Rotten luck to be cast adrift here, and with no rum too. [Gibbs gives a soft grunt as he tucks the neck flask away and rubs his face with a free hand.]

That's surprising to hear. I though we were as common as fleas on a dog's back.

[He shifts his attention away from the other man to look around, noticing for the first time the words on the fountain.] Marry Mudder of god... Davy Jones' lair? It don't mean the Locker does it?