Author's Note: Originally this tale was written in response to a challenge on the Black Pearl forum. The collaborative effort it was intended to be a part of never quite gelled. I liked this idea so I now present it in its final form for your consideration. Thanks to Captain Nytd for the challenge, Freedomoftheseas for her efforts and MrsPencil for being my beta and sounding board.

The Yellow Jack

Captain Jack Sparrow stood upon the quarterdeck of the Black Pearl feeling a little astonished at the small ship they'd just sprung from the glass bottle, in which Blackbeard had imprisoned it. Jack had chosen this one because, of all the little ships in all of the bottles, it had been the least dangerous looking. Some had been blazing away with all their guns; others had been tossed on miniature waves in miniature gales, with their miniature crews desperately hauling on ropes and working the pumps to stave off the inevitable miniature disasters. Not this one, though. With only its topgallants set, it had cruised upon an even keel in what seemed to be fair, though brisk, weather. There had been no sign of any crew save one man at the tiller, grimly holding on. Had she been taken for sport? For practice? Only Edward Teach, the notorious Blackbeard, would know and he could no longer tell his tales.

"Cap'n," Mr. Gibbs breathed. There was a note of uncertainty or perhaps fear in his voice. "Be we goin' aboard, sir?"

They had performed the ritual with all of its due ceremony and now off the Pearl's larboard bow, running with the wind, was the silent brig. All hands aboard the Pearl were at the rail, staring wide eyed. They had seen the ritual from the other side but this was the first they'd seen of it from outside the bottle. That Captain Jack Sparrow had been the one to save them was an irony not lost on even the dullest wits aboard. Humble, contrite, grateful and submissive they might be, but all were reluctant to board such a ship as this.

"I think, Mr. Gibbs," said Jack slowly and not without considerable sympathy. He could show that emotion but as captain he could not and would not show the fear this vessel imparted. "It's best we burn her."

In other circumstances this order might have caused rebellion among a pirate crew in search of plunder and loot. Faced with the grim, hollow-eyed helmsman's body lashed to the tiller of the silent brig and the warning flag streaming in the wind, there would be no argument. The black and yellow banner flapping so lazily might have been pretty to one not familiar with its meaning. To all those who had lived at sea it was the direst of warnings: plague.

As Gibbs knuckled his brow and began issuing the subdued orders, Jack gazed upon the brig a moment longer. A spray of water in the distance and the sudden appearance of tall sails assured him he was right. Captain Turner would see to the rest. Jack removed his hat and held it over his heart in silent salute and farewell to the crew of the brig.

AN: The yellow jack was a warning flag in the age of sail and it is still used today. It signaled that a ship was quarantined due to disease. This could be anything from influenza to the Black Death. Communicable diseases were deadly before the advent of modern medicine.