The closer they got to the infamous and mysterious Isla de Muerta, the more it seemed as if Hector Barbossa wasn't really amongst them anymore. He spent almost all day standing at the railing, gazing at the horizon, searching for a sign to confirm the tales of the biggest treasure in the world.

"I can see them, Jack," he said one evening, his eyes fixed on the red, yellow and black of the evening sky. "I can see shapes of men and horses, of ships with full sails, of pirates, soldiers, merchants, beggars and kings—and they all want what we want. They're all pursuing the same dream—and who knows where they are right now, or how close."

Captain Sparrow kept silent. Even though this was all rather new to him and they hadn't sailed very long, he had grown used to his first mate's musings and he knew that most of the time, it all went by quicker if one let him talk.

"What greater right do they have to find it?" Barbossa went on after a while, his voice growing more and more agitated. He was definitely in a mood. "What greater right do they have to change their fate and become rich men? 'Tis true, we're no saints, but they're no better than we are."

Jack nodded slowly, still not saying anything. He knew where this was leading.

It hadn't been long since he found that compass lying next to an empty water bottle in a desert in New Spain and picked it up—at least, this was how he told his tale. An island, hidden in the wide and wild ocean and not to be found by anyone unless they already knew where it was—this was no legend to be combined with the story of the great Captain Jack Sparrow purchasing an allegedly enchanted compass from a dying gypsy on Guadeloupe for some shillings.

In fact, the discovery of the compass had brought an entirely new atmosphere on the Pearl. The crew had become more tense, occasionally even hostile, though they kept most of their complaints to themselves, which was unusual.

"Our lives have never been blessed with luck, Jack," Barbossa went on, more to himself than to Jack, even though he addressed him. "We've been kicked out of every warm hearth we had because we couldn't pay for it. We've been made into thieves and murderers because of hunger and thirst. But we're destined for something much greater. Let me tell you this: We must take this chance and find the island. We mustn't let others find it."

"An' we won't," Jack interrupted him, flashing his first mate a quick and rather half-hearted grin. "Trust me." With this, he turned around and left Barbossa to his musings.

Jack couldn't sleep that night. Never before had his first mate's words come with such a great impact that they haunted him, but now it seemed he couldn't escape them. Barbossa had spoken of dreams and the chance to make them come true, the chance to change one's fate. It was a very old dream, probably as old as mankind and as strong. Dreams like that made fools to kings, but without them, without the determination and strength they gave, man would perish. They needed to be preserved and encouraged, and maybe, just maybe, shared dreams increased the possibility of them coming true.

That night, Captain Jack Sparrow decided to share the bearings of the island with his crew.

Only one day later, as he he stood on the island that his mutinous crew had destined to be his grave and felt his dry throat burning, he learned that life was as far from romantic poetry as it could be. With a heavy heart, he watched his Pearl, whom he loved most in the whole world, slowly shrink into distance and he soberly realized that when it came to the pursuit of dreams, it was every man for himself.