'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

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April 15, 1912, North Atlantic Ocean

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Nothing Jack had witnessed over the course of three adventurous lifetimes had affected him quite like this. Not because he had, for one moment, believed that bloody ship was unsinkable- if no wooden vessel ever had been, no metal ship ever would be. And certainly not because he'd never witnessed death before. He had, all too often. Singular and plural. Men, women, even a few children.

It wasn't even because the victims were completely undeserving of their fate, and himself powerless to avert it. That, too, was something he'd experienced previously.

It was the sheer volume of their numbers which so horrified him. There must be several hundred people massed on that tilting deck, screaming and calling for help- he could hear them plainly even from this distance.

The former pirate- currently going by the name Abraham Lincoln Salomon- had obeyed the initial call for the first-class passengers to get into the lifeboats. Not because he'd believed, then, that his safety was actually threatened; he'd just felt in a mood to be closer to the ocean, and saw this 'precautionary' launch as an opportunity. But what began as a lark quickly turned nightmarish, as it become clear the looming hulk of ship was listing badly... was, in fact, in the process of going down.

Far worse: though a number of other lifeboats had been launched, there'd been none for the past quarter-hour, yet there were obviously numerous souls still aboard. Was it really possible that behemoth vessel hadn't been equipped with sufficient survival gear?

Sparrow wondered if he was the only one who fully realized what was about to happen. He glanced over his fellow lifeboat passengers. Most of the finely dressed women, and a few of the equally elegant men, were clearly distressed- one young lass was sobbing against her companion's shoulder, another quietly wept over her two huddled children. Several more males were displaying terse anguish, or determined stoicism. But some, it seemed, were hardly paying attention. Including the rotund sod seated on Jack's right, who, having located a cigar in the depths of his greatcoat pocket, was tapping Jack's sleeve.

"Pardon me- do you have a light?"

Jack did. "No." His return gaze flashed disgust. "How can ye be thinkin' about that, when a bloody huge lot o' people are about ta drown right in front of our eyes?!"

The man flinched, with resentment more than guilt. "My dear fellow, abstaining from a smoke shall not do a one of them the slightest bit of good." He deigned to glance in the direction of the less-fortunate passengers. "It is, of course, most regrettable..."

"Regrettable?!" Jack snapped. "It's a damned catastrophe! Might even be murder by negligence!"

"My good man, let us not presume that anything could have been done to prevent the loss of life."

"I bloody well don't have ta 'presume' they could've fit at least twenty more bodies inta this very boat- I can see it fer meself!" Jack waved an accusatory arm to encompass their criminally uncrowded vessel. He had abandoned all pretense of upper-crust speech patterns, but the other didn't seem to notice.

"No doubt, once a full investigation is complete, it shall be revealed there was no way to anticipate the space would be needed." The jowly sod nodded towards the foundering hulk's teaming decks. "It may be that some of those ruffians cast the remaining lifeboats adrift."

"What- toss away theer only hope o' life? How can ya think they'd do any such thing??"

"There is no accounting for what the lower classes been known to do, sir," the fat rotter replied, in such a supercilious tone Jack wanted to lunge at him. He might have, if somebody hadn't gripped his left arm.

Sparrow whirled on the grabber, only to confront a square, weathered visage, bearing strong resemblance to that of Joshamee Gibbs. He recognized Victor Robbins, valet to the fop in the second cabin down from Jack's.

"Steady now, Mr. Salomon. Instigating a donnybrook on this boat won't help anyone, either." That firm commonsense voice- also reminiscent of Josh- was perhaps the only thing capable of cooling Sparrow's ire. He forced himself to settle.

Another passenger lit the damned blighter's cigar, with a obviously costly gold lighter. Just the sort of shiny trinket that would normally draw Jack's eye, but on this occasion he turned his shoulder to it.

Though now a wealthy man, the ex-pirate had never really felt at ease amongst the upper crust. He'd bought a first-class ticket for this crossing, planning to partake of the luxuriant cabin facilities and well-stocked dining room, but also to sneak down into steerage for the more-enjoyable company there. He'd never anticipated encountering such a division of privilege as this. Even to someone with his take-what-you-can ethics, it was obscene.

Oh, Jack had seen men do plentiful harm to each other- done some himself, throughout his long-ago pirating years. But that was usually in heat of combat, or over the distance afforded by artillery fire, and always with something to be gained or defended. This near-indifference- by well-off people, no less- to the destruction of harmless folk they'd shared a ship with... that was truly alien to him. He'd never felt quite so isolated in a crowd as he did right now.

An alarming new movement snagged Jack's eye: the great ship's stern was tilting, rising slowly out of the water. Cries from the trapped passengers rose at the same pace. There was an increasing din of groaning and splintering, eclipsing all other noises, until, with a final horrific Crack, the stern crashed back down onto the surface.

Jack's jaw clenched as he realized the implications. He stood and pushed his way to the lifeboat's stern, where the uniformed ship's officer was grimly watching the spectacle. Sparrow tapped the young man's leg. "We've got plenty of extra space- can we not try ta go back ta fish some of those passengers from the water?"

The officer's face, though stiff with grief, was unyielding. "I'm sorry, sir, but we have to keep our distance. When that ship goes under, she'll drag down any..."

"Dammit, man, did ya not see what jus' happened?? The bloody ship's broke in two! She won't produce enough suction ta endanger a dinghy!"

"I can't risk it. My first responsibility is to the safety of the passengers aboard this boat! In any case..." the other's voice darkened, "...the water being cold as it is, it's most unlikely we'll be able to reach anyone in time to save them. I am truly sorry, sir." The bloke at least had the decency to look like he meant it. "Now please do sit down. There's nothing to be gained by rocking the boat."

/ No, of course theer's not. Whatever was I thinkin'! /

Sparrow felt distinctly nauseous, as he elbowed his way back to his seat. The Titanic's severed stern tilted again, almost to vertical, then began it's final decent. Most of the lifeboat occupants shut their eyes or turned their heads away, as the last fragment of the great liner slid into the sea for good.

But Jack looked squarely at that spot, covering neither eyes nor ears against the distant splashes and plaintive cries of dying people. Not even as quiet gradually descended, with all it's terrible implications.

It was the least Jack felt he should do, seeing how he was still alive.

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FINIS