Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

are feet, climbing the hull, thrusting himself upward off his precarious
support. Grunting with effort, Jack heaved until he saw stars, and
between them they got the youth’s body pulled up until his arms, then
his shoulders, were in the cabin. Then, holding him balanced with one
hand, Jack managed to lean out the other window, and snag a fistful of
Chamba’s only garment, a breechclout. He dragged him upward
again, until the lad’s belly crossed the sill. With one more heave, he
eased the runaway’s dark legs over the bottom of the casement.
Chamba collapsed to the deck on his side and lay still. He’d
fainted from the pain.
Seeing his back in the lamplight, Jack cursed Blount in three
languages. Those stripes needed treatment, or they’d be sure to
fester. Quickly he rolled the lad onto his stomach, then went in search
of the bottle of ship’s rum he kept in his captain’s pantry.
Luckily for Chamba, he didn’t regain consciousness as Jack
poured rum into his wounds. The captain squatted on his heels beside
the youth’s unconscious form, thinking. He knew that by rights he ought
to take the kid straight back to Blount—but it just wasn’t in him to do
that. What should he do? Take him to Mr. Beckett and tell him the
whole story? Jack shook his head. Beckett might discipline or dismiss
Blount from his post for tampering with the provisions, but he wouldn’t
break the law. He’d hand the slave over to his owner.
Maybe he could keep him here, hide him aboard ship for a couple
of days, then drop him off somewhere, with no one the wiser. Jack
nodded slightly. That could work. Maybe he could set his course for the
Cape Verde Islands, and let Chamba go there.
He knew as surely as the sun would rise in the east that Blount
would start out searching for the lad. As soon as he realized his slave
was still alive, he’d look everywhere for his property. He might well
come by the Wicked Wench. Jack was fairly sure that Blount had
realized that Jack had some sympathy for Chamba. If he was going to
hide him for a few days, he needed to figure out how to do it.
Rising, he went into the captain’s pantry, and returned with a
pewter goblet full of watered wine, and some bread and cheese from
his own private store. Setting them on the table, he went over to his
sea chest and hunted up an old shirt that looked fairly clean, though it