Chapter Text
Port Royal, Jamaica
28 June 1727
Sylvia,
We arrived in the Caribbean two months ago, and the Packet leaves only tomorrow. Captain Brunner has been most gracious in giving me advance warning, though his primary purpose is bringing word from Governor Swann and Captain Harcourt to the Crown and Admiralty, respectively. (With Brunner’s promotion, I will be third Lieutenant rather than fourth.)
By the time this reaches you it will be the Hurricane Season, so the return post will be delayed. I fear these will be twice-annual letters at best. I have included weekly letters as I had the time to write them. You will see that they are scattered and brief, as this posting has been Adventurous from the moment we left the cold Grasp of the Atlantic.
We encountered a Wreckage of a British merchant off the coast of La Florida. I shall spare you the grim details but there was nothing left that was salvageable save the Lone Survivor, a young boy named William. Cpt Harcourt forbade the officers from saying it was a Pirate Attack, but privately I feel I can admit there is no other conclusion to draw. Any Navy would have left more to find. This was no message, only Violence.
Of course the Seamen have been talking regardless. There have been Rumors of a Ghost Ship with black sails that made out like a bandit as we were searching for Survivors. We have not questioned W. out of Propriety and Sympathy. He took berth in the sickbay for the remainder of the journey. He has revealed himself to be full of Life and Zeal but did not wish to join the Navy nor Marines when asked.
I regret to begin our correspondence with so dire an Omen, but to tell you any less would be dishonest. W.’s spirits remain high. The governor’s daughter Miss Elizabeth Swann is closer to his age, and took it upon herself to make sure he was settled and treated well. The incident did not temper her habit of asking me Questions, of which she has many, which I take as evidence the Shocking Event has not broken her spirit either.
Port Royal is small but beautiful. It is a village set against towering vivid trees. The complement of the Dauntless fills all the houses, so many of us, Seamen and Officers all, are housed in the barracks. Construction is underway.
I write to you now from the colonnade around the fort’s courtyard. Summer in England cannot compare. We are so close to the Equator, the Sun has become an intimate friend. One goes to sleep warm and wakes warm, but every day it rains in the afternoon and carries away the worst of the Weather (if not the Insects).
The Sea and Sky are so rich they are almost green. The Tide here is much gentler than in England. One does not need to worry about the Undercurrent stealing you away in normal weather. It is ideal for Swimming, in which I have found much Enjoyment.
I pray that you and Captain Roark persist in Good Health. Please give him my Regards. I trust you are settled in Dover now; how does it find you? Until I hear from you again, I remain
your obedient servant,
J Norrington
Dover, Kent
6 November 1727
Esteemed 3rd Lt James Norrington,
I write you in Love and Pride, but likewise Shock and Awe. Of all people: George Brunner, that man who made such a Clown of himself at the Fitzwilliams’ christening luncheon, is the man I must trust with my Correspondence? But you remain as honest as ever, for I am seeing on the Navy List that he has indeed made Captain, and stepped out of the way to allow my illustrious brother to climb the cursus honorum.
Glibness aside, I am glad for you Jem, and I hope Cpt Harcourt begins to see your worth. This post sounds like it will be good for you, however tumultuous your start. I cannot deny that I am concerned for your safety, but if Father’s career has proved anything to me, it’s that the Norringtons can weather any odds at sea.
Onto Brighter Things:
Thank you for the sketches of the beaches you enclosed. I imagine you did not have much time to jot them down! I cannot but think Mother would have appreciated such vistas in her time, and urge you to enjoy them where she can but witness from Heaven. I Miss her terribly, but I admit I cannot Envy her in this. I will resign myself to life on Earth, and the scraps you may send my way.
England remains England. You will likely hear from a more official source that we have a new King. The conflict is over at long last: George I perished in Hanover in June, and our illustrious Prince of Wales has donned the Crown. Cpt Roark and I did not go to see the Coronation (can you imagine the Traffic?) but it sounded opulent, magnificent, important, &c &c. Where he has mustered the money in the wake of Mr Walpole’s Bubble, I do not know, and it seems rather poorly done to celebrate thus when the debtor’s prisons overflow with its genteel Victims. But, as always, England remains England.
Mr Handel composed several new pieces for the event, and they have been published for Public Enjoyment; I included a copy with my weeklies here. Do you still play violin? For once I do not ask to shame you. I fear I do not sing as much as I ought, either. Mother taught us better.
We are settling well in Kent. It is so much quieter here than London; I do not dislike it in the least. Father has returned to the house in town to better serve his role in Whitehall. He will not tell you this himself, I’m sure, but you should know the Amputation has not slowed him down, and he is back to his Stoic Serious Self. Thomas (for you may call my husband Thomas now; our wedding was long ago enough!) has been given command of a brigantine to patrol the Mediterranean. He has asked me to include these sketches of his bigamous Second Wife, the HMS Ranger, for you to ogle.
He leaves in a few weeks. Do not pity me: I will have plenty occupation minding the clowder of Wild Cats that have settled in the space beneath the cottage. Based on my early Reconnaissance, coaxing them out will span the entirety of Thomas’ venture. But I will have help: our cousins the Marlows, and Mother’s cousins the Daltons, will winter in Kent, perhaps also looking for Naval husbands. I’m sure I can convince cousin Christine to put away her frilly French fascinations and crawl in the dirt with me.
How is your society? I am learning the ways of Dover slowly, though my Education is sure to be accelerated with Thomas’ absence.
Write soon. I shall name one kitten after you, this I swear, as
your dutiful sister,
Sylvia