Since "Queen Anne's Revenge" drove headlong and under full sail into the bank, it's grounded rather firmly in the stinking black mud, probably never to sail again. The crew have long since disembarked by sliding down lines attached to the bowsprit.

Still, a long figure treads the deck, smoke rising in the still morning air from the slow matches burning around his hatbrim. The sunlight glints off the ribbons in his curly black beard -- and from the evil, maniacal glint in his eyes.

Off in the distance, the calliope changes to a Gregorian Chant -- the "Dies Irae".