Pirates of the Caribbean" and the characters within belong to Disney; I am only borrowing them and no harm is intended with this story. Please do not post elsewhere without permission from the author.
Fair and sharpish stood the winds off Port Royal that day, and his Pearl bounded acrost the sea with the exhuberance of dolphins in her bones. Jack's teeth went dry from grinning into the wind; his fierce joy was too deep for mere song, but when the Black Pearl hummed to him, he tried to hum back.
"Sorry, love; need t'wet m'whistle." Fingers trailed along the crazed wood of the wheel, then flicked sharply in the air, summoning a nearby crewman. "Hold steady th' course," Jack Sparrow ordered. He relinquished the wheel with a lingering caress. "Back in a flash, m'love." Quartetto shot him a wary look.
Down the deck he strutted, hips loose, arms swinging in expansive arcs, just a heartbeat from flinging himself into the embrace of the Pearl's rigging and letting her rock and rock him. "Another eve, m'lady, when the lines be a mite less cobweb-like."
In captain's quarters he rummaged through tangled clots of quietly mouldering soiled clothing and shredded linens until he unearthed a bottle. An odor of foulness rose from the carpet-- it was dark with filth, spongey with rot beneath his boots. He crossed to a wall cabinet, stepping gingerly. Instead of a Frenchman's crystal decanter, he found wadded-up shirts, their once-exquisite lace black with mold.
"Blearg!" Jack jerked back in disgust. Tilting his head as far back as he could, he extended one arm and fastidiously pinched a fold of stained fabric between his long fingers. But when he extracted the shirt, a pouf of powdery mildew showered out along with it and set off a tremendous sneezing fit.
He flung the offending garment to the carpet, and, shielding his nose with his own dirty coat sleeve, fled the cabin.
A search of the galley turned up the other ingredients he sought, along with a prodigious amount of food turning to slime or hard fuzzy lumps, a swirl of shiny fat flies, and droppings. Rat droppings. Of truly disturbing size.
"Rats," Jack muttered, backing out of the galley. "In m'Pearl." She moaned deep in her aching timbers, and he nodded, patted the nearest wall. "I hear y' m'love. Don't fret-- ol' Jack'll sort y' soon enough."
He made his way back on deck, some of the swagger gone from his stride now. From his coat pocket he drew the bottle with one motion while shooing Quartetto from the wheel with another. The warm wood was balm in his hand, and she hummed again to him. Jack took a long pull on the bottle, smacked his lips, and hummed back.
Ahh. That were a sweet, sweet feelin', that were.
"Cap'n? You want I should take the wheel a spell?" Gibbs sidled up, looking askance at the bottle.
Jack flapped one hand. "B'gone, you. A lil' squizzle so's I can hum a lullaby isn't worth twistin' your linen o'er." He took another swig, throat working as he swallowed deeply. "Ahhh. Hits th' spot, that does. If you're looking for something that'll be of assistance, Mr. Gibbs, you might take Quartetto there along into my quarters and turn out the cupboards for any of Barbossa's effects. There seems to be a bit of a miasma brewing."
Gibbs looked pained, but he nodded. "Aye, sir."
Jack tucked the bottle beneath his elbow and flipped open his compass to check the heading. "Roll up that disreputable excuse for a carpet, too, if y'please," he called back, "and give it th' heave-ho."
The sun set over Jack Sparrow's left shoulder and still he stood at the wheel, humming and swaying lightly, nipping contentedly at his bottle from time to time. As his hand remained steady and their course true, the crew's apprehension faded , to be replaced by awe at his ability to hold his rum.
Jack figured there was no gain to be had from telling them the bottle contained equal amounts of sweet water and tart lime as potent rum. This was no time to be getting spirits-drowsy, after all, not on his first night back with his Pearl.
The horizon spread before the figurehead, so wide with possibilities that it merged with the sky and soared on, above him, past him, and outward.
~~~~~
Isla de Muerta protruded from the blue waves off the port bow like a black crusted scab. Jack clapped his spyglass shut and spun to face the crew. "Deserted, just as I said! And all that gold restin' in those chambers like honey in a hive, a-waiting to be scooped up. So we're all of an accord?"
The cries of "Aye!" were widely scattered amongst more generalized uneasy mutterings. Jack wilted, hurt. Even his fluttering scarves drooped.
"Not in accord? After votin' all par-lay-mentary procedure-like an' all?"
"Aye, we voted, Jack," Marty grated from the front rank.
"Voted not to be set ashore on Hispaniola, ripe for pickin' by Navy scum," Kursar put in with a sour stare.
"You owe me a boat, Jack," Anamaria reminded him.
"Aye! And what better way to scare one up than with the application of a bit o' gold?" Jack asked winningly. He cocked his head and swept the line of crewmembers with a sloe-eyed glance. "Gold, mates-- all y' can carry," he confided in a whisper. "Five stay aboard to keep watch on me Pearl, the rest bring every sack, every crate and keg to be found aboard and row ashore. We fill 'em with coin, come back and spill 'em out on deck, and divide out the shiny, even shares to every one-a y'." He smiled, long, dirty fingers fluttering. "Onesie-by-onesie, 'til we're all donesie. Just like Noah's ark... near enough."
"Who?" a man in back asked. And, "Heathen!" another replied.
Jack grinned, showing gold teeth. "Gold, gentlemen... and lady," he added with a short bow to Anamaria. "Knee-deep, as it were. Drippin' down the walls and poolin' on the floor like sunshine." His gaze roved over the assembled crew. "Think of your heart's desire," he said softly. He stopped on Anamaria. "I know yours."
Mouth tight, she jerked a grudging nod. "A boat. My boat."
"A crate of rum, and deck to drink it on." That was Gibbs, looking wistful.
"Pistol. A good 'un. And powder, shot, and a fine leather belt to hold it all."
"Full belly, full bottle, full bed... every night without fail."
"M'pockets jinglin' like a rich man's purse."
"Wimmin. 'Least one fer each day o'th'week!" Laughter greeted this one.
"Respect."
The laughter was silenced by Marty's single gruff word. Jack nodded slowly. "Aye, there's the rub-- respect. Already brave sailors y' are, with the self-respect to go with it. But the gold in that cavern'll assure y' get the outside respect due a rich man... and woman."
For a long moment, the Pearl rocked to the melody of waves and wind. Then Joshamee Gibbs stirred. "Launch the boats, lads! Fetch sacks and crates!" he bellowed.
The tense gathering broke into a relieved scramble. Straws were drawn, and all but five men took up every container that hands could be laid upon and made for the longboats. The crew set out for the island in a welter of excited chatter and laughter.
Jack knelt in the bow of the lead boat and watched Isla de Muerta's damp black maw fill his field of vision. No fear chewed at his guts-- he'd already seen the worst this cursed chunk of rock could throw his way. Happy thoughts of sound planks and uncorrupted canvas filled his mind.
Behind him, the voices died away with each pull of the oars. The plash of water nearly covered the low muttering that started up-- nearly, but not completely.
Then, "Jack!" came a sharp call from the next boat.
He turned 'round. "Yes, love?"
Anamaria ignored the endearment. "I don't like this. It don't feel right."
"Feels damp. Clammy, even. Normal-like for a high spot in the sea."
She shook her head; he could see her face in the light of the lantern, angled with shadows and apprehension. "No, Jack. It feels wrong to be goin' in there, into that black."
"'Long as none o' y' so much as breathes on yon stone chest I've warned y' about, there's naught to fear. Rest of the treasure's not cursed-- it's just swag, lonely and chilly and wanting to be warmed in the pockets of Captain Jack Sparrow's crew." He smiled encouragingly.
She shifted nervously. "Ain't right, Jack. Ain't safe."
"Now don't be starting that!" he said, sharpness overriding wheedling reassurance. "You'll conjure trouble from thin air!"
Anamaria sucked in her breath. "Don't speak of conjuring, Jack Sparrow!"
"Meant no disrespect. No harm'll come to us, on me honor-- the curse is lifted! The gods're tucked up all dozy an' appeased-like. Already hauled out a pretty passel in me own two arms, didn't I? Not my fault bloody Norrington confiscated it all!"
"And look what happened to you after," Marty growled.
"Aye! Landed back on me sweet Pearl with just a bit of a sore neck!" Jack shot back. He glanced down at his rowers, who had slackened off until the oars rested idle in their locks. The current was wheeling them slowly away from the cavern mouth, slyly pushing them back toward the waterlogged skeletons of the dozens of sunken ships clogging the passage. "Pull!" he roared. "Pull, I say!"
The boats jerked forward once more. Anamaria shivered, her fingers twisting in a half-forgotten warding charm. "I got a bad feelin'," she moaned, but she said it low enough that Jack could pretend not to hear.
The slap of waves against rocks grew louder. The steep shoreline stretched upward, glistening with rivulets of spray. Jack raised the bow lantern, and its beams reached into the cavern mouth.
Shining back came the seductive soft glow of pure gold.
The crew gasped as one. The rowers stopped again, water dripping from their oars, and everyone stared in wonder.
Not even across the threshhold yet, and gold glimmered from cracks in the rocky walls and from beneath the dark water. Coral outcroppings had snagged chains and bracelets, and a jeweled goblet rested on a narrow ledge as if someone had set down a drink and just stepped away for a moment. A wooden chest sat inches above the high tide line, its bands corroded by the salt air. A waterfall of tarnished silver coins spilled from a hole in the rotted slats.
"Blimey!" someone whispered.
"It be true, then," murmered another.
"'Course it is!" Jack said stoutly. He motioned. "Pull, mates."
They made to resume rowing again, but as their oars dipped into the lapping black waves, there was a strangled gasp from the second boat. Anamaria lurched to her feet. "No!" she cried. "T'isn't safe to pass within!"
"Anamaria... " Jack groaned.
But she stepped from the bottom of the boat, stepped clean out of her boots and up onto the thwart. And before anyone could react, she made a tight dive over the gunwale and struck out for the Black Pearl, swimming away with desperate strength.
Jack watched her go. "Keep your eyeballs fixed on the Pearl, Cotton. First sign of her being scarpered off, give me a whistle," he said flatly.
The old man swung over the side to a flat area near the cave entrance, his parrot flapping to keep its perch.
"Red sky at morning!" it squawked agreeably.
The others continued on into the cavern, the rowers unhooking the oars from the oarlocks and using them as paddles in the narrow course. The whispers were only awed now, and hands reached out, reached down, to pluck up stray coins and gems. Jack smiled grimly. He had them hooked now, by Neptune!
One by one, the Pearl's boats scraped up onto the landing. Jack hopped out and turned to face his crew, holding up his hands. "Men: listen here."
They froze in the act of clambering out and looked warily at him.
"Take what fits easy-like in the sacks and leave the bulky trinkets behind. Gold coin spends quicker'n baubles needing to be bartered or sold, and divides neater than crowns and kettles. And whatever you do-- don't touch the stone chest, on pain of eternal damnation." He saw throats bob with deep gulps. Taking advantage of their momentary fear, he whipped a burlap sack out of his belt, spun, and galloped up the path worn between the rocks.
The crew leapt to action with outraged howls, pounding along after him. Long-legged Crimp took the lead... and when he made the main chamber and slammed to a stop, the rest of the crew piled into his back.
It was so silent the drip of water from the ceiling could be clearly heard. Off to one side came a metallic-sounding avalanche as Jack scampered up one treasure heap.
"Mother o'God," Gibbs breathed reverently.
It was Aladdin's cave, El Dorado... and it was all theirs.
Above them, Jack used a splint to transfer flame from his lantern to a torch in the wall. Light flared, dazzling off a decade's-worth of plunder, so sweet and golden it could be drunk like honey.
"It be a dragon's hoard!" young Thatch gasped.
"Aye!" Jack called down cheerfully. "But without the dragon!"
Gibbs clapped his hands. "To work, men! Kursar! Light the torches along that wall! Crimp! The ones on that arch! To salvagin', ye swabbies, and let no man slack by!"
There was a mad scramble across the cavern as the crew dashed to whatever spot caught their eye. Although most followed Jack's directive to scoop up easily transacted gold coins, some could not help but pocket a jewel or a heavy pocketwatch or an intricately-carved ivory figurine.
From high atop his treasure aerie, Jack watched for a moment, but all were toiling away with a will now. Marty upended a sturdy chest of porcelain and wood shavings, and used a silver tray to shovel gold doubloons into it instead. Gibbs had hung a topaz-studded crucifix around his neck but was now absorbed in piling coins into sugar sacks. Moises and Tearlach were already dragging a filled crate back toward the landing.
Aye, there would be sufficient swag to refit his Pearl keel to crow's nest, with enough bits and bobs left over to appease the crew until the next prize.
Jack grinned, and in the flickering torchlight he looked for a moment like a particularly cunning fox.
~~~To be concluded
So I typed up
Pirate in the Blood
Part 2
Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment only and I am making no profit from it. "Pirates of the Caribbean" and the characters within belong to Disney; I am only borrowing them and no harm is intended with this story. Please do not post elsewhere without permission from the author.
Fair and sharpish stood the winds off Port Royal that day, and his Pearl bounded acrost the sea with the exhuberance of dolphins in her bones. Jack's teeth went dry from grinning into the wind; his fierce joy was too deep for mere song, but when the Black Pearl hummed to him, he tried to hum back.
"Sorry, love; need t'wet m'whistle." Fingers trailed along the crazed wood of the wheel, then flicked sharply in the air, summoning a nearby crewman. "Hold steady th' course," Jack Sparrow ordered. He relinquished the wheel with a lingering caress. "Back in a flash, m'love." Quartetto shot him a wary look.
Down the deck he strutted, hips loose, arms swinging in expansive arcs, just a heartbeat from flinging himself into the embrace of the Pearl's rigging and letting her rock and rock him. "Another eve, m'lady, when the lines be a mite less cobweb-like."
In captain's quarters he rummaged through tangled clots of quietly mouldering soiled clothing and shredded linens until he unearthed a bottle. An odor of foulness rose from the carpet-- it was dark with filth, spongey with rot beneath his boots. He crossed to a wall cabinet, stepping gingerly. Instead of a Frenchman's crystal decanter, he found wadded-up shirts, their once-exquisite lace black with mold.
"Blearg!" Jack jerked back in disgust. Tilting his head as far back as he could, he extended one arm and fastidiously pinched a fold of stained fabric between his long fingers. But when he extracted the shirt, a pouf of powdery mildew showered out along with it and set off a tremendous sneezing fit.
He flung the offending garment to the carpet, and, shielding his nose with his own dirty coat sleeve, fled the cabin.
A search of the galley turned up the other ingredients he sought, along with a prodigious amount of food turning to slime or hard fuzzy lumps, a swirl of shiny fat flies, and droppings. Rat droppings. Of truly disturbing size.
"Rats," Jack muttered, backing out of the galley. "In m'Pearl." She moaned deep in her aching timbers, and he nodded, patted the nearest wall. "I hear y' m'love. Don't fret-- ol' Jack'll sort y' soon enough."
He made his way back on deck, some of the swagger gone from his stride now. From his coat pocket he drew the bottle with one motion while shooing Quartetto from the wheel with another. The warm wood was balm in his hand, and she hummed again to him. Jack took a long pull on the bottle, smacked his lips, and hummed back.
Ahh. That were a sweet, sweet feelin', that were.
"Cap'n? You want I should take the wheel a spell?" Gibbs sidled up, looking askance at the bottle.
Jack flapped one hand. "B'gone, you. A lil' squizzle so's I can hum a lullaby isn't worth twistin' your linen o'er." He took another swig, throat working as he swallowed deeply. "Ahhh. Hits th' spot, that does. If you're looking for something that'll be of assistance, Mr. Gibbs, you might take Quartetto there along into my quarters and turn out the cupboards for any of Barbossa's effects. There seems to be a bit of a miasma brewing."
Gibbs looked pained, but he nodded. "Aye, sir."
Jack tucked the bottle beneath his elbow and flipped open his compass to check the heading. "Roll up that disreputable excuse for a carpet, too, if y'please," he called back, "and give it th' heave-ho."
The sun set over Jack Sparrow's left shoulder and still he stood at the wheel, humming and swaying lightly, nipping contentedly at his bottle from time to time. As his hand remained steady and their course true, the crew's apprehension faded , to be replaced by awe at his ability to hold his rum.
Jack figured there was no gain to be had from telling them the bottle contained equal amounts of sweet water and tart lime as potent rum. This was no time to be getting spirits-drowsy, after all, not on his first night back with his Pearl.
The horizon spread before the figurehead, so wide with possibilities that it merged with the sky and soared on, above him, past him, and outward.
~~~~~
Isla de Muerta protruded from the blue waves off the port bow like a black crusted scab. Jack clapped his spyglass shut and spun to face the crew. "Deserted, just as I said! And all that gold restin' in those chambers like honey in a hive, a-waiting to be scooped up. So we're all of an accord?"
The cries of "Aye!" were widely scattered amongst more generalized uneasy mutterings. Jack wilted, hurt. Even his fluttering scarves drooped.
"Not in accord? After votin' all par-lay-mentary procedure-like an' all?"
"Aye, we voted, Jack," Marty grated from the front rank.
"Voted not to be set ashore on Hispaniola, ripe for pickin' by Navy scum," Kursar put in with a sour stare.
"You owe me a boat, Jack," Anamaria reminded him.
"Aye! And what better way to scare one up than with the application of a bit o' gold?" Jack asked winningly. He cocked his head and swept the line of crewmembers with a sloe-eyed glance. "Gold, mates-- all y' can carry," he confided in a whisper. "Five stay aboard to keep watch on me Pearl, the rest bring every sack, every crate and keg to be found aboard and row ashore. We fill 'em with coin, come back and spill 'em out on deck, and divide out the shiny, even shares to every one-a y'." He smiled, long, dirty fingers fluttering. "Onesie-by-onesie, 'til we're all donesie. Just like Noah's ark... near enough."
"Who?" a man in back asked. And, "Heathen!" another replied.
Jack grinned, showing gold teeth. "Gold, gentlemen... and lady," he added with a short bow to Anamaria. "Knee-deep, as it were. Drippin' down the walls and poolin' on the floor like sunshine." His gaze roved over the assembled crew. "Think of your heart's desire," he said softly. He stopped on Anamaria. "I know yours."
Mouth tight, she jerked a grudging nod. "A boat. My boat."
"A crate of rum, and deck to drink it on." That was Gibbs, looking wistful.
"Pistol. A good 'un. And powder, shot, and a fine leather belt to hold it all."
"Full belly, full bottle, full bed... every night without fail."
"M'pockets jinglin' like a rich man's purse."
"Wimmin. 'Least one fer each day o'th'week!" Laughter greeted this one.
"Respect."
The laughter was silenced by Marty's single gruff word. Jack nodded slowly. "Aye, there's the rub-- respect. Already brave sailors y' are, with the self-respect to go with it. But the gold in that cavern'll assure y' get the outside respect due a rich man... and woman."
For a long moment, the Pearl rocked to the melody of waves and wind. Then Joshamee Gibbs stirred. "Launch the boats, lads! Fetch sacks and crates!" he bellowed.
The tense gathering broke into a relieved scramble. Straws were drawn, and all but five men took up every container that hands could be laid upon and made for the longboats. The crew set out for the island in a welter of excited chatter and laughter.
Jack knelt in the bow of the lead boat and watched Isla de Muerta's damp black maw fill his field of vision. No fear chewed at his guts-- he'd already seen the worst this cursed chunk of rock could throw his way. Happy thoughts of sound planks and uncorrupted canvas filled his mind.
Behind him, the voices died away with each pull of the oars. The plash of water nearly covered the low muttering that started up-- nearly, but not completely.
Then, "Jack!" came a sharp call from the next boat.
He turned 'round. "Yes, love?"
Anamaria ignored the endearment. "I don't like this. It don't feel right."
"Feels damp. Clammy, even. Normal-like for a high spot in the sea."
She shook her head; he could see her face in the light of the lantern, angled with shadows and apprehension. "No, Jack. It feels wrong to be goin' in there, into that black."
"'Long as none o' y' so much as breathes on yon stone chest I've warned y' about, there's naught to fear. Rest of the treasure's not cursed-- it's just swag, lonely and chilly and wanting to be warmed in the pockets of Captain Jack Sparrow's crew." He smiled encouragingly.
She shifted nervously. "Ain't right, Jack. Ain't safe."
"Now don't be starting that!" he said, sharpness overriding wheedling reassurance. "You'll conjure trouble from thin air!"
Anamaria sucked in her breath. "Don't speak of conjuring, Jack Sparrow!"
"Meant no disrespect. No harm'll come to us, on me honor-- the curse is lifted! The gods're tucked up all dozy an' appeased-like. Already hauled out a pretty passel in me own two arms, didn't I? Not my fault bloody Norrington confiscated it all!"
"And look what happened to you after," Marty growled.
"Aye! Landed back on me sweet Pearl with just a bit of a sore neck!" Jack shot back. He glanced down at his rowers, who had slackened off until the oars rested idle in their locks. The current was wheeling them slowly away from the cavern mouth, slyly pushing them back toward the waterlogged skeletons of the dozens of sunken ships clogging the passage. "Pull!" he roared. "Pull, I say!"
The boats jerked forward once more. Anamaria shivered, her fingers twisting in a half-forgotten warding charm. "I got a bad feelin'," she moaned, but she said it low enough that Jack could pretend not to hear.
The slap of waves against rocks grew louder. The steep shoreline stretched upward, glistening with rivulets of spray. Jack raised the bow lantern, and its beams reached into the cavern mouth.
Shining back came the seductive soft glow of pure gold.
The crew gasped as one. The rowers stopped again, water dripping from their oars, and everyone stared in wonder.
Not even across the threshhold yet, and gold glimmered from cracks in the rocky walls and from beneath the dark water. Coral outcroppings had snagged chains and bracelets, and a jeweled goblet rested on a narrow ledge as if someone had set down a drink and just stepped away for a moment. A wooden chest sat inches above the high tide line, its bands corroded by the salt air. A waterfall of tarnished silver coins spilled from a hole in the rotted slats.
"Blimey!" someone whispered.
"It be true, then," murmered another.
"'Course it is!" Jack said stoutly. He motioned. "Pull, mates."
They made to resume rowing again, but as their oars dipped into the lapping black waves, there was a strangled gasp from the second boat. Anamaria lurched to her feet. "No!" she cried. "T'isn't safe to pass within!"
"Anamaria... " Jack groaned.
But she stepped from the bottom of the boat, stepped clean out of her boots and up onto the thwart. And before anyone could react, she made a tight dive over the gunwale and struck out for the Black Pearl, swimming away with desperate strength.
Jack watched her go. "Keep your eyeballs fixed on the Pearl, Cotton. First sign of her being scarpered off, give me a whistle," he said flatly.
The old man swung over the side to a flat area near the cave entrance, his parrot flapping to keep its perch.
"Red sky at morning!" it squawked agreeably.
The others continued on into the cavern, the rowers unhooking the oars from the oarlocks and using them as paddles in the narrow course. The whispers were only awed now, and hands reached out, reached down, to pluck up stray coins and gems. Jack smiled grimly. He had them hooked now, by Neptune!
One by one, the Pearl's boats scraped up onto the landing. Jack hopped out and turned to face his crew, holding up his hands. "Men: listen here."
They froze in the act of clambering out and looked warily at him.
"Take what fits easy-like in the sacks and leave the bulky trinkets behind. Gold coin spends quicker'n baubles needing to be bartered or sold, and divides neater than crowns and kettles. And whatever you do-- don't touch the stone chest, on pain of eternal damnation." He saw throats bob with deep gulps. Taking advantage of their momentary fear, he whipped a burlap sack out of his belt, spun, and galloped up the path worn between the rocks.
The crew leapt to action with outraged howls, pounding along after him. Long-legged Crimp took the lead... and when he made the main chamber and slammed to a stop, the rest of the crew piled into his back.
It was so silent the drip of water from the ceiling could be clearly heard. Off to one side came a metallic-sounding avalanche as Jack scampered up one treasure heap.
"Mother o'God," Gibbs breathed reverently.
It was Aladdin's cave, El Dorado... and it was all theirs.
Above them, Jack used a splint to transfer flame from his lantern to a torch in the wall. Light flared, dazzling off a decade's-worth of plunder, so sweet and golden it could be drunk like honey.
"It be a dragon's hoard!" young Thatch gasped.
"Aye!" Jack called down cheerfully. "But without the dragon!"
Gibbs clapped his hands. "To work, men! Kursar! Light the torches along that wall! Crimp! The ones on that arch! To salvagin', ye swabbies, and let no man slack by!"
There was a mad scramble across the cavern as the crew dashed to whatever spot caught their eye. Although most followed Jack's directive to scoop up easily transacted gold coins, some could not help but pocket a jewel or a heavy pocketwatch or an intricately-carved ivory figurine.
From high atop his treasure aerie, Jack watched for a moment, but all were toiling away with a will now. Marty upended a sturdy chest of porcelain and wood shavings, and used a silver tray to shovel gold doubloons into it instead. Gibbs had hung a topaz-studded crucifix around his neck but was now absorbed in piling coins into sugar sacks. Moises and Tearlach were already dragging a filled crate back toward the landing.
Aye, there would be sufficient swag to refit his Pearl keel to crow's nest, with enough bits and bobs left over to appease the crew until the next prize.
Jack grinned, and in the flickering torchlight he looked for a moment like a particularly cunning fox.
~~~To be concluded