A · Short · Drop · and · Sudden · Stop

I used to love tobacco.

I began drinking smoke when I was fifteen- most officers and crewman on the Henrietta did so. Tobacco was never lacking at sea, even when we might have been short of other supplies. My father had been a pipe smoker, though by the time I was at sea, he had given it up in favour of taking snuff, which in his words was 'better for the constitution'; despite this, it did not save him from an early grave.

For me, what made tobacco enjoyable was that it was a way of relaxing without drinking. While I enjoy drinking, alcohol affects the mind in unpleasant ways if you imbibe too much of it. When crewmen on the Henrietta fought, a lot of the time the fight came about as a result of excessive drinking. Rum is quite capable of reducing the drinker into stupefaction. Conversely, the consumption of tobacco did not produce such effects, and smoking together with others was relaxing and not half as likely to result in fights. It was a way of staying awake too, particularly on night watch.

I've encountered tobacco everywhere I've travelled as an officer- as a plant, it seems it can be grown just about anywhere; the West Indies, naturally, is full of tobacco plantations. The best I've tried came from Cuba; though I only sampled a little, I was struck by the strength of the flavour and aroma of it. Some of my fellow officers used to buy the cigars off Spanish officers if we encountered them at sea.

Sadly, I gave up the habit years ago now- shortly before I was promoted in rank to captain. It was not that it was no longer enjoyable, but one winter I fell ill with the grippe. My recovery took longer than expected, and the doctor attending me advised that I forego tobacco, telling me that I would breathe easier without it. I followed his advice not without some regret, and I struggled for a time with watching other officers enjoying their cigars. But now I feel no urge to go back to smoking. I'm older, and I don't need tobacco to aid me with staying awake or relaxing with others. There are times, however, when I smell the smoke and can recall fondly what a tonic it was, and how relatively simple times were then.

He's dreamt of his future ever since he discovered that he had one again.

Returning from London after answering to the Admiralty for all that has come to pass, James feels the future heavy upon his shoulders. Cutler Beckett left much damage in his wake. The Dutch are furious at the treatment of their ships in British ports, and Beckett's cool attitude towards the Dutch East India Trading Company. The gaols across the British colonies are overflowing in anticipation of further hangings for the slightest of crimes (another failed crusade undertaken by Beckett). Jamaica has no governor, and Port Royal awaits word of who will fill the late Weatherby Swann's shoes. And as always, the drums of war beat in the distance- in not-so-distant North America, France fight the British, and there are orders from Great Britain to seize French vessels. The war in America does not quite affect James yet, though he knows it is only a matter of time before the war is taken beyond America and into other territories, including those he stands guard over.

All this weighs upon James' mind, the possible outcomes myriad. He hopes he'll survive the war, hopes he'll see old age and all its trappings yet. But the future he sees now only contains hard work, and he knows that is what he is here to do. To set things back on an even course.

Ten years ago, I had been stationed in Port Royal for perhaps a year or so. I was lieutenant, under the command of Commodore Thomas Ashworth on the ship of the line Augustus. Weatherby Swann was governor of Jamaica, and Jack Sparrow was barely a speck on my horizon, known to me only as a troublemaker branded by the East India Trading Company for his refusal to transport slaves. Elizabeth Swann was a spirited girl who I entertained with my war stories, and Will Turner was an ambitious youth who yearned to handle a sword as well as I did. I spent my pay on rent, books and brandy, and jealously kept the latter away from the two other lieutenants I shared quarters with.

Ten years ago, I was fighting in first and last war of my career thus far: the War of Jenkins' Ear, a conflict that soon became the War of Austrian Succession. Great Britain fought against Spain, and I learned that the Spaniards were tough fighters who were loathe to retreat from a battle. Their obstinacy meant that I saw much bloodshed inflicted on both sides. I had been about six years in the service of His Majesty then, and though I was not unfamiliar with the brutality and death that battles and skirmishes bring, I couldn't help but feel staggered by the theatre of war. I was no innocent to begin with, and yet the war improved my skills with the sword and pistol further. War made fast learners of all of us that wanted to survive it.

I am always mindful of the responsibilities of my rank....they weigh heavy upon my mind even in moments of peace and relaxation. When I was that young lieutenant, my greatest concerns were ensuring that I could appease my landlady with rent and ensure I was fulfilling my duties to the best of my ability. I spent my nights ashore with my roommates, playing cards, drinking and smoking. At sea, I played my violin and wrote letters to my mother and siblings (goodness, George and Victoria were still young children then). Life did not feel as easy then, but I yearn for the relative simplicity of it now, long before Jack Sparrow made his presence felt and Elizabeth was no more to me than a close friend who I wanted to protect. If I'd known what was to come, I might have savoured that time more.

The most dangerous thing I've ever done is sail my ship into a hurricane. The circumstances of why I sailed my ship into that hurricane are well-known by this point....I've addressed it before and won't do so again here.

The dangers of life at sea are myriad. I've confronted war, piracy and disease. Yet Nature is something entirely unto itself. Going into battle with nature is a tougher fight than can be offered by a pirate ship or another navy's fleet. Nature does not yield or retreat; it cannot be placated with a treaty. Our cannons, our gunpowder, our swords are powerless against the fierce winds and rough seas that a hurricane produces. The hurricane I sailed the Dauntless into reduced it to mere driftwood in a short time. There was no question of considering a strategy to avoid being hit as one might do in a battle against another ship, it quickly became a matter of escaping with our lives; of course, many of the crew did not survive. It was not shots or cannon fire that killed them; it was the sea, who can take lives even more swiftly than either of those weapons can.

Hurricanes and storms are unavoidable in the West Indies; all I can do is keep an eye upon the horizon and hope that I don't sail into inclement weather. But I will never again attempt to sail directly through such weather. I value my life, and the lives of my officers and crew even moreso.

If I don't understand someone after a first meeting, then I must study them until I can understand them adequately- this is particularly pertinent when it comes to officers in other navies. We engage in pleasantries without ever quite getting to the heart of who we are. Today I may drink wine with the French commander of the West Indian fleet, and tomorrow I may be facing off against him at sea. I can converse with him, write letters, eat at his table, but all this won't necessarily help me understand him beyond that he prefers beef to lamb and writes with his left hand.

Sordid as it can be, I do rely upon a healthy amount of gossip, mostly through the veritable web of civilians, officers and diplomats that stretch across the West Indies. Being in close proximity to the French, Spanish and Dutch colonies, I cross paths frequently with all, and that is how I get my information on one or the other. By way of example, one of my former lieutenants, Andrew (now a captain in his own right) is half-French and has connections with French officers as a result. Where those men might be reluctant to speak with me, they will tell Andrew about whom the new commander is, what his temperament is like and where he was prior to being sent here. Such information helps, whether I am entertaining him as a guest or engaging him in battle as an enemy.

Knowing your friends, enemies and all those in-between is absolutely vital to my chosen profession. As we are in a time of peace, so much now hinges upon the niceties of diplomacy, of treading carefully and not offending sensibilities. Understanding ultimately might not stop a war, but it may well help pave the way to an eventual peace.

The question of ‘What will you do if you cannot sail?’ always passes through my mind, though not in a time of battle as many might think. No, it is a question I ponder to myself when all is quiet, when I have the time to mull over it.

If I could never sail again.....I honestly do not know. After the Dauntless was shipwrecked I did not want to serve on, let alone captain a ship again, though during those months I missed life at sea terribly, and it was then that I first considered the question in my mind.

One day I know I will not be able to sail again. Perhaps I will be too old, or I'll suffer an injury that might end my career before then. Should that happen, my only wish is that I can continue to serve His Majesty in whatever capacity I'm capable of. I like the idea of being able to pass on my knowledge and experience. Perhaps I would teach midshipmen, school them in mathematics and navigation; or else preside over examinations for lieutenant. If I can no longer serve His Majesty or the Admiralty? Then all I ask is that I am not idle in my retirement; that I still have the pleasure of books and learning, and company I can engage with.
Poor substitutes for the freedom of the sea, of course. But I will keep them in mind, for that sad day when I will return to dry land for good.

A mundane topic, talking about the weather, but if you insist...

I spent most of my youth in England, and every Englishman knows and loves the English climate; it is cold and more often than not, wet. We lament the lack of sun when we are there, yet when we leave, we miss the mists and early morning dews that it brings; the freshness it produces. I do myself, having been posted in parts of our empire that have been quite the opposite of England in terms of weather: Gibraltar, India and now Jamaica. Some compatriots find the heat oppressive when they first arrive in Port Royal; having already spent several summers in India (where you begin to sweat even as you climb out of the bath tub you were bathing in to cool down), I was quite prepared for it.

A good day for sailing in the West Indies means strong winds and clear skies. The weather here in general changes little; it is warm all year round. The one obstacle to the optimum sailing conditions in this part of the world is the storm season in the summer months. The tropical storms and hurricanes are severe and destructive, whether you're on solid ground or at sea. They will make matchstick wood out of ships and smash windows with the strength of their winds.

When the storms pass, I supervise the repairs being made to our fleet and miss England for its comparatively mild showers. At Christmas time, I watch ladies fan themselves at the church services and remember that London is covered in snow. Thinking about it, I'm quite struck by how something as mundane as the weather can evoke homesickness.

There are two ways I could die: at sea or on land.

If I die at sea, then I ask that my shipmates conduct my funeral and burial there. I have myself presided over burials at sea. We have a reading from scripture, and then a few words are said about the deceased before he is laid to rest. It is a short service, perfunctory, done this way to ensure that we move on as quickly as possible with our duties, particularly if we've been subjected to attack. The rumours regarding my first 'death' say that my body was thrown overboard from the Flying Dutchman with very little regard. I pray I am treated better next time.

I may also die as my father did: an old man in his bed. Funeral arrangements will primarily be decided by my family. All I ask is that I be buried with my father on the grounds of our ancestral home. My great-grandfather had a mausoleum built on the grounds for this purpose, and I expect that I would be interred there.

I have few demands when it comes to the arrangements for my funeral. As long as I'm buried with dignity and respect, I do not mind how it is all conducted.