Title: Captured.
Disclaimer: It belongs to A and E the way its written here.until I read
the books that is. Also belongs to CS Forester. Lucky bum.
Notes: A rather longer story concentrating on Bush.
Brighton: 1790
There were some things that William Bush wanted to deny from his childhood. Particularly two things came to mind: his father's predilection for making him eat turnips and a six year old terror named Katherine Miller.
He had been a young midshipman, rapidly approaching sixteen when a landfall from his time on his ship brought him to his father and mother's home in Brighton. His own father had been home for a short time, and at his mother's request, all the children returned home to the roost.
The family home was as he remembered it from when he had left it last. The only thing that was different was the man, equal of age to his own father and the addition of two children that he was sure were not his siblings. With his own brood of six and the addition of two, two women and two men under one roof, it was only a matter of time until he, his father and the Captain and one or two extras left to view the Archangel at dock.
It had been a beautiful ship: tall and proud masts extending to the very Heavens. He had listened quietly to the conversation of the day and of his father and Captain Miller interjecting when asked. The two other 'extras' scampered away. William had never been one for children and as such, he had not watched where they went. Until of course.
"William, son.find young Katherine if you would. She's wandered off."
A direct order from a captain and his father. Probably the only thing that would send him after a young girl not larger than a sidearm and that was terrible willful. He wandered the deck looking for the errant waif. The expected packed sail and creaking masts were ever present and the same as they had been for the last five years of his life asea. Gulls winging overhead were more familiar to him than his father's roar. All was as expected and right on a ship anchored at port. What he had not expected to see was a pair of thin legs attached to feet covered in boots dangling from the rigging above his head. It appeared that he had found young Katherine and it seemed that she was not quite in control of her limbs and quite in possibility of being dumped indecorously to the deck.
"Good Lord," he breathed. He took off his hat and jumped toward the side, pulling on the ropes to propel himself upwards while at the same time trying to steady it to not dump its cargo on the hard wood of the deck. But as he reached the footholds of the rigging, the girl slipped from the ropes to create a very undignified pile of linen, patent leather and skin.
He cursed and jumped to the deck after her. "Here there. What on God's Earth did you intend." he stopped as he realized that the girl wasn't moving. Wasn't moving as a child would at least. He heard a rattling in her breathing he had heard when men had taken shots on deck and were breathing their last. With a shout for help, he crouched next to her, reaching to still her head.
The shout brought no one. He cursed under his breath again and assessed the situation as he was trained to do. She remained blessedly unconscious, but he could see no blood anywhere on her body. But with the breathing..
"Blasted hell.broken ribs." he cursed. "My father will have my soul in a cup. But if you stay here, tyke, you'll be worse off. I'll have to move you."
Gently as he could, he pulled at his neck kerchief and coat. In a matter moments, she was wrapped and tied into his makeshift cocoon. Then he rolled her into his arms and against his chest. He stood and looked down at her face that twisted in pain even in peaceful slumber. He shook his head and as quickly as possible made his way across deck to the platform and his father.
It wasn't until his feet touched ground that her large brown eyes opened and squinted up at him. He could see the pain in them. And it scared him: pain in one so young.
"Hush now.peace," he urged, finding himself stumbling over the words. "More talk and wiggling will give you more pain."
"Who are you?" she demanded, wincing.
"Apparently your guardian angel."
Of course, in later years, he would look back and find it as one of the more endearing points of his childhood, no matter how mundane a moment it was. Those words would haunt him.
But above all, the day he became Katherine Miller's guardian angel definitely was a better situation than to him than eating turnips.
Brighton: 1790
There were some things that William Bush wanted to deny from his childhood. Particularly two things came to mind: his father's predilection for making him eat turnips and a six year old terror named Katherine Miller.
He had been a young midshipman, rapidly approaching sixteen when a landfall from his time on his ship brought him to his father and mother's home in Brighton. His own father had been home for a short time, and at his mother's request, all the children returned home to the roost.
The family home was as he remembered it from when he had left it last. The only thing that was different was the man, equal of age to his own father and the addition of two children that he was sure were not his siblings. With his own brood of six and the addition of two, two women and two men under one roof, it was only a matter of time until he, his father and the Captain and one or two extras left to view the Archangel at dock.
It had been a beautiful ship: tall and proud masts extending to the very Heavens. He had listened quietly to the conversation of the day and of his father and Captain Miller interjecting when asked. The two other 'extras' scampered away. William had never been one for children and as such, he had not watched where they went. Until of course.
"William, son.find young Katherine if you would. She's wandered off."
A direct order from a captain and his father. Probably the only thing that would send him after a young girl not larger than a sidearm and that was terrible willful. He wandered the deck looking for the errant waif. The expected packed sail and creaking masts were ever present and the same as they had been for the last five years of his life asea. Gulls winging overhead were more familiar to him than his father's roar. All was as expected and right on a ship anchored at port. What he had not expected to see was a pair of thin legs attached to feet covered in boots dangling from the rigging above his head. It appeared that he had found young Katherine and it seemed that she was not quite in control of her limbs and quite in possibility of being dumped indecorously to the deck.
"Good Lord," he breathed. He took off his hat and jumped toward the side, pulling on the ropes to propel himself upwards while at the same time trying to steady it to not dump its cargo on the hard wood of the deck. But as he reached the footholds of the rigging, the girl slipped from the ropes to create a very undignified pile of linen, patent leather and skin.
He cursed and jumped to the deck after her. "Here there. What on God's Earth did you intend." he stopped as he realized that the girl wasn't moving. Wasn't moving as a child would at least. He heard a rattling in her breathing he had heard when men had taken shots on deck and were breathing their last. With a shout for help, he crouched next to her, reaching to still her head.
The shout brought no one. He cursed under his breath again and assessed the situation as he was trained to do. She remained blessedly unconscious, but he could see no blood anywhere on her body. But with the breathing..
"Blasted hell.broken ribs." he cursed. "My father will have my soul in a cup. But if you stay here, tyke, you'll be worse off. I'll have to move you."
Gently as he could, he pulled at his neck kerchief and coat. In a matter moments, she was wrapped and tied into his makeshift cocoon. Then he rolled her into his arms and against his chest. He stood and looked down at her face that twisted in pain even in peaceful slumber. He shook his head and as quickly as possible made his way across deck to the platform and his father.
It wasn't until his feet touched ground that her large brown eyes opened and squinted up at him. He could see the pain in them. And it scared him: pain in one so young.
"Hush now.peace," he urged, finding himself stumbling over the words. "More talk and wiggling will give you more pain."
"Who are you?" she demanded, wincing.
"Apparently your guardian angel."
Of course, in later years, he would look back and find it as one of the more endearing points of his childhood, no matter how mundane a moment it was. Those words would haunt him.
But above all, the day he became Katherine Miller's guardian angel definitely was a better situation than to him than eating turnips.
