Voyages of the Heart

By

Lady Kathryn de Bourgh (aka Kathryn “Prozac” Parsons)

 

 

Chapter the First         Chapter the Second     Chapter the Third        Chapter the Fourth      Chapter the Last

 

 

Rating:                          NC-17 (AL,AS,MV)

Status:                          complete

Archive:                        Yes please, but tell me where so I tell all my friends

Warnings:                     See author's (extensive) notes below.

 

Dedication

This tale is dedicated to two women from whom I have purloined a past and a plot device.

What's Past is Prologue—--My Cousin Athea's works of fanfiction form a major portion of my private library. She and I share many fandoms in common including the Pellew/Hornblower series. In one of them: Holmes & Watson (as written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle) she has masterfully created an epic tale of first love entitled The Problem. The past I'd hesitantly blocked out when I first laid eyes on Horatio Hornblower (as portrayed in the series) seemed to be lifted word-for-word from Athea's story. I would like to acknowledge formally her generous gift in allowing me to "borrow" this past for the Horatio I created. For those who wish to read her work, please click your way over to her website:
http://www.angelfire.com/realm/athea_holmes/holm1index.html

Plot? What Plot? or PWP—--Mistress Beth (Simon) of the Captain's Cabin supplied what Alfred Hitchcock called the "McGuffin." That is, the reason for the characters to do what they must and endure what they do. I ruthlessly stole the main plot device from the first chapter of Beth's powerful two-part story: Skirmish. This work (Message # 2286) and its conclusion Convalescence (Message # 2287) should be read BEFORE you read my not-so-virgin offering. I have no desire to SPOIL another author's work. Thank you, Beth for allowing me shamelessly to borrow your opening scenes and clutter them up with embellishments of my own. I must also thank this wonderful woman for her excellent service as editor for the story you are about to read. Any praise I receive will be due to my following her excellent advice. Any criticisms—I have earned by ignoring her excellent advice.

The Usual Disclaimers

I do not own these characters as they are presented in the television series, nor as they were written by C. S. Forester. I will not make one shilling from this tale so any lawsuits brought in the hopes of attaching my profits from borrowing Horatio and the men of King's Navy will die aborning. To keep me from having to resort to solicitors, please do not archive (fat chance) or download this story without my permission.

I am deeply ashamed to admit I have only seen one episode of the Hornblower series in its entirety: the one where Sir Edward finally deals with Jack Simpson. As presented on the Arts & Entertainment cable channel, I also managed to catch forty-five minutes of the "Spanish Prison" episode. Five minutes of Horatio being tried for mutiny, and ten (interrupted) minutes of Horatio on a ship that looked to be burning to the waterline.

The "pasts" I have borrowed/created for Hornblower and Pellew are entirely my own except where noted above. So consider this an AU story. Quite frankly, it was a case of love at first sight. I saw two gorgeous hunks and my slashometer started ringing like a cheap alarm clock. I immediately typed "Hornblower Slash" into my search engine and have been happily lost at sea ever since. Since I will never see Edward tongue-kiss Horatio on television, being faithful to the series is not important to me.

Sir Edward Pellew, later Lord Exmouth, is a real historical figure. I offer my sincere apologies to his descendants for cavalierly re-inventing the Pellew family history and Sir Edward's lifestory. I haven't a brass farthing, so any suits brought against me will result in my having to go to gaol because I have no earthly means of paying court costs, let alone my own solicitor! I hereby state that any resemblance my Sir Edward has to the real person happened as a result of a whopping great coincidence. As far as I know, name, title, nautical, and court rank are the only things your noble ancestor shares in common with my vision of same.

If other authors whose creations I've enjoyed think they recognize something of their own in my tale, do not hesitate to contact me and I will make a full citation with footnotes and re-post. I can do no fairer than that. Lady Kathryn deBourgh

Chapter the First

"It was customary in the ancient kingdoms of the Cornish Coast to immerse newborn children in seawater. Those who cried were marked to work the land as their rank and custom decreed. Those who remained silent were watched by their elders and the life's work for these infants was determined in accordance with such gifts as later manifested themselves. Those children who laughed or otherwise expressed pleasure were destined to spend their lives upon the sea. Of these few it was said they were the god-got children of an elder race whose images most closely resemble those of seals; sleek and dark with eyes as deep as the sea which blessed their birth."

Excerpted from a Medieval Cornish Chronicle

His last thought before he succumbed to darkness was wonderment at the lack of pain. He'd seen the French musketeer aiming at the Captain and without hesitating, he'd lunged and shoved the target clear. He could have shouted, but the noise of battle would have drowned his voice. Everyone was shouting. He wished for silence and his wish was granted. It was odd that he didn't hurt.

..... The absence of pain did not last long. He awoke to the sounds of hoarse moaning and was shocked to discover he had been making the noise. A piece of wood was clenched between his teeth to prevent him from biting his tongue in half. Part of his mind seemed to rise above the smoke and smell of death and he watched curiously as the ship's surgeon probed for the musket ball. A searing pain in his side then the quiet darkness returned.

..... It was hot. He must have dreamed the battle. He was still in the Spanish prison. The smells of men living in close quarters with poor sanitation were depressingly familiar. The creaking sounds however, were new. He struggled to open his eyes only to have the blinding light of a lantern force him to close them again. All right, let it remain dark.

"For a minute there, he looked as if he was coming 'round."

"Poor devil. It's best if `e doesn't. We don't have anything for pain and 'e's probably in agony."

"Should I get the Captain?"

"What for? 'E'd 'ardly want to sit 'ere and watch 'is boy bleed to death."

"You don't know if he's the Captain's bunkmate. I've never seen them act as if they were friends, let alone seen evidence they are having intimate relations." The wounded man, lost in the throes of a high fever was oblivious to this conversation.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

"That will be all for now, Mr. Bracegirdle. I'll be up shortly."

"He's still alive, sir. That's something."

"The boy's a fool. He should have tackled me about the knees. The worst that could have happened was having my hat shot off." The Captain, Sir Edward Pellew frowned.

"Aye sir, and your head right along with it." Lieutenant Josiah Bracegirdle did not wait for a response. He left shutting the cabin door.

Captain Pellew brushed and re-braided his hair. Tucking his hat under his arm, he headed for the quarterdeck. Taking up his usual position, he watched as the crew washed blood from the deck and secured their rich prize. One corvette sunk with most of her crew left two smallish supply boats virtually defenseless. They and the remaining corvette were being secured by boarding parties. All three ships and flotsam from the fourth had been searched for additional medical supplies. Pellew left their distribution to his ship's surgeon who'd been ordered to treat enemy and Englishmen on the basis of their wounds' severity; ignoring rank and politics.

"The casualty lists, sir." Lieutenant Kennedy proffered the surgeon's report.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Pellew scanned the names. His crew had been fortunate. Bosun Richards had been standing near a twenty pounder that misfired and was blown in two. Lieutenant Hornblower would know if the man had any family. Then he remembered. Horatio Hornblower was one of the names on the list. He'd been the recipient of a bullet meant for his Captain. Sir Edward closed his eyes against the image of the Lieutenant's grin slowly becoming a look of shock as he realized he'd been hit. It was strange; as the young man slipped to the deck, the smile had returned.

"The wind's picking up, sir."

"Come about three points starboard. The sooner we get these prizes home, the sooner we can resume our station."

"Aye aye, Cap'n. Three points it is, sir."

Besides Hornblower, the only other serious injury was Lieutenant Bush. He'd also been caught when that cannon lasted itself to pieces. A piece of the muzzle had all but severed one of his legs, just below the knee. Bush would have to be replaced while he learned to navigate with a wooden leg. The remaining injuries were surprisingly light: powder burns, minor flesh wounds, and a broken ankle. Pellew left the quarterdeck to tour his ship.*

Each of the working parties noted their Captain's calm demeanor. He commended them for their performance of their duty and several of the men were singled out for specific heroic or quick actions during the battle. Pellew's reputation for having eyes in the back of his head was confirmed. After spending an additional half-hour observing the seaworthiness of his ship, Sir Edward returned to his quarters and his reports. The Indefatigable would need at least a month in port to be refitted and the damage repaired.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

"I've cleaned the wound and drained it twice to no avail. Unless a miracle happens, this young man is going to die." The ship's surgeon shook his head at the waste. "He comes to himself for brief periods then the delirium returns."

"I'll get the Captain."

"And just what do you expect him to do, Mr. Bracegirdle?"

"Get him out of this stinkhole, for a start." Josiah thought as he shrugged.

"Captain, Mr. Hornblower is no better sir. The surgeon is very concerned." Lieutenant Bracegirdle stared at the far wall. "Perhaps if the Lieutenant could be moved to more suitable surroundings, there might be some improvement."

Sir Edward nodded and got to his feet. "I'll have a talk with Hemplewhite. In the meanwhile, have someone sling a hammock in here. The Lieutenant can have my bunk."

"Aye aye, Captain." Inwardly, Josiah smiled. Years of watching Sir Edward had made reading the Captain's thoughts almost like second nature. "You've been very careful to hide your partiality, but not careful enough.", he thought as he went to follow orders.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

Sir Edward put his head in his hands. Keeping his professional detachment in place was never more difficult when men were injured as a result of following the orders you gave placing them in harm's way. It was even worse when the injured one was hurt doing you a personal and unasked-for service. It took all of Pellew's control to remain on deck while young Hornblower was taken below.

Ever since Horatio first came aboard, his exceptional qualities brought him to Pellew's attention. The young man was one of those few people intelligent enough to recognize and admit the limits to his knowledge. He'd made mistakes but he learned from them. What had seemed youthful impetuosity to his previous commander was actually the product of an incredibly quick mind. Unfortunately for his current commander, the young man's mind wasn't his only admirable quality.

At first glance, it appeared as if a stiff breeze would have blown him overboard. In reality, the whipcord muscles and long limbs had endured hardships that would have broken lesser men. His facial features seemed to mark him as one of those delicate creatures fit only for a drawing room or some woman's boudoir. Closer scrutiny of the fine features revealed their outward beauty paled in comparison to that of his spirit. Pellew had watched the gangly midshipman as he matured into a highly capable and trustworthy officer.

Adverse circumstances prevented Hornblower from re-sitting the Lieutenant's examination. So Sir Edward arranged with the Admiralty to administer the rigorous test while at sea. Ever concerned with protocol, the young acting Lieutenant had chafed at the memory of his failure to pass the exam in Gibraltar. The terminology he'd used was unorthodox and prevented the officials from realizing his grasp of the concepts of seamanship was extraordinary.**

The Captain and his senior officers had invigilated and Hornblower passed with all colors flying. One question in particular had been devised because there was no correct answer. It was used to determine the creativity of the test subject. Horatio's seeming recklessness had provided a workable solution to an impossible situation. His hypothetical ship would have been lost but not before landfall was made and her crew safely ashore. Afterwards, the Lieutenant warmly thanked his Captain for taking the time to make certain he knew the correct terminology.

Bracegirdle returned with a carpenter. It was time to have the patient moved. Sir Edward's firm control of his feelings should ensure that tongues would not wag overmuch.

The conditions in sickbay were appalling. The foul odors of blood and bodily wastes were not ameliorated by limited ventilation. Sir Edward was glad he'd not eaten since forenoon, yesterday. It took all of his willpower not to retch or hold his nose. Hemplewhite accepted the offer to have the patient moved to more private quarters. In addition, those men who were able, would be moved on deck where the air was clean. Two of Hornblower's men carefully unhooked the hammock and laid their officer on a stretcher.

Sir Edward followed as they painstakingly negotiated the narrow gangways without jarring the Lieutenant too much. Hemplewhite had gone ahead to supervise the preparation of the Captain's cabin for its new occupant. He was in for a surprise.

"Mr. Matthews, leave him on the floor, if you will. Mr. Styles, have sea water brought in. We might as well wash him off before putting him to bed." Both men leapt to obey. Pellew had noticed that Lieutenant Hornblower, normally a stickler for protocol, addressed his men using the courtesy titles usually reserved for men of rank. Normally, surnames or nicknames were employed when speaking to mere sailors. When asked about this, by another junior officer, Sir Edward had overheard Horatio's startling reply.

"They actually sail the ship, Bush. I know we give the orders, but without these men, we're useless. I want them to take pride in their work. If they are treated with respect, they'll return the favor."

Lieutenant Bush disagreed, but Hornblower stuck by his guns. Secretly, Sir Edward was delighted. The Admiralty would probably have a fit of the vapors, but dammit, the boy made sense. The fact that his watch had not been disciplined for some time, showed the effectiveness of Horatio's small revolution.

The sound of Hemplewhite sucking his teeth brought the Captain back to the present. It was time to exercise a little diplomacy. "Doctor, we all know the benefits of salt as a curative agent. Without it, our meat would be inedible. If it can prevent rot from ruining a joint of beef, surely it cannot hurt the Lieutenant's wound. On rare occasions those old wives knew what they were talking about. It can't harm him and it just may help. By the way, that was a very neat job you did with Mr. Bush's leg. He may find dancing difficult, but he has you to thank for allowing him to walk and hereby continue to serve His Majesty."

Styles returned with two other seamen and the three of them, with Matthews's help stripped the remaining garments from the patient and gently bathed every inch of him. Sir Edward made a tactful retreat to his sleeping alcove to remove some personal items. He'd seen Hornblower naked before. Those images haunted his dreams.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

Less than two weeks into his tour on the Indefatigable, Hornblower went swimming with his men. While Pellew watched curiously, the jolly boat was lowered, containing three more members of Horatio's division. The oars secured to the stern, were put overboard and the three non-swimmers were given their first lessons using these make-shift flotation devices. When their recreation time was up, the three men had managed to dog-paddle, carefully supervised, for a short distance. The boat was raised and as the men returned it to its rightful place Hornblower, still in the water, disappeared.

Inspite of himself, Pellew followed his crew to the opposite side of vessel. Shortly thereafter, the sleek dark head reappeared. Grinning, the young midshipman clambered aboard naked as the day he was born. His friend Kennedy valeted Hornblower while Horatio talked with some of his men. Moving closer, the Captain overheard the last of the conversation.

"Her bottom's in very good shape. Nevertheless, I think you should be prepared to man the scraping tackle. There are only a few patches. I'll sketch their locations. It's easier to keep her smooth if you see to it regularly. Besides, you never know when she'll need all the speed our Captain asks of her." Midshipman Hornblower ignored the grumbles and frowns and proceeded to take his watch through their paces.

That evening, in his letter to the Admiralty, Captain Pellew suggested a regular schedule for scraping barnacles and other matter from the hulls of His Majesty's ships. Not for the last time, Hornblower's common sense proved sound. Normally a back-breaking time-consuming process, scraping the Inde's hull now took less than a quarter's watch to accomplish. When weather permitted, Horatio supervised from the water; maneuvering as easily in the sea as most people did on dry land.***

In his private diary's entry for the day, Sir Edward wrote of the other impression Mr. Hornblower had made. In the close quarters aboard ship, Pellew was accustomed to the sight of men in various states of undress including total nudity. His physical reaction to the sight of Horatio emerging from the water surprised him—not because of the Lieutenant's gender but because Pellew prided himself on being above such things. Relief of sexual tension was as close as one's right or left land. Anything else would have seriously compromised his ability to command.

Lieutenant Hornblower was not the first comely midshipman to serve aboard the Indefatigable. When it happened, Sir Edward believed his erotic reaction to be the result of his extended period of celibacy, nothing more. As he wrote in his diary he realized he wasn't being honest with himself.

"The young man's body when clothed gives the impression of awkward thinness. Nude, although he is still very slender, one can see that his muscles are so delicately modeled they appear to be absent entirely. The myriad drops of water sparkling on his skin and the hair of his nether regions transformed him into a vision of beauty clothed in transparent silk bespangled with brilliants."

This private diary was never seen by anyone save its author. Sir Edward used it as another means of achieving release. As Captain, he had no confidant. Without this nightly ritual, he would have no other way to admit to doubts, pleasure, anger, or any other feeling which could obscure the clear sight needed to command a ship and protect the lives of those who sailed her.

Now, this beautiful exemplary young man was fighting for his life. If Sir Edward had anything at all to say in the matter, his Lieutenant's battle would be won. If anyone questioned his motives in having Hornblower brought to his cabin, the Captain would state honestly he was repaying a debt. Horatio had saved his life.

The weather was surprisingly clement for the time of year. As soon as the surgeon left, Edward opened the windows to admit the freshening breeze. A covered bucket containing sea water had been placed beside the wounded man. Casually ripping up an old shirt, the Captain soaked the clean linen in the briny water and folded it over the ugly wound. The sleeves when knotted together end-to-end held the simple poultice in place. The deep collar was also dampened and applied to Horatio's forehead.

At least his breathing was regular. However, it wouldn't remain so with the man lying flat. Sir Edward decided to wait until his relief arrived before attempting to move his officer. This way, Horatio's position could be adjusted more easily and Sir Edward wouldn't have to risk being found with the man in his arms.

"If you shake hands at noon, the crew will have you in bed by dinner." Ship's gossip was notorious. Weeks go by with nothing to look at but the ocean and each other. Even though his motives for touching the Lieutenant would be perfectly innocent, foc'sle wags would immediately jump to less ennobled reasons.

Lieutenant Kennedy arrived early, explaining he'd been given permission as the Captain was needed on deck. Together, they propped Horatio up against pillows raised by folded blankets. The Captain explained the saltwater regimen and departed confident that Kennedy would see to all that was needed.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

Horatio's delirious mind was hundreds of miles from the scene; in Cornwall where he'd been born and grown up. His father had studied medicine and gave up his practice upon marriage to a Cornish heiress of ancient, though common, stock. The second son of a baronet, Reginald Hornblower should not have inherited but the diseases he was trained to treat, carried off his older brother after he'd held the title a scant two years. Mrs. Hornblower's family insisted that she was marrying beneath her. An only child, she'd been spoilt from birth. Her imperious manner would have given pause to a Duchess.

After her first son was born, she departed the marriage bed claiming some vague malady prevented her from fulfilling her conjugal duties. At first her husband welcomed this respite from his often cross and hard-to-please wife. Unfortunately, some ill-advised speculation in the volatile wartime commodities markets virtually tied him to her with golden chains. Her fortune came to her through her father and her maternal uncle oversaw all disbursements to her purse. Reginald could have whatever luxury he desired but he had to go cap in hand to get it. If his behavior displeased her, Caroline Hornblower, nee Tregennis was not above docking her spouse's "allowance."

This state of affairs continued for ten years with Reginald living like a monk for fear of his wife discovering his infidelity. One night, he'd had enough and stormed into her bedroom demanding his rights. Surprisingly, this show of backbone impressed his wife and eight months later, the same day the American colonies declared their independence from England, a spindly male infant was laid at her breast. The birth had been difficult and nearly cost the lives of both mother and child. For nearly two years afterward, Caroline was bed-ridden. Her second son, quickly christened Horatio, did not look as if he would survive her.

The milk of the first wet nurse hired to feed the frail little baby disagreed with him. Three wet nurses came and went with the same results. Finally, a sensible woman from the village was hired. She immediately diagnosed the problem and procured a nanny goat. Finely ground oat meal, water, and honey were mixed with the goat's milk and the baby began to put on weight. He would be marked all of his life by these first brushes with death. His physique would remain slender.

By the time he was four years old, Horatio had suffered all of the childhood ailments, several of which threatened to finish him off. His faithful nanny read Dr. Hornblower's written instructions and then disregarded them in favor of common sense treatments used by mothers for centuries. Caroline rarely saw her second child, pleading ill health. On the rare occasions when she was feeling well, the child was usually gravely ill. His father devoted most of his attention to Horatio's elder brother, Cornelius. He resembled his Saxon father; ruddy with flaxen hair. Horatio favored no one in particular. An old family retainer remarked the small boy was the spitting image of his maternal grandmother.

From the beginning of his life, Horatio had been destined for the sea. His childhood home sat on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic. His dark hair and eyes were shared by most of the inhabitants of the region. Legend held that shipwrecked Spaniards from the invading Armada of Elizabeth's reign had come ashore and mixed their blood with the local inhabitants. The so-called "black Irish" made similar claims. Had Captain Pellew but known, his regimen of salt water had been used before when Lieutenant Hornblower was quite small. Frequent fevers resulted in his nanny immersing the child in tubs filled with cool sea water. Horatio learned to swim before he learned to walk.

He was tutored at home. Frequent colds continued to plague him until he was nine years old. Then his life changed. Most of his time was spent with his nanny, tutor, and the other members of the household staff. During his leisure time, no one concerned themselves with his whereabouts. His elder brother's cast-off clothing formed most of his wardrobe. No one saw any sense in lavishly outfitting a second son who looked as if the next bout of sickness would be his last. Three boys his age from the village became his friends and companions. Their fathers were fishermen employed in a kind of co-operative enterprise overseen by a grizzled old sea dog named Weathersby.

The boys fished and swam and piloted their small boats up and down the rocky shore line. The picturesque bluffs had their malevolent side. The Cornish coast was subject to violently changeable weather. Warm and cold air fought for dominance and frequent sudden storms were the result. Unknown to the young boy, his future Captain had grown up less than thirty miles away. Both men would benefit from their earliest experiences with the ocean and all her vagaries.

The constant exercise and exposure to the fresh salt air had an advantageous effect on Horatio's health. His nanny remarked he was likely to be one of those wispy little things that grow up skinny but tough as old boots. "He'll bury all of his family and live to a ripe old age, mark my words."
________________________________________________
* No. I haven't succumbed to "cabin fever." I know Lieutenant Bush has no business aboard the Indefatigable. I needed to have him there because in my world, he and Horatio have a history of friendly rivalry. Once he recovers from the partial loss of his leg, he's off to the Reknown where he belongs!

** I apologize. My Horatio failing an important exam? I had to give my boy a whacking good reason for his poor performance. Read on, ladies.

*** You don't ever want to be keelhauled. (Trust me on this one.) Second to this grotesque form of punishment is scraping a ship's hull. I am attributing the institution of a regular schedule for doing so to the genius that is my Horatio. I'm sure the Admiralty worked out long before that scraping the ship's bottom of barnacles and other growths is best done regularly if you don't want the crew occupied for the better part of a week.

 

 

 

Chapter the Second

"One of the more disagreeable aspects of service at sea is the doubled grief of bereaved landbound survivors. Burial at sea perforce renders our oceans the largest graveyard on earth. Loved ones are denied the comfort of a graveside to visit and must be content with plaques or other honoraria in lieu of the departed's earthly remains."

Admiral, Sir Edward Pellew - Unpublished Memoirs

Contrary winds delayed the Indefatigable's return to her home port in Plymouth. With his presence required on deck more often than not, most of Horatio's needs were seen to by a small group of his men, supervised by Archie Kennedy. The wounded man's fever broke four days after he was moved from sickbay. He was weakened by the loss of blood and lack of food. Until it could be determined his bowels had not been pierced by the bullet, he'd been given water and nothing else.

At long last, he was permitted a thin gruel consisting of oatmeal and water. When it was seen that this fare worked its way through his system with no ill effects, beef broth and rice were added to his diet. Despite his upper torso being elevated, two days before landfall Horatio developed a congestion in the lungs. Once again his body temperature soared and he succumbed to periods of senselessness.

At night, Captain Pellew was frequently awakened by the young man's murmurs and occasional shouts. What he heard during these nocturnal vigils revolted and saddened him. The close friendship between Hornblower and Kennedy was born of their service aboard the Justinian. This noble name had been bestowed upon a vessel that must have encompassed all the horrors of hell for two gently-reared midshipmen. Although their transfer papers included a vague reference to "grace while enduring undue hardship," it was clear their former captain had been afraid to reveal all that had transpired aboard his vessel and with good reason.

Sodomy was a hanging offense and the attentions forced upon the two boys had been paid by a superior officer. Sir Edward could not fathom what pleasure could possibly be derived from a bedmate who was unwilling. In his own youthful days, the darkly handsome Edward Pellew had also fallen victim to predators below deck. His powerful build had served him well. When his tormentors came back for a second course they found themselves at the business end of a seaman's knife.
When threatened with harsh punishment for daring to defend himself against his so-called betters, Edward boldly stated the reasons for his actions. Word soon spread and he was left alone on subsequent postings.

Horatio and his friend had been too demoralized by threats of libellous exposure and reprisals against each other to strike back. If the disconnected utterances of the fevered lieutenant were anything to go by, Jack Simpson was extremely fortunate that Sir Edward hadn't resorted to harsher measures. A mere bullet seemed kind in comparison
to the misery he'd inflicted on God knew how many victims.

The Indefatigable eased into her berth at Plymouth before cheering crowds. Her wounded were sent to the Admiralty hospital for examination before being released to be cared for by friends or family. Lieutenant Bracegirdle, acting on his commander's instructions, saw to the settling of Mr. Bush in Sir Edward's modest townhouse. Lieutenant Hornblower remained aboard. The first three days in England were hectic. Captain Pellew shuttled between overseeing preparations for the repair and refitting of his ship and the Admiralty where he was engaged in making reports on his latest exploits.

The disposal of his prizes was made swiftly. The two supply ships contained valuable cargo: coffee, French brandy, silks, and other luxuries which would fetch high prices. When the shares were reckoned, Lieutenant Hornblower would be pleased to find himself a wealthy man. Sir Edward signed releases and made arrangements for the banking of his wounded officers' money. His own fortune needed no further augmentation so a considerable portion of his prize money went towards expediting the refit of the Indefatigable.

When the endless paperwork was finally done, the Captain looked in on Bush before returning to his ship. Despite the diligent care of Lieutenant Kennedy and the others, Horatio's condition improved only slowly. Pellew's days were filled with carefully watching the re-calibration of armaments and making sure repairs were being made in accordance with his specifications. At nightfall, he relieved the young man's "nurses" and went over the orders for their next voyage.

He was deeply involved in charting likely routes that would lead to engagements with the enemy when he heard the Lieutenant's voice. It was weak, barely audible, but he seemed lucid. Sir Edward stood beside the bunk and without thinking, took Horatio's hand into his own. Shadowed circles rendered Hornblower's remarkable eyes huge in a face that was too thin.

"Am I dying, sir?"

"Most certainly not." Pellew spoke gruffly. He feared if he allowed his voice to express more tender sentiments, the boy would not believe him. "You did have us worried once or twice, but you will be fine. I shan't permit you to lie around with all that's to be done."
The words were bluntly said, but Horatio responded to the smile that accompanied them.

"You were not hit?"

"Only by a clumsy lieutenant who should have had more sense."

"Sorry, sir." The eyes closed briefly.

"Do you want anything?"

"I'm thirsty, sir. Is their enough water?"

"Plenty. We landed at Plymouth five days ago." Sir Edward filled a goblet and assisted the young man who was too weak to support its weight. The bed linens were soaked in perspiration.

After a few sips, Horatio shook his head. "Thank you, sir." The eyes drifted closed once more.

"Mr. Hornblower, I think you will be more comfortable in fresh sheets." The Captain went to his chest and removed sheets and pillow slips. Working efficiently, he changed the linens without moving the patient from his bunk. Next he fetched a clean nightshirt and dressed the naked man. The Captain's grim-faced determination allowed him to perform this intimate service without betraying his feelings. After learning the horrible details of the young man's tour of duty aboard the Justinian, Pellew renewed his resolve to keep his desire hidden.

The severity of Horatio's illness resulted in his quiet acceptance of the Captain performing duties that should have been assigned to someone else. The tight-lipped stony countenance so near him could only be caused by the Captain's distaste. Unable to help himself, tears slipped from beneath his lashes and Pellew's resolve deserted him. "Did I hurt you?" He asked softly. Horatio shook his head.
Sitting on the edge of the bunk, Sir Edward sighed and gathered the thin frame into his arms.

"Thank you, Mr. Hornblower for saving my life. A letter of commendation from the Admiral will be added to your record of service. In addition, a bonus share of our prize money has also been made over to you..." Pellew fell silent as Horatio's hand shyly touched his own.

"You are not angry with me, sir?"

"No. I made sure your letter included my evaluation of your performance thus far under my command. I quote: `You are an exemplary officer whose devotion to duty is only equaled by the natural gifts you employ in fulfillment of that duty.' Indeed, when I am dead and gone I shall be remembered solely as the fortunate Captain who once served with the great Admiral Hornblower. I am eternally in your debt."

"Sir, I merely happened to be closest to you. Any of our men would have done what I did."

The young man was too weak to display false modesty. The feeling he expressed was genuine and Pellew resisted a strong urge to kiss the curly head resting on his shoulder. Instead, he settled Horatio against the pillows and stood. "I'm extremely pleased you are on the mend. We have at least another three weeks in port before we sail and your only orders are to rest and get well."

"Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Hornblower?"

"Were there any other casualties, sir?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Bosun Richards was killed and Mr. Bush had his left leg amputated below the knee. He will make a full recovery. However, we must sail before he'll be ready to return to duty."

"Sir, I would like my bonus prize money to be sent to Mr. Richards's widow. He had five children and there was another due in two months. Perhaps you could have a letter sent implying it was the Admiralty's idea, sir."

"It shall be as you request, Mr. Hornblower. Now please, try to get some rest."

"Yes sir." Horatio's eyes closed again, but he was smiling.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

"Can ye swim lad?" Old Weathersby scratched his head as he examined the skinny youngster standing on the dock.

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, aboard with ye. Look lively now." The old man had seen this pitifully thin specimen clambering all over the waterfront dressed in ragged breeches and a shirt so hole-y it could best be described as "sanctified." Spending most of his time aboard his fishing boat, Weathersby had no idea the lad was the younger son of the manor.

"So ye want to sail with me?"

"Yes, sir." The boy replied promptly.

"Why?"

"Because I want to learn, sir. I've been promised a bigger boat of my own but only if I can sail her properly."

"So you like being on the water, do ye?"

"Oh yes, sir. I want to go into the Navy when I'm old enough."

"All right, then. We'll start at once. Ye can spend a lifetime asea and still be surprised by the old girl." The man said gravely but his eyes twinkled. This was a seal's child if ever he saw one. So Horatio's nautical education began when he was eleven years old. His mentor took him through everything and the boy seemed to enjoy his lessons. Weathersby had sailed the Cornish coast for forty years and navigated the ancient way: by the sun and stars and his crafty nose.

He taught the eager youth everything he'd learned, including those unorthodox terms which plagued his pupil years later, and was delighted when Horatio taught him a thing or two. The first revelation occurred after three months of lessons. It was a hot morning in late summer but with a freshening on-shore breeze. The older men were engaged in making preparations to deploy their nets while Horatio was mending some old sails. His hands may have looked as if they belonged to a parson, but three months work resulted in a strong grip and hardened palms. Gloves were for court dandies and women.

The men watched as the cheerful youth suddenly looked up and out to sea, raising his nose. Curious they watched as he looked at the sky, then shorewards and sniffed again. He carefully put the whalebone needle into the sail he was repairing and came over to his audience. Mr. Pendennis? Could you please tell the Captain we're in for some weather?" As the ship's boy he only spoke to Weathersby during the course of his lessons.

The men fell over themselves laughing. The youth frowned and looked out to sea again before repeating his request. Something about the calm assurance in his eyes made the senior man decide to inform the captain. Horatio watched serenely as the two men spoke briefly then approached him. The others quickly re-focused their attention on their duties.

"So, ye told this man we are in for a blow?"

"Yes, sir."

"We've only just put out. Are ye suggesting we return with no catch?"

"Yes, sir."

He didn't look like a cocky lad showing off. "Then tell me what makes ye able to predict bad weather when I can't."

"The smell of the breeze sir. Seaward smells like fresh water. When the wind shifts landwards, it smells of salt. Old Peters, excuse me, Mr. Peters told me once that when that happens a big storm is coming. Rain doesn't smell salty, sir. If I can smell it now with a clear sky overhead, this must be a bad one, sir."

"So ye've been talking to that old rum pot, have ye?"

"Yes, sir. His great grandfather sailed with Drake. He said his great grand-dad said the air smelled just like that before the Spaniards were blown clear around England."

"Seaman's lies, me lad."

"Probably sir, but Mr. Peters said the same thing happened again fifty years ago; most of our harbor was smashed."

This was different. Weathersby remembered that storm. He thought for a moment then examined the young forecaster. "Mr. Pendennis send signals to our fleet that we're heading in. If ye're wrong boy, what do you think should happen to ye?"

"I should be made to pay for the lost catch and time, sir."

"Done." Weathersby gave further orders as his first mate signaled the four other fishing boats with a piece of mirror. An hour before they made landfall, the sun had gone and the waves became rough. Remembering the smashed harbor, Weathersby took the precaution of drawing his boats well above the high tide mark. The other boat owners, respecting his reputation followed his example.

The storm lasted three days. Horatio remained with his captain throughout. When fair weather returned, the inhabitants of the coastal village spoke of the boy in hushed tones. Maybe the old legends were true. This child's "weather nose" had saved their boats and their livelihoods. He was a "seal's child" indeed.

Horatio's three-day absence during the worst weather in living memory netted him a whipping. He accepted his punishment surprised that he'd been missed. When he explained, dry-eyed what he'd been about, his father shocked him by actually listening. A quick consultation with the butler confirmed that the entire village was talking about the remarkable lad who could smell weather as well as a seasoned veteran.

His parents warmed toward their odd child but they were too late. To the end of his life, Horatio considered his old nanny and Weathersby to be his true mother and father. The villagers disagreed. He was clearly the son of the Seal King.

 

 

Chapter the Third

"The sea can speak if you listen carefully. In my youth, I frequently went to sleep lulled by the soft whispers of the wind brushing against the wave tops. At low tide, laughter is heard as water chuckles around the rock-girt shoreline. Yet of all her voices, I miss most the roar of deep ocean waves as they sacrificed themselves to the tempest."
Admiral, Sir Horatio Hornblower - Unpublished Memoirs

The repairs were made apace. Horatio followed his captain's orders: eating when told to and resting. Then fortune seemed to smile. Secret dispatches needed to be sent to Gibraltar and Indefatigable's orders were changed. She would be one of a supply convoy escorted by three other frigates led by Commodore Foster of Dreadnought fame. Engagements with the enemy must be avoided unless the convoy was risked by doing so. Sir Edward welcomed the change. His men deserved a more restful voyage.

By now, Horatio was making a good recovery. He offered to remove himself to the cabin he shared with Archie, but the Captain advised against it; citing the chance for a relapse. Despite having to sleep in a hammock which ill-suited his long limbs, Horatio did not protest. The two men became friends during their occupancy of the Captain's cabin. They discovered their shared Cornish heritage and Horatio had been delighted to discover Sir Edward knew of old Weathersby.

Complaining that he felt idle, Horatio was allowed to relieve Lieutenant Bracegirdle of his paperwork. Evenings found the two men updating reports and planning the next day's work schedules. The crew cheered when Horatio, assisted by Archie took his first turn about the deck in over a month. The Captain watched from the corner of his eye as his young friend seated himself on the seaward side of the vessel and leaned back against the rail turning his face up to the sun.

Horatio slowly began to regain the weight he'd lost. Their remaining days ashore were coming to a close. Prior to the official briefing of his officers, the Captain explained the new orders to his Lieutenant over dinner one evening. At the mention of Foster's name, Horatio frowned.

"I see you have reservations regarding the Commodore's presence."

"Yes, sir. We don't need him. You're twice the commander he could ever hope to be."

"Belay that, Mr. Hornblower."

"Sorry, sir." The expressive eyes were troubled.

"All right, off the record... Apart from your loyalty to this ship and her captain, why do you feel Commodore Foster would not be needed?"

"Sir, if we are to convey secret dispatches, a low profile will be vital to our success. Commodore Foster is a hero, sir. He'll treat our mission as just another opportunity to impress the Admiralty and the public with his exploits. This could seriously jeopardize everything. You would be placed in the untenable position of having to follow his orders to our fleet, no matter how ill-considered they may be. Furthermore, Commodore Foster does not seem to be as solicitous as some towards the well-being of the men who serve him, sir. I should hate to have to stand by as our men are ordered into harm's way needlessly."

"Strong opinions, Lieutenant. Privately, I'm in full agreement. Nevertheless, we're stuck with Foster. Unless you have any suggestions for dealing with him diplomatically?" Sir Edward had noticed that blank look which was the harbinger of Horatio's proposing a solution to a problem.

"Well sir, if Commodore Foster has an admiring audience that keeps him preoccupied by listening to his tales of glory and asking worshipful questions, we might be able to keep him out of mischief, sir." Horatio widened his eyes and looked for all the world like a puppy begging for attention. He grinned when Captain Pellew roared with laughter. *

"This calls for a brandy, sir! Would you join me in a glass?"

"Thank you, Captain. I would be honored."

"Just don't make yourself too personable. I'd hate to see you transferred to that popinjay's service."

"No chance of that, sir. When the time comes, I'll dazzle him a little. He doesn't want rivals, only acolytes worshipping at the shrine. To the Inde, sir, and all those who sail in her."

"Damn me, Hornblower. Are you sure you're only three and twenty? By God, I'd love to turn you loose on the Admiralty! Nevermind. Before you're through you'll be made a Duke."

"Captain Pellew, I've already received the highest honor the Navy could bestow. The chance to serve with you, sir. To the Captain of the Indefatigable, the finest officer in His Majesty's service."

"Are you trying to flatter me, Mr. Hornblower?"

"No sir. Simply telling the truth. When you next hear me propose a similar toast with the Commodore's name attached, that will be flattery, sir—actually an outright lie. "I've got to get in practice."

The remaining portion of the evening was spent mapping out their strategy.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

Sir Edward Pellew and Horatio had much in common, including stressful childhoods. Edward Pellew was the third surviving son of an Earl. His father was Cornish, his mother was not. Sybil, Lady Exmouth was the icily proper daughter of a recently ennobled family and as such was highly sensitive to all matters pertaining to rank. Her husband's title dated from the late middle ages and his bluff, hail-fellow-well-met manners were a constant thorn in her side. If she couldn't transform her husband, she ruled the nursery with an iron hand.

The three brothers were separated in age by less than five years. They were extremely loyal to one another and loved their cheerful father. Unfortunately, their mother thought no good could possibly be obtained from her children spending too much time in her husband's company. So, from the time they could walk, a Spartan regimen of lessons in deportment, religion, literature, languages, horsemanship, and dancing kept them too busy for more than brief visits with the Earl.

One of Edward's earliest memories was of his two brothers sneaking him into the library where for the next several hours, they had an fine time playing soldiers defending their territories from behind parapets made of first editions. The fun ceased abruptly when their mother, disturbed by the noise, found them. As the boys grew older, their mother took them on numerous visits to her relatives where they were rarely seen, let alone heard.

When Edward was ten years old, the Earl died as the result of a riding accident. From that point onwards, his life became lonely. His elder brothers were sent to Eton. He remained at home alone with his mother and the staff for another two years. Bored beyond reason, he sought refuge in his late father's library. Despite appearances, the Earl had been a highly intelligent man. When his lessons ended, Edward would quietly make his way to the large dim room, light candles, and lose himself in accounts of times past and lands far away.

Two months before he was due to join his brothers at Eton College, Edward succumbed to a mysterious malady that robbed him of the use of his legs. Expensive London physicians were sent for, but their efforts did nothing to correct the problem. Finally, an old man who'd been hired to help the boy with personal hygiene managed to figure out what was wrong and his suggestion for a cure was passed up the chain of command to her Ladyship—in three words: swimming and massage.

Instead of Eton, Edward was packed off to a small cottage near a sheltered cove fifteen miles away. He was attended by the old man, a cook, and a maid of all work. In spite of having to spend hours at a time in the cold water, Edward fell in love with the ocean. Trunks full of his favorite books had been sent with him. In the evenings, he would lie on the kitchen table reading as his legs were massaged and flexed. By the following year at the start of the Fall Term, Edward was able to walk as if he'd never been ill. His upper body now possessed solid muscles resulting from his earliest swims when only his arms were able to pull him through the water.

Reunited once more, the three brothers plotted their escape from their all-too-correct mother. The oldest brother Adam, now Lord Exmouth, accepted his doom. He would bide his time until reaching the age of majority, then he would do everything he could to return his father's cheerful spirit to a house that now possessed less life than a mausoleum. His younger brother, Richard was determined to leave England at the earliest opportunity. The mysterious East had laimed his attention ever since he'd read the tales of the Arabian Nights. He was surprised when his little brother eagerly threw in with his plans. After all, the fastest way to get to Arabia was by sea.

The boys dutifully wrote their mother exquisitely proper letters copied from books and her Ladyship smugly congratulated herself on a job well done. The shock of her sons' mutiny would come as a bolt from heaven.
_____________________________________________________________
* When I first watched the scene with Foster dining in the senior
wardroom with the officers of the Indefatigable, I thought the
writers had fallen asleep. Such is the price we pay for being a slash
sister. I had already "married" Pellew and Hornblower and winced when
the latter clearly behaved in a hurtful way to his "other half." In
my universe now, all is well (smile).

 

 

 

Chapter the Fourth

"I have no use for `heroes.' Throughout the history of warfare, their selfish antics have cost more lives than the enemy could possibly hope to achieve. Give me men who see their duty and do it quietly and without fuss and I could conquer the world. Heroes never stop to think that once given the world, they have no abilities to constructively make use of it. If offered the world, I'd refuse it gladly. Having such global responsibility would only mean I would have to do the record-keeping required to maintain it. No, thank you."

Lord Exmouth - A Sailor's Life

Dreadnought Foster's hearty manners reminded Sir Edward of his late father. It was a shame the Commodore lacked the Earl's brains. Meals in the senior wardroom were strained affairs. The officers ate silently, frowning occasionally as Lieutenant Hornblower eagerly asked the Commodore some question or other that would set the great man off on another interminable tale of his heroic exploits. Three weeks into their mission had seen only minor skirmishes between Pellew's loyal officers and their fleet commander.

Lieutenant Bracegirdle shook his head as the port went round the table. He would have credited Hornblower with more sense. The other officers were less tactful and Horatio suspected his behavior was the subject of many conversations which abruptly ceased when he came into view. Sir Edward, ever desirous of testing Hornblower's abilities, forbade his Lieutenant from divulging their stratagem. This would determine if the young man was able to keep his head in unfriendly waters.

"So what do you think of that, boy?" Foster leaned back with a cigar after relating yet another tale where his intelligence, fortitude, and courage had won the day.

"I wish I'd been there to see you in action, sir."

"How many men were lost in that battle, Commodore?" The Captain's stony expression was as eloquently disapproving as his quiet tone of voice.

"What does it matter, Ned? The day was ours!"

Lieutenant Bracegirdle was shocked. The other officers shifted in their seats and so missed the brief angry glance Horatio threw his Captain. Josiah misinterpreted the look and assumed Horatio disapproved of Pellew's well-bred disagreement. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

There are no secrets aboard a ship and Horatio, even if he'd been inclined to disobey orders and confide in Archie, wouldn't have risked it. He'd been popular with the other officers and was all but venerated by the men of his division. Now, he found himself excluded from the officers' infrequent recreational pursuits. Except where duty demanded, they didn't talk to him. Not surprisingly, his division figured their mascot was "playing the old windbag for a fair-weather fool."

Many of them had worked with officers who pretended to be hearty types; salts-of-the-earth. "Our boy," as they called him had never been anything other than himself. He was polite and respectful, but he was in command and did not play favorites. He listened to their suggestions and complaints but his responses were entirely his own decision. Sometimes he agreed with them. Sometimes not. When his division began to salute him with feeling, Horatio could have hugged them. He'd wager a year's pay that Styles had figured out what was going on and briefed the others. A brief happy gleam in his eyes was all the acknowledgment their Lieutenant gave them. To his men, it was as good as a week's leave.

Horatio did have one friend however who was in on the secret. He and the Captain embarked on an epistolary relationship.

Sailing a ship means making reports. Usually, these were conveyed verbally by the senior officer of the watch or division. Earlier as Horatio's "hero worship" was beginning to turn stomachs, Captain Pellew curtly ordered the starry-eyed lieutenant to make his reports in writing. The Captain stated that his orders would likewise be committed to paper. Archie grew used to falling asleep to the sound of his friend's quill traveling over the paper.

Dear Father, (the two men decided not to use their names or rank)

I find myself not only sent to Coventry but imprisoned there. It's odd, I never realized before how much comfort can be found in sharing your woes with someone else. Remarkably, my division seems to have "twigged my lay." It wouldn't have done at all for me to embrace every man-jack of them, so I kept my composure. Thank you for devising this way for us to speak as we used to, I was going quite mad.

He (actually short for His Eminence) is getting harder to handle. Yesterday, I found my mind had wandered off in the middle of an epic saga. (If everything He relates is true, the war should have ended before it began!) Anyway, I came to myself to find the rampant bore (I wonder what his coat of arms is like?) looking at me expectantly and I had no idea what he'd been saying for the past 15 minutes! Thank God, a breathless `Fascinating, sir. That must have been remarkable.' got me out of difficulty. I shall endeavor in future not to let my attention wander. By the way, I asked him if it was true that he unselfishly denied himself the pleasure of engaging the enemy while on a secret mission and he looked at me oddly for a moment then launched into yet another tale. Hopefully, this will keep him in line for a few more days.

Your son.

Dear brother,

I received your latest letter and I must agree with you. I cannot wait until this mission is over and we can resume our conversations. I apologize that orders prevent me from revealing any details. I am most impressed with the clandestine work of one my junior officers. His assignment has resulted in his serving this ship by going above and beyond the call of duty. At the earliest opportunity, I shall make a full report of his activities to his friends who seem to have forgotten everything they knew of this young man. It has been a revelation to me to see how gullible they are. Believe me, I shall be watching them carefully in future.

E.

Not all of the letters were related to the awesome task of cozening the Commodore. Spared the necessity of keeping his command face intact, Sir Edward found it easier to relate his private thoughts in writing.

Dear brother,

I thought I'd use this time to communicate that I also took for granted the pleasure derived from congenial company. The captain of a ship is one of the loneliest humans alive. This isolation is made all the more irksome by being surrounded by people in very close quarters. I find myself marvelling that the month we spent in each other's company during our last leave had the opposite effect. Instead of finding myself desiring solitude and space to breathe, I was surprised at how little you intruded on me. I enjoyed our conversations and discovered that by some unspoken means of communication we knew when silence would be welcome.

I was reminded of a time when I was a boy and left alone with nothing but my books for company. Our time together was very similar. It was as if the talks we shared were happening inside our minds. When silence fell I was reminded of the feeling of repletion which comes when you've finished a chapter. The pause to gather one's thoughts and ponder on what you discovered while reading is not an ending but a continuing part of the process. I shall be very glad indeed when we can be together again.

Dear Father,

Your words cheered me greatly. I confess myself having to reconsider my life's goal; that of captaining my own ship someday. I was recently reminded of the extreme loneliness of command and began to wonder if the awesome responsibility can be successfully undertaken without at least one friend to share it. I never realized that being a doctor is very similar. You give orders relating to the care of the infirm—orders they often find unpleasant. When they are in pain, you must keep your wits and therefore cannot spend too much energy on being sympathetic. Above all, you have human lives in your hands. One hasty decision or overlooked symptom could result in a fatal outcome.

Although, I shan't abandon my goal, I shall spend less time dreaming about it. Instead I shall devote my energies to studying those who have gone before me. Their experiences and example will serve my ambition far better than boyish dreams of glory. Lives are at stake and doing anything less than the very best I am capable of would be unforgivable.

I mean to begin at once with the Captain of this ship. I'll admit that at first, the distance he maintains between himself and his men made me feel nervous and somehow at fault. Now I realize it is vital to our survival. A judicious amount of self-doubt is an excellent thing in a commander. Assuming oneself to be always in the right and fully knowledgeable is the fastest and best way I know to get your ship and your reputation smashed beyond repair. During the course of this voyage I have learned a valuable lesson. You must believe me when I state I shall always remember it.

Your son.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

Sir Edward's father often remarked the best laid plans of mice and men usually resulted in a scarcity of cheese for all concerned. Despite Horatio giving a performance that would have greatly impressed Lieutenant Kennedy's theatrical acquaintances, the enemy was sighted and Foster ordered his fleet into the fray.

The French weren't fools. When they discerned the forces arrayed against them, they exercised the better part of valor and pretended they hadn't seen. Horatio enthusiastically remarked that the mere sight of the Dreadnought insignia flying from their mast had been enough to put fear into the Frogs. He should have saved his breath for swimming. Foster was flattered but also determined to give chase. Over Pellew's objections and in defiance of the Admiralty's orders, they put about.

At first, the winds looked to be on the side of reason. Unnoticed, Horatio approached the Captain.

"Sir, unless I'm very much mistaken, the wind is changing. When it does we cannot help but overtake them. Do you wish me to embarrass myself by giving a few stupid orders? My fellow officers already think me a fool, or worse. I might as well live up to their expectations, sir." His voice was quiet. Pellew considered the offer for a few moments then shook his head, frowning. Observers assumed he'd overruled his Lieutenant's request to order on more sail. They would have been shocked to learn Horatio had planned the opposite.

"No, Lieutenant. I don't want us within sight of the enemy with our ability to maneuver compromised." He replied quietly. "It was a most generous suggestion but I doubt even you are reckless enough to let the French see us divested of our mainsail. They'd fall on us like a sailor on a skirtless whore."

"Remind me to shoot her pimp at the first opportunity." Horatio muttered.

"Don't think the thought hasn't occurred to me."

The conversation took less than three minutes to be completed. Horatio went to man his division while Pellew shouted orders, praying the wind would not change. God must have been occupied elsewhere. In just over an hour, the enemy fell to and the battle was on. Sir Edward, as always, remained calm but inwardly he feared for his Lieutenant. Unlike Foster, the lives of all his men were important to him. In the midst of a fierce battle, he was shocked to discover he was in love. God help him if Horatio should be killed.

Horatio's men did not have to worry about keeping up appearances. They protected their officer quite openly. To get a clear shot at the enemy, the Lieutenant would have had to stand on tiptoe. Somehow, one or more of his men always managed to be between him and the French. Sent to convey a report to the Captain, Styles noticed his commander's unusually dour expression. "Don't fret yersel' Cap'n. There'll only be one 'ero this day, han' it won't be our boy." He made his report and scuttled back to his duty. The crew later remarked that Styles must have brought good news because the Captain was smiling for the first time since their voyage began.

A crippled French corvette was drifting their way when Foster decided to emulate Drake's day-saving strategy that helped defeat the Spanish Armada. He ordered the floating wreck be put to the torch and sent into the midst of the remaining French forces. He failed to realize Drake succeeded because he was a better judge of the weather and the ocean's shifting currents. Looking on in horror, the Inde's crew realized the fireship was being carried straight towards them.

Styles and the others could only follow as Horatio ordered himself put aboard the smoldering wreck. Glancing up, he quickly gave orders for her sails to be cut down and one of the loose cannon prepared for firing. He wheeled the ten-pounder about aiming it at the base of the mizzenmast and lit the fuse. A roar and the sound of splintering wood
and Horatio ordered his men to shift the world's largest barge-pole into position.

"Four points port!" He yelled to the Inde. Bracing themselves, the men held on as the sail-tipped mast rammed the side of the Indefatigable and pushed her away. By now, half of the deck of the French ship was burning fiercely. "Over the side with it, men!" The mast was abandoned. By nudging the Inde, the fireship also moved away from her slightly---a mere fifteen yards. Racing for'ard, Horatio peered into the water. The flotsam was being carried away from the fireship. She'd been pushed into another current and would be delayed in approaching the Indefatigable which was making all due speed away from the inferno. He looked up when his men shouted. Flames had blocked his path of retreat. Ordering them over the side, he stripped off his jacket, tied it around his head and dove into the water.

Styles and the others swam for the Inde to ready a boat to retrieve the Lieutenant. They needn't have bothered. Horatio swam under the burning wreck and rejoined his men. He was exhausted but alive. Half-carried by Matthews and two others, the Lieutenant fell to his knees on the deck, gasping for breath. Belatedly, Foster's stratagem worked after a fashion. The fireship was between them and the French so the Frogs decided their presence could be used better somewhere else. The look on Captain Pellew's face was almost enough to change Foster's mind when he'd been about to order them back into the chase. Pellew's quietly furious words finished the job.

"If you do not want yourself confined in irons and facing a charge of lunacy, I would suggest you wet your sword in the nearest corpse and try to look like a pasteboard hero. I will not risk my ship, our fleet, this mission, disobey Admiralty orders, nor jeopardize my crew for the vainglorious sake of a man who should know better. You nearly burnt us to our waterline by an ill-conceived decision made in plain sight of me, my officers, and the men of our fleet. Apart from that puppy Hornblower, there will be enough of us to make the charge stick. Do I make myself clear, sir?" A red-faced Foster was forced to make the best of it. This was one tale he would not relate to anyone else.

Foster's presence aboard meant casualties. Pellew closed his eyes before scanning the sick list. Horatio's name wasn't there. For the second time that day, he grinned like a schoolboy.

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

Horatio's name was back on the list by the time they were a week from making landfall in Gibraltar. Inhaling smoke, swimming a marathon, then helping to repair damage to the Inde aggravated his lungs which were still somewhat weakened from the wound taken less than two months before. Pellew watched horrified as the flush-faced man fainted dead away on deck two days after the battle. With Foster moping in his guest quarters, Sir Edward did not hesitate to order the Lieutenant installed in the Captain's cabin.

Sickbay was full to the rafters. Besides, below decks in a stuffy cramped little hole was not a fit place for a man who was struggling for every breath. The hammock had been stowed but the hooks that supported it had been left in place. Once again, Pellew had Horatio in his bed. Once again, the young man would be its sole occupant. Sir Edward shook his head as he tried to write while Horatio fought for air.

Archie was deputed to nurse his friend. He too, had finally managed to figure out Horatio's fascination with Foster had been an act. Between gasps, Horatio choked out what had to be done to clear his lungs. Coming back to his cabin forty minutes later, Sir Edward was shocked to see Horatio's naked upper body stretched across Archie's lap; his head hanging down while Archie pounded away at his friend's back.

"What in God's name do you think you are doing, Mr. Kennedy?!"

"Following Mr. Hornblower's orders, sir. He said his old nurse used to do this for him when he was a small boy. To clear his chest, sir." Archie's voice was somewhat breathless from exertion and the feel of Horatio's fevered body pressed against his groin.

"I apologize for shouting, Lieutenant Kennedy. Now that you mention it, I seem to remember something similar being done for one of my brothers. Carry on." The Captain left before his junior officer could discern evidence of his arousal. A visit to sickbay should take care of that so Pellew headed below. Acute nausea has its uses, he thought wryly.

By the time Archie's arms gave out, Horatio had brought up a significant amount of phlegm. Both men were relieved to see it was only somewhat discolored and free of blood. Archie helped Horatio to lie back against the elevated pillows than collapsed into a nearby chair. When the Captain returned, he was asleep and snoring softly. Horatio smiled at Sir Edward and whispered. "Don't be too hard on him, sir. This is the first good sleep he's had since the battle."

"Your voice sounds stronger, Lieutenant."

"I'm breathing easier, sir. Although, I'll probably be sore for a couple of days. Mr. Kennedy doesn't know his own strength." Horatio glanced fondly at his friend and missed Sir Edward's frown.

"I'm behaving like a jealous lover." Pellew thought; angry at himself. "You're good friends." He observed casually as he opened his log.

"Yes, sir. We look out for each other. He was the only friend I had when I really needed one."

"I know. Simpson should have been tied across a cannon's mouth and shot into the four winds." Too late, Sir Edward realized he should not have known about what occurred on the Justinian. Inspite of himself, he cringed when he confronted Horatio's look of shame and horror. He feared the young man he'd come to love would never be able to face him again without this knowledge coming between them.

Sir Edward was a brave man. He wasn't as ostentatious as Foster, but in certain circles his reputation was regarded with equal favor. He'd never been so scared in his life as he prepared to try and set Hornblower's mind at ease.

"Mr. Hornblower. I apologize for intruding inadvertently on your privacy. When you were last taken ill, your mind wandered and in your delirium you gave me enough information to piece together what happened to you and your friend."

"Sir, I..."

"Please, let me finish." Sir Edward smiled sadly. "I know how you feel right now. A mixture of anger, shame, and disgust. The important thing to remember is none of what happened was in any way your fault. Most men manage to endure long months with no intimate intercourse without being a menace to others. Jack Simpson was worse than a
beast. Beasts inflict pain when they need to feed themselves. Simpson enjoyed hurting people for its own sake. He was also insightful enough to gain a measure of knowledge of his victims' weaknesses and he played upon them like a virtuoso." The Captain sat on the edge of the bunk and lowered his voice further.

"He probably told you that deep down, you were desirous of his attentions only too proud to admit to it. He lied. He took an act which should have been a source of joy between two people and used it as a weapon to hurt you and God knows how many others. Nothing he told you about yourself was true. You have nothing but my deepest respect and admiration for refusing to sink to his level. You are a fine officer and I would be honored if you would consider me your friend." Sir Edward sighed and glanced at Lieutenant Kennedy who was still deeply asleep.

"I trust you sir, to honor my confidence when I tell you I too was betrayed by one who pretended to offer friendship when he was anything but." Quietly, the Captain told his tale. When he looked up, Horatio's eyes glittered with tears that did not fall despite the fact he was shaking his head.

"At least you fought back, sir. I was too cowardly to even think about it. He used us both and we didn't try to stop it." The tears fell, unchecked.

Sir Edward gave up. Weeks of mounting tension, keeping his temper before Foster and his crew, had battered his emotional reserves. He pulled the Lieutenant into his arms and held him gently as the younger man wept.

"Shhh. You are the bravest man, I'm ever likely to meet. That monster told both of you that if you struck back he would have hurt the other. He meant that. He would have killed you both before allowing himself to be exposed for the devil he was. The two of you endured hell on earth to protect each other. You had no choice. You were fortunate to have a friend. I was alone and therefore freed from that responsibility. In your place, a coward would have killed himself or worse, abandoned his friend. You did neither."

The two men sat in silence for a while. "You wrote letters addressing me as Father. I know that was to throw Foster off the track. Nevertheless, I would be proud indeed to have you for my son."

"Thank you, sir." Horatio spoke against the Captain's shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir. Things have been a little trying of late."

"They have indeed, Mr. Hornblower. They have indeed." Neither man would ever forget this soul-baring conversation. Horatio leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He slept without dreams. The scent of the man he had come to love gave him a sense of security and profound peace.

 

 

Chapter the Last

"King Midas's barber whispered his secret into a hole he dug into the ground. Immediately afterwards, the nearby grasses began to whisper that the king had the ears of an ass. Aboard ship, secrets are even more impossible to keep. During the course of my career there were only two confidants I could trust absolutely with my private thoughts: my diary and the person I came to realize was the other half of my soul."
Admiral Sir Horatio Hornblower - Unpublished Memoirs

When Archibald Kennedy woke with a start he was privileged to see Horatio sleeping quietly; his right hand held by the Captain, who'd fallen asleep leaning against the bulkhead. Smiling, he pretended to snort in his sleep. The small noise was sufficient to wake the Captain. When Archie heard his commander quietly preparing for bed, he opened his eyes.

"How is Mr. Hornblower, sir?"

"Your assistance proved most advantageous, Lieutenant. Mr. Hornblower is very much better. Run along and get some proper rest. I have good reason to know that chair is most uncomfortable." Archie did as he was told.

Once he gained the privacy of the corridor, he grinned. It looked as if he'd win the ship's pool if things kept up the way they were going. As he drifted off to sleep, he chuckled. It was high time those two admitted they were meant for each other.

Sir Edward was now wide awake. He put on his nightshirt over his breeches and unlocked the chest containing his diary. His whole body tingled at the memory of Horatio's warmth pressed against him.

"I fear I am losing my battle. Each day that passes I'm forced to recognize that although I would indeed be proud to have Horatio for my son, my feelings for him are not in the least paternal. I've tried time and again to convince myself I am merely missing the easy camaraderie I shared with Adam and Richard—that I always wanted a younger brother. My heart and now these pages know that for the lie it is.

"It took everything in my power to keep from crying aloud when he went over to the fireship. In the midst of a battle with my ship and crew a hair's breadth from disaster I was thinking only of how much Horatio has come to mean to me. When he collapsed on deck, I wanted nothing so much as to take him into my arms and breathe for him. He has served me well and I find myself humbled by the size of the debt I owe him. For the first time in over ten years, my heart yearns for another.

"My late wife, God bless her; never had the best of what I could give. Distance and the inequality of our minds prevented it. Although an excellent woman and supremely intelligent, she never sailed a ship or knew what it was like to feel your blood race prior to a battle or to hide your sorrow at the waste of lives when it was done. Horatio knows these things intimately and loves and hates them as I do. His joy in being at sea is all the more profound because he rarely expresses it.

"His beautiful smile is the only indication he gives as I watch him gazing upon the water. I imagine his eyes glinting and soft by turns as his thoughts race just under their surface like so many glittering fish. Memories of the sight of him naked, cleaving effortlessly through the water, break my rest and fill me with a kind of hungry joy that will not be sated until I can hold him close and open my heart to him..."

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

"Captain Pellew is the best man I have ever known. To think it's been a month since he learned what happened to us at Simpson's hands and he gave no sign of it until three weeks ago. When I first came aboard I found myself drawn to him. I put this down to hero worship spawned by the fact that at last I was free of the Justinian and could breath again. He worked me hard and I did everything I could to justify his painstaking care for my education.

"I must have driven the man to distraction with my immature desire to shine in his presence. Just when I'd begun to despair of ever obtaining his notice (I didn't dare hope for his approval) Simpson reappeared and I found myself once again in hell. Yet somehow, this time, it was different. I stood up to him. I knew he would eventually destroy me, but I didn't care. Death was certainly better than being dishonored in the Captain's eyes. When Archie told me the Captain shot and killed Simpson, I wept like a child. Thank God Archie assumed it was nerves. It wasn't.

"Despite my youth and foolishness, despite that serpent Simpson, I had irrefutable proof the Captain cared enough to risk his career on my behalf. Cold reason insisted that Sir Edward would have done the same for any member of his crew placed so disadvantageously. My heart argued otherwise. Pushing him out of the path of that musket ball is the finest thing I've ever done or am ever likely to do. The Captain saved my life and I was overjoyed to repay that debt even at the cost of my own existence.

"When I first woke in his cabin, I thought I'd died and God had given me the only heaven I'll ever want. I nearly died again when his powerful hands handled my body as gently as if I were made of porcelain. Where I found the nerve to actually touch him in return, I'll never know. What followed I shall remember as the happiest time of my life. Sharing his quarters was a revelation. The idol I'd been worshipping from afar became even more precious seen close to. Without the overwhelming cares of his office to make him guard his speech and actions, my Edward (there, I said it) showed me more truly what a good man can be.

"His soul is as beautiful as his face. In the evenings when he'd come home (for such it seemed to me) I found his simple pleasure in my having set out his cigar and brandy, or having ordered him a bath; made me giddy with joy. No love sonnet could be half as eloquent as the little moaning sigh he'd make as he eased into the hot water. Sharing a meal, talking idly of this or that was better than anything I could have imagined or hoped for. Still, the best was yet to come. We'd clear away our mess then get to work. The Inde is blessed by his command. Nothing escapes his notice. I learned more about sailing a ship from those three-odd weeks tied up to the dock than most men discover in a lifetime sailing the globe.

"To watch his face light up when I'd anticipated his answers was the equivalent of being made Lord High Admiral. I've never known such happiness...

EP*HH*EP*HH*EP

The secret dispatches were delivered and Commodore Foster was feted royally. He'd managed to convert his idiocy into a stirring account of his triumph over the poxy French by the simple expedient of telling outright lies. When he recounted how they turned tails and ran before his ensign, Captain Pellew and Lieutenant Hornblower exchanged a brief ironic glance. Toasts were drunk and by the three in the morning, the party was still underway.

Pellew had privately passed the word to his officers that Lieutenant Hornblower had been doing his Captain a clandestine service in keeping Dreadnought Foster preoccupied. To his credit, when asked why he'd been picked for the job, Horatio shrugged and replied that he was the only officer who looked feckless enough to carry it off. Their egos assuaged, his fellow officers clapped him on the back and proposed another toast.

Horatio abstained from drinking, pleading his recent illness. He and the Captain were subsequently the only ones who were completely sober when they returned to the ship. Neither man spoke as they descended to the place where the Inde was berthed. A quiet "As you were, Mr. Matthews.", and they went below. Matthews grinned and began wondering what he would do with his prize money.

Before Sir Edward could open the windows, Horatio stopped him. "Sir, I want to thank you for what you said that night. I shall never betray your confidence and the faith you showed in me by relying on my discretion. However, I cannot let the matter drop without explaining why I wept, sir."

"Sit down, Mr. Hornblower. I think we could both use a nightcap."

"No, thank you, sir. My old nanny said the worst thing in the world for congested lungs is spirits." Horatio unbuttoned the upper half of his jacket and took the proffered seat. "Sir, your trust in my discretion and everything else you've done for me mean a lot. When you spoke of your unfortunate experience, you seemed to be disgusted and for a moment, I thought that feeling was extended to me. Then you said `an act which should be a source of joy between two people' and I realized you were deploring the manner of the act not the act in itself." Horatio, his eyes focused on the floor, paused for a moment ordering his thoughts. He missed the look of desperate hope that flashed in Pellew's black eyes.

"I was not the naive virgin Simpson took me for. That's what made it so terrible. I knew that what he was doing was an abomination, not an affirmation. I don't claim to have had wide experience and I don't believe I have ever been in love before. I cried because I finally allowed myself to hope that one day, if I apply myself I may be, in some small measure, worthy of your regard."

"And that thought pleases you, Horatio?" To the end of his days, Sir Edward would wonder what power in heaven allowed his voice to sound almost normal. His heart was racing. It was difficult to breathe.

At the use of his given name, the younger man looked up. The Captain, whose quarterdeck demeanor would lead observers to believe he was made of bronze, had tears in his eyes. "Yes, it does. So much so that I've thought of little else since that night. If our docking had been left up to me, we would have crashed." He smiled gently.

"I want to be sure I understand you. You are saying you have affectionate feelings towards me?" Sir Edward's heart was in his throat. He could never be the one to speak first. His rank, his honor would require his silence. Even the most casual request would be overlayed by the appearance of a command. In matters such as these, the idea of forcing the unwilling, or even accepting what another thought would benfit his career was anathema.

"No, sir. I'm saying that I love you, have loved you, and will love you until I die."

Edward Pellew closed his eyes in relief thanking God he wasn't the only courageous man in the room. "Come here." It was the most exquisite order Horatio had ever been given. He stood and faced Edward who leaned forward and almost reluctantly kissed his lips. The Captain had dreamed of this moment and a small part of him feared that even this most wonderful man could not possibly live up to the fantasies he'd inspired. At the briefest touch of Edward's tongue, Horatio opened his mouth and sighed into his other half. His arms went around Edward for the first time and he stopped their kiss to put his head down on Edward's shoulder.

"Distance, time, our careers will separate us at some point. Please believe me when I say, I've come home." Horatio placed his hand over Edward's heart. I shall take up residence here and you will find it very hard to be rid of me. You are already in my heart and there you will find such joy as you never thought possible. The sea may divide us, but we shall never be parted." He looked up, his eyes shining.

"What can I say to such an earnest declaration?" Edward took Horatio's face in his hands. "From the moment I first saw you, I believed you to be the most beautiful creature I'd ever beheld. Imagine my astounding exaltation when I realized your soul was more than a match for your looks. If I were to search the world for the next ten thousand years, I could find no one to love but you. Welcome home, my dear." Edward was surprised when Horatio started to laugh quietly.

"I'm sorry. I was imagining what Mr. Styles would say if he'd heard you."

"Hit's about time!" They spoke together and laughed.

"It's been a long day, Horatio. Let's go to bed. The others will be drinking and swapping lies until dawn and won't be very observant in any case. We'll probably never have another opportunity as good as this one."

Horatio nodded, solemn once more and began to unbutton Edward's coat. They undressed each other in silence, their eyes saying all that was needed. His Edward was beyond beautiful. The man would have made a fitting subject for Praxiteles. His body was well-muscled and perfectly in proportion. Horatio watched in fascination as Edward slipped the silk ribbon from his un-braided hair. The molten darkness fell to just below the wide shoulders. It had been a long time since Sir Edward had indulged in the nude swims of his earlier days so his skin was pale. In the waning moonlight it glowed faintly.

Horatio was the darker of the two; though not as dark as usual. They gently touched one another, learning surfaces and textures as if they were blind. When Horatio's slender callused hands brushed over Edward's breast, the older man sucked in his breath and pulled his lover closer. At last they were skin-to-skin. Horatio put his arms around Edward's neck and kissed him. This wasn't the gentle gesture of a few minutes ago. Now, desire flamed in both of them. Their tongues battled for sea room as the deck seemed to sway under their feet.

Somehow they were beside, then on, the narrow bed. Edward winced involuntarily when his fingers encountered the scar of Horatio's most recent wound. Bending his head he kissed it as his lover's back arched. Their proud members pressed into each other, Horatio thrust his hips forward as he dove back into Edward's mouth. With the windows firmly closed, it was hot and sweat glistened on their skin. Horatio broke the kiss again and whispered. "Do not hesitate to love me in any manner that pleases you. I am yours for the taking, the only gift I have is myself and it would delight me beyond measure if you made me your possession."

Edward nodded. It was his turn to obey the sweetly implied order: make love to me, have me for your own. Sliding down as Horatio moved upwards, Edward placed his lips against Horatio's weeping member. At their touch, Horatio bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. His last coherent thought was that one day they would have to love each other where there was no need to be silent. He wanted to shout his ecstasy from the highest yardarm. Edward loved him, found him pleasing. Tears prompted by his indescribable happiness mingled with his perspiration.

Edward took Horatio into his mouth sucking forcefully. He wanted to drain his lover then refill him with all that he had. As Edward's rhythm evened, Horatio began to thrust gently into the humid confines while quietly whispering his approval. Their pace quickened and all too soon, Edward tasted the faintly sweet salty essence of his heart's delight. When he'd ceased trembling, Horatio lowered himself into Edward's arms and tasted himself on the lips and tongue which had nearly severed his mind from his body.

They slid around each other like dolphins at play beneath the waves. Horatio was now lying against the pillows. The incandescent look on his face stopped Edward's breath. "I must prepare you, beloved. I have no wish to hurt you in any way." He said softly.

"You could not, Edward."

The Captain opened a drawer below the bed and withdrew a small bottle. He'd kept it there for his own self-pleasure. There was enough left to get the job done. Pulling the cork with his teeth, Edward poured a generous measure into his palm and set the bottle on the deck. There was no need to warm the faintly scented oil. He began to apply it, making this necessity into an erotic overture. His strong hands smoothed the oil into Horatio's private entrance; his fingers stroking the ring of muscle which tightened then relaxed.

Edward reached for the bottle and emptied it. Dipping his fingers into the viscous liquid he inserted first one then another. Horatio's hips bucked upwards as he thrust himself against this most welcome invasion. Edward scissored his fingers, gently stretching the muscle walls as he probed more deeply. When his fingers brushed the soft cushioned center of pleasure, Horatio moaned low in his throat. The sound went through Edward to the depth of his soul. By the time the third finger was introduced, his lover's head was thrashing from side to side. His long dark hair tossing like waves in a tempest.

"Now, please Edward. I want you now." He murmured. Edward applied the remaining oil to his adamantine member and moved forward. Using his right hand he guided the moist crown into position and pushed gently. He was met with a brief, instinctive resistance then the way was clear. Their eyes locked onto each other. Edward slowly sank into the
incredible tightness and heat. His last coherent thought was to wonder if Horatio still had a fever.

Rocking his hips, Edward probed until he found that soft cushion once more. Horatio raised Edward's free hand to his lips and bit down gently before kissing each knuckle in response to the first shallow thrusts. Releasing his lover's hand, he hunched forward and Edward took him into his arms again. "I want to feel you, when you burst inside me, my love. Have me, before I ruin us by screaming."

Edward established a forceful pace. Their hips moved together in a dance that was as old as time, set to the music of their beating hearts and the faint whispers of the waves. Horatio knew he was losing himself, merging into his beloved's body, his soul, and that he would never again be the same. For the first time in his life he was genuinely loved for himself—not for his rank, his money, but for who he was. Their friendship would provide a secure foundation sustaining them between the rare moments when they could be together totally.

Edward's whispered endearments sounded in his ears. "You are mine and you possess all that I am or ever will be. I love you, Horatio. A missed stroke, Edward was nearing the moment of completion. Horatio covered his lover's mouth with his own. When the moment came, Edward's shout was muffled. They fell back still in each other's arms. The sheets were drenched.

"Thank you, Edward. I shall remember this for the rest of my life." Horatio said when his reason was restored to him. They lay quietly regaining their composure. The lovers would not be permitted the luxury of falling asleep together. Silence returned as they exchanged gentle kisses and touched each other in wonderment. Edward rose to his feet, mildly surprised that his legs could support him. He procured a small towel and wiped them down. Horatio shook his head when his lover prepared to replace the sheets. "Open the windows, beloved. The breeze will air the room. I'm still recovering my health." Horatio smiled wickedly. "Tonight I want to sleep in a bed that smells of our love."

Nodding, Edward pushed the casements outward and put on his nightshirt tossing Horatio's onto the bed. Climbing into his hammock, Edward turned to see his love watching with eyes transfigured by joy. Had Edward but known it, Horatio was looking into a mirror. As sleep took them they could still see each other's enraptured faces in their dreams. It would be so every night for the rest of their lives.

The End