"MAN OVERBOARD!"
Lieutenant James Norrington yelled at the top of his lungs, though just about everyone on board knew it already. One of the midshipmen had said it was bad luck to have woman on board, and yet without her keen, youthful eyes the ship may have sailed right over the young boy floating on a small plank just below them.
"Man the ropes! Fetch a hook!"
Norrington stomped hurriedly to the back of the ship, making sure everyone knew what to do. He passed a man with tender, brown eyes and flaming orange hair. The midshipman smiled at him as he passed a rope to another man. Norrington smiled back, but was already ten paces past him.
"Haul him aboard!" Face screwed up again, he followed a crowd of men who had just brought the boy on board. Norrington knelt next to him and pressed two fingers to his neck, as he had learned to do many years ago. "He's still breathing."
"Mary, Mother o' God."
The crowd whipped around and Norrington struggled not to trip over his men as he ran to the side of the boat. A collective gasp of horror swam through the crowd. There was a flaming ship no more than 60 feet away from the Dauntless, broken into pieces and yet, still floating. It was spectacular to behold, or would have been, if it weren't so tragic.
Norrington yelled for the men to row to the ship, and gave hurried orders to several of the other lieutenants. He then proceeded back to where the boy was lying, with the governor's daughter leaning over him. Was he awake?
"Has he said anything?" Norrington knew he had shocked the young girl when she twirled around less than gracefully.
"His name's William Turner. That's all I found out," she replied in a confident manner, tipped with some reverence at being addressed by the first lieutenant. Norrington nodded briskly and gestured to the two men behind him.
"Take him below," The men nodded and moved around him. Young Elizabeth was still gazing at Norrington. He gave her a quick smile to reassure her that he hadn't meant 'to the brig', and walked away. Norrington caught the eye of the red-haired midshipman once more before moving to speak with the captain, who had just appeared.
Lieutenant Norrington's neck ached terribly. He was exhausted, not to mention sad, by the end of the day's excavations. No one else had been found alive on the merchant ship. Not even the newly appointed Governor Swann could deny it now, the ship had been attacked. Nothing of value had been left aboard, now was anything of value floating in the surrounding waters. It was hopeless.
About half an hour ago, the over-worked lieutenant had entered his office and sat down at his desk. But rather than doing work he had simply leaned his head back and closed his eyes. It was no good for his neck, but if he was caught sleeping in bed at only 8pm, he would be in some trouble with the captain.
Lazy man, thought Norrington. He was not known for being smug in the least, but even Norrington knew that he'd make a better captain than that man someday. There were rumours going around that the captain would only be staying in Port Royal for a little while. He would then, supposedly, be leaving with the current presiding Commodore at the fort town.
Commodore; that was the title James Norrington really wanted. His family background had nothing to do with it. He would have wanted this even without his parents' pushes.
He leaned his head forward and furrowed his eyebrows. Deep inside, Norrington knew that the events of this afternoon reminded him of something. His memories darted back to the young, red-haired midshipman, as they tended to do. Ah yes, now he knew exactly what it was...
A cry went up on decks. Or rather, several cries mixed together. Screams, really. Then one voice, closer than the others to the door that led below decks, yelled viciously,
"ALL HANDS ON DECK! ALL HANDS ON DECK!"
James Norrington glanced around quickly to glimpse the startled faces of the other boys, before dropping his mop and darting up the stairs at full speed. Almost knocking two midshipmen down as he threw open the door, James ran to the side of the boat. It was frightful! Their vessel had some upon another ship, completely destroyed. It floated in ruins in full view of the British ship.
"Don't just stand there! Fetch rope and hooks! The lifeboats, men the lifeboats! Quickly!"
People started running all around. James took one last look at the huge chunks of burning wood in the water before turning and bumping into one of his friends.
"This way!" said Theodore Groves, still holding onto James' arm, "We have to grab ropes and then blankets for the survivors!"
"There are survivors?" James' heart lifted.
"We don't know yet. But just in case..." Theodore trailed off and ran ahead.
So much for blankets, thought James as various other things were shoved into his arms and he was ordered here and there, either to deliver the items or help deploy a lifeboat. Some of them were already coming back. About ten men, more than could be spared, ran to the side of the ship and lifted a figure into the ship, laying him down on the deck as gently as possibly. James craned his neck, it appeared to be a young man, older than James, with light brown hair.
"Boy! James!"
James looked around. Someone kneeling next to the man was calling him irritably for a blanket. As James ran over and handed him a blanket, the midshipman grabbed his arm,
"There's others comin' back with people, so pay attention! Ya can't dream now!"
I wasn't dreaming, thought James, but instead just nodded. Over the next twenty minutes, he ran back and forth on the deck, handing out blankets, water, bandages, makeshift bandages and occasionally relaying messages to the lieutenants on deck. Once or twice, he caught Theodore's eye, but was too busy to pause even for moment. Another man had been brought back, as well as some of the ship's cargo. Among the 'cargo', which was no more than junk, really, was a tattered French flag. The lieutenants had spent almost five entire minutes just looking at it.
"Hm..." said one of them, "It must have been a French naval ship."
Brilliant deduction, James almost scowled, but more blankets were needed. The last of the lifeboats were returning.
"Here, take this."
"I just found these."
"There was hardly 'nything aboard, sir."
"I think I found a cabin-boy, sir!"
"There were some guns left, lieutenant."
"James! Bring another blanket!"
Eager to see if there was really a boy among the survivors, James hurried across the deck.
Sure looks like it, he lingered a few moments for a better look. The boy looked about his age, in height anyways. He was heavily freckled, particularly on the backs of his hands and had flaming orange hair, making him look rather younger than James. Parts of his chin and arms were obscured by large burns, like the others that had been pulled aboard. The midshipmen kneeling beside dowsed the wounds with cold water and wrapped them in bandages. The boy stirred for a moment, but otherwise remained unconscious.
Some hours later, a place had been found for the red-headed French boy; down in the cabins with the rest of the boys, naturally. The other men were in the midshipmen cabins, healing nicely, it seemed, though nobody was conscious. Or rather, no one had remained conscious for long.
The British cabin boys and younger seamen, like James, who were too young to sleep upstairs with the others, spent a long while hovering above their new bunkmate. He had been given a new linen shirt and breeches and his hair had been tied back in a clumsy ponytail. He seemed alright.
"Do you think he speaks English?" asked Timothy Gimell, the third youngest person on the ship. A nice boy, with thin blond hair.
"Probably not," replied Justin Eyrold.
"Hey, hey! Do you think he's like all the other Frenchmen?" piped up another boy.
"What, injured?"
"No! A eunuch. You know what everybody says 'bout the French!"
The boys laughed. Even Theodore Groves joined in. James wasn't amused. He spoke French, had been to France...
"There's no truth to that, you know!" he startled the others somewhat.
"'Course we know that," Justin rolled his eyes, "We were just making fun."
Ten minutes later, everyone was in bed, perhaps mulling over the day's events, perhaps thinking about eunuchs (James grimaced) or perhaps, if they were lucky, just sleeping. James drifted off shortly afterwards, but not before hearing their new guest stir once or twice...
To Be Continued!