The Dauntless and Hambleton returned to Port Royale under the cover of darkness. The prisoners were unloaded quickly under heavy guard as more personnel came to relieve those disembarking. The replacement was smooth and orderly as always. Once the prisoners were secured, the wounded were carefully brought ashore. Lievtenant Gillette was taken immediately to the medical ward at Fort Charles for further treatment and monitoring. He was now in a great deal of pain and frequently drifted in and out of consciousness, and the biggest concern for him now as staving off infection and recuperating from the blood loss. The ball had smashed through the upper left portion of his chest, just below his shoulder, devastating the muscle and tissue. Luckily, it had not struck bone or any blood vessels on its destructive path. He would live to fight another day.
Norrington watched from the deck as others disembarked. As usual, he desired to be the last to leave the ship, despite his condition. His wound was substantially less serious than Gillette's, though he had certainly lost a great deal of blood from the head wound and was nearing the verge of collapse himself. However, he would be stubborn and stand fast until the crew was relieved and it was his turn. James closed his eyes as he leaned against the starboard bulkhead for a moment, as the deck grew increasingly quiet around him.
"Ye look like yer about to fall down again, Commodore darlin'," asserted Quinlan quite loudly from behind. Norrington jumped slightly and gripped the edge of the bulkhead to assure that did not lose his balance. He slowly turned his head around and glanced down at the surgeon before looking back out into the bay. "Ye didn't lie down and rest like I said now, did ye?" inquired Quinlan with an exasperated tone. The stout little Irishman stared up at the Commodore with great displeasure and shook his head. "Ye got awfully lucky out there today, James. Don't go finishing the marksman's work on ye'self."
Norrington glanced back to Quinlan. "Would you please not call me by my name while we're shipboard?" he sighed as he rubbed his forehead.
Quinlan glanced up at the Commodore and smiled. "I've been callin' ye James for 10 years now and ye ne'er seemed to mind!" the older surgeon teased as he playfully cuffed Norrington on the arm. "Come to think of it ye seem to like my callin' ye 'Commodore darlin',' and – "
"Humor me Quinlan…I'm concussed," interrupted Norrington as he merely shook his head once more and lifted his left arm as he attempted to deal with Quinlan's usual blunt ways.
"Aye, Commodore," started Quinlan sarcastically. "Ye need to go home and rest. That, a'course, means actually lying down and not doing work, sir. Ye be no good to us unconscious or dead, so don't go pushin' yer luck," established the surgeon with an official, unwavering tone. He knew perfectly well that Norrington had little intention of taking it easy. He had never done so before, why do so now? "And don't be makin' me come to yer house and order ye around there, either, Commodore darlin'…'cause ye know I will." Quinlan flashed a smile before excusing himself, leaving Norrington to disembark with the final boat leaving the Dauntless.
James had not taken more than 20 paces on shore when he heard the familiar, infuriating tone of Captain Martin's voice. "My, what a mess you are," observed Martin as he approached Norrington. He looked the Commodore up and down as he studied his bloodstained uniform. "It appears as if you lost your cover as well," Martin noted as he pointed at Norrington's lack of wig and hat. "Hmm. Must have blown off in your haste to catch pirates…" Martin's tone reeked of sarcasm and disdain as he crossed his arms and stood fast.
The adrenaline had begun to flow quite freely as Norrington stepped toward Marin and looked down on him with pulsing authority. "You would do well to hold your tongue, Captain, or you shall soon find yourself in the very same brig as the villainous creatures we so hastily captured this afternoon," established Norrington, his tone steady and commanding despite his growing lightheadedness. "I should very well have your bloody commission for your gross conduct under my command and blatant disregard for orders. Take your leave, sir, but expect to be hearing from me shortly to discuss your future here with the Royal Navy." With that the Commodore turned toward the waiting carriage. There were so many things he had wanted to spit in Martin's face, but none were appropriate, and Norrington would not allow himself to sink to the same level as that rotten man.
Minutes later the carriage pulled up Norrington's drive and stopped. James started to feel much weaker as he slowly climbed out and made his way unsteadily to the front steps. Katherine opened the door as a smile crossed her face to see him returned so quickly, though it quickly vanished as she noticed his exhausted stance and bloodied clothing. She flew down the steps to meet him. "James! Good God, what happened to you?" she asked hastily. Though she tried, Katherine could not find words capable of expressing her shock and concern. She quickly put her left arm about his waist and flung his right arm over her shoulder before the carriage footman even had the chance to offer his assistance.
"I'm perfectly fine, I just need to lie down for a moment," James muttered as Katherine led him inside and up the stairs.
"The hell you are, James Norrington," scolded Katherine. They finally reached his room and James collapsed on the bed as Katherine got a better look at him. His wound, though sutured, had begun to bleed again and was now streaming down the left side of his face once more. The left side of his cravat and waistcoat were soaked straight through with blood. The brilliant white lapels of his uniform coat were now an ominous shade of red. His breeches were also spattered with crimson stains. He was an utter mess. "Margaret! Come quickly!" cried Katherine from James's side. Within moments Katherine's maid came running into the room and gasped at the sight of the Commodore.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," whispered the shocked servant. "What happened Miss?"
"I don't know, Margaret," began Katherine as she shook her head in disbelief. "Gather some cloths and bring some water please. Make haste!" Margaret turned and fled down the stairs to gather the necessary things. Meanwhile, James lay still on the bed and let out an exhausted sigh. Katherine quickly began undoing his cravat and examined his wound. "James…what happened?" she asked, the confusion and concern mounting in her voice.
James turned his head slightly to address her and spoke quietly. "There was a battle…two pirate vessels rather than one. We had it under control until that damned Martin hesitated. We disabled one and took on the larger frigate with the Hambleton, but the bastards had a sharpshooter on board and bloody used him…" Norrington's words trailed off as he blinked to keep the room from spinning around him.
Katherine's expression went from concern to sheer terror. "You were shot?" she whispered slowly as the maid reappeared in the doorway with water and cloths. Katherine took no notice of her as her gaze was fixed on James's face.
"One moment I'm on the quarterdeck shouting out orders, and the next I'm at the bottom of the stairs and bleeding all over myself," continued James. He paused and chuckled sarcastically at his situation, but the smile soon faded from his face. "Neither of us saw it coming, though perhaps we should have," he said quietly.
"We?"
"Gillette was hit as well, in the left shoulder. Bastards were starting at the top and working their way down…Good strategy I suppose, unless of course, you are the one being shot at," growled Norrington.
"Oh my God…Is Matthieu all right?" Katherine was now teetering on the verge of panic. It was an emotion she rarely ever let herself advance to, and she was not comfortable with it. Her concern grew even more so with the news of Gillette's injury. After removing James's cravat, she sat up and spread her arms in an expression of confusion and fear. "I….I'm calling for the doctor immediately," she stammered as she turned and plunged her shaking hands into the water and soaked one of the cloths.
"That won't be necessary Katherine," started James calmly. "I've already seen a surgeon and I simply need to rest for a time, that is all."
Katherine shook her head as she turned back to her brother. "No…no. I don't know what else to do, just…Look at you!" she cried as she pointed to his bloodied uniform. James looked down, but either due to his debilitated state or the fact that he had been looking at the blood for the past few hours, it was of no great concern to him. He absently waved an arm as he slowly sat up on the bed.
"Margaret, if you will excuse us please," he said politely. The maid nodded and scurried out the door as James turned to Katherine and slowly rose. "There is nothing wrong with me, Katherine. It's simply a gash that has bled profusely. I am not shot or injured anywhere else so I think we should both be grateful…"
"That you're not dead?" Katherine asked heatedly as she stood there staring up at him. She was having a very difficult time suppressing her emotions, and it was becoming quite clear to James that she was scared. Ever since he had joined the Navy, and especially since earning the more prestigious ranks, Katherine had regarded him as privileged and removed from such threats. Bullets did not seem to have a place in naval battles, or so she believed, and the idea that her brother would be recognized and targeted simply because of his rank troubled her deeply. "You could have died, James," she whispered.
"It is the nature of the duty," James explained as he glanced down at the floor.
"And that does not bother you?" asked Katherine with a lack of understanding. "Does it not occur to you that you may walk out that door tomorrow and not come back?"
"Well, according to the ship's doctor, I will not be walking anywhere tomorrow," James said as he tried to make light of the situation.
"Stop it, James," Katherine demanded with tears in her eyes. She finally succumbed to her emotions as the tears began streaming down her face. James gently took hold of Katherine's arm and sat her down on the bed next to him as he embraced her. "I'm frightened for you," Katherine mustered between sobs. "For you, for Matthieu, for all your men…I do not understand how you can sit there and show no fear."
James paused and closed his eyes for a moment before he continued. "You're mistaken if believe I am fearless, Katherine," he began softly. "Because 'fearless' does not exist. I am confident and successful at best, because I have great faith in the men next to me. Courage is knowing fear and still seeing to your duty."
Katherine drew a few hesitant breaths before glancing up at her brother. She flashed a small smile. "You'll have to get cleaned up then," she said quietly as she handed him the damp cloth and sat up. Norrington smiled and rose to his feet. After changing into some fresh clothes, Katherine help him clean up a bit and then observed as he quickly passed out on the bed. She watched him quietly for a moment before returning to her own room for the night, somewhat comforted by his words.
