All he wanted was a crew under his command, a boat under his crew, and the sea under his boat. Most of all, though, he wanted glory and riches. All he wanted was to be a part of the Royal Navy.

He woke up. If he let himself fall asleep, he would drown in the shallow puddle of water gathered at the keel of the ship. Still, he allowed himself to fall into his dreamy half-rest.

"Aren't you a little young to be admitted into the Navy? Even we did accept someone so fresh out of childhood, it wouldn't be you."

He didn't care what the Commodore said. There was another way to get what he wanted.

He woke up again, but this time it wasn't so as not to drown. This one was because one of the other captured stowaways was stirring. He ignored the younger boy, and slipped back into his memories.

He crept on board the ship. He knew, knew, that the navymen were asleep. It was the dead of night. Even Royal soldiers needed to bed down every night. Suddenly, though, a pair of pirates burst out of the captain's quarters.

"One more drink!" one said.

"And what better place to get one than the Sunk'n Norwegian?"

He dove behind some barrels, hoping the pirates didn't see or hear him. His hopes were in vain. Not because of the drunken pair, but because of the night guard, perfectly sober, who picked him up by the back of his shirt and tossed him into the belly of the ship with the slaves.

He awakened. One of the crew was in the belly now, rousing slaves from their sleep. He stood with the rest of them, and the crewman approached.

"Ahoy! Who might you be? Never seen you with these here knaves. Well? I'll have a name!"

He looked up at the crewman. "I'm Jack. Jack Sparrow."

Jack was immediately put to work as a slave. He was the one supposed to clean the captain's quarters during the day, when he was out on the wheel. It wasn't a pleasant job, due to all of the alcohol and nameless other things the captain enjoyed in the hours of anchor.

Jack shook his head. Night. Jack couldn't allow himself to start using pirate lingo. He would not go on account. Turn pirate! he berated himself. During the hours of- during the night, Jack was put in the freezing puddle of sea in the belly of the ship. Essentially, this meant no sleep. If he started to nod off, someone would burst in and scream at him. "Ye think y'can try to take a caulk before anchor? Back to work smartly, or we may have to blow ye down!"

It seemed like eternity while he was working, but soon Jack found himself swabbing the deck instead of the captain's quarters. Apparently a new stowaway had been captured to replace Jack. The deck-swabbing was an easier job, and with so many slaves on it it only had to be done thrice a day for an hour. The worst part of the job was a slightly older slave, name of Thorley. He forced Jack to do his own swabbing in addition to Thorley's. Still, Jack found himself with a lot of free time. About half of this was used to sleep, the other half he would spend with an older slave by the name of Joshamee. Jack had expressed his skepticism about the legitimacy of the name, so Joshamee had said just to call him Gibbs. Gibbs had been teaching Jack how to fight. He said the older slaves would be called upon if the pirates ran into trouble, and that he supposed Jack would be considered an older one.

"What if I don't want to fight?" asked Jack. "I snuck aboard thinking this was a ship of the Royal Navy."

"They'll drag you to the deck anyhow you choose, but if you don't fight you'll be killed. And, though the captain don't like it, you can sneak some of the loot and bribe some crewmen for extra rations or a knife. Now, do you want to learn to survive, or would you rather be killed by that precious Royal Navy of yours?"

It was about then that Jack realized. The Royal Navy had refused him, and wouldn't have given him what he wanted. He could have glory, riches, a crew, and a ship as a pirate. Jack was to go on account.

In his sessions with Gibbs, he learned to fight without weapons, how to fight with a knife, how to fight with a cutlass-though they didn't have access, they learned with belaying pins-and how to tire his opponent out without having to expend any energy. Finally, he was ready to practice his skills in the real world. Gibbs said that was the only way to get better than he already was.

Jack walked across the deck. Shouts followed him to get back to work, but when the crew saw what he had in mind they would shut up.

"Thorley!" Jack shouted. The older slave turned around.

"Here to do my swabbing, then?"

"No," Jack said. "Actually, I'm here to stop doing your swabbing."

"That makes no sense. Get on your knees and swab, 'fore I blow ye down."

Jack shook his head. "You don't have the guts to try."

"Yeah?" Thorley lunged at Jack with his fists. Jack dodged to the side, letting Thorley fall into the bulwark. That put him closer to belaying pins, though, and he picked one up. Jack was forced to the defensive, as he couldn't beat Thorley to any other belaying pins. As a result, he took several cracks across his forearms before he managed to disarm his opponent. They were near the bulwark, now, and as Thorley dropped the pin Jack kicked at his chest. Thorley drew a knife, though, that he hadn't revealed before. Jack could no longer afford to take any cracks across the forearms. The first strike Thorley threw, Jack stepped forward to block. He faced his palms away from the knife so that his major veins wouldn't be in danger. With both arms, he deflected Thorley's arm away from him. From there, Jack simply grabbed the knife and pushed Thorley over the bulwark. The crew, previously opposed to his lack of work, now hoisted him onto their shoulders, neglecting even to take his knife.

"I think 'e's goin' on account!" one said.

"Surely take the Captain's place one day!" said another.

Jack sat in the belly, still a slave but quite in better shape. He wore the clothes of a pirate, and nearly was one. He had gray trousers, brown boots, and a loose white shirt. Just over that he had a blue vest, taken from a Navy officer. He wore a wide belt to accommodate his stolen cutlass and pistol. In addition to this he wore a sash, which was just a strip of high-quality cloth that he tied around his waist. He also had a narrow belt across his chest, and a long brown naval coat. His head was decorated with a few items: another bit of high-quality cloth, this one red, a few beads, and a row of higher-quality beads hanging on one string. Lastly, Jack had gotten his hands on a compass, which hung next to cutlass, and two rings, which he wore. His job had improved, as well. He'd been given the job that all slaves got if the crew thought they would make good pirates. He was a messenger for the lookout up in the crow's nest. The job was to allow him practice in climbing rigging and interacting with crewmen.

"Jack! Captain's to see you!" One of the crew members shouted from above. Jack stood and rushed to the deck. He'd never met the Captain before. Only heard rumors of the legendary Captain Hector Barbossa. Jack jogged to Barbossa's quarters and tapped on the doors.

"Yes, come in, come in." Barbossa's gruff voice responded from inside. Jack opened the door and sat, scratching his stubble. Barbossa was the picture of a cruel pirate captain. He had a large, scraggly beard that matched his hair. His face was covered in scars, and he looked as intimidating as Jack hoped to be. Barbossa was dressed just like a Commodore, and because he'd captured the uniform of one.

"I have one question for you before I let you go full on account. Where do you-"

"SAILS! BLACK SAILS ON THE HORIZON!"

"Well? Get on the deck, Jack."

Jack did. He stood and turned, pulling his cutlass from his belt and kicking the doors out. The deck was full of pirates and slaves, all preparing for battle. None of them knew why the ship was in these waters, but they knew it meant trouble. Jack saw just how fast the sails were approaching, and figured the same. He dove, rolled, and slashed a piece of rope. That released a weight, and a red flag rose to the top of the mainmast. Only several seconds more and the deck was still. Men worked as usual, adjusting rigging and sails, swabbing. Only now they were all prepared for battle. The black-sailed ship neared and slowed, and Jack saw the name. Wicked Wench. It was a merchant ship.

"Run a shot across the bow!" the First Mate said. Jack found a discarded musket and fired past the ship. In return, the guards on board the ship began firing at the pirates. A few men tossed grapples and ropes over to the Wicked Wench, but Jack knew a faster way to get over. He leaped to the rigging and climbed, letting his coat drop to the deck. Once he reached the yardarms, he ran across toward the merchant ship and leaped again. He landed on the Wicked Wench's yardarm, and dropped to that ship's rigging. Finally, he climbed down, and dropped next to the mainmast. The foremast and mizzenmast were also host to two fighting slaves, and the trio drew their cutlasses and attacked. Several guards fell before the ships ground together. Barbossa himself jumped over to this ship, along with the rest of the crew and slaves. Their ship was now completely empty.

"Sink her!" Barbossa shouted as he tossed bodies toward the old ship. Someone fired a cannon, leaving a massive hole in Barbossa's ship's hull. The ball would no doubt fall and create a hole below the surface of the sea. It was only now that Jack realized Barbossa wanted to sink his own ship in favor of this much faster one. Suddenly, Jack found himself facing two men. They attacked at the same time, so Jack deflected one blade into the other. Thusly tangled, the pair had trouble defending themselves when Jack cut them both down. It would seem those were the final two, and Barbossa threw them onto the other sinking ship. Finally, the ship dropped below the surface of the sea, and the ensuing silence was deafening.

"Well?" Barbossa said. "Back to work! Bring her about!" Everyone was back to work, then, except those without anything to do. They were the ones looting. Jack joined Barbossa in the quarters again.

"Alright," Barbossa said. "Where do you want to be on this ship?"

Jack was brutally honest. "In your chair."

"Sorry. That can't happen. Where do you want to be, besides here?"

"Behind the wheel."

"That's also my place," Barbossa said, angry now. "We're putting you on an island, if that's all you want."

"Fine. I'll captain this ship one day."

Barbossa shook his head.

"You'll be left with one shot for your pistol and whatever happens to be on your back."

Jack reached shore, and looked around. Desert island. One shot. He didn't know how he'd escape. He could try to make a raft, but of what? He cast about again, but all he could find were some turtle shells, dried out from when their owners washed ashore. Hmm... Jack thought. With that, he set to collecting. He began with the shells, putting the nine he could find in a square. Next, he collected leaves from the few trees around the island. With those he made a wrap, so that the holes in the turtle shells wouldn't cause the raft to sink. Finally, he took strips of leaves and bark and tied the raft all together. From there, he simply jumped onto the raft and allowed it to drift into the sea. The tide was falling, as Jack had wanted, and the turtle raft was swept quickly into the deeper sea. Finally, he could sit back and enjoy the drift until a boat came through. He scratched at his stubble again, vowing to use this shot on the man who'd given it to him. Captain Barbossa.

It was only an hour before a sail appeared on the horizon, growing rapidly. Jack stood, waving his arms and jumping. In doing so, he cracked the raft and nearly sank. The ship was nearly to him, though, and he jumped aboard. It was a large ship, and the crew likely hadn't noticed him even with his arm waving and raft cracking. He was safe for now, but that meant Barbossa was not.

Jack scratched at his stubble for the first time in months, only realizing now that it wasn't stubble any longer. It was a beard of reasonable length, long enough on the bottom to tie. He smiled, and pulled four beads from his hair. It took a few seconds, but he managed to tie those into two braids of his beard. He was currently on board a low, single-masted ship, a glorified fishing boat. He'd tied it to the back of the Black Pearl in harbor, and nobody had noticed when they pushed off. Jack was surprised at how little drunken pirates noticed. He was always drunk nowadays, and he noticed most things. He'd recently captured a lot of plunder, though most of it had been thrown out. A few things he did keep were three rings, a souvenir bone that he tied into his hair, a black glove, more beads, and an expensive wide belt. Most importantly, though, besides the rum, was the leather trim-cornered hat that he always kept with him. His pistol had stayed with him, its shot still loaded. His cutlass, though it had turned black with wear, was still razor sharp and at his side. He'd briefly taken the Black Pearl, but not from Barbossa. Someone had stolen it out of harbor, and Jack took it back from that crew. He'd fallen from the deck as Barbossa boarded, though, and had hardly gotten to his boat in time for push-off. Now he only waited for his opportunity to board and kill Barbossa.

It had been a week since Jack had made his plan. He still didn't have the opportunity, though. Barbossa was always surrounded by crewmen. Jack couldn't fight them all. Finally, he'd been jostled loose from his boat and found himself in a large port while his ship blazed away. From that port he'd taken another boat, this one slightly bigger but still low and single-masted. For the first time in weeks, he supposed he should dock. He finally reached a new harbor and donned his hat. Nobody gave him a second look as he walked up the dock and took a room at an inn. That inn was made of rickety wood and loose thatch. Jack couldn't sleep, rarely could when not at sea. Instead, he simply lay there and pondered what city to rob next. Perhaps the one I grew up in. Steal from that horrid Commodore who denied me a place on the Navy. With that thought in mind, Jack smiled and drifted off.

It was early when Jack arose. He dropped from the inn window, twisted his ankle. He'd done so on a bag of coin, which he picked up and moved toward his boat. Nobody was awake yet besides him, so he managed to push off in peace. His mistake, he chose the wrong boat.

This one had a hole in it.

By the time jack reached his destination, his boat was nearly sunk. His only chance was to raise the sail all the way, and approach the soaring hills at full speed. Next, he placed himself as far from the water as possible, standing on the yardarm with his arm on the mast. His hair, bandana, and coat blew in the wind, flying out behind him. There was a jostle after a moment, and Jack realized that he needed to bail water out of the hull before he sunk completely. He dropped into the ship and picked up his bucket, throwing water out of the rapidly falling boat. As he looked up for the second bail, something caught his eye. Three desiccated corpses hung from nooses under a rocky overhang, their feet subject to the salty mist. Next to them was a sight.

PIRATES: YE BE WARNED

Jack took off his hat and placed it upon his heart, saluting his fallen comrades. Finally, he looked back down at his boat and saw that his bucket had floated away. He shrugged mentally, climbed back up the mast to the crow's nest, and let the boat close the small remaining distance between him and port. People stopped their work to stare and point, but Jack kept his eyes forward. The timing was perfect. By the time his boat reached dock, it had sunk enough that the crow's nest was even with the dock. Jack stepped smoothly and easily onto the dock, ignoring the boat as it rumbled against the port floor. He knew there was a toll to dock here at Port Royal, so he waltzed past the collector as though he was supposed to be there.

The collector looked around, then sputtered. "We- Erm- uh... Hold up, there, you!" Jack let his foot stay suspended over the dock for a second more, then turned about to face the pudgy man. "It's a shilling to tie a boat to the dock!" Jack looked at him for a moment, then at his boat. All that he could see above the water was the crow's nest. The collector looked at the boat as well, and Jack looked back at him as if to say, That's hardly a boat, now is it?

The collector looked down, but stayed his course. "And I'll need to know your name."

Jack thought for a moment. He was well-known, and marked as a pirate. He couldn't give out his name. He reached down for some coins, and laid three out on the collector's parchment pad. "What do you say to three shillings, and we forget the name?"

The collector looked at the coins, greed in his eyes. "Welcome to Port Royal, Mister Smith."