this is a translation of my texts (which are actually written in French) because MrsRJLupin asked for it. I hope there isn't any mistake. Nothing's mine.

Here's the first one.

Stephen was tired, tired of roaming the seas and of treating the wounded sailors, tired of this war which had no end. He was frightened, too ; frightened because Jack had never known the defeat, and because the Acheron seemed already victorious. Empty posturing.

The desire Stephen had to go ashore at the Galapagos was neither a whim nor a passing fancy or a piece of childishness. It simply was the mute cry of a man who can't stand it any longer, of a man who feels the time might well be the last time.

That was what he was thinking about, before they came to see him because of that bird flying around the ship. Rushing on the deck, chasing this unknown animal, he felt a bit lighter. Hearing the shot, he told himself he wasn't mad at Jack, because, anyway, he was never really mad at him.

The pain came after, well after.