Hector Barbossa, pt. I
Hector Barbossa was on edge. He and the others had to act fast in order to outwit Jack Sparrow, for the captain was wily, if not batty.
But, in a way, Jack had brought this coming mutiny on himself.
He was never truly effective when it came to pillaging from merchant vessels—he always insisted on playing mind-games with the targets first, with the intent of tricking them into handing over their goods without a fuss. And for every one time his hair-brained schemes worked, ninety-nine times they would fail miserably and, inevitably, somebody would get shot.
He was deeply irrational, and given to screaming in hysterical outbursts about vicious monsters deep in the oceans and dead men who walked among the living. Oftentimes, these flare-ups were accompanied by violent sword-swings and Jack's breaking bottles over the heads of anyone in the immediate vicinity. Thankfully, these fits only occurred at night and when he was sober (which was rare). When he wasn't sober, however, he was either bleeding their rum supplies dry, or he would lose himself in Tortuga or Singapore, and the Black Pearl would find herself without a captain for several days. Two years of this outrageous behavior, and Hector never could come up with a plausible excuse for Jack's excesses, other than, "It's Jack Sparrow, mate—what did you expect?"
On top of all that, Jack was a haughty, downright selfish excuse for a leader. He had painfully little respect for the democratic process, though he seemed a perfect savant at manipulating the opinions of his crew when given any opportunity to open his mouth. He even knew where Hernan Cortes' famed Aztec treasure was hidden, and deliberately kept that knowledge to himself.
It was only through Hector's gentle, seemingly benevolent arguments—coupled with his subtle plays to Jack's paranoia—that he convinced the captain to give him the location of the treasure.
If only Jack knew his first mate's true plans. And surely, Hector reasoned, he must know something, if not everything. For Jack was wily, batty, naïve in the workings of the human mind, and everything but stupid…
And now that Hector finally had the coveted bearings, it was time for the crew, and himself, to make haste!
"Help me take the Pearl," he implored his crewmates, after Jack had forayed into Tortuga, without them, for the third time that month. "Jack Sparrow has proven, time and again, that he is undoubtedly incapable of leading this crew properly. Help me take the Pearl from that bloody nutter, and I'll give you each your fair share of the treasure he's been hiding from us!"
The majority did not require much convincing. They would surely have ripped Jack limb from limb if Hector had willed it. But, no—killing him would be too easy. Hector had something much more devastating, much more personal, in mind for that reprehensible bastard. Something Jack, batty or not, would remember till the day he died…
All they needed was for Jack to saunter back, pissed out of his head, and order the crew to set sail—to Port Royal, to England, to Singapore—it mattered little where Jack wanted to go this time. Then the crew would make a slight detour, according to Hector's direction, drop Jack on an uninhabited island, head for Isla de Muerta, gather up the treasure and spend it on everything they could possibly want or need for the next year and a half. Or six months, whichever came first.
There was, unfortunately, one little problem: Bootstrap Bill—one of three or four exceptions to the rest of the mutinous crew. He disagreed with the arguments made against Jack, and, being a man of principle and honor, he was extremely reluctant to participate in the uprising against a captain he happened to like. It was, however, with much persuasion—as well as a rather pointed threat to the welfare of Bootstrap's wife and son in England—that Hector managed to convince the opposition to, if nothing else, keep his trap shut around Jack and not give away the plotters.
As if Jack would ever consult Bootstrap on such matters as crew loyalty, anyway…