The Sinking

The rowboat capsized violently, sending saltwater into every crack and crevice.
It had been tilting back and forth like mad for what seemed a long time. Davy Jones and Maccus had departed the Flying Dutchman, accompanied by Mary-Anne and several other passengers. It was all they could do to keep from making a fearful spectacle, but the captain and first mate kept their heads.

They'd been making their way toward a large island before the storm had hit full-force and had hoped to make good time, but such was not the case as the rain started and intensified at an alarming rate.
It felt like hours since they'd left the ship, so long and hard had they been working against the sheer force of the wind and the towering waves. It had been overcast all day, but the squall hadn't shown up until they were out in the boat and far from the Dutchman.

Finally it happened - a particularly massive wave gathered itself and came bearing down upon the hapless boat, overturning it and its crew. The captain, Maccus, and the others were violently shoved head over heels underwater with terrifying force (this wasn't as horrible a stroke for them as it was for the human passengers on the boat, as Davy Jones and Maccus were more than capable of surviving underwater.)

Torrent after torrent of saltwater turned them over and over, powered by the strong winds at the surface. Mary-Anne held her breath as best she could and tried swimming to the surface with all her might. The water was icy cold, overwhelmingly dark, and she desperately hoped that she was making for the right direction.
Just as she thought she'd give way for want of air, she made it to the top with a fervent gasp.

For a moment, all she could see was an endless valley of water. Then, upon being lifted over large swell, she spotted the island they'd been heading for. A small thread of hope cut through her fear, and she swam as fast and as hard as she could toward it. In all her life, she was never able to recall anything so tiresome nor so terrifying as that swim. Every second that went by was a second she feared she wouldn't make it, for she knew her strength would give out before long. She focused all of her energy on fighting the waves and making for shore, and tried not to think about sinking down to the dark, salty depths.

But the current had been carrying her toward the island, and after what felt like a dreadfully long time, her legs finally met with hard land. With renewed hope, she fought her way through the water until she was only waist-high in it. When she made it to firm ground, she let herself collapse...she was exhausted.

After a few moments, she lifted her head and looked around for any sign of the others. She was relieved to see four of the passengers emerging from the water, staggering, but they appeared to be alright.

Maccus appeared not far off and was searching for the captain.

"Captain! Captain!" he called, scanning the waves.

Mary-Anne stood up, scanning the area as well.

The passengers made their way further inland away from the sea, and one man had his arm slung over anothers' shoulders for support. Mary-Anne watched them go and glanced back at Maccus, who wouldn't leave the shore until Davy Jones was found.
Then she spotted a figure emerging from the water, and saw that it was the captain. He made his way onto land with some difficulty, as his clothes were heavily waterlogged, but he appeared to be fine.

She reached an arm out and pointed to the captain. She was still slightly out of breath, but Maccus had his back turned, so she called, "Look!"

Maccus turned, and upon seeing the captain, quickly made his way over to him to see if he needed any assistance. She lingered for a moment before heading inland to where the others were, her legs heavy and trembling as she made her way over the sand.

The passengers had gathered together under the shelter of a low palm frond. They didn't look up as she approached and sat down; everyone was knackered.

After a while, the winds died down and the sky began to clear.

While the passengers rested, Davy Jones and Maccus went to carry out their errand on the island, which was to engage in some profitable trading with the locals. Unsurprisingly, they were the only two people who ended up none the worse for being capsized and dragged underwater.

When their errand was accomplished, Mary-Anne and the passengers helped to load the goods into a new boat the locals had given them. By the time they were situated, the storm clouds had moved far off into the distance, hovering comfortably away like a bad dream soon forgotten. Needless to say, the way back to the Flying Dutchman was much easier going than their excursion from it.

Later that evening, Mary-Anne sat around with a few of the passengers. They were talking about the events of the day.

One of them - a middle-aged man named Horace - commented: "I thought we was done for sure. Luckily, everyone made it to shore."

Those who hadn't been on the rowboat marveled at their extraordinary luck, and commented on how amazing it was that they all survived.

The men had all been drinking as they told tale after tale (some of them becoming more exaggerated with each bottle.) But after a few hours went by, the night grew old and most had sauntered off to bed. Mary-Anne and Horace were left alone.

He studied the empty bottle in his hands. "That Maccus is a mighty loyal crewman."

"Yeah he is," she said. She seemed still to see the image of the first mate lingering by the water, not taking his eyes off it for fear that he might miss the captain. "But he…" she faltered, letting the sentence hang in mid-air.

"He what?"

"Oh I don't know." She frowned, struggling to put her thoughts into words.

He nodded knowingly, aware that Mary-Anne had a soft spot for Maccus. He carefully ventured, "You ever try talking to him?"

She shifted. "I don't know what I would say...And anyway, I don't think he would pay any notice to me. I mean…" She paused and gave a humorless smile. "He didn't even look at me when I showed him where the captain was…"

Horace said nothing, and after a while they parted ways. He had gone off to bed, and she was about to do the same.

On her way to her quarters, she passed a cabin with its door slightly ajar. A warm sliver of light poured forth from it. She casually glanced in and saw Maccus chatting with another crewman.

She stepped out of view, paused, and took a seat on the bench against the wall. Something about being in proximity to him made her heart soar, even if he seemed continually unaware of her existence. She leaned back against the wall, listening to his voice as he conversed. She replayed the events of the day over in her mind - the destruction of the boat, the terrifying swim to shore…

After a few minutes, she was more than a little surprised when the cabin door opened and Maccus peered out.

"Thought I heard something out here," he said with a grin. "Aren't you tired?"

She nodded. "Yes, I was just making my way to bed. I just wanted to sit out for a moment."

He gave a short nod. "That was a close call we had today. You're a brave little sailor." He moved to head back into the cabin, but paused, and added, "Pretty, too." Then left before she had time to react.

Hardly able to believe what she'd just heard, Mary-Anne turned to gaze at where Maccus had stood a moment before. She was astounded.
It was such a small thing, but to her it meant the world and more. A smile came over her face, and she let out an exhilarated breath. Leaning back against the wall, she stared up at the night sky, dotted with stars.

She received so little from Maccus, whether it was words or even a glance. That he had ventured so far as to call her pretty was more than she ever dared to hope for.

For a long while she sat outside his cabin, mind awhirl with all that had happened. She and Maccus may be worlds apart, but his words to her were something...even if it was a small something.

She went to bed that night with a smile still on her face.