It was well after sunset when Captain Norrington finally retired to his cabin. The day had been long and exhausting, though he knew he had endured much worse. As a lieutenant he had fought in sea battles which lasted for days and left behind a bloody trail of death and injury. Today's incident could hardly even be called a skirmish. And the adversary had opted for a quick retreat. Three men wounded, and only one dead. Minimal damage. In the past, he would have felt satisfied with the outcome.
But not today. With the new title came new responsibility and new perspective. Perhaps he should have anticipated such, but at the time, all he had felt was pride at having reached the rank of Captain. He was younger than many of the men who served under him, but he felt that he had quickly proved himself worthy of their respect and loyalty.
He couldn't be blamed for what happened, he told himself. He never would have thought any less of one of his superiors for an incident such as this. But the nagging questions kept sleep elusive late into the night.
Jeffrey Bingham was a middle-aged, unmarried man with no family. Some of the men rumored he had a brother somewhere, but Bingham never spoke of him. A man of average intelligence, and a below-average sailor, Bingham often found himself the object of reprimand from his superiors. His countenance was gruff, his sense of humor vulgar, and his temper volatile, but he loyally devoted all his working efforts to blundering his way through his duties.
Bingham was the first and only casualty of the afternoon. What appeared to be a merchant ship in distress had turned out to be a motley band of pirates who impulsively boarded the Navy vessel. Bingham, unfortunately, was unarmed as he tried to demand a surrender. The pirate leader shot him, hoping to intimidate the rest of the crew. But the King's Navy would hardly be intimidated so easily, and the pirates clearly had no organization whatsoever, and no plan as to how they would go about taking on the Royal Navy. The entire thing lasted barely a quarter of an hour, and Norrington had decided it wasn't even worth it to chase the pirates as they fled.
The ship's doctor had done all he could for Bingham, which wasn't much. The man had been dead before he hit the deck, or shortly thereafter. His body lay crumpled against the polished wood, the front of his uniform soaked in blood, his cold, white face contorted in surprise as his lifeless eyes stared up at an unseen attacker...
Norrington woke up in a cold sweat, nauseous and trembling at the vivid memory still etched in his mind. He gave up on sleep, and went up to the deck, hoping the cool night air would distract him from the terrible thought that he, Captain James Norrington, had lost a man.
A lieutenant found him throwing up over the railing. Lieutenant John Wyatt, a man who had served the Navy for many years as a lieutenant, mercifully made no comment. He handed the Captain a cup of water.
Norrington met Wyatt's eyes briefly, and accepted the cup. The cool water was surprisingly refreshing. He drank it slowly, as glad for the drink as he was for the excuse to avoid conversation. Wyatt simply stood at the Captain's side, silently gazing off at the dark horizon.
Finally Norrington lowered the cup. He thought he should offer some sort of apology or explanation, but couldn't think of anything to say.
Wyatt broke the silence. "You know it wasn't your fault," he stated, still looking out over the sea.
"Regardless of fault, one of my men is dead," Norrington replied. "A life for which I was responsible has been taken."
"Every one of us was aware of that possibility when we joined the Navy. Just as you were aware that as Captain, surely you would see your men killed."
"I fear I'll never get used to it."
"Not if you're any decent sort of man."
Norrington felt exhausted, and he sat down on a nearby bench. "Perhaps I'm not the man I hoped I was."
Wyatt turned to face him. "It's not weakness, sir."
Norrington only sighed.
"I've served under numerous Captains. You've already proven that you lack none of the qualities which earned many of them my respect."
"Thank you," Norrington said, halfheartedly.
"I don't envy you. I've watched many brave men buckle under the strain of responsibility. I've seen them lose sleep over more trivial matters than this."
"I don't suppose it gets any easier."
Wyatt shrugged. "Strong men will find ways to harden themselves against these horrors. They build up a tolerance," he said. "But better men allow the gentle side of compassion to touch them, but steel their minds against torment from the darker emotions."
Norrington stared down at the deck of his ship, thinking the lieutenant's words over. He wanted desperately to feel their truth overcome the doubts in his mind, but a nagging anxiety kept him on edge. He was tired, he told himself, and emotions had been running high all day. Perhaps he'd feel better in the morning, after some rest. As if he'd be able to sleep.
"You're a wise man, Lieutenant," he said softly.
"I'm a coward," Wyatt argued bitterly. "What other sort of man resists promotion as long as I have? I'll take my own responsibilities, but I'll have none of yours."
Norrington finally glanced up at the other man. "Clearly you're needed right where you are."