01x05 - V.

You took one of me best whores for your private use.

Every day she's not under my roof costs me money.

(grunts)

Wait, listen to me!

(gagging)

Good men will die for some hidden agenda, the Barlow woman's agenda.

Things will get better here. I promise you they will.

We'll need some additional items.

New guns, 12-pounders.

You'll have it.

You want the guns from my ship to hand over to a pirate?

That is correct.

Richard: Help me, Mr. Scott.

Please, help me save her.

Why don't I take over?

Eleanor: The Andromache, it can't be.

Captain Bryson hasn't had time to unload.

He didn't. She's riding low.

Those guns are still on board.

Eleanor: What are we going to do?

Get them back.

(theme music playing)

(wind blowing)

Billy: Captain?

We're steady at six knots, north by northeast.

You don't trust me, do you?

With any luck, we'll sight the Andromache soon.

The battle will begin.

You and I will have our roles to play.

We have the chance for a few minutes' honesty first.

Honesty?

Men died yesterday careening our ship faster than was safe.

Men are going to die today attacking that merchant ship out there, and they'll die not knowing it was all based on a lie.

A lie?

We don't even know if the Urca's schedule is accurate.

We're completely relying on the cook.

How can you just pretend you have no doubts about any of this?

Years of practice.

There's always doubt, Billy.

No sane man would deny that.

No good captain would acknowledge it.

Take our present route, for instance.

We tacked north by northeast, along Andromache's best point of sail.

If you're Bryson, that's the smart course.

Yeah...

Well, he knows that I know that.

So wouldn't he have at least considered heading northwest to follow the coast, lose us in the dark?

Or due east on the chance that we might sail right past him?

There must be at least one chance in three that that horizon will remain bare and we'll never see the Andromache again.

That's the truth.

But what good would that knowledge do for any man on this crew trying to focus on doing his job?

This crew needs certainty, and I need their support to achieve an end which is in all our best interests.

So we dance the dance.

Never was there a Caesar that couldn't sing the tune.

Who's Mrs. Barlow?

Ah.

You've heard the stories, haven't you?

She's a witch who pledged my soul to the devil, and anoints me with the blood of infants to keep me safe in battle.

Come on, I'm not stupid.

No, you're not.

So you can probably guess it isn't as much fun to tell stories about how your captain makes a home, with a nice Puritan woman who shares his love of books.

Is that the truth?

Man: Sails!

Man your posts!

Man 2: Posts!

Man 3: Have a look.

Man: It's the Andromache!

(crew shouting)

(bird trilling)

(dogs barking)

Well, this is a stupid f*cking idea.

Given the straits we're in, I would suggest there is no such thing.

If we don't find a way to earn an income and soon, we will lose what little we have left of a crew.

Or worse yet, we will be eaten by what little we have left of a crew.

Wish me luck.

You gave him permission, dear.

We must stand by our word.

But I said he could put one finger in my bum, not three.

Then next time, charge him by the digit.

Mrs. Mapleton, a word, please.

What the f*ck are you doing here?

Mr. Noonan expressly forbade it, did he not?

It turns out Mr. Noonan has had a change of heart.

A transfer? What is this?

It means, madam, that the dispute over the whore with Mr. Noonan has been settled through an agreement to purchase this establishment from him... by us.

Noonan sold you the inn?

Yes, ma'am.

And where is he now?

From the tone in his voice, it sounded as if Mr. Noonan couldn't wait to be rid of this place and of its screeching pig of a bawd.

His words, not mine.

The last I saw him, he was seeking passage to Port Royal, and then to who knows where.

You're telling me that Mr. Noonan, who just a few hours ago had the intent of seeing your captain beaten to a pulp, that Mr. Noonan decided instead to sell you his life's work?

Yes.

And you expect me to accept it based on a piece of paper and your word?

And to keep my mouth shut about it when any half-wit can see that there's foul play at hand?

Yes.

I want a raise.

What did you make before?

Three percent of gross.

I'll give you 40.

Welcome aboard, sonny.

We are the proud new owners of a brothel.

Let's hope no one notices.

No one has seen or heard from Scott all morning.

He must have left with Bryson.

You're certain he said nothing to you about why he would do this?

Nothing, ma'am.

Before I knew what was happening...

Get my horse ready.

I'm going to see my father. I want to know what the f*ck's going on here.

(sighs)

Hello.

What the f*ck are you doing in my office?

Flint stashed me here.

Presumably to stop what's in my head from spilling onto the deck of the Andromache.

Oh, that's Randall.

Why is Randall lying on my sofa?

(chuckles)

Well, he's not exactly going to be leading the charge after the day he had yesterday.

Why are you chained to him?

So I don't try to run.

Thank you.

Sorry, have I done something to you?

Excuse me?

Well, you seem to harbor quite a bit of anger towards me, and considering we hardly even know each other,

I'm wondering if there's something I'm missing.

Flint and his crew offer you a life of freedom and prosperity for which you repay them by stealing the product of months of their labor and sacrifice.

But you're not finished. Then you lure Max into your selfish scheme.

Hold on.

I specifically tried to talk her out of getting wrapped up in my selfish scheme.

I know all I need to know about the kind of man you are.

Ma'am, you should come outside right away.

Richard: For years, we've all profited in this place, trading on the stability of my family's name.

But unfortunately, our circumstances have changed.

A fortnight ago, His Majesty's Navy attempted to place me under arrest.

(crowd murmuring)

I am, since that day, a fugitive marked for execution by the Crown.

(crowd groaning)

Unbeknownst to me, my family in Boston learned of this and ordered Captain Bryson to liquidate our holdings here.

(crowd yelling)

Man: What about our goods?

I convinced him to leave behind the contents of our warehouse, but that is all.

To those of you owed credit or for whom we held goods on consignment, I leave it to my daughter to see you made whole as best we can.

But once that is settled, our business with you must be considered complete.

(crowd groaning, yelling)

I'm very sorry. Godspeed to you all.

Man 2: I want my money back!

(grunting)

(Water splashing)

We aren't closing on her!

I said to raise all the canvas!

What's our speed?

Sails are all raised!

No, they're not.

Where are my t'gallants on the main and mizzen?

De Groot: Captain, we're fully loaded.

If we raise the t'gallants, the mast won't hold.

Man: Stand by to stretch that starboard!

Time.

Present speed: six knots.

We need at least another knot if we're to catch up by dark.

Raise the t'gallants.

Captain...

Shift aft the back stays if you're worried about the masts.

Shift 'em to the stern if you have to.

Even if the back stays hold at such an angle, and I wager they won't, the load on the sails will exceed capacity and she'll dig in hard at the bow.

She'll hold.

Hard enough to shake loose the rigging entirely.

Captain, Mr. De Groot makes a good point.

The speed we'll pick up will come with dire risks for the ship.

But I think she can take it.

Mr. De Groot, quickly, please.

Raise the t'gallants!

Man: Raise the t'gallants!

Man 2: Out of the way!

Brace up another five degrees!

Five degrees!

Five degrees!

Bring her up into it.

(wind gusting)

(grunting)

More!

Brace up a little more!

More!

That's well!

That's well.

Man 2: Hold on!

(yells, grunts)

Now bring her up into it.

More, damn it. (grunts)

Like this!

(yelling)

Aye, Captain!

There.

Hold it there. Hold her tight.

Speed! Again, please!

Time!

Seven and a half knots!

(crew cheering)

All right, ladies, get some rest.

In a few hours, things are gonna get awfully interesting.

Good morning, dear.

"Orders from Boston, unbeknownst to me."

You sent Bryson away.

Yes.

You lied to my face, you sh1t.

And what choice did you leave me?

You let Flint seduce you into his madness about the Spanish galleon all in furtherance of the fantasy that you can resist English rule, that your authority in this place is yours to do with as you please.

I am more to this place than you ever were.

You are a child.

I'm fully aware that Captain Flint left in pursuit of the Andromache last night.

But you should know Captain Bryson sailed the Velasco route for 10 years and was never boarded.

Not once.

Flint will be returning either empty-handed or not at all.

This treasure galleon business is over.

As for our future here, I am working on a deal that'll make a safe place for us among the farmers in the interior.

(scoffs)

When the pirates are gone, the landowners will drive commerce here.

They'll be indispensable to the lords and to Whitehall, and so we will make allies of them.

We will adapt and we will survive.

I won't ask you to walk out with me right now.

I know your pride would never permit it.

The Barlow c**t who was supposed to watch over you, that's Flint's problem.

But Scott... what the f*ck did you have to threaten him with to get him to betray me?

We talked like men and he saw reason.

f*ck you.

I been sayin' it. You ain't been listening.

And now it's come to pass.

The day that gentleman and his daughter tell you that the money they took ain't never coming back.

(crowd yelling)

Lilywhite: Yeah, that were just f*cking theft!

Right now, that little girl is sitting in there counting your money and laughing her scrawny ass off on how much she has lifted out of your pockets.

This is f*cking nuts!

We're not working!

Good riddance, yeah!

(gasps)

I thought my men could help keep tempers from boiling over, for a while at least.

But for those owed money out there, it's only a matter of time before their tempers can no longer be held in check.

Now, if I may, I suggest an announcement of payments to settle debts.

The longer it takes them to hear it, the more fuel Lilywhite can throw on the fire.

I can't pay them all.

You're short?

How short?

Well, get out your books, then.

Certain crews may defer their debts if I ask them.

Any leads you have on future scores would soften the blow.

Troublemakers we need to pay off first...

No.

I'm not winding things up here.

My business continues.

Captain Naft of the Intrepid. Mr. Walker, her quartermaster.

Captain Lawrence of the Black Hind and Mr. Harrison.

And our friend Mr. Frasier. Get them all here now.

Miss Guthrie?

I'm not sure you recognize the gravity of this situation.

Have a drink. Relax.

Everything's under control.

(crowd yelling)

Hamund: She's f*cking done!

That Guthrie c**t is done.

Have you not heard?

We've heard.

Well, then what the f*ck are we doing in here?

At the moment, I'm remembering what it feels like to have food in my belly.

Care to join us?

Jesus, Jack.

We're free of her. Free to hunt again.

So get off your ass and find us a ship.

To assume that we've seen the last of Eleanor Guthrie is, well, not to know her.

The fact that she appears to have Captain Hornigold and his men propping her up only adds to my conviction.

Right now, we'd do well to keep our mouths shut, be thankful we have some income from this place, for the moment, and bide our time.

f*ck that.

She's got no ships. She's got no business.

That means she's out.

And I'm going over there to make sure she knows it.

Captain?

I'll be upstairs.

Well, then, f*ck you both.

Who's with me?

Nothing can ever be simple.

(scoffs) I can make it simple.

Darling, this is a lovely stopgap, but if we are to ever hunt as a proper crew again, we will need, well, a crew.

Right now, those men are all we have.

It's unfortunate, perhaps, but no less a reality.

Why don't we take advantage of Mr. Hamund's momentary distraction and have Mrs. Mapleton tend to the whore on the beach?

(drops fork)

(scoffs)

Man: Two six!

Heave!

Two six!

Heave!

Two six!

Heave!

Stand by! Stand by!

(knock on door)

Ahem.

Yes, Mr. Hayes?

Hayes: The Walrus will be upon us in roughly four hours, present speed.

I assume preparations have been made.

Yes, sir.

And the shipment of china plate?

I beg your pardon?

We have 70 plates of Chinese porcelain in the hold, which I have undertaken to deliver to Boston unharmed.

May I suggest more straw in the chest?

Yes, sir.

He's certain this is all we have?

We emptied the girl before we careened her.

This is the best I could do before we set sail.

Same for food and water, I assume?

Food, water, powder, all of it.

Right. Take it all up top.

No reserves on this one.

Either we take Bryson's ship or we're...

I believe the word you're looking for is "f*cked."

Yeah, thank you.

Yeah.

Dufresne?

You can't be serious.

Andromache's manned like a warship.

60 men at least, and they're fighters.

So we'll need every body we can muster on this one, yours included.

Come on.

(birds screeching)

(dogs barking)

(goats bleating)

Come on, everything's at sixes and sevens back at the house and I have to come and tend to this.

All right. Come on, love.

Here we go.

Open your legs.

(water squirts)

(Winces)

Oh, hush, unless you want to find yourself carrying one of those fools' brats.

(water squirts)

Ow!

Get out.

(whimpers)

She wasn't using enough lotion.

(water squirting softly)

(Whimpering)

You could've left.

(water squirting softly)

When that c**t beat Hamund off of you, you could've left.

You didn't.

Thought you could sweet-talk them all, did ya?

What do you care?

Once, one of them came and put his balls on my shoulder whilst I was asleep.

Thought it was funny.

Last time he put them anywhere.

If you take it, they'll give it.

Why do you say these things?

You were the one who threw me to them in the first place.

I only thought they'd kill you.

Lilywhite: Do you feel that soreness between your haunches?

Yeah, well, that's what you get when you let some c**t who's never raised a sail, set foot on a deck tell you your business!

(crowd shouting)

Next thing you know, she'll have her boot on your throat and her hand in your f*cking pocket.

I think he's talking about you.

Lilywhite: That's what you get when you're letting a wench tell you...

If you're pretending to remain unconcerned for my peace of mind, please don't.

It amuses me that you think I would even give a sh1t about your peace of mind.

Silver: Of course.

Still, I don't think you're giving that problem out there its due attention.

(door opens)

Naft and Walker just arrived. That's everyone.

You've never seen a mob turn, have you?

Funny thing.

The people most surprised when it happens, usually the ones that gave rise to it in the first place.

Can you join me, please, Captain? I want you to hear this, too.

Hamund: Is the c**t still here?

Out on the street, friend.

Where is she?

It's a rough world out there, isn't it?

Someone opens their mouth, you can lose everything.

Tell me, lass... how's it feel?

Out now.

Well, if we're not welcome in here, I suppose we can go spend more time with our friend on the beach.

(pirate chuckles)

Oh, wonderful lass she is.

So, um... resilient.

(pirates laugh)

So appreciative of what she's given.

We'll send her your love.

(laughs)

Come on, boys.

(Pirate laughs)

(speaks African dialect)

Billy: Gentlemen... I think we all know what we're up against today, so let's just get to it.

As we close the distance to the Andromache, the captain believes Bryson will attack port and set himself for a clean broadside volley.

He'll loose his guns, pay off downwind, and continue running.

Now, ordinarily, we would either match him and return fire or slip into his wake and make a run at his stern.

Unfortunately, we're too outgunned for the former, and Bryson is too skilled a captain for the latter.

He'll just keep shooting and delaying and shooting and delaying until nightfall, at which point he'll just slip away.

So... So, if we can't shoot at her and we can't get close to her, how the hell do we board her?

(murmuring)

We go straight at her.

Without the bow chasers, we'll be sitting ducks for her guns.

She'll rake us bow to stern.

Logan: Not to mention we'd be boarding bow to midship.

For all you virgins in the room, that's also known as f*cking suicide.

Billy: Of course we'd need to board alongside her.

We just need Captain Bryson to cooperate and bring the Andromache about for us to do so.

And how the hell do we get him to do that?

Mr. Beauclerc is going to convince him.

(blows)

You're a natural, son.

When this is all over, I'll be lucky to still have a job.

(laughs)

What... I keep accounts. That's what I'm good at.

Do you see this number here?

That's how much I've saved this crew this last year alone.

Can you say of any other man here that they've earned as much?

Every man on this crew had a first time.

You're overdue.

But I've never even shot a pistol.

Well, that's all right.

Half the time they don't even fire.

I'm sorry.

Time has come for us to tell those who aim to make us slaves.


(Knock on door)

Woman: Mr. Rackham asked me to tend to you.

Lilywhite: Yeah, well, that's what you get.

He said I wasn't to take no for an answer.

They're saying she may be finished.

She's finally got her due.

All I meant is that... that it should please you after what she did.

You hate her. I hate her.

They all hate her.

Look what's good it's done us.

No captain on this island's ever known that kind of power.

Power that doesn't care how many votes you can tally, who loves you, who hates you, who fears you.

Power that just is.

Truth is, none of us have any right to hate her for it.

She's strong and we're weak.

That's the reality of things here.

And no one down there is strong enough to change anything.

Not you?

You're not strong enough?

I don't know.

But I think it's time I probably found out.

(creaking)

What if he's wrong?

There's a chance Bryson just keeps running, isn't there?

That's it, steady.

Right?

Bryson could still gain speed.

I mean, there has to be a chance this fight will never materialize.

Come on.

Come on, you bitch.

Come on.

There she goes!

(crew shouting)

Why isn't he attacking?

Because he knows he'll never board us if he does.

I will say this for him. He's no coward.

200 yards, you may fire at will.

(shouting)

I don't think I can do this.

Yes, you can.

Listen. Listen to me.

You will make it through this.

No one eats it their first time over the side.

I'm telling you, it's never happened. Not on this crew.

Don't ask me why, it just is.

Men die all the time. It can't be true.

No, not first-timers.

Name one.

You're gonna be all right.

Come on.

Damn it.

I hope you know what you're doing.

So do I.

Mr. Beauclerc? Range?

Almost there!

50 more yards, Captain!

Fire!

Let her go.

Fire!

Incoming!

(Men scream)

Fire!

(yelling)

(groaning)

(yelling)

Get 'em back into the cookroom!

Get 'em back!

(Yelling)

We can't take much more of this.

Aye. Mr. Beauclerc!

Two six!

Heave!

Two six!

Heave!

Hayes, another volley right away!

Right cannon round!

Mr. Burnett, prepare to bear away and bring us into the wind.

Man the braces!

Fire!

(man screams)

(yells)

Beauclerc, do it!

Stay where you are!

Bring us to starboard before we lose the wind!

Mr. Harris, take the helm!

Aye, sir!

Fire.

Man: We've lost the wind, Captain.

Prepare to repel boarders!

Bring us around to the port side!

On the rails!

(shouting)

(guns firing)

(Gasping)

Now!

20 yards! At the ready.

Get across the gap, choose your targets!

Pistols at zero range.

Don't waste a shot.

Nets in!

(crew shouting)

Nets up, nets up, nets up!

Get it!

10 yards! Go, go, go!

Over! Get it over!

Hold, get down! Hold, hold!

(gunfire continues)

Hold!

(all grunt)

(exhales)

Go, go, go!

(all shouting)

(grunting)

(yells)

(panting)

(muffled yelling)

(gasps)

(yelling)

(buzzing)

Dufresne?

Jesus.

Come on.

(cheering)

No f*cking longer!

Gentlemen, you all heard my father this morning, that the Guthrie trading operation here in Nassau is dead.

To that, I just have this to add... f*ck him and f*ck that.

Mr. Frasier, you hold a charter from the Massachusetts Bay Provincial Authority to ship rare items abroad, is that correct?

That's correct, yes.

And, theoretically, that charter should pass muster at any customshouse in the colonies, yes?

Well, I suppose so, but...

Gentlemen, by my count, the Black Hind and the Intrepid have accumulated prizes totaling approximately 1,600 pieces of eight since the new year.

That's gross. That's both ships.

That barely exceeds your operating costs over the same time.

If you brought us here to insult us...

It's not an insult, it's a fact.

You command the two least profitable ships on the island as a function of basic arithmetic.

But they are ships, and large ones at that.

At this table, we have a legitimate front.

We have ships and crews that can ferry heavy cargo.

We have relationships with the merchants and customs men that kept my father's trade moving.

Your father said he'll take no part in any further...

They're my relationships now.

We're going to recreate my father's system here... without my father.

A consortium, with all of you sharing in the profits.

You're mad.

How so?

My men aren't merchant sailors.

They're hunters.

Yes, but they're bad at it, Geoffrey.

What good is that doing anyone?

I put this to them, they'll vote me out before I stop to take a breath.

I'm amazed they haven't voted you out already, given the sh1t prizes you've been chasing.

Your men will earn three times as much in half the time...

(scoffs)

Not facing a single sword or pistol in the process.

You're telling me that you can't sell that?

I can sell that.

(sighs)

And you're supporting this?

I don't know. Am I?

None of this matters unless we can get people to agree to sell through us.

We need a respected captain to stand up and bless it.

And we need a strong captain to ensure that no one dares f*ck with us.

You're both.

You know that I want nothing more than to make this place strong and stable.

I think you want the same things.

Bless this endeavor and we can have them.

I'll do that... the moment you lift the ban on Captain Vane.

Excuse me?

Listen to that mob outside.

They're tired of your edicts, your rule by fear.

They believe you to be a tyrant in a petticoat.

Your action against Captain Vane is, to them, the most egregious case.

You want me to lift the ban on Charles Vane to appease a handful of malcontents on the street?

Those malcontents will be a problem to anyone in this room who stands behind you today.

Provocation, even sabotage.

And then you'll ask my men to assume the responsibility of defending all of you from it.

Charles Vane is an animal, as are the men that remain with him.

Because they saw fit to punish a thieving whore.

I'm not about to say otherwise for the benefit of Captain Lilywhite or any of the other idiots out there listening to him.

I'm listening to him.

Your commitment to this place is admirable, but you're young and you're rash.

Show everyone your motive here is for the common good.

Show them that you can be trusted to keep petty animosity separate from business.

Rescind the ban on Captain Vane and show me that.

Do it and I'll back you as your father's successor here, the boss behind all trade.

Until then, I'm sorry. I can't help you.

I won't do it.

You have until dark to come to your senses.

At that point, I will withdraw my men and the business of the street becomes your business alone.

Good afternoon, gentlemen.

Ah!

Man: Oh, no! Get down!

(Explosion)

(men yell)

Man: Take this.

Checked all the dead and injured.

None of them are Bryson.

He only left three men to defend the quarterdeck bunker.

How does that make sense?

Gates: The vanguard are on their way to clear the cargo hold.

Maybe Bryson is hiding down there.

Something's not right.

Captain, the rudder's not responding.

Someone must've cut the mechanism below decks.

Call back the vanguard.

(gunfire)

(All yell)

(labored breathing)

(Metal squeaking)

Three men dead on their end, Captain.

Perhaps it's time we sent them our terms.

I do apologize for this.

Mr. Guthrie's orders were explicit.

No matter what, I was to make sure that you were on this ship.

This was not the deal.

(chuckles)

Assist the Andromache to depart unmolested and you can remain with the girl and pick up the pieces and explain yourself.

Mr. Scott, you sided with his daughter against him.

You forgot your duty.

You must have known there would be consequences.

But we men of duty must often put our feelings aside... as you're about to witness.

(speaks West African Pidgin English)

Do it.

(groans)

And this one?

(Speaks West African Pidgin English)

(door opens)

(crowd chanting)

At the risk of overstepping my bounds, I think you should agree to Captain Hornigold's terms.

Lift the ban. What do you care about...

They're beating her.

She chose it.

(scoffs) "She chose it"?

"She chose it."

I've been repeating those words to myself for well over a week now and I find them wanting.

Now he asks me to back off Charles, to proclaim to the world that what happened to Max is acceptable, to apologize to those animals for having ever said otherwise, and smile while they lord it over me.

To make a dangerous situation a lot less dangerous.

Then convince me.

Convince me that I should betray her a second time... because that's what it feels like I would be doing.

Max chose.

Why? I don't know.

Maybe it was spite, maybe it was strength, maybe it was who the f*ck knows what.

To be perfectly honest, I don't care because the moment I start making choices based on her decisions, I've given her a hell of a lot more power over my life than I am quite comfortable ceding to a perfect stranger.

Guilt is natural.

It also goes away if you let it.

Losing your life's work... that doesn't go away.

Lilywhite: No f*cking longer!

(Cheering)

Captain?

Charles?

Do I understand correctly that you've requested a skiff?

I suppose that's none of my business, but you do realize that we may be able to hunt again soon.

What I'm hearing is all second and thirdhand, but something is happening in that tavern.

Our problem isn't in there.

Never was.

What the hell are you talking about?

Chaz?

Where are you going?

Where is he?

Gates: He's in a reinforced hold directly beneath us here.

Forward end of the lower gundeck.

Doors as thick as the outer hull, as is the roof.

Impossible to breach from here.

He's also sitting right in front of a powder magazine, so if we try to blow our way through, this whole ship is going down fast.

Unless we can find a way in, there's no way to get the guns off the boat.

Anybody we send down there is just gonna get cut to shreds.

And we cannot sail.

And we cannot sail.

It doesn't make sense.

If Bryson wants to force us to withdraw, what's to stop me from burning the ship once we leave?

We're missing something.

(wood creaking)

(Lamps creaking)

There you are.

Been looking all over for you.

Thought I'd get a head start going through Bryson's papers.

Jameson.

Beg your pardon?

You said no man ever died his first time over the side, but you forgot about Tom Jameson, boatswain's mate, about two years back.

That's right.

Also Christian Thoms, Will Robbins, Jean DuBois, that Portuguese guy with the lisp... what was his name?

That is funny.

(Chuckles)

Thank you... for doing that.

It helped.

(pats back)

Miranda Barlow?

Man: Away from the hatch!

Everyone!

(guns cock)

Captain Flint.

(speaks African dialect)

He says, "I'm secure in the hold below."

(man speaking African dialect)

"With 20 of my men. I can wait, but you cannot."

(speaking African dialect)

"Before departing,"

I sent a message to the captain of the Scarborough.

I told him where I was headed, "and I told him where he would find you."

Man: Sail to the east!

Good God.

The Scarborough!

(yells)

Man 2: Look out!

(gunshot)

(grunts)

(panting)

(music playing)