The lit match rolled around on the floor a bit as Jack's boat was pushed out into the ocean. The match caught fire to the boat, which wasn't too bad, as long as it didn't light the explosives sitting behind Jack. Jack hit one of the looser boards with the metal of his shackles. He broke it loose and dived overboard, his heart pounding. He gripped the board and kicked with his legs as quickly as he could, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the explosives.

The match finally caught the bombs; the boat exploded and burst into flames. Jack was thrown backwards and under the water by the force, clinging to the board for dear life. The flames whipped him in the face and scorched his hands; still he would not let go. When he surfaced above water, he found that the heat had melted the metal of the chains just enough for Jack to break out of them.

Jack managed to take hold of some scorched boards that had flown from the exploding boat. He ripped a piece of cloth from his shirt and wrapped it tightly around the boards, making a sort of small raft. He pulled himself up.

"Captain Jack Sparrow has done it again!" he chuckled to himself. He took off his three-pointed hat and filled it with water. He gagged on it, remembering the water was full of salt.

"Bloody awful, that," he flipped over on his stomach and gazed back at the battle on his ship. The Navy officers seemed intent on taking back the Flipper, but it didn't look as if Jack's crew was going down without a fight. Having no oar, he knew he couldn't go back to his ship; his best bet was to drift out here for a while and hope that they would notice his absence and come looking for him. He lay on his back with his hat over his face; all he had to do now was wait.

Soon, he had drifted off into a deep sleep.

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The battle was over; the Englishmen had retreated. Everyone celebrated this as a victory, except for Elizabeth. She knew the reason for the English Navy's retreat; they had killed Captain Jack Sparrow.

Around her, the other crewmembers were singing, dancing, and drinking, but Elizabeth would not join in. She walked over to the edge of the boat and looked out at the water, hardly daring to believe that Captain Jack was really gone. She had seen the ship explode: a great ball of fire and flames, but she refused to believe it.

"What's wrong?" a drunk crewmember asked, putting his arm around her slyly.

Elizabeth was sobbing too hard to push him off. Will came in and removed the drunk's creeping arm. "Leave her alone, if you will!" The drunk grumbled under his breath and walked off.

"What's wrong?" Will stood next to her.

Elizabeth pointed a shaky finger at the remains of the flaming boat and whispered, "Jack."

Will let her lean on him and cry. Elizabeth began to stammer, "Jack…in a boat…bombs…explosion…Jack is dead!" Tears ran freely down her cheeks and she burrowed her face deeper into Will's shirt.

Will knew he would hate himself later, but if Jack was really gone, then he might have a shot with Elizabeth. He stroked her hair as she rested against his body. Will gave a tiny smile.

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Jack awoke several hours later, still on his raft. Confused, he turned back in the direction of his ship, then realized that he couldn't find it. He turned around a few times, but all he could see was open water. He squinted into the distance, hoping for a glimpse of the Flipper , but found none.

Captain Jack Sparrow sighed. He figured that he would have to float adrift for a while, until a passing ship picked him up. He stuck his hat in the water and skimmed it along. He brought it to his lips and sucked down the water. It quenched his thirst, but it was still salty and dirty. Jack refilled it and again slurped down the water. He sat up and gagged, choking on the water and the little fish that he had caught in his hat.

Jack groaned and wiped the sweat from his forehand. He swung his feet around so that they hung in the water. A fish tried to bite his toes, but Jack reached in and grabbed it. It struggled for a bit before Jack finally surrendered and tossed it back, calling, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow and don't ye forget it, mate!"

It was dreadfully hot, so Jack stripped out of a few of his clothes, piling them up at the foot of the raft. The raft was no longer than five feet in length and four feet across, and held together by strips of Jack's clothes. It was a little uncomfortable, but Jack made do.

As he floated, he thought about what was going on at the ship. Maybe no one noticed that he was gone; perhaps no one had seen the explosion. Jack eventually came to the conclusion that they hadn't and that they were all singing and dancing and making merry without him. He sighed. Then he came up with the theory that everyone had seen the bomb go off and they were all mourning and crying for his poor departed soul. Jack smiled at this and stuck his cap in the water, pulling out warm water and tiny fish. Gagging and coughing, he forced it down; he was parched and starving.

A few more hours of sleeping, sweating, and retching, and Jack was ready to drown himself. He took one last look at the horizon. Spotting a smudge, he sat up straighter and squinted. No, it wasn't a smudge; it was land! He pumped his feet wildly, propelling him in the direction of the island.

It was much farther away than it had appeared; Jack was paddling for almost three hours before he finally collapsed, breathless, upon the shore.

"Good ol' white sand! Good ol' palm trees, you! Good ol…" Jack trailed off. "scorch marks! And burnt pieces of wood and bottles!" He picked up some of the blackened debris from the ground surrounding a large, black, circle of sand on the island. He collapsed on the ground in front of them.

He had been here before.

Twice.