"I saw Jack Sparrow die by his own hand.
He was always notorious for running away from his problems, but never had we thought he could do something as rash as this. Now, Jack wasn't depressed. That's not the reason he did this. Jack, in fact, had always been terrified of death and the Abyss. Why do you think he was always searchin' for an elixir of life?
But like I said, he wasn't depressed. Jack loved the sea; it was his home, his family, his life. And whenever he got in trouble, he always escaped. Jack was a true pirate; it was in his blood whether he liked it or not. And, boy, did he love the treasure. 'Not all treasure is silver and gold', he used to say. Well, if that's right, then Jack loved treasure in every meaning of the word.
We had been having an extremely lucky streak the week before he died, crossing paths with two Royal Navy galleons shipping silk and tea to Boston. We knew it was going to Boston because the crates had it stamped on them. We sold the silk and drank the tea. Well, the crew drank the tea. Captain Jack didn't really like the tea, so he kept to his rum.
I've heard people say it was the rum what drove him crazier than usual. I strongly disagree. Jack had been a rum drinker since he was old enough to walk; by this time, I doubt if it even had an effect on him by now. He probably liked it for the taste, knowing Jack. But Jack only started having odd mood swings after the tea was gone. After the tea was gone Jack was not allowed to drink a lot of rum (as the rest of the crew wanted their share and Jack did not want another mutiny).
But the tea was gone in three days, leaving four until he died. Jack became angrier than usual, his short temper exploding at the slightest offense. More than once I tried to help him, but all that got me was a few lashes and an extra load of work to do.
Upon entering his cabin, one would've seen journal entries upon journal entries scattered across the floor, ripped out of the log books. Almost as if he wanted all memory of him erased… A bloodstained dirk lay on his bed. Whose blood it was, no one knew. Rumor had it that the "dirk" was actually the broken sword used to stab the heart of Davy Jones. That had been Jack's real chance at immortality; it was so close, he could've had it! But instead he did something completely out of character and saved a friends' life instead. And Will Turner was most definitely Jack's friend. Will gave Jack a reason for entering the pirate world again; and Will had always seemed to get in trouble, causing him to enlist Jack's help. But now that Will was off on his own adventure, one Jack could not tag along on, Jack had nothing exciting to do.
Jack had also received word two weeks after the showdown with the Royal Navy that his father, Captain Teague, lost his life in a fire at Shipwreck Cove.
Some say he gave up on life after that. 'So he was a successful pirate now, he'll get caught eventually. What comes up must come down.' Jack never wanted to perish by someone else's hand. He did things his way, made his own decisions. He was a persistent little bugger, I'll tell you that.
A few refuse to believe he committed suicide. They say he was murdered, or it was an accident—a malfunction of his pistol. But I saw what really happened. I saw him write his goodbye letter, I saw him salute the crew, I saw him pull the trigger.
It was noontime on a clear Caribbean day. I had entered his cabin to ask for a new heading. The look he gave me partnered with the letter he was writing should've warned me about his intentions. But his voice was calm and his demeanor was as aloof as ever. "Why don't we head for…Africa?" It was an eccentric, Jack Sparrow-esque request and I thought nothing of it until later.
It was too late before I realized that heading towards Africa would mean that there would be no land near us to bury him in. It was just like Jack to want to be committed to the sea instead of the land.
We were a few hours into our new course when Jack finally came out of his cabin. He silently inspected the cargo, the ropes, the sails, the food supply, the crew. I was the helm this entire time, watching him. Cotton, who was beside me, was looking out to sea instead of at Jack. After Jack was done inspecting the ship, he made to go back to his cabin, but turned around and saluted us.
I didn't see the glint of the pistol until it was against his temple.
A few brave pirates call Jack a coward, a coward for going the way he did.
Jack was many things, but he wasn't a coward.
No, not a coward."