Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

Tortuga’s best tradition, they were a motley bunch of ruffians, scarred,
tattooed, and armed to their often blackened teeth.
Smiling happily, Jack, followed by his crew, wended his way up to
the bow of the ship, past her black hatches, up the starboard bow
ladder bordered by the black railings, past her black foremast. He
came to a halt where the bow narrowed, culminating in the long, black
bowsprit. On each side of the bow hung a black anchor. Between the
anchors and beneath the bowsprit lay Jack’s immediate goal: the
ship’s figurehead, a graceful black angel, cupping her outstretched left
hand to release a black dove into flight. It was a beautiful figurehead,
and completely new to the ship.
Jack sometimes wondered why Davy Jones had felt it necessary
to supply Jack’s ship, the resurrected and transformed Wicked
Wench, with a figurehead. The original Wench didn’t have one.
Putting down one of the bottles of rum, Jack jumped down into the
forecastle, moving as far forward as he could, so he was standing right
above the black angel. Balancing himself by placing his booted foot up
on the lower part of the black side rail, Jack couldn’t help admiring his
new footgear for a moment. They were still a little stiff, having been
completed just this week by the best cobbler in Tortuga. Ah, pirate
boots. One could really swagger while wearing them, couldn’t one?
“Mates, please listen up!” Jack waved the bottle of rum he was still
holding. “Your captain has an announcement to make!” His crew
stopped murmuring, giving him—or was it the rum?—their full attention.
“My fellow shipmates,” Jack said, accompanying his oration with a
sweeping gesture, “today we set out on our new enterprise, seeking
adventure, swag, and fame. And, perhaps, rum and salty wenches.” He
winked broadly, and his crew responded with guffaws, elbowing each
other. Jack had made sure to select only candidates with a sense of
humor. This new ship was going to be a happy one; he just knew it.
“And so, mates, I would like to inaugurate our maiden voyage by
following tradition and smashing a bottle over our lovely angel here.
May she keep us safe, and guide us on our journeys!”
Jack leaned over, took aim at the figurehead, raised the bottle of
rum, and gave it a vigorous swing—
—only to stop his hand before the glass touched the wooden