FANFIC: THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY - PROLOGUE
Summary: Set during the Golden Age of Piracy. Jack Sparrow, haunted by demons, is hunting a priceless artifact….
A/N: This is a story of mystery and intrigue, set against the true historical age of pirates. Real people, places and events from history interwoven with the fictional world of Pirates of the Caribbean. An AU set somewhere after CotBP.
Special thanks to
compassrose7577for her diligent beta-reading and nautical knowledge.
Through a Glass Darkly
Prologue - The Tempest
And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
The southward aye we fled.
~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
----
Jack Sparrow slowly lowered the glass he’d been peering through for nearly a quarter of an hour. High up in the rigging, straddling the foresail yard, he leaned against the mast and studied the long, low undulating swells rolling in from the east, yet once again.
They had set sail, two days earlier, from Tortuga, on a beautiful, calm day with a light breeze that guided the Black Pearl northward, towards the Florida Straits. That same breeze still blew and the sea was smooth, but he could feel the seas were already beginning to change, the swells starting to make his ship gently dip and roll.
The main cause of Jack’s concern, and intent scrutiny though, was a solid, dark, sharp-edged cloud swelling on the eastern horizon ahead. The storm was traveling north, almost due east of the Pearl, paralleling her course, but still many miles away. It had been a slow passage, made even more so by the calms preceding the storm. The ship drifted on a mirrored sea, the air heavy and humid, the sun shining brightly through the haze.
“The devil is brewing mischief,” muttered Gibbs, as he stood at the rail and stared out at the dark clouds massing on the horizon. Experienced hands amongst the crew were also muttering; they too recognized the tell tale signs of a tropical cyclone brewing.
“Crowd canvas!” Jack barked, as he climbed back down to the main deck. “Hang every rag she’ll bear!” then headed towards the helm.
Gibbs followed him, a worried look on his face.
“Cap’n?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the mass of clouds looming.
Jack stood at the wheel, mute, a determined look on his face.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n…but ought we best a-turnin’ and make a run for it? We’ve ’nough time to make a run back ‘round Andros Island…we could jib in at Mangrove Cay and weather it out there.”
Jack frowned at his quartermaster and said in a peeved voice, “We’ve lost time…precious time, which cannot be made up. We’ll continue on course.”
Gibbs gave another worried look over his shoulder and tried again.
“But, Cap’n… wouldn’t that be a might risky?’
Jack whirled on him. “Mister Gibbs!" he growled, “As Captain of this vessel, it is not my job to avoid risky situations…but to make sure we get through them. Now I suggest you get about doing your job and let me do mine.”
----
The air about them continued to grow heavier and hazier as the day wore on. The crew was on edge, the air static in its stillness. Joshamee Gibbs found himself worrying a bit more than usual, even given the circumstances. It wasn’t just the impending storm that had him concerned. An experienced hand before the mast, the weather was always a speculative factor, especially in these long, hot humid dog days of summer. No, that wasn’t what was gnawing at the Black Pearl’s Quartermaster. What was troubling Gibbs was the unknown factor…the quality of his Captain’s sanity.
There once was a time that, no matter how daft he’d thought Jack Sparrow to be, one thing Gibbs could count on was his Captain’s sound judgment, when it came to the sea. But since they’d rescued Jack from Bedlam, and the madness that had possessed him, that didn’t seem to necessarily hold true. Granted, Jack appeared to have recovered, enough to where AnaMaria had decided to take her leave of the crew once again… judging she’d done all she could for Jack. But there still lingered a bit of feral skittishness in the Captain, a teetering towards the brink…a skating on the edge, a thin line between reality… and something else.
Gibbs shook his head at the thoughts swirling in his brain. He had trusted Jack enough to sign on for this new venture, even if it did sound a bit daft: Sailing off towards an unknown location, to retrieve an unknown treasure…not that unusual, excepting for Jack’s insistence of taking along a minimal crew. Now, they were sailing headlong into a hurricane and the Captain’s orders had been to hold course and make speed.
----
The wind freshened midday; by mid-afternoon, an eerie grey canopy enveloped them, visibility becoming so bad, the lanterns were lit. The storm had taken a drastic shift in its path, and was now heading due west, directly towards the Pearl just as she was approaching the narrowest part of the Bahama Channel, with barely 50 miles separating the Bahamian out-islands from the Florida coast. Treacherous waters to be sure.
Jack had retired to his cabin, saying he had “nautical things” to do… making it imperatively clear he did not wish to be disturbed. Gibbs knew something was bothering Jack… no doubt some demon from his past he was runnin’ from and was disinclined to discuss. This wasn’t the first time Jack had retreated to his cabin under the guise of work and for the most part Gibbs had been just as content to leave him to it. But with the abrupt change in the storm’s direction and the wind building, Gibbs decided he’d best risk Jack’s wrath and try approaching him again about a change in course. Jack was sitting staring aimlessly at his charts spread out on the large mahogany table when Gibbs entered. Trying to judge his mood, Gibbs hesitated just inside the door.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n,” he said, haltingly.
Jack looked up. “Well, out with it!” he said, with no illusion of patience. “You’re going to speak your mind, regardless of whether I want to hear it or not.”
Jack tempered his statement with a glint of gold, as he grinned at Gibbs.
“You might think me daft, Gibbs…perhaps 'tis true. But I’d not try to press on, at the risk of losing me crew and the Pearl unless I thought we had a chance. You ought to know me better than that.”
Gibbs sighed in relief to see the haunted look gone from Jack’s eyes.
“Aye, Cap’n,” he continued, with more confidence, “The wind’s building. We’d best shorten sail, before she’s on us good.”
Jack glanced out at the darkening skies beyond the stern windows with an experienced eye. “Yet, by doing so, we might not clear the outer islands before she does hit.”
Gibbs nodded but added, “True, Cap’n. But if she were to hit sudden like, we be riskin’ losing the sails completely.”
The weather was confirming what the glass had been telling them for days, there was no longer any ignoring the fact. Jack glanced down at the chart in front of him, his fingers drumming a nervous tattoo on the table and made his decision.
“We’ll hold course, Mr. Gibbs, and hope we reach the head of the Bahamas Banks first.”
----
It turned out that was not to be the case. As the winds began to howl Jack gave orders to douse canvas and set the storm sails, but the Pearl still had not cleared the northern-most out islands. The crew tied in the reefs of the topgallant, lowered the mainsail, and battened down the hatches for bad weather they now knew was inevitable. As the storm grew in fury, the remaining sails were lowered except the mizzen and foresails to try and hold the bow at a 45 degree angle to the thundering waves now rolling across the channel from the east.
The rain was almost horizontal now, slicing across the deck, stinging like a swarm of bees. Jack slid and climbed his way back to the quarterdeck to help the helmsman hold the wheel through the strong seas, and keep the bow from pointing directly into the wind. The rain was lashing fiercely mixed with spume from the waves as they pounded against the hull. Jack squinted against the lash of the wind, the salty spray stinging his face and eyes, trying to make sure they neither faced the wind and waves too directly not let it come around and hit them broadside.
The waves continued to build, each succeeding one was now taller than the last leaving the ship balanced on top of one foam-crested wave before plunging down into the trough. Visibility was limited to what glimpses were provided from the lightening flashing above them. Suddenly, in one illuminated moment, the rudder swung free in the air as the long bowsprit stabbed into the steep black wall of water ahead. Jack held his breath, and waited… either the bowsprit would snap, and possibly take the bow with it, swamping the ship, or the hull would nose-dive, into the wave, never to rise again. Finally, after a long, heart-stopping moment, the bow popped free and clear, bowsprit intact… the Pearl gallantly throwing off the solid weight of the water as she crested the next wave.
The hurricane was upon them now, in full fury, with white-water waves roiling around in all directions. As the highest winds of the storm struck, the fore mast snapped at the topgallant yard, the forecastle becoming a snarled chaos of canvas, wood, tackle and rope. With the canvas dragging in the water like a sea anchor, it threatened to pull the Pearl off her course, making her perilously vulnerable to being broached by the waves. In a frantic scramble, crewmen battled forward and hacked at the ropes with axes, until she was cut free.
The Pearl was at the mercy of the hurricane now, limping along only with her mizzen, crippled but still stalwart, her heart keeping her afloat, as the storm shrieked around her. In spite of the damage the ship struggled on, now nearing the looming coastline of Florida. The mountainous waves, fetching across the broad expanse of ocean to the northeast, caught the ship and soon they were being driven relentlessly towards the treacherous shoals and jagged reefs that fringed the Florida coast.
In the darkness ahead, Jack caught the sound of booming breakers warning him they were nearing the Florida reefs. Struggling across the deck awash with water, he gave orders for the bow anchors to be dropped, in one last desperate effort to keep the Pearl off the crushing reefs beyond. The anchors caught hold allowing the ship to swing her face into the wind. There were no further orders to give, naught else to be done. The wind would have torn the words out of his mouth and flung them away anyway. So instead, Jack worked his way back towards the helm, putting his weight into holding the wheel steady and wondering how long his Pearl could take this, before breaking up.
Suddenly, a large wave struck the stern, and, to the horror of Gibbs and the rest of the crew, when the water receded, their Captain had disappeared into the raging seas below.
A/N: This is a story of mystery and intrigue, set against the true historical age of pirates. Real people, places and events from history interwoven with the fictional world of Pirates of the Caribbean. An AU set somewhere after CotBP.
Special thanks to
compassrose7577for her diligent beta-reading and nautical knowledge.
Through a Glass Darkly
Prologue - The Tempest
And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
The southward aye we fled.
~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
----
Jack Sparrow slowly lowered the glass he’d been peering through for nearly a quarter of an hour. High up in the rigging, straddling the foresail yard, he leaned against the mast and studied the long, low undulating swells rolling in from the east, yet once again.
They had set sail, two days earlier, from Tortuga, on a beautiful, calm day with a light breeze that guided the Black Pearl northward, towards the Florida Straits. That same breeze still blew and the sea was smooth, but he could feel the seas were already beginning to change, the swells starting to make his ship gently dip and roll.
The main cause of Jack’s concern, and intent scrutiny though, was a solid, dark, sharp-edged cloud swelling on the eastern horizon ahead. The storm was traveling north, almost due east of the Pearl, paralleling her course, but still many miles away. It had been a slow passage, made even more so by the calms preceding the storm. The ship drifted on a mirrored sea, the air heavy and humid, the sun shining brightly through the haze.
“The devil is brewing mischief,” muttered Gibbs, as he stood at the rail and stared out at the dark clouds massing on the horizon. Experienced hands amongst the crew were also muttering; they too recognized the tell tale signs of a tropical cyclone brewing.
“Crowd canvas!” Jack barked, as he climbed back down to the main deck. “Hang every rag she’ll bear!” then headed towards the helm.
Gibbs followed him, a worried look on his face.
“Cap’n?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the mass of clouds looming.
Jack stood at the wheel, mute, a determined look on his face.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n…but ought we best a-turnin’ and make a run for it? We’ve ’nough time to make a run back ‘round Andros Island…we could jib in at Mangrove Cay and weather it out there.”
Jack frowned at his quartermaster and said in a peeved voice, “We’ve lost time…precious time, which cannot be made up. We’ll continue on course.”
Gibbs gave another worried look over his shoulder and tried again.
“But, Cap’n… wouldn’t that be a might risky?’
Jack whirled on him. “Mister Gibbs!" he growled, “As Captain of this vessel, it is not my job to avoid risky situations…but to make sure we get through them. Now I suggest you get about doing your job and let me do mine.”
----
The air about them continued to grow heavier and hazier as the day wore on. The crew was on edge, the air static in its stillness. Joshamee Gibbs found himself worrying a bit more than usual, even given the circumstances. It wasn’t just the impending storm that had him concerned. An experienced hand before the mast, the weather was always a speculative factor, especially in these long, hot humid dog days of summer. No, that wasn’t what was gnawing at the Black Pearl’s Quartermaster. What was troubling Gibbs was the unknown factor…the quality of his Captain’s sanity.
There once was a time that, no matter how daft he’d thought Jack Sparrow to be, one thing Gibbs could count on was his Captain’s sound judgment, when it came to the sea. But since they’d rescued Jack from Bedlam, and the madness that had possessed him, that didn’t seem to necessarily hold true. Granted, Jack appeared to have recovered, enough to where AnaMaria had decided to take her leave of the crew once again… judging she’d done all she could for Jack. But there still lingered a bit of feral skittishness in the Captain, a teetering towards the brink…a skating on the edge, a thin line between reality… and something else.
Gibbs shook his head at the thoughts swirling in his brain. He had trusted Jack enough to sign on for this new venture, even if it did sound a bit daft: Sailing off towards an unknown location, to retrieve an unknown treasure…not that unusual, excepting for Jack’s insistence of taking along a minimal crew. Now, they were sailing headlong into a hurricane and the Captain’s orders had been to hold course and make speed.
----
The wind freshened midday; by mid-afternoon, an eerie grey canopy enveloped them, visibility becoming so bad, the lanterns were lit. The storm had taken a drastic shift in its path, and was now heading due west, directly towards the Pearl just as she was approaching the narrowest part of the Bahama Channel, with barely 50 miles separating the Bahamian out-islands from the Florida coast. Treacherous waters to be sure.
Jack had retired to his cabin, saying he had “nautical things” to do… making it imperatively clear he did not wish to be disturbed. Gibbs knew something was bothering Jack… no doubt some demon from his past he was runnin’ from and was disinclined to discuss. This wasn’t the first time Jack had retreated to his cabin under the guise of work and for the most part Gibbs had been just as content to leave him to it. But with the abrupt change in the storm’s direction and the wind building, Gibbs decided he’d best risk Jack’s wrath and try approaching him again about a change in course. Jack was sitting staring aimlessly at his charts spread out on the large mahogany table when Gibbs entered. Trying to judge his mood, Gibbs hesitated just inside the door.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n,” he said, haltingly.
Jack looked up. “Well, out with it!” he said, with no illusion of patience. “You’re going to speak your mind, regardless of whether I want to hear it or not.”
Jack tempered his statement with a glint of gold, as he grinned at Gibbs.
“You might think me daft, Gibbs…perhaps 'tis true. But I’d not try to press on, at the risk of losing me crew and the Pearl unless I thought we had a chance. You ought to know me better than that.”
Gibbs sighed in relief to see the haunted look gone from Jack’s eyes.
“Aye, Cap’n,” he continued, with more confidence, “The wind’s building. We’d best shorten sail, before she’s on us good.”
Jack glanced out at the darkening skies beyond the stern windows with an experienced eye. “Yet, by doing so, we might not clear the outer islands before she does hit.”
Gibbs nodded but added, “True, Cap’n. But if she were to hit sudden like, we be riskin’ losing the sails completely.”
The weather was confirming what the glass had been telling them for days, there was no longer any ignoring the fact. Jack glanced down at the chart in front of him, his fingers drumming a nervous tattoo on the table and made his decision.
“We’ll hold course, Mr. Gibbs, and hope we reach the head of the Bahamas Banks first.”
----
It turned out that was not to be the case. As the winds began to howl Jack gave orders to douse canvas and set the storm sails, but the Pearl still had not cleared the northern-most out islands. The crew tied in the reefs of the topgallant, lowered the mainsail, and battened down the hatches for bad weather they now knew was inevitable. As the storm grew in fury, the remaining sails were lowered except the mizzen and foresails to try and hold the bow at a 45 degree angle to the thundering waves now rolling across the channel from the east.
The rain was almost horizontal now, slicing across the deck, stinging like a swarm of bees. Jack slid and climbed his way back to the quarterdeck to help the helmsman hold the wheel through the strong seas, and keep the bow from pointing directly into the wind. The rain was lashing fiercely mixed with spume from the waves as they pounded against the hull. Jack squinted against the lash of the wind, the salty spray stinging his face and eyes, trying to make sure they neither faced the wind and waves too directly not let it come around and hit them broadside.
The waves continued to build, each succeeding one was now taller than the last leaving the ship balanced on top of one foam-crested wave before plunging down into the trough. Visibility was limited to what glimpses were provided from the lightening flashing above them. Suddenly, in one illuminated moment, the rudder swung free in the air as the long bowsprit stabbed into the steep black wall of water ahead. Jack held his breath, and waited… either the bowsprit would snap, and possibly take the bow with it, swamping the ship, or the hull would nose-dive, into the wave, never to rise again. Finally, after a long, heart-stopping moment, the bow popped free and clear, bowsprit intact… the Pearl gallantly throwing off the solid weight of the water as she crested the next wave.
The hurricane was upon them now, in full fury, with white-water waves roiling around in all directions. As the highest winds of the storm struck, the fore mast snapped at the topgallant yard, the forecastle becoming a snarled chaos of canvas, wood, tackle and rope. With the canvas dragging in the water like a sea anchor, it threatened to pull the Pearl off her course, making her perilously vulnerable to being broached by the waves. In a frantic scramble, crewmen battled forward and hacked at the ropes with axes, until she was cut free.
The Pearl was at the mercy of the hurricane now, limping along only with her mizzen, crippled but still stalwart, her heart keeping her afloat, as the storm shrieked around her. In spite of the damage the ship struggled on, now nearing the looming coastline of Florida. The mountainous waves, fetching across the broad expanse of ocean to the northeast, caught the ship and soon they were being driven relentlessly towards the treacherous shoals and jagged reefs that fringed the Florida coast.
In the darkness ahead, Jack caught the sound of booming breakers warning him they were nearing the Florida reefs. Struggling across the deck awash with water, he gave orders for the bow anchors to be dropped, in one last desperate effort to keep the Pearl off the crushing reefs beyond. The anchors caught hold allowing the ship to swing her face into the wind. There were no further orders to give, naught else to be done. The wind would have torn the words out of his mouth and flung them away anyway. So instead, Jack worked his way back towards the helm, putting his weight into holding the wheel steady and wondering how long his Pearl could take this, before breaking up.
Suddenly, a large wave struck the stern, and, to the horror of Gibbs and the rest of the crew, when the water receded, their Captain had disappeared into the raging seas below.