Barbossa - Pro Slavery

Jack sat up quickly and examined the boat from end to end. No fire that he could see. But he realized Barbossa was right—there was a burning smell in the air. He stood up and surveyed the fields on either side of the river. They were in a narrow channel skirting around a large island in the middle, so they were fairly close to the reeds and bulrushes swaying along the shore. And off in the distance, Jack could now see several plumes of dark smoke.

“Tobacco plantation on fire,” he observed. “Pity. Waste of good tobacco.” He cupped one hand around his ear and listened intently. Shouts and rifle shots echoed from across the field. Jack’s expression became serious. He could tell that there was a slave revolt underway.

Jack valued freedom above all else and felt strongly about slavery. He’d first parted ways with the East India Trading Company when he’d liberated some of what they saw as cargo and he saw as human beings.

“Look there!” Barbossa said, pointing. “Someone’s coming!”

A tall, well-muscled figure was running through the long grass as fast as his legs could carry him. His ebony skin gleamed in the early morning light, and his strong arms swept the reeds aside with a long pitchfork. He had a look of great determination and the speed of a leopard. The crew could hear dogs baying in pursuit behind him.

All at once he spotted Jack standing up in the boat. He changed course instantly, pounding directly toward them. In moments, he had charged through the long reeds and was splashing into the river. Without stopping to ask permission, he gripped the sides of the boat in his powerful hands and hauled himself in. Gasping for breath and dripping with river water, he collapsed onto the boards at the bottom of the boat between Jack and Alex.

Barbossa’s lip curled disapprovingly. “Now this is the last straw,” he said. “Girls and zombies are one thing, but escaped slaves? Surely you’re too sensible to get mixed up in that kind of thing, Jack! Throw him overboard.”

Jack sat down, flicking his coat back. “Row, Alex,” he commanded firmly. “Row as hard and as fast as you can.”

Alex obediently started to row harder and faster, leaning into the oars with all his weight (which resulted in some unfortunate squelching noises). The boat fairly flew through the water, and soon the howls of the hounds and the smoke from the burning tobacco fields were far behind them.

Barbossa was too outraged to speak. He folded his arms and sat glaring, but Jack ignored him.

***

The Caribbean, Chapter 8