By now Pete had drifted far out to sea and was nearing the shoreline of fire island. As he brought himself to shore, stiletto dagger still gripped tightly in his hand, he looked back toward his doomed frigate but could see nothing. He dropped to his knees then collapsed on the shoreline. Hours passed and as the sun finally set, he awoke. He rose and looked out over the moonlit sea as a flock of halcyon birds flew overhead. He fainted face first into the sand as the tide came in and covered his body.

Barely able to keep his bloodshot eyes open, Thomas clutched the tobacco barrel and paddled toward the shore. When he reached the shoreline, he descried the figure of Pirate Pete and trudged over to his side. “Cap’n, wake up! Pirate Pete!” Thomas muttered as he hauled Pete to the dune grasslands. Pete gasped and arched his back into the sand. His hand was smashed and he had a severe scalp wound. He tried to rise, but fell over into the receding waves.