(no subject)
Norrington pulled hard at the ropes with the other men, trying to draw in the sails as quickly as possible before the wind really kicked up. It had just started raining and the sky was quickly darkening to a menacing near-black slate color. They were in for a good storm, that much was certain.
Over the moaning of the wind and the ominous creaking of the leaky vessel, he could hear the captain yelling at his crew to move faster. Once the sails were up, Norrington, along with all but a few of the crew and the captain, headed down into the belly of the Grey Lady to wait out the storm. The rest of the men headed over to the keg for beer and within a half an hour were having a jolly good time despite the dampness from the many leaks and the violent rocking of the ship. Norrington stood in the corner by himself watching the other men fraternizing like old friends and feeling more isolated than he ever had in his entire life. He didn't belong here.
He turned around and left the room unnoticed by the others with one of the lamps to seek solitude in one of the cargo holds. Why the hell had he joined this merchant vessel's crew? He had hoped that being back at sea would make him feel less out of sorts, but the past week had, if anything, only increased his discomfort. He didn't know how to live a civilian life, much less get on with the lower classes. He stuck out like a sore thumb among these common men with no background to speak of and little education. Few of them could read or write more than their own name. he certainly couldn't carry on a decent conversation with them, no matter how he tried. He wasn't even sure the language they spoke was the same as his. Half the words they used had meanings he wasn't familiar with, and more double-entendres than could be imagined.
Norrington came to the furthest corner of the vessel, hung the lamp on a nail, and practically flopped down on one of the crates of sugar. He should have gone back to England. That would have been the reasonable, sane thing to do. Governer Swann even offered to write a letter to his cousin in parliament about getting him a respectable job with the government. Why the hell had he not taken it when he'd had the opportunity? Even now, though, he had to admit that a lifetime spent behind a desk doing endless paperwork was not something he desired, but he couldn't help but feel that at least there he wouldn't feel like he was trying to wear someone else's skin. Not that he'd ever been entirely comfortable in the Navy but at least there he'd been among his peers and accustomed to rhythms of that life.
Now, though, for the first time since the murder of his father, he simply felt lost. While in the Navy, he'd occasionally hear tales from captains and other officers of coming upon ghost ships. Ships that were found adrift without a single soul or body on them, the cargo intact, the ship totally sound, but empty of life. Most people figured that the crews of such ships had fallen victim to disease or starvation or some sort of madness, but nobody ever really knew the truth. Norrington wondered if his life was to become like one of those ships, just aimlessly drifting without purpose or meaning. And more importantly: If it did... would he even care? At this point, he wasn't really so sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things anymore. He'd served England faithfully for most of his life, made God and Country his utmost responsibility, and one screw-up, one bad decision was all it took for England to dump him out on his ass. And where was God in all of this? He wasn't an exceedingly pious man, but he'd always believed that there was a God who watched over him and guided him, but now he had to wonder if He had abandoned him as well.
Norrington rubbed at his temples, trying to ward off the headache he felt building behind his eyes, and for the first time since he was a lad, he felt mildly sea-sick.
Over the moaning of the wind and the ominous creaking of the leaky vessel, he could hear the captain yelling at his crew to move faster. Once the sails were up, Norrington, along with all but a few of the crew and the captain, headed down into the belly of the Grey Lady to wait out the storm. The rest of the men headed over to the keg for beer and within a half an hour were having a jolly good time despite the dampness from the many leaks and the violent rocking of the ship. Norrington stood in the corner by himself watching the other men fraternizing like old friends and feeling more isolated than he ever had in his entire life. He didn't belong here.
He turned around and left the room unnoticed by the others with one of the lamps to seek solitude in one of the cargo holds. Why the hell had he joined this merchant vessel's crew? He had hoped that being back at sea would make him feel less out of sorts, but the past week had, if anything, only increased his discomfort. He didn't know how to live a civilian life, much less get on with the lower classes. He stuck out like a sore thumb among these common men with no background to speak of and little education. Few of them could read or write more than their own name. he certainly couldn't carry on a decent conversation with them, no matter how he tried. He wasn't even sure the language they spoke was the same as his. Half the words they used had meanings he wasn't familiar with, and more double-entendres than could be imagined.
Norrington came to the furthest corner of the vessel, hung the lamp on a nail, and practically flopped down on one of the crates of sugar. He should have gone back to England. That would have been the reasonable, sane thing to do. Governer Swann even offered to write a letter to his cousin in parliament about getting him a respectable job with the government. Why the hell had he not taken it when he'd had the opportunity? Even now, though, he had to admit that a lifetime spent behind a desk doing endless paperwork was not something he desired, but he couldn't help but feel that at least there he wouldn't feel like he was trying to wear someone else's skin. Not that he'd ever been entirely comfortable in the Navy but at least there he'd been among his peers and accustomed to rhythms of that life.
Now, though, for the first time since the murder of his father, he simply felt lost. While in the Navy, he'd occasionally hear tales from captains and other officers of coming upon ghost ships. Ships that were found adrift without a single soul or body on them, the cargo intact, the ship totally sound, but empty of life. Most people figured that the crews of such ships had fallen victim to disease or starvation or some sort of madness, but nobody ever really knew the truth. Norrington wondered if his life was to become like one of those ships, just aimlessly drifting without purpose or meaning. And more importantly: If it did... would he even care? At this point, he wasn't really so sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things anymore. He'd served England faithfully for most of his life, made God and Country his utmost responsibility, and one screw-up, one bad decision was all it took for England to dump him out on his ass. And where was God in all of this? He wasn't an exceedingly pious man, but he'd always believed that there was a God who watched over him and guided him, but now he had to wonder if He had abandoned him as well.
Norrington rubbed at his temples, trying to ward off the headache he felt building behind his eyes, and for the first time since he was a lad, he felt mildly sea-sick.