It was a fresh, bright day when they set sail, with Lovehaste's neatly written coordinates for the Isla de Muerta.
Barbossa stood at the front of the ship, smiling peacefully, Jack the monkey on his shoulders.
Well, I've got those coordinates now. What more would I need Jack for?
True, he wasn't completely persuading himself, but at least he felt slightly better.
One stop at Tortuga, where the crew could spend their tea money in a solid week of debauchery and luxury, and then onto the famed isle, for more money than they could ever dream of. And Barbossa, good old Barbossa, would look after them like his children, without Jack, it was true, but without bloody Lovehaste as well. They'd be one happy, ridiculously rich family, altogether.
What could possibly go wrong?