AN: man, this chapter makes me want to seize up the picnic hamper, make some cucumber sandwiches, and venture into the sunshine with a Pimms in hand. Unfortunately, I have to mow the lawn. But you can enjoy the picnic on Santa Maria, if you so wish. And thank you again for all your kind reviews, I know this fic is all very innocent and so on, but we all need a little respite from the sordid side of life occasionally, do we not? dd xx

16

The day passed far too quickly for everyone's liking.

The Commodore, to his regret, found himself in high demand for sweaty ball games, and in the frenzy of physical activity, during which he lost his wig, his shoes and any shred of pride he might previously have possessed, he found no time to search for Miss Groves and take her for a short walk through the lush jungle.

Nevertheless, he enjoyed himself tremendously, despite his utter inability to throw the ball anywhere near its intended target, an odd deficiency for so skilled a marksman, and was ravenous by the time the marines in charge of the barbecue began serving dinner.

Flopping gratefully onto a sand drift, he accepted a plate of sizzling pork and a tankard of cold ale. The cool drink slid easily down his throat, and the meat had a wonderfully smoky taste that reminded him of family holidays in Cornwall during his childhood. Watching the dying embers of the fire, and the carefree couples spinning around it to the tune of Dawes' fiddle, he could find no fault with the world.

He closed his eyes in the balmy heat of the evening, letting the whispers of his beloved sea and the happy shouts of his friends and companions lull him into a dozy repose. I should be this contented more often, he thought idly, sleepy from his exertions that afternoon.

'And what could this be?' he heard a familiar, blessed voice intrude his peace, 'A Commodore, napping?'

He opened his tired eyes a crack, and was rewarded by the pleasant sight of Miss Groves standing before him, swinging her closed parasol in one hand and a half-eaten papaya in the other. Norrington became uncomfortably aware that his natural hair was rather dishevelled, and that his shirt was open more than was strictly decent. He sat up slowly, straightening the offending garment furtively.

'Miss Groves.'

She sat beside him on the drift, with her legs tucked beneath her. Norrington noticed that she was barefoot, and caught a glimpse of her tiny feet before they disappeared beneath her expansive dress, and he coloured a little.

'H-how do you like the island, madam?' he asked a little clumsily.

'It is beautiful, Commodore Norrington,' she replied, fiddling with the parasol by her side. 'I should like to come here again.'

'Perhaps you shall, one day,' he said absently, watching her pale fingers trace the scalloped edges of the lace.

She looked up at him and smiled shyly. Her intense gaze made him feel uneasy, and he continued hastily, 'I regret we must soon be departing, however. There is still sufficient light for us to reach Port Royal.' Miss Groves nodded, and resumed her perusal of her parasol.

As if in confirmation of his assertion, Norrington felt a heavy drop of rain hit his wrist, and, looking around, saw that several other people were holding their hands out, feeling for further droplets.

'Rain!' he said in surprise. 'Come, Miss Groves, we must get to the Dauntless as soon as possible, to avoid having to load her in torrential showers.' With that, he helped her to her feet, and directed her towards the small boats.

With the large company of marines working hard, it was a matter of minutes before the debris of the picnic was packed up and loaded into the boats. By this time the rain was falling hard, and the wails of women bemoaning their ruined hairstyles were beginning to grate on Norrington's nerves. His wig hurriedly placed askew on his hair, he attempted to coordinate a speedy retreat to the magnificent Dauntless.

It was a disappointing end to a marvellous day, as the women and gentlemen crowded into the small officers' cabins in the warmth, and the marines slipped and slid around the lurching deck, blinded by lashing rain and heaving waves. Norrington stood on his bridge, his coat collar pulled up around his cheeks, feeling his ship groan and pitch in the churning waters. He envied Miss Groves in the comfort of the cabin, and wondered whether by any chance she had found herself in his own room.

Then, the lightning began.

Norrington was used to such conditions, with threatening black clouds and brilliant white flashes, winds and rains so powerful that he could barely see five feet ahead, but he feared for the women indoors, so unused to the tempests that rocked the seas.

The journey back to Port Royal seemed twice as long as the outward leg, perhaps due to the Commodore's necessary caution in steering around the hidden reefs outside the bay.

Finally poor Bobby Martin, soaked to the skin in the crow's nest, declared that he saw the lights of the port ahead.

Gillette, his auburn hair plastered to his face beneath his sodden wig, stumbled towards the bridge, clutching wildly at rails and ropes on his way.

'Commodore!' he shouted, straining to be heard over the din of the storm.

'Yes!' Norrington replied through the gloom.

'We cannot bring her into harbour, can we? She'll be dashed against the quays at this rate…'

Though his voice threatened to be swept away, Norrington caught his meaning and nodded in agreement. 'The small boats! We can launch them in the shelter provided by the Dauntless!' he cried. Gillette heard, and staggered back to inform the seasick marines.

It was nigh on impossible, with the ship rolling so dramatically, and the wind blowing the sailors back as they struggled to pull ropes and lower the sails. The rain trickled into Norrington's eyes so he could hardly see, and his hoarse commands were lost in the melee.

Finally the boats were ready to be launched, and, keeping his head bowed against the battering wind, barely noticing as his wig was torn from his head by the gales, he picked his way across the deck to the warm cabin. Therein he found the civilians of the party huddled in anxiety, the faces of many of the women white with fear. Gasping for breath, he tried to allay their dread.

'Please, ladies…' he managed, leaning heavily against the doorpost, 'we are launching the small boats, as we do not dare try to bring the ship into harbour in these conditions. With the marines helping you, you should have no trouble crossing the deck to the boats.' Many of the women blanched further at this news, but Norrington was in no mood for female fits of hysterics, and opened the door to the cabin, allowing the elements to flood in.

'Please form a line and obey the orders of the marines,' he said curtly, and exited the cabin, back into the howling conditions.

The marines were capable enough, and quickly formed a system whereby the womenfolk could be swiftly and safely loaded into the small boats. Even in the terrible climate, they set their teeth to this task, and had three of the five boats safely on the way into harbour within ten minutes.

But the Dauntless, despite her stature and reputation, was an old ship. The sudden tropical storm was placing undue stress on the creaking joints of her framework, and Norrington knew it. He could feel the wood groaning as the sea strangled his vessel, and he looked anxiously at Gillette, who was marshalling marines and the remaining few women into the fourth boat. The Captain returned his troubled look with understanding and similar worry, but the two pressed on, standing firm on the rain-slicked deck.

Norrington finished loading his boat, and watched as it was lowered down the black side of the Dauntless, the ropes let out cautiously, painfully slowly, the women gasping with each inevitable lurch.

He looked up in time to see a rope snap free from one of the sails, and flail in the turbulent air. At that same moment, Captain Gillette too caught sight of the sudden breakage, and the two slid and dove across the perilous deck to tie it down again, for the sail was beginning to unfurl dangerously.

Panting heavily, the two men seized the thrashing rope, and heaved on it with all their might, finally succeeding in fastening it securely to a mast, and tying the loose sail-canvas down temporarily.

'Good, Gillette,' Norrington gasped. 'Is the fourth boat loaded?'

'There are three women remaining,' Gillette answered shortly above the howl of the wind. 'I must return…they were left standing on the deck and I fear they will be harmed if…' the ship lurched once more, and Norrington heard the screams of the three women left onboard, and saw distant shadows through the lashing rain clutch wildly at railings and pillars. And one sliding hopelessly across the tilting deck, falling into darkness beyond.

'Ye gods!' he heard Gillette shout as they, too, strove to stop themselves being thrown overboard. And then Norrington heard the most chilling sound of all…a terrified, panicking marine, shouting, 'man overboard! Man overboard!'

AN: did you notice my blatant lack of any nautical knowledge in this chapter? I'm reading 'Master and Commander' at the moment, and I can barely understand a word of the wretched thing…all these different sails and types of ship. Well, nevertheless, the main point is…disaster on the horizon! Tune in shortly for wet!Norrie and other such delicacies. dd xx