I finally was able to get past the block for this chapter and I had a blast and a half writing it. I do hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

One of my longest chapters ever written and I am so proud of it.


Virginia was getting cold this time of year. Leaves on the grand Oaks, the looming Ash trees, the towering Sycamores, the sturdy Maples, and many other species along the edges of the dirt paths were just starting to adjust to the cold, shifting colors from green to a multitude of contrasting yellows, bold reds, vibrant oranges, and even soft violet hues every now and again depending on the tree. The old beaten trails had been traversed on many a time before they had worn the grass down to the dirt that resided beneath.

Autumn was, in fact, Antonio's favorite season.

During their long trek from Ocracoke Island into the Virginian mainland, Antonio had really love the sights that he had missed so much on the mainland before, not as much as he missed his blue lady that was. Nothing could make the journey more perfect. Well, maybe music would be the only thing. Antonio wasn't even bothered by the fact that they were shackled and watched all hours of the day, even when pissing in a bush, or that they were actually being led to their pending deaths.

"Why can't we have any rum again?" Gilbert asked for the — what was it now, 28th time? Antonio himself lost track.

He would only be reminded because Maynard would simply roll his eyes and reply, "For the 36th time," — he really did lose count — and then give some reason for why. Some examples were "you bastards already drank what was left from your ship," and "because it would only be giving in to the pleads of scum." This time, however, he said something different, "For the 36th time, I will not give you anything alcoholic. We don't even have any on hand. However, you may request some with you last meal."

Antonio bit his lip slightly. "Last meal? We haven't even had a trial? Our fates can't be decided already."

There was a certain glint in Maynard's eyes. It almost seemed like he was mocking them. "Yes, but pirates are all the same, therefore treated the same. No matter how you plead or how your past has been for you, you will all be hanged in the end."

Antonio shot back, "But we were under contract!" Though he wouldn't admit it to his enemies, he was made nervous by the fact of dying. Even if he did accept his fate, he knew he wasn't ready.

"A contract that you broke with your crew" — he gestured towards all the other pirates in the shackles all chained together — "and with your captain as well." Seeing Antonio open his mouth again, he held up his hand to block the Spaniard's face, adding quickly, "I do not want to hear how you were forced to join the crew. I have heard more than my fair share and will not stand for it, mostly when proof is lacking."

Exasperated with the fact that Maynard knew what Antonio was thinking. In the back of his mind, he wondered just how many pirates Maynard had faced (and put down) in his lifetime. Shoving the unsettling thought to a forgotten corner of his mind, Antonio silenced himself for the remainder of the journey unless spoken to, mainly by Gilbert.

"So," Gilbert suddenly brought up after a long moment of silence, "why can't we just have a damn wagon take us to Williamsbeard?"

"WilliamsBURG! Must you be so irksome?"

The albino shrugged nonchalantly. "Someone has to do it, mate."

Maynard groaned and slapped the palm of his hand in his face. "Bloody pirates."

"But my question still stands. Why can't we travel in a wa—"

"Because you bloody pirates don't deserve to be treated like civilians or guests!"

"Technically we are your guests," Antonio muttered, deciding he had nothing better to do.

"Prisoners are not among the definition of guests, pirate."

Gilbert smirked to himself inwardly. "Ah, ah, ah. We are prisoners of yer ship, my friend. Now we are traveling to a different prison which, in proper terms, makes us guests for the prison."

"Only temporary travelers are guests."

"But we'll only be staying temporarily until our deaths, then we will part, body and soul, from the prison."

"Not if I bury you in the courtyard, you won't leave!" He pulled out his flintlock and aimed it for Gilbert's head. "Now, I could off you right now and leave your body for the buzzards, and I won't hesitate a second to drop your sorry corpse, or you can quiet that mouth of yours and behave like a prisoner."

Gilbert motioned to the other pirates who were muttering amongst themselves at how foolish he was for testing a Naval Officer. "Ya mean these sorry cowards? If ye're going to kill us one way or another, is it a bad thing to make these last moments worthwhile, mate? Instead of grieving like they had nothing to live for as if they were out on the streets begging for food."

At the time he mentioned being homeless, flashbacks littered Antonio's mind

"My life was spectacular, granted there were some things I could have done without, nonetheless I did spend my life well. And I plan to live every moment of it worth my while. We could die at any moment. Some of us do without ever living life to its fullest each day of their lives."

Maynard paused for a moment. The expression on his face to hear that coming from a pirate shocked him. He lowered his pistol and turned to walk without saying a word. In his mind, he was unsure how to respond to the pirate's words. This Gilbert and Antonio were surely not like other pirates. A twinge stirred inside of him but as an officer of the law, he pushed it aside out of habit.

Antonio glanced at Gilbert as they walked. Their footsteps crushed the hard pebble and dirt road softly beneath their feet. "I haven't met many people who had thought the same way, especially other pirates."

Gilbert looked from the sky to Antonio, hands behind his head. He simply shrugged his shoulders. "Life's too short to let the little things stop ya from living. I've had my fair share of times where I could have given up quite easily. But then I wouldn't be were I am today."

Antonio stared for a moment. He could surely understand the feeling Gilbert gave off. He had thought back throughout his past. Times and times again he had had tough times, as did everyone else, and had gotten through them no matter how bad they were. When he lost his parents it wasn't easy. He was able to make it with his brother for some time, and after they parted ways it wasn't long before meeting his ex-fiancé. Things went downhill when she left him to rot on the streets, but he showed others that he could make it. And he did just that. Not letting anyone discourage him. He made his life just fine until Blackbeard came along and took him aboard. He thought he had made a horrible choice there. After some time, and having Gilbert as a friend, he grew to enjoy the life of a pirate. It wasn't exactly the life he wanted at first, but he enjoyed the freedom and the ocean more than anything. He'd do it all over again if he had the choice. Yes indeed, life was sure fine for him. Not perfect to the exact words, but close enough in his reality.


Smoke rose from the chimneys in the distance. Echoes of noises and voices reached their ears. Metal clanged against metal as the smith busied himself with molding horseshoes. Kids played and laughed in the streets while carriages passed by, the horses snorting the flies away from their nostrils and their tails swaying to their rhythmic trotting.

Flavorful scents of freshly baked bread, cakes, and other pastries and delights that drew kids to the windows that murmured how delicious everything looked and adults walking out with wrapped bread or the occasional treat for their child. Cooking meats also swirled around for whoever wanted a quick something to eat instead of taking it home to wait for it to cook.

However, when Maynard strolled through with the pirates behind him, everyone had paused their activities to stare at the pirates. Expressions on each of them changed. Mothers shooed their kids inside. Others sneered and glared at the pirates. Whispers rose up among the citizens. Their scowls grew more sinister and full of hate as one murmur seemed to raise up above the rest: "That's Blackbeard's crew, that is."

"Looks like they'll be another hanging soon. Good riddance. Damned pirates." the man spat at the pirates landing near Antonio's foot. Antonio himself grimaced slightly at the ground where the blob of mucus landed but looked forward, holding his straight face once again. At best, he tried ignore all the shouting and threats of hanging, kids throwing stones, and other phrases that Antonio would not rather repeat from annoyance, but ignoring them only seemed to spark them to poke and prod even more at the chained men daring them to say the slightest thing.

The prison was in the middle of the town right next to the courthouse. It almost seemed that the two were connected by a single hallway in the back of the building as they quickly passed it. As Maynard walked into the jailhouse, he described to the pirates on the next few days of their lives. "Tomorrow will be your hearing," he said with pride as they walked down the stairs. "After that, on the exact time of 3:45 in the afternoon, you shall be hanged." At the bottom of the staircase, he turned to a guard and instructed him to lock them in a few cells. He glanced at the pirates and mouthed as if counting before adding, "Three or four to a cell."

The guard gave a quick "Yes, sir" before taking the keys to the locks on the shackles and guiding the pirates to a few empty cells. Following Maynard's instruction, he placed three to a cell starting with the last to the first. When he got to Gilbert and Antonio, he looked inside the next cell. He paused for a moment and shrugged, unlocking and opening the heavy, iron bar door. "All right, you two. In you go." He pushed the two in before locking the door behind him and walking away whistling a tune unknown to Antonio's memory.

"Ah, I am glad I am not alone anymore. It was getting rather quiet in here." A man with long, curly blonde hair that flowed to his shoulders sat in the corner against the gray block walls. He dressed like they did: thick, black boots that buckled on the side with loose tan pants that were tattered and torn in places, mostly at the knees. A long-sleeved white shirt was worn under a worn leather vest. A well cared for pirate's hat sat atop his head.

"Ye're a pirate, too?" Gilbert asked. Neither of them had expected to see anymore new pirates before their executions.

The pirate stood up and extended his right hand towards the two. "Francis Bonnefoy. Most of my crew and captain were killed. It was just me and three others. They're in here somewhere, but they'll soon be taken to the gallows."

Gilbert leaned in to whisper his next sentence, "Have you thought of escaping?"

"Of course. I have tried twice before, but it hasn't gone over so swell."

"There's three of us now," Antonio said, taking a seat on the cold stone floor. "There's always strength in numbers."

Gilbert agreed with a nod. "Aye, we've had our proof of that several times now. But also the strength of our wills. If ya ask me, I have no plans of dying now. My will is still strong and free, thus requires freedom."

"I'm starting to like you guys already," laughed Francis. His laugh was full of heart and inspiration. He leaned in closer towards the two, they in turn leaning closer, too. "I have thought up a plan that's foolproof. I was going to execute it myself, but now that you guys are here, it'll be simpler than ever."

"Great!" Antonio had a wide smile across his face. Only a few minutes in custody and there was already a chance of escape. This couldn't get any better, he had thought. He already hated being in this prison already. He couldn't see the ocean from the window. Actually, he could hardly see anything at all. If he didn't know it was daylight out just from being outside not too long ago, he would've confused it for the night sky. Yet, he knew they were downstairs. So why did they build windows in the cell. Geniuses, he thought sarcastically.


Day transitioned to night within the next hour or so. Antonio heard the muttering of the other prisoners and pirates talking about their experiences they've had or happenings they feel they had accomplished within their lifetimes of whatever their occupation was in life whether it was assassin, pirate, Antonio even heard a mutter of someone being imprisoned for thieving to feed his family.

Francis leaned against the bars of the cell, staring inward. While the other two sat in silence, picking at the wall or lying down with shut eyes, he shifted slightly. He hated the silence. With a more accustomed background for loud places where one could converse (more like flirt) with many people, this place bothered him. Even on his ship, there was always time for a round of rum and conversation.

Francis turned around and peered out as far as he could from the bars. From where he could see, there were only two guards on duty that night. He stepped back to the other two. "We have the plan ready?" he whispered to the other two. They nodded their return. They were all ready to bust out and rejoin lady freedom once again.

Francis stood up and smiled then, with a louder tone, said, "I never did get what your..." the Frenchman tried to place a word to it "unique skin condition was called."

Gilbert glanced towards the front before speaking louder than usual, sounding irritated. "It's not a skin condition. I was born with it."

"But it's so odd. So unnatural."

"If yer looking for a fight, yer messing with the wrong pirate."

"S'il vous plaît. You burn up in the sun. What makes you think you can fight like a true man with those pink eyes of yours?"

Gilbert shivered slightly. Even if it was planned, he hated when people would refer to his eyes as pink. They weren't pink in the slightest, he always told everyone. Though he's never noticed, he had heard from some people that his eyes flare crimson when he's angry. Gilbert grabbed Francis by the shirt and thrust him against the bars earning a grunt from the man. He muttered a quick apology before returning. "My eyes aren't pink. An' don't ya dare try to question my skill when all ya French cowards do is run the other way."

"P-Please, monsieur. I do not want a fight."

"Yeah?" Gilbert balled his fist and pressed it against Francis' chin. "Well maybe I do, huh? What will ya do then, ya spineless coward?"

"Knock it off!" The guard stepped in front of the cell. His eyes flared at the two. "It would be too much trouble to separate you two. Your sentences will be shortened if that has to happen."

"Who gives a hog's ass? We're as good as dead anyway." Gilbert tightened his grip on the collar of the shirt. "It would teach this'n here not to mess with a true pirate."

Francis raised his arms in front of his face in defense. "If it would be in your best interest, eh, Sir Guard, I would like to be in a cell of my own. I would rather have my face kept the way it was before my execution."

The guard sported a confused expression. "What fer?"

Francis flipped his tied back hair and flashed a grin. "Every man should have the right to look their best before their untimely death."

Lifting his hand up further, Gilbert commented, "Say one more thing and I'll give you something to look forward to."

The guard narrowed his eyes at the men. "Go ahead and hit him then." There was a hint of skepticism hidden in his voice.

A shot of fear was thrown at Gilbert with wide eyes. The look in the albino's eyes showed neither fear nor mercy. Francis pondered if Gilbert would actually pull this off and do the deed. Francis shut his eyes tight and felt his jaw shift with his skull as the contact was made. Caught off guard by the act, he stumbled and fell to the ground.

"C'mon. Get up an' fight like a man," Gilbert smirked. He knew that the flamboyant pirate wouldn't throw a fist back. Much less hit him. Yet, he humored himself to let Francis stand up and ball his fist up.

France threw his punch and Gilbert intercepted it with his palm. Lurching forward, however, he wasn't expecting a second punch right in the gut. Gilbert coughed and tasted several drops of blood. Francis chuckled, "I am not as weak as you think, mon ami."

The albino's hand went straight for Francis' throat. Throwing his back against the iron bars, Gilbert began to drain the air from Francis. Nails dug into Gilbert's hand begging him to release the hold.

Just as his face was starting to turn blue, the guard stepped in and broke the two up. "Hey, now. I am not going to be responsible fer the death of an inmate while he's held up in my jail." He had a tight grip on both their shirts and was strong enough to hold each at arm's length without a struggle. "Johnson! Get over here."

The other guard came to the scene. "Did they get into a tussle already?" he questioned in a deep voice. He put a hard grip on Francis' shoulder and pulled him away. "For saying you don't, you sure act like a sea rat."

"I assure you, monsieur. I am not the one who starts these quarrels."

The first guard snorted but before he could respond, he heard a quick click before his world went black. Panicked and hurried, Antonio cocked the pistol once more and executed the other guard. Silence clouded the room right as the echo of the shots died down. Antonio's breath was shuddering and he felt his heartbeat through the vessels in his neck.

Finally, Gilbert broke the silence with a shout and a wide grin. "Nice one, mate! Splendid, that was!" He kicked one of the guards over and took the gun holstered to his side along with a set of keys. "Now let's get out of here before anyone decides to come checking out the noise."

As the three of them ran by all the other cells, a thought came to Antonio. "What about the other shipmates?"

France peered back at Antonio with a look of disbelief. "I am sorry but I am worried about saving my own ass rather than anyone else's."

"Ya have to look after yerself before anyone else, mate!" Gilbert agreed.

They hit the stairs leading up to the entrance, to the world outside. There was no other light shining down besides a few torches; a good sign for them. They climbed the last few steps and Gilbert peered outside the small barred window carved into the door. Crickets chirped close by under rocks and in patches of grass around the above ground building of the jail. A group of men could be heard chatting a distance away, though their words were unable to be made out over the noise. The tavern, however, soared and bustled with excitement and merrymaking. Laughter vibrated the air as well as drunken singing and conversation. Instruments played their tune, making the whole area of the town hearty and joyous. You could almost feel the energy that the celebration gave off to its surroundings.

"We couldn't have picked a better night to bust out." Gilbert fiddled with the lock and carefully opened the door wide enough to stick his head out. Cursing in his head, he noticed the group of guards were closer than they had sounded. They must've been maybe fifteen feet away at most. Three men were in the group with their rifles resting against their shoulders. Pulling back, he turned to the others. "Three guards maybe four or five meters away. We'll need a distraction if we're going to escape clean. Any ideas, mates?"

"Why don't we just kill them and run?"suggested Antonio.

"I don't think having the whole town on our ass is a very smart choice."

Francis put a finger to his lip in thought. A distraction, huh? Looking around he spotted an unlit oil lantern hanging from a hook near the door. Giving a hum, he took it down and removed the glass chimney. The top of the wick was black with char only to half an inch. Removing said wick, it turned out to be roughly six inches long with its fibers dripping with oil. A good portion of oil sloshed around in the fount when swirled.

A satisfied grin appeared on his stubble-covered face. The cogs in his brain began to click and grind. Risky it was, but if it turned out to work, it would mean their undetected escape. He shivered with anticipation and turned to the other two, informing them of the plan. As simple as it sounded, the action of carrying it out sounded extremely difficult.

"That's mad!" Antonio exclaimed. He quickly tensed up when Gilbert shushed him. Lowering his volume, he continued. "How do you know it won't go out right away?"

"I do not know," Francis admitted, shrugging his arms up. "It is only a chance it will work."

"One we'll have to take." After taking in the look Antonio gave him, Gilbert quickly commented, "Do ya have any better ideas, mate?"

Giving in, Antonio sighed and shook his head but said nothing more.

"Très bon. I will need a stone. One small enough to tie around but heavy enough to throw a good distance."

Once again, Gilbert opened the door slightly and crouched to the ground, peering out to search for a fair sized rock. An oddly shaped stone lay just a few feet away in front of him. Taking a quick at the guards, he reached out and snatched up the object, pulling himself back into the doorway. "It's the only one I can reach."

The stone was a little smaller than what Francis wished it to be, but it would have to do. The odd form of the rock made it difficult to tie the greasy wick around. Only a mere inch and a half of wick stuck out once it was tied. He instructed Antonio to bring up one of the torches from down the stairs. Grabbing the half-full fount, he dumped the oil onto the rock, soaking the entire wick and rock. Francis suddenly realized a flaw in his plan and swore. Too late now.

"Open the door, please," Francis politely asked. Gilbert did as asked, and the door swung inward showing off the view outside. Francis' mouth pulled into a smile. Right across from them was a house. The darkness made it hard to make out, but it looked as if curtains covered the windows. Biting his lip, he had to trust in his skill and aim if this was going to make it.

Antonio stepped up the stairs carrying a burning torch in his hand. A nervous expression crossed his face. So many things could go wrong that the chances to succeed were slimmer than a blade of grass. What if the fire went out before it hit its target? Would the guards see where the throw came from? Even if the rock did make its target, would the guards be dimwitted enough to run at the noise or think where it came from? Too many questions spun in his head giving him a minor migraine.

Francis nodded to himself, needing reassurance before taking a stance. He pulled his hand back and paused. Before he could instruct Antonio, Gilbert stopped the two of them. He quickly pulled off his glove and handed it to Francis. "Ye'll burn yer hand off if ya try that."

The Frenchman was about to retaliate, but accepted the generous offer. He slipped the worn, brown leather glove on then returned the rock to that hand and resumed his former stance. "Light the wick."

Antonio tilted the torch and touched the fire to the threads. Within seconds, the rock went ablaze. Francis felt the heat of the fire tear through the glove onto his oil-soaked skin. Tensing his muscles, he pulled his arm forward and hurled the rock towards his target.

It spun and arced through the air as it traveled. The flames covering the rock sputtered and struggled to stay alive. However, the wick held tight to the flames like a child to its mother. The speed the rock sailed surprised the group, even Francis. Seconds after the throw, the sound of glass shattering pierced their ears. They each held their breath as they waited for the next step. From within the house, the curtains suddenly glowed with orange and yellow. In silent victory, they celebrated their success.

Francis pulled off the burning glove and tossed it to the ground. Gilbert gave it a good stomp or two before picking it up. The entire palm of the glove was burned through. Looking up from his red hand, Francis said, "I'm sorry about the glove."

Tossing it aside, Gilbert shrugged it off. "It's just a glove, mate. Don't worry yerself over it."

"The guards are running over," Antonio noticed, dropping the torch behind him. By this time, the wooden frame of the house itself had begun to cripple and surrender to the roaring wave of the flames. "Now's our chance."

Other citizens from the tavern ran out to get a view of the scene. Worried chatter started to converse through the group along with some startled shouts and cries. The trio didn't hesitate to run in the other direction straight for the trees; straight to their freedom. Wide smiles broke upon their faces as they grew ever closer.

Just as soon as they reached the tree line, Gilbert skidded to the halt sending up pebbles and dust. The shout that had carried to his ears was one to make his heart clench and his stomach turn with despair. "My baby's in there!"

Gilbert whirled on his heels to see a few guards holding a woman and man back from entering the burning house. Without hesitation, he raced back towards the group.

"What are you doing?" Francis called to him.

"Gilbert!" Antonio took off after Gilbert. Giving a grunt of frustration, Francis tailed Antonio.

A guard had spotted Gilbert running for the house and tried to block him. "Out of my way, dummkopf!" He pushed the man to the side and ran up the steps to the porch, ramming his shoulder into the door with full force. The wood gave way and flew open at the attack. Smoke immediately enveloped Gilbert at the first sign of another escape. He coughed as the black clouds stung his throat and covered his mouth. Tears unwillingly fell from his eyes trying desperately to soothe the dryness the fire so quickly caused.

Gilbert shuffled through the house struggling to see passed the smoke. Over the roaring of the flames, he could barely make out the sound of crying. "I'm coming, kid," he coughed. Running through the living room, he hurtled over a pile of wood that had already crumbled from the ceiling, and continued to the bedroom. Running into a small hallway, he followed the sound of the crying to his right. A small child, no more than ten, curled up in a bed helpless to his own fate.

The Prussian made his way to the kid and picked him up in his arms. Quickly, he pulled the bandana off his head and wrapped it around the kid's nose and mouth. Hugging him close to his chest, he went for the hallway.

A loud snapping sound came from above, crashing towards them. Gilbert stumbled out of the way, though not far enough. The fallen wood scrapped against him arm, tearing his sleeve and skin open. He cried out as the searing elements hit his skin and even leaving several splintered coals behind. He rounded the fallen boards and sprinted for the exit. Once it came into view, he closed his scorching eyes.

A swell of cold air rushed him soon after exiting the hellish atmosphere. The steps leading up the porch nearly gave him the pleasure of greeting the dirt below. However, instead of catching himself on his feet, Gilbert fell to his knees hard. Heart beating faster than the fight with Maynard and his crew, lungs screaming in a flaring pain, he gave several brutal coughs trying to suck in fresh oxygen.

The kid's tiny hands unclenched their tight grip they had on Gilbert as he gently pulled the little one away from him. Setting him on his feet facing the crowd, he got up on his own. In the fuzzy haze of his vision, he recognized two figures halfway to the trees. Without giving or receiving any words, Gilbert trotted over towards the two. When they met up, Antonio and Francis turned and the trio ran for escape once more.

One of the younger guards aimed his rifle at the runaways ready to fire. A light hand on his shoulder stopped him from pulling the trigger. He faced his ranking officer, who shook his head calmly, and lowered his weapon.

The mother ran forward and picked up her child, hugging him tightly to her chest. "My boy," she muttered through sobs. She pulled away and stroked his ash-dusted blonde hair. Words wanted to come out of her mouth, yet she was overcome with amazement and such joy that knotted up in her throat.

The man then joined the Native American woman. "We leave the house for a minute and this happens," he sighed irritably. "I'll take him back to the doctor again first thing tomorrow."

The woman sighed in relief and nodded. "I am glad Alfred is with his friend. We might've lost one of them if they both were in there."

The man shook his head, ridding him mind of the thought, and pulled the bandana off his son's face to let it hang around his neck. Even though he would later find out that a pirate had saved the life of his youngest, he had never imagined one of those brutes to ever care about, much less save the life of, someone other than their own kind.


Gilbert hissed in pain when Antonio dabbed the searing gash in his arm with a wet cloth. "That smarts," he growled.

"I would say that was the dumbest action you've ever pulled, I'm not going to," said Antonio. "You saved someone's child."

"Now if you had died on the other hand," Francis spoke up.

"As long as the kid is safe," Gilbert sighed. A soft smile stretched out his reddened lips. "Did I not say before that I was incredible?"

Antonio rolled his eyes playfully. "I still have yet to see it."

"I see how it is," he chuckled back. Gilbert picked up Francis' hat and swatted Antonio on the back of the head with it. He gave out another cry as Antonio pushed the rag against his burn with a smug grin on his face. "Ya bastard! I oughta have yer head for that!" The two had almost gotten into a brawl but Francis was able to break it up before it escalated to that.

Little did they know at the time, but over the next three and a half years, they became some of the most fearless, cunning, and outright foolish gang of pirates to sail the Atlantic. Across the coasts of Europe and New England to the Caribbean, they had become to be known as the Bad Pirate Trio.

Unfortunately, they each went their separate ways at one point. Gilbert decided to hold off his pirating as the military had been growing stronger and settle down for some time with his brother back in Germany. He was the first to split, and it was Antonio and Francis for another month before he grew seasick and had to resort to staying on land for some time, heading back to the streets of Paris to most likely flirt and charm every woman, and a few men on occasion, he laid eyes on. Antonio, however, felt like he was empty without sailing the waters. Even though he longed to return to Spain, he would have nowhere or no one to return to. No, for this pirate, the ocean was where he called home. These waters are where he would fall in love.