Usual disclaimers… woe is me!

Thanks for all the reviews… especially to Moulin and Marina who are as mental (but loveable) as each other. Please do keep reviewing, especially the Kitty tales too, but do remember to stop at the end of the first story – the others have not been re-edited yet!!!!

Has anybody seen Pen? She is still awol!

Oh – I have a favour to ask. As Mab let the cat out of the bag and revealed there is a new story in the offing… does anyone speak Italian. I am going to be writing a joint story with my bestest friend Ani Sparrow and our main character is half-Italian. We will need some translations done and although we can use a translation site, I don't trust them with the insults I want her to be flinging at Jack. If you do, either email me or put it in a review and I'll contact you. Ta!

Chapter 17 – The Storm

"Captain!" Oliver Trescoe, quartermaster of the Jolly Maid, burst into his cabin without pause or ceremony. "We're taking water! She'll not last much longer!" Already the skies were black, the waves breaking across the bow as the ship fought through the waves. He curled his nose in disgust at the smell of alcohol in the cabin as the man tried to find his courage in a bottle of port.

"We'll not survive in the boats!" Captain Daxon wailed, looking past his quartermaster at the sea in alarm.

"It's risk the boats or go down with the ship, Captain," Oliver retorted. "We are not far from shore!"

"I'm not leaving this ship!" he raged.

"We are close enough to shore… there is a chance if we can get through the reefs that we will be safe…" he tempted, but he could see the man would not be swayed.

"I'm not…" George Daxon began, but his rant was cut short as the ship suddenly jolted, throwing both men to the floor. A savage groaning was audible even through the storm, followed by the sound of breaking timbers. They had clearly found the beginning of the reefs.

"Captain!" Oliver pleaded, but the man ignored him, scrambling about his cabin and trying to rescue as many of his belongings as he could.

Mark Taunton put his head through the door, taking in instantly the situation. "Leave him," he urged. "She's going down fast!" He turned, relieved to see Bessie and the children clustered on the main deck, looking over the side at one of the ship's boats bobbing in the swell below. "Throw the children down," he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the storm.

"But…" Bessie panicked, looking at him in terror.

"Now woman!" he hollered, picking up the nearest child and dropping her over the side.

"Tabby!" Bessie cried, lunging for the side, relieved to see one of the sailors below catch her daughter safely.

"Come on Mother!" Jack urged, picking up Emily and handing her to the man. "We have to get off before she goes down!" The macaw on his shoulder flapped wildly, taking wing and heading into the night. "Cotton!" he shouted, but the bird had gone.

Bessie watched as one by one her children and then the crate containing Daffodil was thrown to the men below. Mark reached for her. "We must go!" he shouted.

"But…" Bessie looked at him, her face pale in the flash of lightening.

"Ah, for crying out loud!" he cursed, grabbing hold of her and throwing her overboard. He dived in behind her, surfacing near the boat and looking around, worrying when she did not surface. "Where is she?" he spluttered.

"Mother can't swim!" Pearl cried in horror.

"Jesus!" Mark suddenly understood the woman's terror and pushed himself off from the small boat, taking a deep breath as he dived, his hands flailing in the water as he tried to find her. Unable to hold his breath, he was forced to surface, rapidly gulping air before diving deeply again. There! His fingers brushed against something on the sandy floor and he reached down, relieved to feel fabric. He grabbed it, pulling her towards him as he struggled to the surface. He looked around frantically for the boat, unable to see it amidst the storm-swept sea. Another flash of lightning gave him a brief glimpse of his surroundings and he could see the reefs nearby.

"Mark!" a voice shouted, barely audible in the night, somewhere to his left.

"Here!" he cried, relieved to see the boat appear over the crest of a wave and he struggled towards it, the limp body of Bessie heavy in his arms. With a sigh he gave the woman up to the hands that reached for her as others reached for him, hauling him into the boat. He looked up, relieved to see that the children were still all safe, but their mother appeared not to be breathing. His breath came in ragged gasps as he watched Oliver turn the woman across his lap, trying to get her breathing again.

"Breathe, damn it!" the quartermaster cursed, pounding her on the back.

Mark looked at him worriedly, not realising he had been holding his breath until the woman suddenly lurched, water gushing from her mouth as she started to cough. Oliver righted her, sitting her between himself and Mark in the boat as the other men struggled to get it to shore. "You'll be alright, love," Oliver assured her, holding her to him as she struggled to get her breath properly, gasping air into her lungs. "We're going to make it…"

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Bessie struggled from the ship's boat, never more grateful to feel the safety of land beneath her feet than then. She held her bedraggled family to her, ignoring the rain that still lashed them. "Where are we?" she cried, looking up at the men nearby.

"Somewhere on the south-east of Bermuda, I guess," Oliver Trescoe guessed. "We'll have to cross the island and make our way northwards until we find Hamilton…"

"The children can go no further and neither can I… not tonight…" she pleaded.

"We'll carry the little ones," Mark offered, "but we must make for Hamilton. There's no shelter here…" He held out his hand, smiling when she took it, hauling her to her feet. Numbly she nodded, picking up Frances as Pearl reached for Emily. Her children gathered around her, only Tabitha reaching her arms up to him to be carried. He smiled, picking up the child and settling her comfortably. "At a guess, it's this way…"

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