James Norrington had never been much for strong drink, believing that a clear head was vital to discipline.
But upon returning to his rented rooms after giving his testimony about the loss of the Dauntless, he couldn't help but notice a decanter of amber liquid sitting on the writing desk.
It wasn't, he thought, as if he had any men left to command.
His first drink burned its way down his throat and left him blurred at the edges, and he remembered that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.
He thought about ordering something, but instead, he poured himself another drink.