Ocean Blue Project
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“We’ll have to find some way of getting word back, then,” said Jack. “It doesn’t do much good sending out a message and hoping it gets back.”
“No, sir,” agreed Jack, but there was no solution in the air, only the sea.
Jack’s eyes fell on a large piece of canvas that had been left behind when they took the sails off the raft. It hung limply from one of the mast’s stays; he walked over and pulled on it with both hands, hauling it up, as he did so pulling free its companion, which floated lazily away down the stream.
He held them together for a moment, trying to remember how he would have done things before if his mind were still whole—then gave up trying and let the fabric drop into the water once again, where it joined its partner and disappeared among the other debris of the wreck.
A little while later, when they had gone their separate ways, he heard footsteps on deck above him, but when he looked up there was no one visible at the railings or at the bowsprit. When he turned around and went to check out the rigging there too, he found nothing, only a faint breeze blowing through what remained of the masts.
He made his way slowly back along the ship’s side, wondering what had happened, but not daring to look around for more than an instant, for fear of finding the face of the captain looking down at him. But eventually, he arrived back at the stern and the open hatchway, and the last thing he saw before the door slammed shut behind him was Jack standing outside, alone on the deck.
***
“I don’t know why you didn’t just use one of your own ships?” said Jack angrily. “At least then we wouldn’t be here.”
Baker shrugged. “If I had thought it possible to take one of my own ships, Captain, I would have done so long ago. The first mate has been doing all he can since the ship got underway to bring you safely to shore. As it happens, though, we’ve had bad luck with our fishing nets recently, and there are few fish left to catch. So I sent out a message by pigeon post, as you will recall.”
“I see.” Jack sighed. There was so much he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words, or even a suitable tone, to speak in. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now anyway.”
Baker nodded slowly. “You’re right about that,” he agreed quietly. “But there’s something else I think needs to be said.”
Jack sat down heavily in his chair. The wind had dropped completely, and now a light drizzle was falling onto the deck; everything was wet and cold. A bird, perhaps the same one that had earlier called out from the railings, flapped across the sky overhead with ungainly haste.
“What is it?” asked Jack.
Baker hesitated, then spoke in a low voice, as if fearful of being overheard: “It may come as a surprise to you, Captain, but it seems that your crew has decided that it does not want to go home after all.”
Jack frowned. “How could they?” he spluttered. “They must know what we stand to lose!”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’ve already begun making plans,” he snarled. “I won’t be a party to this!”
“Oh yes, Captain, we have begun our preparations,” Baker replied steadily. “In fact, there was a meeting last night, in the officers’ mess—the captain was invited, of course, and attended. We discussed the options available to us; none of them good.”
“Then why not wait until we get somewhere where there might be food? Then we could eat on our way home! We’d never need to worry about money again,” exclaimed Jack.
Baker shook his head sadly. “That would only work if we could reach England,” he remarked. “We’ve already sailed a lot further than most vessels ever make it. Now, as the men seem unwilling to leave you, we’ve agreed to continue sailing on in search of another destination.”
“Another destination?” gasped Jack.
“There are many islands in these waters, Captain,” Baker reminded him. “Some of them are populated. If we can land there, perhaps they’ll give us food or supplies. Or if we’re very lucky, maybe we’ll encounter someone who would take us in and shelter us, just for a short time. That’s what we’ve decided upon. At least you have some company in that.”
“You mean…you want me to stay on board?”
Baker gave him a smile. “Yes, Captain. And so do I.”
Jack stared into the distance, thinking furiously. What did he have to lose by staying on the ship? Nothing. He couldn’t afford to go home anyway—not without money, and with no guarantee of finding employment on the other side of the Channel.
Even if he had managed to persuade himself to return to London, there was always the chance that he would be unable to find work anywhere, and he would end up homeless again, wandering the streets in search of any kind of work that would keep him fed.
It was better to remain in his cabin aboard this ship. Better to sail away with the captain, at least until they reached their new destination. And then it would be his choice whether to stay there or continue his journey alone. He would be free.
He looked back at Baker. “Very well,” he said at last. “I accept your decision.”
A moment later, the captain turned to go.
“Captain!” Jack called. “One more thing…”
Baker stopped, turning toward him once more.
“Why didn’t you just come and ask me yourself? Why were you so secretive? I’m the one who’s stuck here with no way off the ship.”
For a moment, the captain hesitated before replying.
“Well,” he eventually said, “if I had spoken to you personally, it would have meant that I could not command the respect and obedience of my crew. You must understand that, Captain Sparrow.”
Jack frowned as he struggled to comprehend this strange reply. “But surely you would have been able to trust me?” he demanded. “You could have trusted me enough to let me join your crew.”
“Not quite,” came the answer. “There are some things that I must still do myself, and which I must accomplish alone. You will understand when you have accomplished those same things for yourself.” With that, Baker walked away again.
Jack watched him go. For a while, he considered challenging the captain on the issue of his crew’s desire to stay on board, but he knew that nothing he could say would change anything. The decision had been made for him already. And it wasn’t really up to him anyway—he had surrendered his rights as a captain.
After a long silence, the captain returned.
“Your orders, Captain Sparrow,” he said quietly.
“What do you suggest?” Jack replied. “That we sail back to America and see what’s there?”
Baker nodded. “I think that may be the best course.”
“And where will we go now?”
The captain shrugged. “Wherever the wind takes us, I suppose.”
Jack felt a sense of relief that he didn’t know how to describe. He wondered if he should feel sad or even fearful. But instead, he just felt…empty. There was nothing left to fear; there was nothing left to fight for.
“Very well,” he said finally. “Lead the way.”
As Baker began leading his ship out from the harbor, Jack stood staring up into the sky. The wind blew through his hair as he tried to imagine what life might hold for him.
“If this is my punishment, then God has truly blessed me,” he thought to himself.
⁂
“I don’t know how you did it, Mr. Dawes, but thank you for returning the painting to us,” said Mr. Trelawny.
Mr. Dawes smiled in reply. “It’s all right, sir,” he assured the curator. “It was worth the risk of having to spend two nights in a cell, even if I did have to bribe an officer to do it.”
The old man shook his head in wonderment at this comment. “I can hardly believe that such a thing was necessary,” he murmured. “It makes you wonder how many valuable treasures have been stolen over the years, simply because the owners never bothered to check.”
“Well,” the younger man replied, “we wouldn’t want them to lose all their precious artwork, would we?”
Trelawny sighed quietly. “Yes, that’s true enough,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps this will serve as a warning for future generations.”
Dawes chuckled. “I doubt it, sir,” he said. “No matter what happens, it seems as though people will still prefer to put money ahead of everything else. After all, it’s only material goods, isn’t it? They don’t care about the lives of others—all they care about is themselves.”
Trelawny nodded slowly. “Indeed,” he agreed, “there doesn’t seem much hope for the world, does there?”
Dawes stared up at the ceiling. “Don’t worry, sir,” he reassured the curator, “things won’t always be like this.”
Trelawny sighed and looked down at the desk in front of him, shuffling through its contents until he found what he wanted: the letter he had written to his wife back home. He held it up for a few minutes, studying its familiar lines, before folding it into his jacket pocket and standing up.
“Well,” he said quietly, “the least we can do is make sure that the people who took this work are brought to justice, even if the authorities aren’t going to bother doing the job themselves.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Dawes with a smile. “Let’s get to it!”
The End