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Summary
Jack Rackham did not come awake like either of his two closest associations. It was not the instantaneous transition from sleeping to wakefulness with no ill effects like Anne Bonny. Nor was it the hazy but clear transition that was so often a result of a night of alcohol, opium, and brawling that Charles Vane had adopted. No, this was a slow process interspersed with bursts of pain. Pain specifically in the region of his head, as if someone had beat him over his head with what may have very well been a piece of metal. The ground was hard and pitched beneath him, as if it wasn’t his cot in his and Anne’s tent on the beach of Nassau that he had slept on, rather the floor of a ship and said ship was out to sea.