Fic: How To Save a Life
Title: How to Save a Life
Rating: Gen
Words: 1280
Beta: the fabulous feroxargentea!
Another entry for the History Repeating meme.
Dinner in the Aubrey household was served, if not elegantly nor even exactly skilfully, at least in a fairly calm and quiet manner. Mrs. Aubrey allowed her progeny some latitude in the garden and even about the house, with so many sailors in the household setting such poor examples in speech, manners, and grace; but at the dinner table she insisted on a modicum of decorum.
Today's meal, however, was much interrupted by numerous loud thuds and curses emanating from the vicinity of the yard.
“Dearest,” Sophie said to her husband, “I know Davies is a loyal follower of yours, but I do wish he could be encouraged to find employment more... suitable for his nature.”
Jack sighed. “Sweetheart, I have tried. The wild bulls of Bashan couldn't drag him away.”
“Which the skipper's pulled 'im out of the drink once too often, is the problem. Ma'am,” confided Killick in his nasal whine as he brought out the pudding.
“Was Davies the first man you saved?” asked Charlotte.
“Oh Lord, no,” smiled her father.
“What was it like? How did it happen?” asked Fanny.
“Well, I don't recall very clearly now. He fell in, I went in after him and handed him back up the ship. Not much to tell, really.”
“Who was the first man you saved?” piped up George. “Was it the doctor?” This earned him a pale reptilian glare from Stephen, which the boy returned with a sunny smile, cowed not at all. The doctor sighed and returned to pushing his pudding about on his plate.
“No, no,” laughed Jack, also smiling at Stephen. Though he may be the one I've pulled out most often, he thought inwardly. “Many sailors never learn to swim, so I'd been pulling men out since long before I met Dr. Maturin.
“The first man...” he said thoughtfully, “that would likely be Cousin Philip. We was always tipping over this punt we sailed about in, the summer before I first shipped out.”
“Oh, the punt,” said George, dismissively. “I mean from a real ship, after you joined the Navy.”
Jack smiled indulgently at his son. He had enough of formal, stilted dinners in the service; he couldn't bear to suppress his children's spirits the way he knew he ought.
“I suppose it was in the old Reso, then, just a week, two? - out from Plymouth. The fifth lieutenant - a hard-horse if there ever was one...” Jack's memories drifted back. Spring in the Bay of Biscay, a very chilly spring. Taking advantage of a bit of clear weather, the men were repainting the sides. Lieutenant Haldings was leaning way out over the side, examining the work of the men who had been lowered and secured by ropes.
Jack was below, off duty, sleeping, as he'd quickly learned to do whenever he could. Those first weeks were a haze of having never enough sleep, never enough food; of being cold, wet, lonely, lost...
A sudden lurch of the ship and his hammock swung hard into the side of the midshipman's berth. Jack was out and racing up the ladder to the main deck before quite awakening. He heard the calls of Man overboard! and looked out along the pointing arms into the now tossing waves until he spotted the bobbing head and flailing arms. Jack dived in without thinking, no thought for the rain pelting from the squall, the water so cold - like icy shards piercing through his skin, like needles in his lungs... He swam hard for the man, still flailing, almost there, almost...
Jack grabbed him under one shoulder, holding his head back on his own shoulder. The lieutenant's shoes hit hard into his shins. “Don't you know you must kick off your shoes, sir?” he shouted into the officer's ear.
Haldings turned a panic, glazed face to him. “What?” he shouted back. It came out hoarse, barely audible. His face was blue, lips like the indigo night sky.
“Your shoes, sir! You must kick them off!” Behind them, the ship, back under control, heaved to. A boat was lowered. Jack attempted to thrust the lieutenant's shoes off with his own bare feet. Both men were slipping further into the water. Jack's efforts were barely enough to keep his own head above water. Haldings was sliding through his arms, down, down... Jack needed his arms to keep himself afloat; the man was too heavy, twice the size of the twelve-year-old mid. “And your coat, sir! It's too heavy!” Giving up on the shoes, Jack slipped his arms under the lieutenant's coat, getting a more secure grip, and a face full of seawater.
Haldings, still dazed, seemed to grasp some concept. “You're too cold, boy!” he shouted hoarsely, in between gulping down seawater. “Too cold! Put my coat on!” The heavy broadcloth was sloughed off and Jack let it fall away. Without its weight, the lieutenant rested more easily in his arms, and Jack found he could, with utmost exertion, keep them both breathing air between the waves that swamped over their heads.
None too soon, the Reso's boat reached them. Voices shouted, hands stretched out, pulling them from the water. Jack thought he had been cold before but the biting air sent shrieks of pain through his limbs. His wet clothes were pulled off him and he was wrapped in a somewhat drier coat. He tucked his limbs up inside it and shivered as the men pulled back to the ship.
Cocooned tight and dry in his hammock, he shivered through the rest of the day and that night. The following day the ship's surgeon pronounced him lucky to have retained all his fingers and toes and declared him fit for duty.
In his cabin Captain Boscawen spoke to him severely. “The North Atlantic is no place for a swim, Mr. Aubrey. Not under the best conditions, and certainly not in the midst of a vicious squall.”
Jack didn't know how to respond to that, so he kept quiet.
“No one doubts your courage, young man, but you must learn to think before committing such rash actions. We almost lost two good men out there.”
“Aye, sir,” Jack mumbled in response. The captain nodded his dismissal and Jack was back on deck before his mind caught up to the compliments in Boscawen's words.
Jack came out of his reverie to find the dinner table hushed, pale faces all turned expectantly towards him.
“I have not heard this story before, rescuing lieutenants whilst so young yourself,” remarked Stephen.
Jack blinked at the doctor. “You never asked.”
“What about Mr. Haldings? Was he grateful to you for saving his life?” asked his son.
“Well, now, I couldn't say for certain one way or the other.”
“I should think he ought to have been. Whyever not?” asked George indignantly.
“Well, you see, George, he was indeed the first man I pulled from the water after I joined the Navy, but ‘saved’ is perhaps not quite the word. Mr Haldings passed out in the boat before we got him back to the ship, and he fell into a fever immediately afterwards. Within a week the poor fellow was dead.”
“Oh,” said George, somewhat crestfallen. Then a more cheerful thought occurred to him. “That was not your fault, however, and now you have Dr Maturin to patch them up for you.”
“Why, yes,” replied Jack with a smile. “Yes, so I do.”
Rating: Gen
Words: 1280
Beta: the fabulous feroxargentea!
Another entry for the History Repeating meme.
Dinner in the Aubrey household was served, if not elegantly nor even exactly skilfully, at least in a fairly calm and quiet manner. Mrs. Aubrey allowed her progeny some latitude in the garden and even about the house, with so many sailors in the household setting such poor examples in speech, manners, and grace; but at the dinner table she insisted on a modicum of decorum.
Today's meal, however, was much interrupted by numerous loud thuds and curses emanating from the vicinity of the yard.
“Dearest,” Sophie said to her husband, “I know Davies is a loyal follower of yours, but I do wish he could be encouraged to find employment more... suitable for his nature.”
Jack sighed. “Sweetheart, I have tried. The wild bulls of Bashan couldn't drag him away.”
“Which the skipper's pulled 'im out of the drink once too often, is the problem. Ma'am,” confided Killick in his nasal whine as he brought out the pudding.
“Was Davies the first man you saved?” asked Charlotte.
“Oh Lord, no,” smiled her father.
“What was it like? How did it happen?” asked Fanny.
“Well, I don't recall very clearly now. He fell in, I went in after him and handed him back up the ship. Not much to tell, really.”
“Who was the first man you saved?” piped up George. “Was it the doctor?” This earned him a pale reptilian glare from Stephen, which the boy returned with a sunny smile, cowed not at all. The doctor sighed and returned to pushing his pudding about on his plate.
“No, no,” laughed Jack, also smiling at Stephen. Though he may be the one I've pulled out most often, he thought inwardly. “Many sailors never learn to swim, so I'd been pulling men out since long before I met Dr. Maturin.
“The first man...” he said thoughtfully, “that would likely be Cousin Philip. We was always tipping over this punt we sailed about in, the summer before I first shipped out.”
“Oh, the punt,” said George, dismissively. “I mean from a real ship, after you joined the Navy.”
Jack smiled indulgently at his son. He had enough of formal, stilted dinners in the service; he couldn't bear to suppress his children's spirits the way he knew he ought.
“I suppose it was in the old Reso, then, just a week, two? - out from Plymouth. The fifth lieutenant - a hard-horse if there ever was one...” Jack's memories drifted back. Spring in the Bay of Biscay, a very chilly spring. Taking advantage of a bit of clear weather, the men were repainting the sides. Lieutenant Haldings was leaning way out over the side, examining the work of the men who had been lowered and secured by ropes.
Jack was below, off duty, sleeping, as he'd quickly learned to do whenever he could. Those first weeks were a haze of having never enough sleep, never enough food; of being cold, wet, lonely, lost...
A sudden lurch of the ship and his hammock swung hard into the side of the midshipman's berth. Jack was out and racing up the ladder to the main deck before quite awakening. He heard the calls of Man overboard! and looked out along the pointing arms into the now tossing waves until he spotted the bobbing head and flailing arms. Jack dived in without thinking, no thought for the rain pelting from the squall, the water so cold - like icy shards piercing through his skin, like needles in his lungs... He swam hard for the man, still flailing, almost there, almost...
Jack grabbed him under one shoulder, holding his head back on his own shoulder. The lieutenant's shoes hit hard into his shins. “Don't you know you must kick off your shoes, sir?” he shouted into the officer's ear.
Haldings turned a panic, glazed face to him. “What?” he shouted back. It came out hoarse, barely audible. His face was blue, lips like the indigo night sky.
“Your shoes, sir! You must kick them off!” Behind them, the ship, back under control, heaved to. A boat was lowered. Jack attempted to thrust the lieutenant's shoes off with his own bare feet. Both men were slipping further into the water. Jack's efforts were barely enough to keep his own head above water. Haldings was sliding through his arms, down, down... Jack needed his arms to keep himself afloat; the man was too heavy, twice the size of the twelve-year-old mid. “And your coat, sir! It's too heavy!” Giving up on the shoes, Jack slipped his arms under the lieutenant's coat, getting a more secure grip, and a face full of seawater.
Haldings, still dazed, seemed to grasp some concept. “You're too cold, boy!” he shouted hoarsely, in between gulping down seawater. “Too cold! Put my coat on!” The heavy broadcloth was sloughed off and Jack let it fall away. Without its weight, the lieutenant rested more easily in his arms, and Jack found he could, with utmost exertion, keep them both breathing air between the waves that swamped over their heads.
None too soon, the Reso's boat reached them. Voices shouted, hands stretched out, pulling them from the water. Jack thought he had been cold before but the biting air sent shrieks of pain through his limbs. His wet clothes were pulled off him and he was wrapped in a somewhat drier coat. He tucked his limbs up inside it and shivered as the men pulled back to the ship.
Cocooned tight and dry in his hammock, he shivered through the rest of the day and that night. The following day the ship's surgeon pronounced him lucky to have retained all his fingers and toes and declared him fit for duty.
In his cabin Captain Boscawen spoke to him severely. “The North Atlantic is no place for a swim, Mr. Aubrey. Not under the best conditions, and certainly not in the midst of a vicious squall.”
Jack didn't know how to respond to that, so he kept quiet.
“No one doubts your courage, young man, but you must learn to think before committing such rash actions. We almost lost two good men out there.”
“Aye, sir,” Jack mumbled in response. The captain nodded his dismissal and Jack was back on deck before his mind caught up to the compliments in Boscawen's words.
Jack came out of his reverie to find the dinner table hushed, pale faces all turned expectantly towards him.
“I have not heard this story before, rescuing lieutenants whilst so young yourself,” remarked Stephen.
Jack blinked at the doctor. “You never asked.”
“What about Mr. Haldings? Was he grateful to you for saving his life?” asked his son.
“Well, now, I couldn't say for certain one way or the other.”
“I should think he ought to have been. Whyever not?” asked George indignantly.
“Well, you see, George, he was indeed the first man I pulled from the water after I joined the Navy, but ‘saved’ is perhaps not quite the word. Mr Haldings passed out in the boat before we got him back to the ship, and he fell into a fever immediately afterwards. Within a week the poor fellow was dead.”
“Oh,” said George, somewhat crestfallen. Then a more cheerful thought occurred to him. “That was not your fault, however, and now you have Dr Maturin to patch them up for you.”
“Why, yes,” replied Jack with a smile. “Yes, so I do.”