Because everyone has been so kind and supportive in their reviews (and because I feel like it), I'm putting up the next part of the story up... enter one Weatherby Swann to the rescue! In case people are curious as to why I threw James's father in as such a big influence, it's really because so many of the characters in "Pirates" seem to have been influenced in one way or another by their fathers (Will and Bootstrap, Elizabeth and Governor Swann, and even Jack has many of his father's quirks), and I didn't see why James should be an exception, plus it felt like it could be a legitimate explanation as to his behaviour. Hope everyone approves... and, as always, I own nothing. Think that covers everything... so, read on!
11. Tales Told: A Year in Port Royal
Within a year, my father's diligence had paid off – His Majesty the King decided that we needed to expand our fleet in the Caribbean to protect our colonial interests there, and asked my father if he would take the title of admiral upon arriving in Port Royal. I, an eager if not restrained eleven-year-old, was terribly excited, having never been out of the country except to go to France once or twice; plus, I was so pleased that finally I was going to be able to be part of one of my father's grand adventures at sea. I can still remember the day we sailed out of London, standing proudly on the deck next to my father and watching the crowds cheer as our boats made their way down the Thames. Although I had kept myself from smiling for quite a long time, I couldn't help but grin the second I was alone down in my cabin.
The voyage progressed rather smoothly until the very end. Pirates, lead by a fierce man named Captain Teague, attacked our ship; my father was very badly wounded in the leg, and almost all of his crew was killed. When we arrived at Port Royal, instead of entering as the grand fleet ship we had set out as, we were an exhausted and humiliated bunch. My father was sent to the local hospital, and stayed there for the next four months. When the leg finally healed as best it could, my father had become a bitter, broken man. He could no longer walk without the use of a walking stick, and he winced in pain every time he took a step with his injured leg. He had no choice but to resign his commission, without ever having had the grand promotion ceremony that he was supposed to have received upon his arrival in Jamaica. From then on he was nothing but an empty shell – it seemed as if he had lost all will to live with the loss of his promotion. And indeed he died within our first year in Jamaica.
It is not an adequate excuse, I know, but I do believe that part of the reason I was so devastated when I lost my position as commodore is because it seemed to me as if I was merely repeating my father's failure and ruin, something I swore as a boy never to do. Ironic, isn't it – I'd spent my entire childhood wishing to be like my father, but when my wish came true as an adult, it inevitably lead to my downfall and disgrace. However, had my father been alive at the time of my demotion, I think he would have thought even worse of me than I did of myself – not only had I lost my rank and honor, but I had done so as a result of treachery against the crown, of consorting and even sympathizing with pirates, the people whom he believed so firmly were responsible for the deaths of my mother and my sister. He would have scolded me for having lost control of my emotions, for not having restrained myself properly, for having let pity and weakness get the better of the stern, humorless, uncompromising nature he believed I should have. (I shudder to think what he would do if he learned that later I actually felt worse about betraying the pirates than I did about losing my commission in the first place.) He was not a very understanding man, my father, and I don't think he would have made an exception for the King himself if he had been found guilty of piracy. As guilty as I feel for saying it, perhaps it was all for the best that he died when I was so young, before he could prejudice my mind any further.
But, back to the point: as it stood, I was now left utterly alone in the world at the age of twelve. My dreams of becoming an admiral one day had all but faded into nothing, and although I did nothing but grieve for the loss of my entire family, I never shed one tear because I knew my father would not have wanted me to show such weakness. A month passed during which I wandered about Port Royal, doing whatever work I could. And then finally I managed to get work with the East India Trading Company.
The man in charge of the East India Trading Company in Port Royal at that time was a man you know all too well: Cutler Beckett. Although I was not fond of Beckett and his condescending mannerisms, he had a reputation for being merciless towards pirates, and I felt that I should try to help him. Beckett was reluctant to aid a boy as young and inconsequential as I, but he eventually took me on because of the skill I had with boats, and within a few months I was on a merchant ship back to England with a load of goods. As luck would have it, we were again set upon by pirates while leaving the Caribbean, but we quickly drove them off; I did my share of fighting, despite the fact that I was the youngest member of the crew by at least a decade, and earned the respect of my fellow sailors.
The shipment we were taking to England happened to be going to none other than your father. When we landed in London, he personally came down to the docks to greet us and check that everything was in good order. One or two boxes were missing, though – when your father asked us why and learned that we had been set upon by pirates, he was most impressed that we had not lost more. The crew, much to my embarrassment, made quite a fuss over the role I had played in fending the pirates off, and shoved me forward to be acknowledged. I was nervous, of course, but stood proud just as I had imagined my father would have done, and when your father shook my hand and gave me such a friendly smile, I felt much more at ease.
'What's your name, my boy?' he asked, as kindly as though I had known him all my life.
'James Norrington, sir,' I replied.
He looked startled. 'Not Commodore Norrington's son?' he asked. 'The famous pirate catcher?'
'Yes, sir,' I said.
Your father shook his head. 'Then how on earth did you end up working for the East India Trading Company in Port Royal?' he asked incredulously. 'I thought your father was sent to Port Royal to become an admiral!'
'That was his intention, sir,' I responded, 'but things went a bit awry. My father is dead, and I could find no other work. I don't know what I plan to do with myself in the future.' I did not expect the look of concern that your father then gave me.
'Master Norrington, would you care to join me and my wife for dinner?' he asked. It seemed rude to refuse, so, with a shrug to my crewmates, I climbed after your father into his carriage and, with a clatter of horse hooves, we were off.