The intervening space between the Company ship to the Flying Dutchman is crossed with a minimum of hassle, the men handling the boats being well-trained and long used to the procedure.
Mr. Mercer accompanies Governor Swann in the second boat to cross, impassively surveying the wave-tossed wreckage in the waters around them. The blue of the Caribbean shines in the sunlight, warm and bright, in complete disregard of the number of seafarers who had so recently found themselves sinking into the sea's ultimately cold embrace.
Governor Swann has seen carnage. He's never gotten used to it. That's one reason why he's not a military man. He holds his handkerchief to his nose to block out the smell of burning wood, pitch, and flesh and grimaces as he watches a body float by.
Even more repulsive is the Flying Dutchman looming ahead.
"I really don't see why I have to go aboard," he announces to Mercer, who had the nerve to it right beside him, and not behind him. "The Admiral has no need of me."
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Mr. Mercer accompanies Governor Swann in the second boat to cross, impassively surveying the wave-tossed wreckage in the waters around them. The blue of the Caribbean shines in the sunlight, warm and bright, in complete disregard of the number of seafarers who had so recently found themselves sinking into the sea's ultimately cold embrace.
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Even more repulsive is the Flying Dutchman looming ahead.
"I really don't see why I have to go aboard," he announces to Mercer, who had the nerve to it right beside him, and not behind him. "The Admiral has no need of me."
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"Obviously he does, Gov'nor," Mercer replies, turning to glance at him, "Or else you wouldn't be going aboard."
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"Is the chest being left on board," he snaps, "or are you lot going to taunt that terrible thing with it?"
Governor Swann does indeed know more than he should.
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