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Dr. Jonathan Baynard

Location:Port of Tortuga

As per the previous ports, Jonathan's wrists and ankles were met with the cold heavy iron of rusty old shackles. Unlike the previous ports, Jonathan did not find himself left aboard the ship with a grimacing overlooker. 
Instead for the first time in a long time, he was going to step foot on land.
John was not the only slave in shackles, he was accompanied by three more men. The last of the ships remaining slaves. Two of the men of African decent, like Jon, had remained for their usefulness. There was also an older Irish man who simply remained because he had proven to be un-sellable due to the frailties of age. Lucky for him he could cook. All four of them had been tethered together and now pottered down the plank ramp with a gunman at their backs.

The cold sweet sea air rustled Jonathan's hair blowing it across his face. Despite being marched into the den of madness as a slave the man held his chin up high, clinging to what ever faint semblance of pride and dignity that  still remain. Bravely refusing to let fear or worry make its way into his heart.

The rest of the crew worked in pairs, eagerly and excitedly carrying crates of goods and spare bits and bobs from their journey. Salvaging every spare item that could possibly be sold. All eagerly awaiting their share of the plunder.
Jon awkwardly carried a large rucksack of his only possessions in his hands, the other slaves were not so lucky as to own anything. Led down to the docks they were positioned amongst the crates of wools, spices and cottons. Alongside with an assortment of junk and other knick knacks. The fruits of their pirating labour. The captain stood nearby with his quartermaster, tallying the goods and awaiting to barter. 
By this time the pedlars and pushers were already far ahead of the game. Having spread off through the various taverns of the town they heckled and bartered building up interest and drawing potential customers to their wares. 

It was there on the docks of Tortuga as Jonathan stood waiting, contemplating his fate and the weight of his actions, that a startling most unexpected sight caught his eye and stole his breath. Never in a million years would he expect to find a familiar face here amongst this crowd. It was not a tired delusion nor hallucinatory sickness. It was a face from his home. 

His brain scrambled to match a name to it. "MILLICENT!" he suddenly blurted out without thought at the top of his lungs in a feverish desperation. No sooner had he realised what he had done, a thudding impact struck the back of his head sending him staggering forward in a daze, his tether to the other slaves the only thing keeping him on his feet. 
Frantically looking back up and scanning the crowd, his hope sank as he could no longer spot her familiar face.
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