The next day came and the five prisoners had found themselves on their hands and knees scrubbing the Queen Anne's Revenge main deck. Jack shook his head. This is exactly he had done the last time he was a crewman on this ship.

Except last time he hadn't been chained at the ankles.

As he scrubbed up and down Jack glanced at the stern of the ship and looked up at the magnificent TWO stories that made up the captain's cabin and navigation deck.

Barbossa was at the wheel. By what Jack could see he surmised that Barbossa was in a great mood.

Jack started to daydream about the many ways that he could kill Barbossa and take the wheel and the ship for himself…

"Ow!" Jack had to let go of the scrubber and hold his hands out to catch himself from falling to deck. Apparently Jack had gotten so caught up in day dreaming he forgot to scrub at the same time and the bosun had lashed him once across the back.

"Work sailor or we'll drop an anchor with you tied to it!"

Jack started to scrub the space in front of his bent knees as hard as possible.

He did so without saying anything when the other four prisoners looked at him. Their expressions were split between anger for causing the bosun to keep more of his attention on their group, and pity for the pain of the lashing.

After ten hours of scabbing all decks of the ship above and three decks below, the five wary prisoners were given a bowl of seasoned rice and a biscuit, escorted to the brig and freed of their chains that were chafing and rubbing their ankles raw.

The cell was lit fairly well as the sun shone through seven small holes that lined the ships second deck unevenly.

Jack took a corner of the cell and sat on the floor. He was hoping that he could lean his left shoulder against the wall of the ship and his right against the first bar of the cell and do so without worsening the pain of the lash on his back.

The other four began chattering away about today's events and where on the map they most likely were. They had grown accustomed to Mark Thatch's quiet ways. No one seemed to pay any attention as he sat in the corner eating his rice with a wooden spoon.

Joshua casually glanced at Mark. When he did he saw a ray of sun fall onto Mark's right forearm. Just then his suspicions were verified.

The soapy water that Jack had been using all day had soaked his arms from his hands to his elbows. He had been so occupied with avoiding another lashing that he hadn't noticed his cloth bracelet had slid down.

Jack met eyes with Joshua and immediately looked at his wrist and forearm. His "P" and Sparrow tattoo were exposed entirely and they were easy to see in the sunlight.

The other four prisoners were standing up and setting their half-eaten bowls and biscuits down and encroaching into Jack's corner.

Jack was immediately alerted and stood up swiftly, ignoring the shooting pain traveling his back.

"You're Jack Sparrow! A fugitive!" Said Joshua.

The other three men followed Joshua's lead and spread out. Jack couldn't get away without passing through the phalanx.

Jack thought quickly. He had nothing that could usefully be a weapon, and if a physical altercation was started Jack didn't think he could stand the pain of his back for very long. And he was grossly outnumbered.

Fighting was out so Jack went with his other arsenal: Words.

"You are smartly right, Joshua. I am the notorious and feared Pirate Lord of the Caribbean known as Captain Jack Sparrow."

The men stopped. They were all too close for Jack's comfort.

"What are ye doing then, callin' yerself 'Mark Thatch'?" Asked Isaiah rather menacing.

Jack took a few seconds to answer. The key here was saying just the right things. "Well gentleman I have 'converted' to…" Jack struggled to think of the word. He thought of that Bible thumper that he meant on this very ship and he knew Phillip had been a particular God fearing religion. When the word he was looking for didn't come, Jack quickly added "God."

Isaiah, Joshua and Jacob all studied Jack carefully. Jacob spoke this time, "What do ye mean ye've converted to 'God'? Ain't you always been a God fearing man?"

Jack couldn't hide his body language so he thought it best to answer truthfully to the best of his ability. "Er no. I tell you mates. I have never been one to act in fear of God almighty. But now as I grow olderish, I have begun to stop and think of my actions and fear what the Lord might think. I tell you lads, you see before you, a reformed man." Jack's words came out in an eloquent speech. He added to the speech by holding up his right hand. "I'd swear on a Bible if I had one."

Isaiah took a step forward. "You 'aven't answered the question. Why you callin' ye self Mark Thatch?"

Jack cocked his head a slightly. "Jack Sparrow be a wanted man. I thought it best to start a new life as a God fearin' man."

The men seemed tamed by Jack's words. But looks were deceiving.

Joshua leaped to Jack and the others followed.

Jack found himself on the splintery foul smelling floor in the fetal position with his arms up to his head, trying in vain to protect his eyes, nose, mouth and head from the four men's merciless beating.

Jack had led a rough life and he was no stranger to beatings, with him as both a victim and a perpetrator. He knew how to loosen his muscles and just let his body take the blows. Doing that greatly decreased the chances of breaking bones other than ribs.

After what seemed like a century Jack was saved. Two of Barbossa's crewmen had seen what was going on and had opened the brig door and stopped the men from kicking and punching him to the end of his life.

Jack readjusted himself as soon as he felt the kicks and blows cease.

Believing Jack brought the beating on himself by causing trouble, the two crew members ignored the other four men and picked a semi-conscious Jack off of the floor and carried him out of the brig.

The men snickered and shook their heads approvingly as Jack disappeared from their view.

As they climbed the stairs to the top deck with Jack in between them with each man holding one of Jack's arms, the men discussed what they should do with their badly beaten prisoner.

"We should throw 'im overboard. Let the sharks have 'im." Said the man to Jack's right.

"Naw, we take 'im to the Captain. Let Barbossa decide. Maybe he'll let us really tie 'im to the anchor!" The man on Jack's left laughed. He found himself amusing.

Jack tried to make his feet move. The men had no regard for Jack's condition and he winced in pain with every step each man took. Jack wanted to help them move him, hoping that would ease their carelessness.

When they were on deck, the Pirates carrying Jack found Barbossa's First Mate. A muscular bald man who had not long ago had been a slave. Barbossa had always had a thing for former slaves being his first mate.

The First Mate came to the main deck and surveyed Jack and his carriers. "What happen to him?"

"The others beat him senseless. We was carryin' him to Captain Barbossa."

The ex-slave gave Jack another glance but walked off.

Jack had become too heavy for the other pirates to carry and they shoved him off their necks and shoulders. Jack fell to the deck and passed out.

As he laid on the deck, Jack moved only his eyes and surveyed as much of his body as possible. He didn't see any blood, but that didn't mean there wasn't any.

The three waited. Jack found himself not caring about whether or not Barbossa would recognize him.