Prologue


In that book which is | My memory
On the first page | That is the chapter when
I first met you | Appear the words
Here begins a new life.

DANTE


It is a frequently repeated cliché that all men are terrified of women in one way or another, but in case of seafaring men it was quite simply true. Perhaps because they saw so little of women due to their profession, they shrank away in horror even from a little girl; the vast majority of them were superstitious to the bone and protested the presence of females on board with a fervour that might otherwise have been reserved for pay cuts or making berth in leper colonies.

"Baaad luck to have a woman on board!"

The young First Lieutenant of the HMS Dauntless and her acting commander at present, an educated aristocrat himself, could but shake his head about his sailors' irrationality. They were ready to doubt him when he told them the time of day, but would believe at once that any female entering as much as a rudder boat would invariably cause that rudder boat to sink. Well, at least in regard to his own lack of clout, he wasn't much surprised. Two years ago he had still been a common lieutenant, one among many, five years ago he had just graduated from Mariner's College and never seen more of the world than Portsmouth, London and that rural part of Wessex where his family lived. But one must grow with one's tasks, as his old governess Miss McKendell would have pointed out in that sour tone of hers. – He smiled to himself when thinking of old Miss McKendell, an old spinster if there ever was one. Whenever he was struggling, whenever he was certain he would fail, he heard her stern voice with that peculiar Scottish accent snapping at him to try harder, be better, and 'bloody hell do as you ought to, boy!'

And that was what he was doing; he had no other choice anyway. Captain Craddock wouldn't captain the Dauntless if his life depended on it, which was ironic as his life did depend upon some capable sailor doing exactly that, and not only his life but the lives of more than eight hundred and fifty seamen and officers, one Governor-to-be and two children. So the task had befallen his First Lieutenant, with an entire set of other officers – his junior in rank, his considerable senior in age – seemingly just waiting for him to make a mistake. He wondered what they were thinking, really. Because if he were to make such a gaffe as they appeared to hope for, it could well take them all to the bottom of the ocean.

He had never been in charge of a ship before, and the Dauntless wasn't just any ship, she was a first-rate ship of the line and as such not easy to handle due to her sheer bulk; some hundred men needed to be meticulously coordinated for everything to work as it should and they weren't always inclined to listen to a 'boy still wet behind the ears', as the First Mate had put it. So the Lieutenant did it 'by the book' – what else was he after all supposed to do? He had always been the bookish type and read all there was to know about seafaring, about every type of ship, every possible manoeuvre and about navigation. None of his books had prepared him though to be a leader of men and he sometimes thought he had the natural authority of garden produce. He helped himself with a passable imitation of one of his teachers in College and his old governess (without putting on the accent, of course!), blending cold civility with strictness und unflappability, no matter what was thrown at him. More often than not, it worked. Sometimes it didn't.

"Shoo! Shoo!" one of the senior Able Seamen croaked and waggled his hands at the little girl in question who was just now inspecting the anchor gear. "Get away from there. You'll jinx it!"

"Leave her alone at once, Mr. Gibbs," the Lieutenant snarled and stepped between them.

"Baaad luck to have a female on board, sir. The sea's a woman and she's jealous of other women!"

"If you let go of your superstitious fears, you'd be much more fitted for civil obedience, Mr. Gibbs. And if you stopped drinking, you might even notice that this 'woman' is a mere child."

"Bad luck to have a woman aboard, sir," Mr. Gibbs repeated, as always when he came across little Miss Swann. "Bad luck if you'll ask me."

"Which I don't, fortunately. Now leave her alone, you scare her much more than vice versa."

The sailor shot him a dark scowl. Yes, he had as much authority as garden produce, the Lieutenant thought and scowled right back, and not of the stout radish variety, but rather in the regions of parsley.

Incidentally, he had not hit the nail on the head with his assessment. Little Miss Swann, the ten-year-old daughter of the freshly appointed Governor Swann, was as fearless as only ten-year-old girls of a certain standing and over-indulgent upbringing could possibly be. Her father had been assigned a position in some village twelve hundred miles south-east of Nassau. With him, a small fleet was supposed to establish another outpost of the British Empire; a futile venture, some jibed, because why make the effort and civilise some godforsaken hamlet whose inhabitants had probably never heard the king's name and could not care less if they were to be told? Because, the Lieutenant would answer to these sceptics, the world was but chaos, which could only be remedied by the Commonwealth; it was about time for the Age of Enlightenment, even if one had to drag some people into it kicking and screaming.

The girl had by now been joined by her similarly little companion, a pitiable boy of eleven whom they had fished right out of the ocean after the ship on which he had sailed had been attacked by pirates. Following a brief, whispered debate (which had mainly consisted of the girl telling the boy what to do and some half-hearted protests on his part, the two children now raced past the lieutenant, or rather – little Miss Swann was running, one hand hitching up her skirts, the other clenched around young William Turner's wrist and dragging the poor boy along. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she cried brightly and proceeded. "Say good morning, Will!"

"Good morning, sir," the boy muttered meekly, attempting a courteous bow while the girl pulled him on.

"You're welcome, Miss Swann – young Master Turner," the Lieutenant replied, stifling a smile. He had a soft spot for the Governor's wild little daughter, maybe because she was so much unlike anyone he'd ever met. She was bright, cheeky, and frequently forgot her manners; on the one hand, she was all dolls and petticoats and girlishness, on the other she was as churlish as any street urchin and insisted on clambering about the ship, the masts and rails like a little monkey, no matter how often her father told her not to, or pulled little pranks on the sailors.

Then again, perhaps all little girls were like this? The lieutenant simply lacked any kind of experience with members of the fair sex, regardless of their age, if one discounted Miss McKendell. He had only brothers, his boarding school and the Mariner's College had conspicuously lacked females, too, and as an officer of His Majesty, one could pass years and years without coming across a single specimen of the fair sex, no matter what age. Boys were easy; he had a long – and painful – experience with boys, but girls were a perpetual mystery if little Miss Swann was any rule to go by.

"We are going to catch and tame an albatross," she explained over her shoulder.

"Good luck with that. They're not easily caught."

"Oh, we'll manage! Won't we, Will?"

The boy's face belied his answer. "Yes…"

Indeed, Will wasn't convinced that his new friend's latest scheme would work out (none of her schemes ever really did), but he didn't have it in him to disagree with anything she said. He regarded her to be his guardian angel – after that terrible incident, hers had been the first face he had spotted when regaining consciousness. For some minutes, he had thought he was dead and she was an angel, a real one – he had never seen anyone so pretty, so elegant, so kindly smiling – and ever since, she coddled over him, trying to keep him out of trouble, but more often than not being the origin of trouble herself, like now.

He was deadly scared of pretty much everything on board. After his mother had died, he had used the little money she had left him to purchase a passage to Kingston in order to find his father, who was a sailor. What else could he have done? The money hadn't been nearly enough (in fact, it had only gotten him as far as London, where his last pennies were stolen ten minutes after he had clambered out of the carriage taking him there), so he had hired as a dogsbody on a merchant vessel, where he had been treated with careless contempt at its best, but still he had felt more at ease than here, on the Dauntless. Governor Swann and his daughter were very noble people; he hadn't got a clue how to behave around either of them. Then there was Mr Gibbs, who was just spooky with all his weird tales of ghosts and sea monsters and other horrors. And above all, there was Lieutenant Norrington, the most intimidating of the lot by a long way.

Will's prevailing sentiments concerning the Lieutenant were fear and admiration. First and foremost, he was awed. The Lieutenant was very young still – Will had overheard some of the sailors saying that he was only three-and-twenty – but already in charge of one of His Majesty's flagships, because the actual captain simply refused leaving his cabin. During the entire passage, Will had seen him only two or three times on deck – he was old, he was sickly, but most of all, he was perennially drunk (again, Will relied on the sailors' gossip) and appeared to have happily delegated the task of captaining the ship to his juvenile First Lieutenant.

Everybody aboard, even the officers who were more than twice as old, had the highest opinion of the Lieutenant, everybody praised his abilities as a sailor, as a swordsman, as an overall gentleman. Yet despite all that praise, nobody seemed to be very fond of him, and Will thought he could see why.

Lieutenant Norrington was as superior as the Swanns – more, perhaps, because his father was said to be a marquis – but he had no share of the Governor's avuncular benignity, or Miss Swann's lively ease. Will had not once seen him lose his poise or do as much as crack a genuine smile. He always kept his perfect composure – calm, tall, straight, stiff, his face earnest, ordering the other officers around in a tone as polite as it was sharp.

Once, Will had summoned all his courage to ask Mr. Gibbs, the most talkative of the seamen, about the Lieutenant, or rather, why nobody appeared to like him much even though everyone kept on saying how brilliant he was.

Mr. Gibbs had looked around to make sure nobody overheard them, and replied, "It's not the Lieutenant's fault, son. Many a man doesn't fancy being ordered around by a mere boy, no matter how much merits he got. And then..." He looked over his shoulder once more. "He's too clever by half, the Lieutenant is. People don't like that. Makes 'em suspicious, see?"

Yes, Will did see indeed. Because whenever the Lieutenant cast him a side-glance, it was one of mild amusement mingled with – well, he couldn't really say what it was exactly, only that it frightened him. Was it mistrust, perhaps?

In fact, Will mistook the Lieutenant completely in this respect. Those measuring glances he sometimes noticed – and dreaded – were no signs of suspicion, but vague curiosity. Lieutenant Norrington had soon realised that the boy had a kind of natural perceptiveness of the sea, which was astounding for a child of that age who had spent ten and a half of his eleven years firmly grounded on solid English earth. He'd make a fine sailor one day – but then again, after having survived shipwreck once, he wasn't likely to try his luck again, was he?

By the way – it wasn't true that no one liked the young Lieutenant. The Governor had taken quite a shine to him, perhaps because he was the only real gentleman on board, and so had his little daughter, although in case of the latter, her sympathy expressed itself in a kind of friendly antagonism. She simply delighted in trying to tease the young man, straining to get a rise out of him and egged on by her complete lack of success so far.

"Lieutenant Norrington!" she cried one afternoon, having escaped her father's care and with her usual sidekick in tow. She spoke in her typical manner, girlish with a fringe of playful cheek. "Lieutenant Norrington?"

"Can I be of assistance to you, Miss Swann?"

"I've got a question, Lieutenant Norrington."

"Ask away, Miss Swann."

"Why aren't you wearing a wig?"

"But you know that, Miss Swann. It went overboard during that big storm last October."

"Yes, of course I know that. But why don't you get a new one?"

"Because wigs aren't that easy to come by on a ship."

"You could order one of the other officers to give you his. You're their boss, aren't you?"

"But wouldn't that be ignominious, taking another man's wig only because I was so careless as to lose my own?"

She thought about that answer with her tongue in cheek, then went on, "We could make a stop somewhere and get you one, surely!"

"And retard your journey only to satisfy my vanity?" he asked, pretending to be scandalised. "Surely not, Miss Swann!"

Getting nowhere with that line of reasoning, she changed her strategy. "It really was very careless of you to lose it in the first place, Lieutenant Norrington."

Young William blushed to his ears and tried to shush her, but she shook him off and smiled boldly.

"Very true, Miss Swann," the Lieutenant answered and took a little bow to conceal that he was trying hard not to laugh. "All I can say in my defence is that during a storm, one sometimes struggles with one's priorities."

She nodded wisely. "That's why my Papa orders me to stay below deck when there's a storm. He says it's dangerous."

"It is and you do well to obey your father."

"Shame though, I should like to see how it's like. Anyway – why don't you just stay below deck, too, if it's so dangerous?"

"Somebody has to stay aloft and steer the ship, Miss Swann."

"But if it's dangerous?"

"Especially if it's dangerous. That is my job, you see?"

She tilted her head and contemplated his answer. Then, apropos of nothing, she asked, "Do you have a first name, Lieutenant Norrington?"

The boy beside her was squirming with what he perceived as an impertinence, but struck the young man as quite hilarious. "What do you think, Miss Swann?"

"I think you have a first name. Everybody has."

"Precisely."

"So? Aren't you going to tell me what it is?"

He had to bite his lip not to smile. "It is 'James', Miss Swann."

"Can I call you James then?"

"I don't think your father would be happy if you did that, Miss Swann."

"Oh, I don't think he minds. You're his friend, after all. Which makes you my friend, too. All my friends call me Elizabeth. I wouldn't mind you call me Elizabeth either, you know?"

"I tell you what, Miss Swann – why don't you start with your friend Mr. Turner here? I have yet to hear him addressing you by your first name. I on the other hand am an officer of His Majesty and must therefore stick to the proper decorum, whether I like it or not."

Elizabeth stuck out her bottom lip and went away, sulking. With Will, she had been as little successful as with James (she was determined to call him so regardless). She called her new friend by his Christian name, too – but no amount of coaxing or threats could make him return that familiarity, he'd call her 'Miss Swann', no matter what.

That evening at dinner – which was funny as always, because after taking his seat at the head of the table, Captain Craddock had dozed off until his wig had dropped onto his plate – Elizabeth summoned all her bravado and addressed the Lieutenant, "Could you please pass me the bread, James?"

Her father swallowed his bite the wrong way and coughed, but the Lieutenant's only reaction was a subtle smile. "Of course, Miss Swann. Would you care for the butter as well?"

She was disappointed. She had believed she could pique him, but he looked as serenely cool as ever and handed her the bread basket as if nothing had happened.

Her father had caught his breath again and reprimanded her, "Elizabeth! Address the Lieutenant with his proper title, please! – I am deeply sorry, Lieutenant!"

"You needn't be, sir, I assure you."

"And also, we're friends, Papa!"

"Please, child, don't pester the Lieutenant."

"Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Governor, but your daughter is far from pestering me in any small way. Frankly, I think her outspokenness is quite amusing."

"You are kind, Lieutenant. You see, it's a mother missing here…"

The two men conversed politely, and Elizabeth went back to sullen silence. She disliked it when the adults were acting as if she wasn't around, she equally begrudged James for not reacting to her little joke, and she was habitually scandalised that her father wouldn't invite poor William around, who was compelled to eat with the crew.

But maybe it was for the better. The Lieutenant and Will had better not spend too much time together. She had once heard Lieutenant Norrington swear that he'd see to it that every pirate got what he deserved – the noose, that was! – and she was very much afraid that dear William was a pirate after all. She had found a pirate medallion around his neck after he had been fished out of the ocean and never dared to question him about it. Technically, he didn't even know that she had taken it from him while he had been unconscious. She hadn't stolen it though! She had done it for his own good, really! Because she wanted to protect him! She suspected that James – ha! – wouldn't turn rhetoric into action by incarcerating an eleven-year-old boy, let alone having him executed (he tried not to let it show, but she could tell that underneath all the austereness, he was essentially very nice). What she did not know, however, was if it was even in his power to grant clemency, because he wasn't the real captain of the ship, because his loyalty was with the Crown and he had to obey the laws…

She had asked him about it – in a roundabout way, of course, making absolutely sure to cast no suspicion on poor Will – by inventing a wild story in which she herself (through no fault of her own, of course!) ended up as a pirate and he'd have to catch her.

He had raised his brows mockingly. "I had no idea you had any intentions of becoming a pirate, Miss Swann."

"I don't! I'm just asking what if."

"And I am just advising you not to do as much as think of it."

"But I am not thinking of it. I'm merely asking if you would hunt and hang me, too."

He contemplated her earnestly, wondering whether he should just give in because she so obviously wanted to hear that he would of course make an exception for her, or whether this was the time for a little pep talk about the Law, and that the Law did after all apply to everyone. He was fond of the Governor, but also saw quite clearly that the man was thoroughly incapable to teach his child anything more meaningful than which fork to use for the first course, so he chose the latter option.

"Miss Swann," he patiently began, "I do suspect that I know why you ask me this."

"You do?!"

"I think I do, yes. However, I can only explain to you that it wouldn't even be up to me to decide. I do not hang a man because I wanted to, but because there is such a thing as the law, and I am its servant. The law constitutes what is right and what is wrong, and it also determines what is to happen to a person violating its rules."

"But what if the law itself is wrong!"

He smiled. "You're in luck there, Miss Swann, because our English laws are among the finest in the world. Of course, they're not perfect, and I may personally not agree with a certain rule, but I have to enforce it anyway, because without the law, there is nothing, no industry, no culture, no arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death, and the life of man solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."

She stared at him, perfectly horrified, and he tried anew. "Do you remember the Golden Rule, Miss Swann?"

She nodded with wide eyes. "You said it's that no one ought to do to others what they wouldn't want done to themselves..."

Encouragingly, he nodded, too. "Quite right. That Golden Rule is the root of all our laws, you see? Now I'm sure you remember the burning ship that your friend Mr. Turner escaped from by the skin of his teeth. Would you say you should have liked to have been aboard that ship?"

She breathlessly shook her head.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because it was attacked by pirates..."

"Exactly. You wouldn't want to be attacked by pirates, so you can conclude by means of the Golden Rule that pirating is wrong, can't you?"

"Yes..." she admitted despite herself.

"Now let us say that you wished to excuse one of those pirates, who almost got your little friend killed –"

"I wouldn't!"

"So let me put it another way. You asked me if I would pursue you if you were a pirate, so for the sake of the example let us assume for a minute that you had been one of these pirates, and I would really like to make an exception for you. Yes?"

"Yes," she breathed, hanging on his lips.

"Now that I have excused you, one of the other pirates demands the same. A fair request, because since I have made an exception for you, why should I not grant him the same privilege? How would you feel about that?"

She opened her mouth for a reply, thought again, and finally muttered, "I don't know..."

"Do you see now that the law must apply to everybody, and that you cannot make exceptions just because you like, because once you start making exceptions, you cannot just stop when you like; it's a downward slope without end, and soon there would be no more law at all to follow, and everybody could do as they please, for example by attacking innocent people like your friend Mr. Turner, and we could not even punish them for it?"

"So you would hang me?" she whimpered, her hazel eyes wide open.

Resignedly, he gave up his attempts of employing the Socratic Method and wryly patted her head instead. "No, Miss Swann," he sighed, "I would not. Little girls aren't hanged by any law, you know."

And that evening at supper, he gave her a book with the exciting title Leviathan, but try as she might, there were no sea monsters in it.


Author's Notes:

This is a rewriting of a very old story which was called 'Too Good To Be True'; unfortunately I can no longer access that old account, so there you go.

Parts of Lieutenant Norrington's thoughts on the Commonwealth and superstition are inspired by Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan.