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Despite the sun having shown itself the Interceptor had sailed right through the large patch of fog that was lasting for miles. Hundreds of shipwrecks surrounded them, making it difficult for Jack to navigate what once was broad, open water. Sharks could be seen every few feet, the wrecks were a wonderful hiding spot for them, and the many dead bodies of past sailors had once been their meal.
Clara shuddered at the sight as she watched, leaning on the rail with the crew. Mr Cotton's parrot was the only thing to make noise as it eerily sang. "Dead men tell no tales. Dead men tell no tales."
"I'm gonna shoot that bird," she whispered to Will. She stood straight, showing the young man that she was not jesting at all.
A hand shot out, keeping her in place. "Best not."
Biting her cheek, Clara stiffly nodded and went back to her original position.
After a short while, Mr Gibbs spoke. "Puts a chill in the bones, how many honest sailors have been claimed by this passage." The man turned away, Will and Clara closely following him.
"How is it that Jack came by that compass?" questioned Will.
Gibbs tightened a part of the rigging. "Not a lot's known about Jack Sparrow 'fore he showed up in Tortuga with a mind to find the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. That was before I'd met him, back when he was captain of the Black Pearl."
Will looked sharply at the man. "What?"
Gibbs glanced at him and sipped from his flask.
"He failed to mention that."
"Are you surprised?" asked Clara, rhetorically. "He knew your father and yet he failed to mention that too."
Gibbs nodded. "He plays things closer to the vest now. A hard-learned lesson it was. See three days out on the venture, the first mate comes to him and says, 'Everything's an equal share. That should mean the location of the treasure too.' So Jack gives up the bearings. That night, there was a mutiny. They marooned Jack on an island and left him to die, but not before he'd gone mad with the heat."
Will looked at Jack. "Ah. So that's the reason for all the . . ." He began to mimic the pirate, swaying back and forth, an odd gleam in his eye.
"Are you sure the reason isn't the rum?" Clara responded.
Will inclined his head, partly agreeing with her.
"Reason's got nothing to do with it," Gibbs answered, sitting on a barrel and the other two followed suit. "Now, Will, Miss Clara, when a pirate's marooned, he's given a pistol with a single shot. One shot, well that won't do much good hunting, or to be rescued. But after three weeks of a starving belly and thirst - that pistol started to look real friendly." He mimed a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
