One day, a captain named PARRISH came across a Spaniard named VASQUEZ, at a tavern in Port Royal. There the man, dying, told him of the treasure galleon Urca de Lima and detailed its schedule to him.
A spy of Flint’s overheard the conversation and sent FLINT the information : the tale, and possibly the name of the man who had the details of the schedule (PARRISH, captain of an english merchant), but not the name of his ship (both FLINT and GATES call it Parrish's ship in conversations together)
It then took 3 months for FLINT to capture PARRISH’s ship and he had to seize 3 other (GATES mentions this ship as the 4th prize worth almost nothing, captured in the 3 months they have been chasing the schedule).
FLINT boarded PARRISH’s ship 1 day away from Nassau (SILVER says he memorized the schedule in 3 days : one day at see on the Walrus, one day at Nassau meeting MAX and snooping at night on the Walrus to read Parrish’s journal in Flint’s cabin, one day starting with the Singleton fight and ending at The Wrecks were he burned the schedule).
So, between meeting VASQUEZ at Port Royal and getting boarded by FLINT 1 day away from Nassau, PARRISH spent 3 months, doing God knows what, with FLINT needing first to capture 3 ships to find him.
Parrish's ship (x)
THE WALRUS'S SPEED
the Walrus top speed is 7.5 knots. That speed was reached while chasing the Andromache (V.) by risking the masts's integrity (argument between FLINT and DE GROOT, the t'gallants should not have been unfolded in that wind). With a proper carrening, that speed could be reached safely ("A clean hull means an extra knot or two in speed" in IV.), but the carreening was not completed (in IV: "A few more days, we'll have the keel cleared and tarred and she'll be ready to go back into the water", but the very next day they were chasing the Andromache, as established by SILVER mentionning Randall's amputation being the previous day).
the Walrus chasing speed is 6 knots, in favorable winds (the speed reched before risking the masts's integrity, see above).
the Walrus average cruising speed is 5 knots (my estimate, somewhat arbitrary : I take into account the occasional slow wind and a lighter workload on deck to allow shifts for the men to rest).
PARRISH'S SHIP SPEED
very similar to the Walrus : it is also a frigate with three mast, square rigged, with as many sails on each mast), maybe slightly smaller ? : 5 knots on average.
NASSAU - PORT ROYAL TRAVEL :
Port Royal, Jamaica - Port of Nassau, Bahamas: 754 nautical miles
1 knot = 1 nautical mile / h
5 knots = 5 nautical miles / h
754 / 5 = 150.8 ; so it takes 150.8 h to make the travel
150 h = (6 x 24 h) + 6 hours ; so the travel takes 6 days at 5 knots
CROSS ATLANTIC TRAVEL
In the 18th century, it took on average six weeks to sail accross the Atlantic. If weather conditions were bad, it could take up to three months.
So, either PARRISH went to and right back from England after his encounter with VASQUEZ at Port Royal (6 weeks to cross the Atlantique one way + 6 weeks to cross it the other = 3 months) ; or he stuck around - maybe traveled along the coast to make commerce in the main ports (back then, only noteworthy were Boston, New York, Newport, Philadelphia, and Charles Town).
Map of colonial america in the 18th century (x)
THE ISSUE :
When would have SILVER boarded the ship ?
I can't imagine him being on Parrish's ship since the VASQUEZ encounter and not learning about it (the actual cook of the ship found out, so I doubt a man like SILVER - clearly used to gather information and manipulate - wouldn't have, had he been there around the time it happened).
How did FLINT track the ship ?
Flint had to capture 3 other ships to get to it. I somehow doubt he randomly followed a route and hoped for the best, attacking ships at random intervals.
IF PARRISH WENT BACK TO ENGLAND :
It would have been a round trip (no delay in the timeline for more than a stop).
Did FLINT have words that Parrish went to England and right back from it, and hit 4 ships in a row on the right route at the calculated time frame of his return? It sounded, from MR SCOTT that it was a while since FLINT made a good earning. That would go against this theory : the 3 ship attacked to track Parrish's ship would have been spaced over 3 months.
Which means FLINT knew exactely the route PARRISH would take, and probably an approximation of his scheduled stops. How would 3 ships attacked in the Bahamas, or even the continental colonies's coast, know of the schedule of a captain on his way to of back from England? Even if Parrish told someone in England, he left right away, so no one could have preceeded him with the info.
This case figure also implies SILVER would have joined Parrish's crew in England.
IF PARRISH MADE SEVERAL STOPS IN THE COLONIES :
If all FLINT had - and it seems to be so - was PARRISH's name and the fact that he sails an english merchant, it could explain the 3 month to track him. The spies mentionned in the show (his, Guthrie's, Max's) are all in the West Indies (Jamaïca, Cuba). So it stands to reason that FLINT had a hard time tracking Parrish's ship.
The most likely scenario would be that FLINT spy in Port Royal knew in which port of the colonies PARRISH was headed, and FLINT attacked every ship he knew came from that very same port, until one of them told him that PARRISH was finally underway, at which point Flint could finally go after him now that he was back on the water.
But that would imply PARRISH spent three months not working : unlikely. Maybe FLINT had to track him from one port to another, but couldn't attack because he stuck too close to the coast guarded by the colonial navy?
That theory does imply SILVER joined the crew from an English colony port (most likely Charles Town, Philadelphia, Newport, New York or Boston). That, or he was picked on a recent new stop at Port Royal right before FLINT caught them.
--
And this, this is why I have avoided writing anything in the past decade. I overthink shit way too much.
Still, I'm doing this. So if anyone feel like going crazy with me, feel free to message me. Otherwise, ignore this, I just need to put it in writing to figure it out.
My personal theory is that it was originally a Dutch vessel.
They were one of the four major powers in the colonies (with England, Spain and France), and of the drawing I find of 18th century ships, the Dutch ones are the most similar, especially when looking at the quarterdeck design.
Partial Sketch of a Dutch Vessel Seen from Port Quarter (x)
So, I've started a story that spans over 3 months after Pittfest. I fudged the timeline a bit (I didn't find out Pittfest happened on September until later), so the story will include the 4th of July, and some other fun events for the Emergency Department to deal with. It's gonna be a full cast (I deliberately picked 3 months to follow a full 12 weeks rotation for Javadi and Whittaker, I have plans for everyone) and I can already tease a "Sexuality Crisis" tag. Also, it shall be rated E.
This is a sneak peak of what my story plans look like. I did the full 3 months like that, because I'm an insane person. Below is what my writing looks like.
The governor visits the PTMC...
“Thank you for all your extraordinary work. I cannot imagine how much more losses we would have had to endure without it.”
The governor had a sensible, context-appropriate expression, with camera-ready make up on. Robby shook his hand, right after Abbot, swept up in the performance. The whole ED staff, it seemed, was gathered around them.
Robby had voted for him. He was the lesser of two evil : a democrat, as likely to gut healthcare’s budget as the other, but less enthusiastic about it. At least he had the good sense to not bring any camera in the ED. Although Robby should probably give Gloria credit for that : she knew high mortality areas and visual press didn’t make for great PR.
Still, there was one journalist : he was introduced as a reporter for the Washington Post. Gloria preened in his presence, even more so than in the governor’s. He had an old fashioned notepad, but Robby was quite certain he was also recording audio with his phone.
“We do our job,” Robby answered simply. He eyed, over the crowd, Doctor Mohan who kept tabs on the boarders during this commotion, assisted by McKay.
There were gurneys in the hallway, as always, and maybe a few more wheelchairs than usual. Robby might have done one last pass in triage, picking up non-criticals with the most visible, impressive looking wounds to fill up the floor.
“Doctor Robinavitch is too modest,” objected Gloria, moving to his side. “He’s one of the best Emergency Physician of the country.”
“It was a team effort,” Robby retorted, voice grating, with a shake of his head.
“Well, I wanted to salute you all personally,” the governor nodded, looking over at the rest of the staff assembled around them.
“Unfortunately,” said Robby, glancing toward Gloria with a sardonic smile, “you won’t get to meet most of the people who worked that night. We are sorely understaffed, so a lot of those who volunteered their time are off right now to keep the department going,” he explained, intonation rising. “And the charge nurse leading during the MCI quit because she was assaulted. We don’t have enough security either.”
Glory, whose eyes had gotten a little fixed when he started talking, stepped forward, right in front of him. “What he means is, unfortunately the public-”
“What I mean,” Robby said louder, to cover her voice, “is a patient punched a nurse in the building-”
“She was outside.”
“She was by the door in the ambulance bay,” Robby corrected, facing Gloria, “and she stayed to do her job, despite a fractured nose, because she knew we can’t afford even an hour without one of our staff.” Robby turned to the governor. “And that’s how she ended up working past the end of her shift, through the pain, to save dozens of people. But our establishment doesn’t pay her a living wage, and that punch was the last straw. All my nurses are taking four to five twelve hours shifts a week, which is above the national or recommended average-”
“Robby,” Collins spoke, stepping forward to his side. He was raising his voice, he now realized. He didn’t acknowledge her presence, but took a breath.
“And we are months away from being put under corporate management,” he continued, more evenly, “which would deprive this city of its biggest trauma center—because I can assure you, that is the way it goes. Because while the number of lives we save is very high, our patient satisfaction averages are in the toilet. Because people wait eight to twelve hours sitting in a crowded waiting room, and then spend days right here, in the hallway,” he waved to the multiple gurneys lined against the walls “hoping for a bed upstairs. Which we have-”
“Doctor Robinavitch-”
“Which we have,” he said again, talking over Gloria, “but can’t staff because the wage we offer is substandard.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Robby could hear the beeping of machines and the soft whisper of nurses still working with patients from across the room. Everyone was staring at him : some wide eyed, some pitying ; Collins looked, worried, between him and Gloria.
The governor, who had nodded gravely through all this, had a frown between his eyes. Robby could feel Abbot at his back ; moved closer in the last minute.
Gloria plastered on a polite smile, the skin around her eyes gone tight, and she gestured a hand, good-naturedly, at him.
“As you can see,” she told the governor, with a nod to the journalist, “our doctors are very passionate about the care they provide. The Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center is a big family, and we have, like many other across the country, suffered greatly in the aftermath of the COVID pandemic. We do wish to improve the working condition of our nurses. ” She smoothed down her cerulean blue jacket in a practiced move. “Our board have put down several requests, for the last three years, for some special state funding to be granted to trauma centers like ours, so that we may provide our citizens with the best healthcare there can be. The nursing shortage is nation wide, but there is no reason Pennsylvania can’t put itself at the forefront, when it comes to creating more nursing jobs and ensuring a higher standard of care.”
She ended her sales pitch with a raised chin.
“Well, that is worth discussing,” the governor answered, nodding with a stiff smile.
A hand closed tightly over Robby’s shoulder, squeezing painfully. He realized the chief medical officer had taken her guest farther, toward the ambulance bay. She was introducing him to Ahmad : his security badge gleamed as he shook the politician’s hand. While she did some damage control, the Pitt crew had moved back to their posts.
Robby could hear his heart beating, a shrill whistling in his ears covering the ambient noise. He’d spaced out again.
“Lets go get some air, brother.”
Robby nodded listlessly. He let Abbot direct him toward the elevator, eyeing automatically the board, the patients and his team as he walked by. But everything seemed in order, and ambulances were temporarily directed to West Penn for the duration of the governor’s tour.
When they reached the rooftop, Robby felt like someone had cut off his strings. He barely made it to the guardrail, draping himself over it, head hung low above his crossed arms.
“Well, that was something,” Abbot declared in his sarcastic drawl.
“She won’t fire me.”
“No. But she can force you to retire.”
Robby turned his head, laying his forehead against the cool metal of the rail to get Abbot in his eyesight. The man was resting near, looking down at him, an amused tilt to his lips.
“Then I’d have nothing to lose,” Robby replied.
Jack Abbot smirk faded, a little nod of acknowledgement his sole answer.
Gloria was smart. She was going to be a pain after this, but there was a reason she hadn’t fired Robby so far. Hell, she’d already turned this thing to her advantage. He hated it, how easily she’d sided with him, like she wasn’t part of the problem.
“You had any day off since Saturday?” Jack asked.
Saturday. That had become the code word for Pittfest. Most of them couldn’t name it, these days. Or they just didn’t risk it around him. Robby wasn’t too sure.
“I was supposed to get Sunday, but there was too much to catch up on,” he answered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I have a four day break starting tomorrow, but I’ll be here Friday, since I’m missing a senior resident.”
Langdon was another name he’d rather not hear or speak.
“You going to the memorial, Saturday?”
Robby nodded yes. The whole city was in mourning. Not that you’d notice, in the echo chamber that was the ED. Abbot turned his back to the guardrail, resting the hollow of his waist against it. He was mulling over something, Robby could feel it.
“You thought about what I told you?”
Robby straightened, confused. “About?”
“I got an appointment with my therapist tomorrow I need to cancel. I’m needed for a consult I asked for a patient at the VA. You could take it, if you wanted.”
The reflective no hit the back of his teeth. Robby hadn’t been sleeping. His department was a mess, he was loosing his grip on the one thing he could always count on—his professional acumen—and Jake still wouldn’t talk to him.
“It won’t be a problem?”
Abbot’s ability to keep the surprise off his face was commendable. He only blinked his eyes pleasantly. “I’ll shout him a text. Tell him to expect you.”
Robby turned to look over the city, in a silent assent. Next to him, he felt Jack moving ; could see him, out of the corner of his eye, typing on his phone. Rule number one of flighty patients and uncooperative next of kin : the moment you get an agreement, you set things in motion. Don’t give them the time to change their mind.
Robby forced the tension out of his shoulders, pushed himself away from the guardrail and gripped both ends of the stethoscope around his neck. “You sticking around?” he asked.
“Not in the ED” Abbot answered, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll make a round with the patients upstairs, see if Head and Neck is ready to sign off on its MCI charts.”
They walked back companionably toward the elevator.
“Shouldn’t Walsh do that?” Robby asked once they were inside, his mind catching up slowly. “She was Primary Surgeon.”
Abbot smiled—the closed-mouth one he only displayed in good company. He pressed on the fourth floor button.
“Flores is being a pain, as usual. Emery has been bitching about it for the last two shifts. If I handle this one, chances are I’ll get a very cooperative Trauma Surgeon on consults for at least a week.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Nice change of pace.”
Robby snorted. “You’ll just get bored.”
The elevator doors opened and Jack stepped out. He taped the side of his fist on the metal as he turned before it closed : “I think we could all do with a little boring, right now.”
Back down on the Emergency Department floor, Robby checked prudently for any sign of Gloria before going in. But it seemed the danger had passed.
“Doctor Robby.”
Perlah made a bee line to him. He was walking toward the staff lounge, slowing to let her join him on the way.
“Did Dana really quit? I thought she was on leave.”
Robby nodded noncommittally, glancing at the nurse’s expectant face. Her hijab, today, was green, and her lips were pinched. He poured himself a cup of coffee.
“She’s still on leave,” he confirmed, leading her back out in the hallway. “But she did give her resignation. Gloria talked her into taking two weeks first, to think it over.”
“You have to convince her to come back. We need her. I can’t be a charge nurse.”
“Yes, you can. You did great on Bridget’s day off”, said Robby, taking a tablet from the nearest station. “But we’re not there yet,” he quickly added when he saw Perlah’s expression. “I talked to Gloria. She wants Dana gone even less than we do. She’s been trying to convince her to come back. Hopefully she’ll find the right argument.”
He checked the board with a glance and went to Collins, who was overseeing McKay’s work on a broken arm waiting for the OR. “Hell, Dana might negotiate us an extra security guard for the ED,” Robby told Perlah when she kept pace with him.
“The anaphylactic shock in South 20 is ready to be discharged,” Doctor Collins reported when she saw them approach. “And I put King, Santos and Javadi on all the extremity lacs that suddenly got admitted en masse” She gave him a pointed look. “So that we can clear up the hallway a little.”
“Who’s on chairs?” asked Perlah.
“Jesse is keeping an eye out, and I’ll be back there now that you are here,” she addressed that last part to Robby. He nodded, after checking the labs of South 20 on his tablet.
“Good work Doctor Collins. Perlah, we can discharge Mr Rodriguez. Make sure he has his script. And ask Bridget if she can get some update from her spies in the ICU : we need to snatch beds while everyone is still distracted with Gloria’s little press tour.”
The next hour went on as usual. The kids made quick work of the injuries that only required stitches and a dressing. They were all now incredibly efficient when it came to treating multiple patients in rapid succession ; and those didn’t even need to be stabilized. The day before, Whitaker—who was currently off—had been halfway through putting an airway before they all realized it wasn’t a task they usually attributed to med students in a standard capacity. But the hell with it : Javadi and him were old hands at it now. And Santos had executed a damn near perfect REBOA, in circumstances so chaotic it would have given pause to even the most seasoned physician.
Doctor King showed herself to be as self-sufficient as Doctor McKay, and Robby made sure to coach them both on some procedures once the ambulances started bringing back trauma patients to the PTMC. It was easy to rely too much on the two R2s, and forget to teach them as consistently as the rest of the lot. Collins managed the tide of the waiting room beautifully, sending him the occasional worried look when she came by ; and Mohan was back to her sluggish pace—a disappointing return to form after her incredible work during Pittfest. Still, she was his best diagnostician.
All in all, things were going great. Or as great as could be in his department. But every time Robby stopped, there was a hollow carved up below his diaphragm that grew wider and wider. It felt like the pressure of its vacuum pulled his insides into a compact knot. Robby hadn’t set foot in pedes since Saturday. He didn’t know how long he’d manage to keep that one up.
“What am I looking at, here?”
Abbot stood beside him, backpack over one shoulder. In front of them was an EVS worker, scrubbing green glitter paint off the floor in the middle of the ED.
“Kid covered himself in arts and craft supplies. Developed a rash. He’s fine,” Robby recounted. “You’re going?”
“Yeah. Off to get some sleep,” answered Jack, inviting him with a motion of his head to follow. “I’m on shift tonight. I’ll be back to pick up the slack.”
“No slack, just overflow,” Robby quipped in a lilting voice. He made sure Bridget saw him walk outside, and signed with a tap on his watch and raised fingers two minutes.
They moved to the side of the ambulance bay, backs to the wall, and Abbot handed him a card-stock paper. It had a name—Dr. Francis Murphy—and an appointment time for the next day.
“Fair warning, I told him were I found you the night after Pittfest. I had a quick session on the phone with him after the whole thing. It wasn’t about you. I have my own issues with the place. But it came up.” Abbot cocked his head to catch his eyes dead on. ”If that’s a bother, you can ask him for a referral.”
Robby shook his head, waving the note pinched between his fingers. “Nah.” He huffed. “It might be easier if he already know the stuffs I’m not telling. But that’s probably cheating,” he added with a rueful smile.
“Far be it from me to keep you from using every trick in the book to ace therapy. Murphy keeps telling me it’s not a competition, but I think he’s just a sore loser.” Abbot bumped his arm. “Just give me a heads up if you tell him anything he can use against me.”
“You sure you don’t want me to ask for a referral?”
“I’d rather you didn’t, honestly.” Abbot stepped away, turning to face him with a serious expression. “I know he can handle your brand of closed-off, since you and I are of the same mold. And he gets a lot of healthcare workers. He knows the drill…”
Robby lifted the card-stock in a lousy salute.
“All jokes aside, I doubt he’ll slip up between what you tell him and what I do. He’s solid.”
Robby nodded, eyes shifting to the ground, ready for this conversation to be over. He stayed there a moment, the soft card-stock squished between his fingers, listening for Jack’s steps once he finally walked away.
RED : route taken by Flint after having been blown east by the winds
On the way back from Charles Town (XVIII.), Flint explains to Silver that they are south of Inagua - having made a stop at Tortuga -, still on their way to Nassau because the "winds blew us east. "
THE WALRUS’S SPEED
the Walrus top speed is 7.5 knots. That speed was reached while chasing the Andromache (V.) by risking the masts’s integrity (argument between FLINT and DE GROOT, the t'gallants should not have been unfolded in that wind). With a proper carrening, that speed could be reached safely (“A clean hull means an extra knot or two in speed” in IV.), but the carreening was not completed (in IV: “A few more days, we’ll have the keel cleared and tarred and she’ll be ready to go back into the water”, but the very next day they were chasing the Andromache, as established by SILVER mentionning Randall’s amputation being the previous day).
the Walrus chasing speed is 6 knots, in favorable winds (the speed reched before risking the masts’s integrity, see above).
the Walrus average cruising speed is 5 knots (my estimate, somewhat arbitrary : I take into account the occasional slow wind and a lighter workload on deck to allow shifts for the men to rest).
Average travel time, at 5 knots :
1 knot = 1 nautical mile / h
5 knots = 5 nautical miles / h = 120 nautical miles / 24h
Nassau - Port Royal : 754 nautical miles
754 / 120 = 6,2 ; 6 days at 5 knots
Nassau - Tortuga : 539 nautical miles
539 / 120 = 4,5 ; 4,5 days at 5 knots
Nassau - Havana : 407 nautical miles
407 / 120 = 3,4 ; 3,4 days at 5 knots
Nassau - St Augustine : 511 nautical miles
511 / 120 = 4,2 ; 4 days at 5 knots
Nassau - Charles Town : 631 nautical miles
631 / 120 = 5,2 ; 5 days at 5 knots
Nassau - Savannah : 623 nautical miles
623 / 120 = 5,2 ; 5 days at 5 knots
Nassau - Boston : 1426 nautical miles
1426 / 120 = 11,8 ; 12 days at 5 knots
*The farther away, the most likely it is to wait days for the wind, or be blown off course (see map above).
Holy shit. On my post of the Pirate History of Jamaica and Port Royal, I noted :
« When the English captured Jamaica in 1655, most Spanish colonists fled, with the exception of Spanish Jews, who chose to remain. »
Now, I’m just realizing how perfectly that fits with the fandom canons I’ve seen for years that John Silver true name is Solomon Little, and that he has a Spanish mother/origin.
You guys… What if John Silver was from colonial Jamaica?
