Nine days earlier...

Aboard the ship, there was a tremor of excitement. Somewhat to Jack's surprise, the arrival of twenty new crew members (and a spider monkey) had been greeted welcomingly by the tired crew.

In the two days preparing for sail, there were no fights and few arguments, mostly on with those crewmen who took their time getting to the ship in the first place - Jack almost lost his temper at the ship's cook, Wolf, short for Wolfgang but everyone agreed Wolf sounded more piratey, an old German who Jack had sailed with since the first time he'd sailed on The Black Pearl, when he arrived then minutes before cast off (he'd been worried for the man's safety). Bill and Hector seemed to be getting along. Everything was, Jack concluded, going wonderful.

Jack watched as they put the port to their rudder: The sails were set now, and Bootstrap was holding The Black Pearl steady on her course. As the crew settled to their various tasks: Pintel and Ragetti cleaning the deck, more able men fixing various parts of the ship – Jack took off his boots and coat and laid them aside before swinging himself up into the rigging, grasping the rope with ease, climbing into the crow's nest and taking a quick look out for other ships, before settling down comfortably.

Six days later they were well past the coast of Jamaica, and heading Southwest. Jack was at the helm, occasionally glancing at his peculiar compass – bartered off of a voodoo women on a small island full of… Less than welcoming natives – guiding his beloved ship with a firm hand. He had been there for a watch and a half already, with Wolf bringing him the odd drink at intervals.

Bill came up the steps to the quarterdeck, and watched his friend silently for a few minutes.

"Got a problem, Mr Turner?" Jack asked, eventually.

"You cannot steer this vessel all the way to the island," Bill returned, "How far is it yet?"

"Two, maybe three days, depends o' the wind." Jack said, "Can't be sure, can'I, never havin' bin there mesel'."

"Let me take the helm, Jack." Bootstrap suggested, "Finish the watch."

"No thanks." Said Jack, with a smile, "The Pearl's in good hands."

Bill came a little closer, and lowered his voice. "Jack, please. Gimme the bearin', gimme the helm."

Fingers tracing the knots of wood in the handcrafted wheel, Jack shook his head.

"I'm wide awake, Bill, and I'm going to stay that way." He waved a hand, "It's no' yer watch, go and have a drink or something."

"Jack…" Bill tried.

Jack turned from the helm, expertly keeping one hand steering them in the right bearing, and gave Bill a look, one eyebrow raised. Bill sighed, and went away, somehow reluctantly, Jack noticed with a baffled breath.

When night came, Jack still stood at the helm, legs braced, hands resting on the helm, willing the vessel onwards through the dark. A lantern swung on either side of the helm, letting some light into the unearthly fog that had fallen over the ship.
At eight o'clock, the watches changed. The crew who had been on board went below, and men came up on deck pulling on clothes and yawning grumpily. As he disappeared to get some sleep, Bootstrap threw Jack a look but said nothing.
Barbossa crossed to the helm, his monkey chattering on his shoulder.

"Keep that little bugger away from me." Jack told him, not taking his eyes away from the sails.

Reaching his hand up, Barbossa scratched the tiny, scraggly monkey behind the ear as if he was a dog. "Still haven't given him a name."

"Don't much care if you never do."

"Shall I be takin' the helm, then Cap'n?" Hector asked, promptly changing the subject as the monkey scuttled up the ropes on the sail, "You must be gettin' sleepy." His voice was almost hypnotic.

"Not at all." Jack replied smoothly. In fact, he was beginning to feel rather weary, but the adrenalin in his veins was enough to keep him alert for a good while yet. Barbossa, unlike Bill, did not press the matter, but went off to speak to some of the men he had arrived with, leaving Jack, eyes half closed, on his own at the helm, continuing to steer the ship toward the Isla de Muerta. The watch changed another time, and Bill came to the helm, acknowledged that Jack was not giving up the helm in any hurry, and went back to duty without a word.

At dawn, the sun rose, sending slices of rainbow light across the ocean and the hull of the ship, the winding holding them steady, but the clouds were so drawn that it was still as dark as night. Jack was tired now, and beginning to wonder if he should divulge the island's coordinates to either or both of his mates. He had hoped to take The Black Pearl all the way. But as he stood yawning in the sun, gold tooth reflecting the light in his eyes and momentarily blinding him, he was beginning to be less sure that his concentration and sanity would last that long. Changing the bearing every now and then was one thing, but the wheel was going to have to be in someone else's hands for a while if Jack was going to get any sleep.

He accepted some coffee, the beans picked up for trading with last time they made port, and some food from Wolf, and ate at the helm, considering his options. One the foredeck, some of the men were gathering, and Jack began to wonder what they were doing – They weren't all on watch, and surely those who weren't would prefer the comfort of their hammocks. They were mostly Barbossa's men. Barbossa himself appeared on deck, rearranging his flamboyant hat and glanced across at the foredeck. With a deep yawn, Jack's eyes narrowed, something seemed fishy.

Taking a quick look at his compass, satisfied that he was going to the right way, Jack shrugged it off as discussion on the strange watches.

A few minutes later, Bill and Hector came up to the helm together. Bootstrap looked stressed, his handsome face anxious, but as if in contrast Barbossa looked astonishingly cheerful.

"Mornin'." Slurred Jack.

"Jack, you have to give us the bearings." Said Bootstrap, without preamble.

"Captain Sparrow." Countered Jack instinctively, not wanting to lose face in front of Barbossa.

"Jack," insisted Bill, "I've remember you the first day you came on The Pearl, a scrawny little nipper. I'm not asking as your mate here, I'm telling you as a friend."

"I remember that day too, but I fail to see what that has to do with the price o' rum or the Isla de Muerta. Apparently," he waved his hand dismissively in the direction of the grouped crew, "You don't think I can take ye there."

"It a'int –"

"I reckon our good Cap'n needs the facts explained to 'im." Interrupted Barbossa, pushing his way in between the arguing friends. Bill shot Jack a look of hopelessness, one he hadn't remembered every seeing on his friend's face before. Barbossa folded his arms. "T'is like this, Captain Sparrow: You promised us an equal share, I reckon tha' means equal shares of the coordinates too."

"Equal shares of the treasure, mate." Pointed out Jack.

"Aye," persisted Hector, without a pause, aimlessly twiddling with the sharks tooth hanging from the loop in his right ear (a trinket he'd caught Jack admiring a few days ago, although it was unlikely Jack would have chosen to wear it in his ear), "But to get to the treasure we need to get to the island, the men all agree we won't follow a Cap'n who a'int got our best interests at heart."

"Aye!" shouted some of the new crewmen, Alpert, the short squat man with the cannons and a goliath stringy Irish man Jack recognised as a newcomer, less new than the rest but new, called Shortly, picked up for his shipwright skills, included.

Jack looked from one to the other, and deliberately took his hands off the helm. Without his caring hold, the ship shuddered a little and lost some of her wind. The pirates were gathering now on the deck, watching the events unfold. They had split into two groups: Barbossa's group was by far the large of the two, and Jack noticed with a pang that some of his original crew had joined them. Hands rested on sword hilts.

"So it's a mutiny you want." Mused Jack, more to himself than anything else.

"If you call it that, aye."

At a signal from Barbossa his group drew their swords, and advanced from their places. Hearing a click, Jack turned and looked over his shoulder at Bootstrap, who, holding his pistol with the hammer cocked between Jack's shoulders, failed to make eye contact, instead examining the gun with apparent interest.

"The bearings, if you please, Captain Sparrow." Barbossa's use of the title seemed incredibly insulting, and as Jack yawned again he couldn't tell whether or not it was intentional.

The two sights of the fight were advancing on each other, and with a war cry Wolf suddenly raised his sabre above his head and attacked the dreadlocked Koehler. There was a loud clash of metal, sparks and a spurt of ruby red, and the old man dropped to the deck. A silence fell upon the crew, all of them. All eyes turned to Jack.

Jack was lost. He had no idea what he could do that wouldn't endanger his or his loyal crews' lives, with The Black Pearl still in their hands. He came up with nothing, after a minute's hesitation.

"Please Jack." Whispered Bill, his voice imploring.

Jack reached slowly into his coat, and drew out the charts he had inked in at Jamaica, unfolding it as he pointed at a point on the map. "I reckon we're here." He paused, following the trail his fingers made, "And we want to be here." There was a hole, about the width of a small knife blade, where Jack now pointed.

Barbossa took the chart. "Wise decision Jack. Bo'sun?" The tall tattooed man approached the helm, and Bootstrap removed his gun. Jack didn't move trying to escape. "Bind Mister Sparrow's hands, and send someone to fetch his effects, wherever he left them this time. He'll be needing a pistol."

The bo'sun scoffed at Jack. Rope was produced some somewhere in the crowd, and Jack's hands bound in front of him. The bo'sun marched him down the steps to where his subdued crew stood, behind enemy lines. Wolf's body lay on the deck, blood running through the cracks in the deck, unattended to. Someone had already pulled a plank over the edge of the ship beside the stairs on the side, and Barbossa called, challenging Jack to object, for the ship to heave to. Jack watched in horror as the other man commanded his ship.

Barbossa put an arm around Jack's shoulders, and pointed with a free hand into the dark. "See that little islet?"

Jack couldn't, and neither could most of his crew who squinted in the direction, managing to stitch a smile onto his lips with a nod. "I see it."

Barbossa looked unconvinced. "That'll be yours. We have your things, one sword, one pistol, as the Code commands." He clicked his fingers, and Jack was stripped down to bare feet (which he was already in, having removed his boots at some point in the night) and trousers, his coat and hat thrown carelessly into the corner made between the stairs and the ship hull. "That's for good measure."

"The code demands obedience to your Captain when they've done no wrong, reckon ye've already broken it, mate."

"This be not the time for parlay, Jack. And that'd be Captain Barbossa. But you see, the code be more actual… Guidelines, Jack. I'll take it yer not wantin' yer pistol then?" he dangled it over the edge of the ship.

"No, no, I'll take it." Jack protested hastily, to which Barbossa grinned as if to a good friend.

"One shot." He opened the pistol and took out all but one bullet, throwing the rest in one fluid movement over the side.

"I swear, Barbossa, I'll save it! I'll save it for you." Jack said softly, visibly shaking but not from the cold.

"Ye'll have a shot in the head within the week." Argued Hector, although he wondered at Jack's will, and how long it had been known to last. "But we'll toast to your health when we're rich men, anyway. Get going." He poked him in the back towards the plank, causing Jack to almost fall over the side.

"We'll be seeing ye." Grinned spindly Ragetti, waggling his fingers in Jack's direction.

At the same time, every man on board seemed to have something to say.

"Bon Voyage." Added the Frenchman, receiving a pat on the back from his fellows. Obviously that much of his language was understood. He attempted some English. "Good… Bye?"

Pintel slapped him across the shoulder playfully. "Atta boy, Frenchie."

"Glad I'm not ye, Jack." Koehler sniggered, apparently pleased with himself.
"Yeah." Agreed shaggy Twigg, "What 'e said."

Jack, staring like a deadweight out to sea, didn't reply, while Bootstrap's face looked as close to tears as he could get without it being his own son on the plank. He was staring at Jack, in front of the rest of the crew but beside Barbossa.
Jack was scared. He never let it show, but today the disrespectful looks he was receiving from all the crew were their answer to the look in his eyes. His shoulders fell, as he walked slowly down the splintered wooden plank, trying to see where he was actually headed. Gulping, he looked over his shoulder, bent the stiffness out of his neck, and changed his tune. With a start of surprise, Barbossa realised Jack was grinning madly.

"You forgot one very important thing, mate." Dialogued Jack, as he stood at the very rim of the plank.

"And what be that?" asked Hector, as if to a small child.

Jack turned to look at Bootstrap, still grinning but looking betrayed, and getting no response turned back to Barbossa. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?"

Barbossa held back a snarl and a sharp remark, but saluted Jack, throwing the pistol into the sea. Jack yelped, his face going pale, but stopped to salute – deftly and arrogantly with his bound hands – Barbossa back before executing a hurried but complex dive into the sea. Many of the crew muttered – Jack could swim?

"Trust us to maroon someone who can swim." Grumbled Alpert, joining the rest of the men in waiting for Jack to breach the surf.

Barbossa grinned, satisfied, and turned his back on the ripples across the waves that marked Jack's departure. He had no doubt Sparrow would make it to shore. He stopped walking, ran his hands down the helm, and pinned down the map with his spyglass on a ledge.

The Black Pearl set sail.