Black Sails (2014–2017): Season 1, Episode 5 - V. - full transcript

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

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

Wait, listen to me!

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.

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!

Well, this is
a stupid fucking 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 fuck
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 fuck's going on here.

Hello.

What the fuck 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?

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.

I am, since that day,
a fugitive

marked for execution
by the Crown.

Unbeknownst to me,
my family in Boston

learned of this
and ordered Captain Bryson

to liquidate
our holdings here.

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.

I'm very sorry.
Godspeed to you all.

Man #2:
I want my money back!

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.

More!

Brace up a little more!

More!

That's well!

- That's well.
- Man #2: Hold on!

Now bring her up into it.

More, damn it.

Like this!

Aye, Captain!

There.

Hold it there.
Hold her tight.

Speed!
Again, please!

Time!

Seven and a half knots!

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 shit.

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.

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 cunt who was
supposed to watch over you,

that's Flint's problem.

But Scott...

what the fuck did you
have to threaten him with

to get him to betray me?

We talked like men
and he saw reason.

Fuck 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.

Lilywhite: Yeah,
that were just fucking 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 fucking nuts!

- We're not working!
- Good riddance, yeah!

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.

Hamund:
She's fucking done!

That Guthrie cunt is done.

Have you not heard?

We've heard.

Well, then what the fuck
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.

Fuck 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, fuck you both.

Who's with me?

Nothing can
ever be simple.

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?

- Man: Two six!
- Heave!

- Two six!
- Heave!

Stand by!
Stand by!

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
"fucked."

- 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.

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.

Oh, hush, unless you
want to find yourself

carrying one of
those fools' brats.

Ow!

Get out.

She wasn't using
enough lotion.

You could've left.

When that cunt 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 cunt
who's never raised a sail,

set foot on a deck
tell you your business!

Next thing you know,

she'll have her boot
on your throat

and her hand
in your fucking 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 shit

- about your peace of mind.
- Silver: Of course.

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

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 cunt 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.

Oh, wonderful lass
she is.

So, um...

resilient.

So appreciative
of what she's given.

We'll send her your love.

Come on, boys.

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?

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 fucking 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.

You're a natural, son.

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

- 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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

Fire!

Get 'em back
into the cookroom!

Get 'em back!

We can't take
much more of this.

Aye.
Mr. Beauclerc!

- 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!

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!

Now!

20 yards!
At the ready.

Get across the gap,
choose your targets!

Pistols at zero range.

Don't waste a shot.

Nets in!

Nets up, nets up, nets up!

Get it!

10 yards!
Go, go, go!

Over!
Get it over!

Hold, get down!
Hold, hold!

Hold!

Go, go, go!

Dufresne?

Jesus.

Come on.

No fucking 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...
fuck him and fuck 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 shit prizes
you've been chasing.

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

not facing a single sword
or pistol in the process.

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

I can sell that.

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 fuck 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!

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.

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.

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.

Do it.

- And this one?

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.

"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 fuck 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 fucking longer!

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 third hand,

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.

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.

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.

Thank you...
for doing that.

It helped.

Miranda Barlow?

Man:
Away from the hatch!

Everyone!

Captain Flint.

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

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

"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!

Man #2: Look out!