Just a little something Hector whispered in my ear as I was about to go to bed last night ... ;)
He didn't tell Jack how very nearly he had died, that fateful night when Blackbeard had taken the Pearl. Jack didn't need to know how he had howled in pain and fear but also in rage as he had struck at his leg with his sword again and again until he had managed to sever it. Jack didn't need to know how he had clung to a barrel that had been swept off the Pearl during the fight. Clung to it for dear life, for God knew how long, while the current carried him away from the Pearl and from Hispaniola, out to the open sea. Jack didn't need to know about the horrors he had seen in his dreams as he lay in the clutches of a fever that almost finished what Blackbeard had started – dreams of the fiery pits of hell, of Davy Jones and his Kraken, and of Blackbeard, always of Blackbeard.
He had survived, with nothing but the clothes on his back. He had made his way to England, to London, and had managed – with no small amount of flattery and groveling, maybe that had been beneath him but he had been desperate – to enter the services of King George as one of the king's privateers. He had recovered. His wounds had healed. His leg had healed. He had gone back to sea, back to doing what he did best: hunting down ships and relieving them of their riches. Only now, it wasn't the East India Trading Company anymore that he went after but mostly the Spanish and the French. And all that time, all those nights, Blackbeard was haunting his dreams.
Revenge was one thing. Yes, he did want to take revenge on Blackbeard for taking his ship and for forcing him to cut off his own leg, like a fox caught in a trap gnawing off its own limb to escape. Blackbeard had taken everything from him, not just his ship but his entire life. For that, he wanted him to pay, and pay dearly.
But this was about more than revenge. He wanted Blackbeard dead. He needed Blackbeard dead. He needed him to die by his hand – only then could he be sure Blackbeard was truly, definitely dead. If he didn't kill him, Blackbeard would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would always be looking over his shoulder, always squinting at the horizon on the lookout for Blackbeard's ship. He couldn't let that happen. Not if he truly wanted to be the master of his own fate again.
And so he was back in the Caribbean once again, tied to a palm tree and watching Jack improvise their escape in his very own, unique way.
Make this work, Jack, he thought as he watched Jack work his way up the palm tree's trunk. See to it that I do get my chance at Blackbeard and maybe, this time, I'll let you keep the Pearl.
