Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest

On the Flying Dutchman

Third Person P. O. V.

The next night on the Flying Dutchman, it was storming out at sea. Davy Jones was in his cabin, sitting at his organ. The tentacles on his beard pressed the organ keys, the sound flowing through the pipes, letting everyone on the ship hear the somber music. A little heart shaped locket lay in front of him.

On deck in the pouring rain, the crew were pulling ropes and securing everything that was loose on deck. Will Turner was at the front of one of the many lines, pulling ropes to lift up a cannon.

Once the cannon was where it needed to be, the boatswain (bosun) stood by the helm, and looked down on the men and yelled.

"Secure the mast tackle, Mr. Turner!"

Two men whipped their heads around, staring up at the boatswain (bosun), before running up two different stairs.

Will's P. O. V.

Once I climbed the stairs, I saw one of the crew begin to the secure the mast tackle. I ran up to him and tried to push him away.

"Step aside," I told him.

"Mind yourself!" He shouted, as we both fought to do the task.

After a minute he shouted again.

"Let go, boy!"

We stopped and faced each other right then. A starfish was part of his face, but he looked mostly human. He froze, his mouth slightly agape.

"No," he softly gasped.

Before I could asked what was wrong, the man let go of the rope, causing the cannon to fall to the deck. Since I still held the rope, the force pulled me with it.

The bosun stood in front us and pointed a whip at me, ordering a man with a puffy cheek.

"Haul that weevil to his feet."

The man with a puffy cheek and another man grabbed each of my arms, and forcefully pulled me to my feet. They pushed me against the mast, making me grab hold of the ropes, my back to the bosun.

"Five lashes will remind you," the bosun lifted his hand, holding the whip high. "To stay on 'em!"

The man with a starfish on his face grabbed the bosun's arm, stopping him.

"No!"

"Impeding me in my duties?" The bosun questioned him. "You'll share the punishment."

"I'll take it all," he replied.

"Will you, now?"

Davy Jones came towards us, just as curious as me. The bosun stepped away as Jones stood in his place.

"What would prompt you to do so?"

The man was silent.

"My son."

I froze and tried to turn around, both men holding me back. I could only look over my shoulder as the man repeated himself, looking straight at me.

"He's my son."

I stared at the man who claims to be my father, and wondered if it's true. He was part of Barbossa's crew. He was cursed, and was tied to a cannon before sinking in the ocean. I only had a small portrait of my father when I was boy, but lost it when I left England.

Jones, with wide eyes, looked between the two of us and started to laugh. I knew then it was true.

"What a coincidence," Jones said, as I was pushed to face the mast again. "Five lashes, I believe."