Annabelle spent the rest of the day performing her duties and constantly kept watch on the sky. After a few hours, Styles couldn't help but notice Annabelle's habit of staring up at the clouds.
"What is it, Annabelle?" asked Styles.
"Mr. Styles, do the clouds seem darker to you?" asked Annabelle.
Styles set down his mop and observed the sky with Annabelle; after awhile, he shrugged his shoulders.
"It's almost evening, Annie, that's all. Let's finish cleaning and then get you a drop-of-a-grog." said Styles.
Annabelle nodded. "You're right. I'm only seeing things..."
Annabelle began to mop again and took one last look at the clouds. "I hope I am." she said.
After the chores were done for the day and Annabelle had her supper; she laid down in her hammock for a nice, long sleep. Around midnight, however, she felt someone shake her frantically by the shoulder. It was Styles.
"Mr. Styles, what is it?" asked Annabelle.
"It's a storm, we have to get on deck." said Styles.
Annabelle wasted no time and fastened her shirt and then made her way to deck with Styles and Wellard right behind her. Styles and Annabelle were given the task of securing the sails, while Wellard had to perform his duties as Midshipman. Because of Annabelle's disability, climbing the mast was not an easy task, and the rain didn't make it any easier. Forunately, Styles was there to help her all the way.
"Haylard is secured, Styles. I have to be sure its knots stay in place." said Annabelle.
"Be careful." Styles warned.
As Annabelle used her one hand to keep the haylard from coming undone; the others secured the other parts of the sail. Suddenly, the storm became too much for one of the men, and he fell off the gaff and landed on the deck with a thud. Annabelle was swear that he could his neck break above the roars of thunder.
"Try to ignore it, Farleigh! The Renown is all that matters." said Styles.
"Aye, Styles." said Annabelle.
Annabelle continued to secure the haylard, but couldn't help but notice a tear rolling down Styles' face. Once the storm settled and all the sails were secured; Styles and Annabelle climbed down the mast and couldn't help but notice traces of the young sailor's blood being washed away by the water that cleansed the deck.
After the storm passed, the corpse was thrown overboard, without a proper burial, and everyone was free to return below deck. As Annabelle wringed out her wet hair, Matthews approached her cautiously.
"It was wrong, Mr. Matthews. He should have been given a proper burial, instead he was thrown away like a simple scrap of thilf." said Annabelle.
"I know it doesn't seem right, Annie, but it was the Captain's orders." said Matthews.
"Perhaps we should all consider mutiny, then." said Annabelle.
"I won't have none of that talk, now. You're a good soul, and never had such foul thoughts." said Matthews.
"Until I met Captain Sawyer. Mr. Matthews, he constantly belittles the crew, has flogged the innocent, and now he won't even allow the proper burial for one of our own. It's wrong, and you know it!"
"I know it's not right, Annabelle. We've just got to keep hope for a change-of-heart, and muddle through. We've always been able to hold together, haven't we?"
"Yes, we have."
"Then there's no reason to stop. You're a good girl, Annabelle. Always have been. Don't ruin your life by making a foolish choice."
"You're right, Mr. Matthews. I'm only tired, I suppose."
Annabelle kissed Matthews on the cheek and then went to her hammock. Slowly, she closed her eyes and hoped that her mind would be clear of mutinous thoughts by the morning.
The next morning, the death of the sailor wasn't exactly far from Annabelle's mind, but she knew that she had to ignore her thoughts and continue on with the day. Suddenly, she saw a hat blow across the deck and quickly snatched it up. She instantly recongized it as the hat of a lieutenant.
"I'm very sorry. This damn wind is more a foe than friend." said a voice.
Annabelle looked up and saw a man, no older than thirty-five and rather handsome, standing directly in front of her. At first, Annabelle was so taken back, that she had forgotten about the hat in her hand.
"May I have my hat, please?" asked the man.
Annabelle slowly nodded and handed the man his hat, and he placed it on his head. He gave a salute and then shook Annabelle's hand.
"William Bush, Third Lieutenant." said the man, giving himself a proper introduction.
"Charles Farleigh, sir. Sailor." said Annabelle, hardly able to speak due to her nerves.
"Well, if your mind is as quick as your reflexes, than you might consider becoming a Midshipman." said Bush.
Annabelle blushed slightly. "Thank you, sir."
Bush saluted Annabelle again and then left her alone. Matthews and Styles, who had saw the whole thing from afar, could only exchanged smiles.
"She's becoming a woman, she is." said Styles.
"Well, perhaps the new lieutenant can keep her mind on other things other than mutiny." said Matthews.