Language barriers
James is not well-versed in whatever particular language it is the Garifuna speak, but it is not at all difficult to determine what it is they want. The Commodore as a prisoner, and whatever supplies the Dauntless was carrying. Sooner rather than later, or the Commodore- as illustrated by a particularly eloquent gesture- would not be a prisoner
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He follows the motion of Sparrow's head with his eyes, processing his words with more than a little discomfort. There is always the possibility, of course, that the tribe has done something terrible to his men. They're primitives; no code of honour to speak of, and certainly no knowledge of English- words from James or his crew would have meant nothing to them. But with a spear-tip a mere hairsbreadth away from his carotid, and his men covered by spears and bowmen as well... well, it wasn't as if they had much choice.
Choosing the way he had does not make James selfish or foolish. It does not. The Dauntless is most likely halfway back to Port Royal by now; certainly after they'd nearly emptied their hold for the chief, there was nothing else he could have wanted from them. James had to trust that they'd kept up their end of the deal, such as it had been.
He clears his throat; an abrupt, angry sound in the heavy air of the hut. 'Thank you for the warning, Sparrow. You are most considerate.' He gives him a tight, obviously false smile, before his face melts back into cold disapproval. 'You are also an idiot if you think I hadn't considered that. One does not get to be Commodore without using one's brain from time to time.'
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He knows he's playing it a little rough with Norrington. That a wiser man would shut his mouth around this moment and try to settle into some sort of silence, companionable or otherwise. But Jack's never been one for decorum and it could be that a little bit of him is spoiling for a fight, a chance to stretch his tongue after days of being silent.
Norrington's not the best sort of subject for such an occupation but he's all Jack has at the moment.
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A touch juvenile, perhaps, but James's mind is still on the subject of what precisely might have happened- might be happening at this very moment- to his men, had the Garifuna not let them on their way. It's not his way to dwell on such things, but it is perhaps unsurprising that being locked in a filthy hut with only Jack Sparrow for company should inspire despairing thoughts.
After a moment, he pins Sparrow with a shrewd look.
'Dare I ask what you did to get yourself landed here?'
Last he'd heard of the Black Pearl, she'd been spotted off the coast of the Turks, and they're a damned long way away from this particular tiny island. Indeed, it had been complete chance that James had ended up here; a storm and an ill wind that had blown them off course. Though, he supposes now, there may be ways to turn this to his advantage. It's just a matter of, well, thinking of them.
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