Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

lookout for the Wench, and if we were near the bearings you gave for
Kerma—which we are—to come after us.”
Jack went out onto the weather deck, barefoot, in his shirt, his
spyglass thrust into his sash. Grabbing the ratlines, he went up them in
a rush. When he reached the yardarm, he took out the spyglass, and
looked.
He’d been hoping that somehow Robby was mistaken, and yes,
the first mate had indeed made an error. There weren’t four EITC ships
closing in on the Wicked Wench. There were five.
The fifth ship was to the northeast. All routes of escape were
blocked. Oh, they’d try to run for it. The Wicked Wench was fast,
especially with no cargo. But the fleet Beckett had sent off to Kerma
wasn’t laden with cargo, either.
The next few hours passed in a blur. The Wench was surrounded,
and forced to heave-to. Longboats carrying contingents of armed men
rowed over. With little courtesy, they searched the ship—including the
cargo hold.
Cutler Beckett’s slave handlers accompanied the EITC officers.
Jack saw the looks they gave him, and wondered whether he might be
able to make it to Sal, if he went overboard. He wasn’t given the
opportunity to decide, though. Brutal hands seized him.
Jack was taken into custody and locked in the brig aboard the
Sentinel, the EITC’s patrol and defensive vessel for West Africa. The
Sentinel headed south, back to Calabar. Corporal Andrews, the
marine who dragged Jack down to the orlop deck and locked him in
the cell, said, good-naturedly, “There you go, Captain Sparrow. It’s not
too uncomfortable.”
Jack stood in the cell, and looked around with a sigh. “You’re right.
I’ve been in worse.”
“The Sentinel’s got a good cook. I’ll bring you some chow, after
the crew’s mess.”
“Thank you,” Jack said. “Most kind of you.”
Corporal Andrews chuckled. “Well, you’re the politest prisoner I’ve
ever locked up, I must say.”
Jack managed a feeble smile. “I’ve had a bit of practice, mate.”
Andrews left, still chuckling. Sitting down on the edge of the straw