Duty & Dignity
Author's Note: When reading this keep in mind that I own none of the characters and have not finished reading all the Hornblower books, any event in here that did actually occur in the books is likely I just haven't read that particular book. I also do not know seamanship terms so just bear with me. The next chapter will be up soon, so until then please read and review, I have nothing against constructive criticism.
Chapter 1
The force with which the impact had on him was astonishing. The weight bore upon him and with a struggle brought the lieutenant down from the upper deck to the lower shot range. He could not get his bearings about where the t'gallants were, let alone the Spanish frigate. He could have been laying for'rard from the poop deck for minutes it seemed before he felt the cold sea wind sting his open muscle. Blood was trailing from both his legs and a thin line of red led a thin tear in his shirt to allow him to stare at an elongated would along his upper left pectoral.
Galbraith was running for'rard him to the main mast where the captain stood awaiting any being to give orders. Horatio's solitary fourth lieutenant gave him a passing glance and then ran to receive his commands. Galbraith was never one to spare an emotion and his demeanor took more than a few judgments to mentally piece together, though he never thought him to be as so cold to leave a dying soul with no help or chance of living.
Pain was becoming increasingly hard to ignore and the salt water did nothing to help that. Hornblower constrained himself to silence while others were content to thrash about on the blood stained decks. Thoughts of suicide from his early days onboard the "Indefatigable" were suddenly brought to mind and the thought of suicide seemed rather serene compared to the agony he was enduring. He could only imagine the endless hours of the poor lads who would make it to be under Clive's unfortunate care.
The "Lydia's stern was raking the side of the "Marie" as the two ships clashed and the sudden clang together separated all men from their thoughts. Horatio tried to get up, tried to reach his cutlass, tried to stop the boarding Spaniards, but all to no avail. A passing Negro looked down upon him and almost a touch of sympathy seemed to issue from his aura.
Suddenly the voice of Galbraith was heard from the crew, his voice carried near to the fort mouth. "The colonel is dead, do you surrender?"
The clash of weapons hitting the deck reached Hornblower's mind before everything began to black out and he lost the strength to hold his head up. Sounds became vaguely distorted and seconds seemed to pass as hours. The pain in his legs and chest were overpowering his will to stay awake…alive. Voices were overheard and Styles was holding his head, fingers were prodding his neck for some time before he yelled "Mr. Hornblower's still alive, sir."
Footsteps echoed in the distance as Clive came up followed by Laurie the surgeon. A gasp emitted from Laurie's throat, what he thought was Laurie's he couldn't be sure, and he knew that he was on the lesser chance of living through the ordeal he was about to embark through.
A sudden slicing agony passed across his chest and it felt like he was the driftwood for a bonfire, the charcoal for the flames with which cooked the vitals for his men. His coat was being removed and every layer of clothing he had under and around it felt like a new realm of hell. What he had done to be damned surpassed him and the thought of why he had been led to imagine that wouldn't leave his fatigued mind.
"We're going to need to amputate his left leg, most likely his right as well. Do you agree Dr. Clive?" Laurie stated. He tried to talk of the needed sutures on his chest before Clive cut him off after seeing Horatio was still conscious.
"There'll be no need to talk over this matter while our patient is unstable and should be immediately moved to sick bay. Mr. Styles if you would please order a man to fetch the stretcher and a few to carry it?"
"Right away sir. Liftly. Warren. Get over here, and get Mr. Olden to fetch the stretcher from sick bay." Styles bellowed.
Liftly immediately saw Hornblower's misshapen body and nearly gagged at the hideous sight before him. Warren was stronger but the sight of your comrade, even if higher in rank, lying before you with the prospect of suffering, infection, ultimately death, laid out in front of him, was not the sight to be rejoicing over. Mr. Olden came to them with the stretcher and Laurie looked about Hornblower, searching for a safe way to carry him without causing as much pain as to induce shock.
"Lift his shoulders over to the stretcher; Liftly, Warren you to the right, we'll get the left. Careful to avoid his pectoral." Laurie continued to direct the men like their captain would until they heaved Hornblower's limp form onto the stretcher with Olden down with the sorry job of moving the bloody tangle of thin calves.
With one last motion he was settled on the stretcher and Olden and Warren carried him to life station where he was forced to drink a tot of rum awaiting the numbness which would hopefully null the pure agony he was about to receive. Horatio waited in patience, savoring the temporary pain to the lifelong throbs, which would surely echo through his bones. Three more stretchers were brought down and with the fourth Laurie and Clive came behind it. Clive's stride was brought to a stop at his cabinet and with him he brought an array of knives and restraints to Hornblower's bedside.
"I hope you've had your tot of rum." Clive drones monotonously.
"Yes, the future hours I will be spending down here are going to spent with those knives I'm sure." He gasped. At this point every breath he took was shallow and pained him from every angle.
"Yes, I'm sorry to say but your leg wounds are too drastic, your chest wound will be an easy heal and we will attend to as soon as we finish with the other surgeries. There will be short relief with which I am truly sorry." With that he set to work with the restraints and called two officers to hold him down.
He hooked two restraints to each of his arms and one on his upper legs. Clive went about sanitizing the knives whilst Laurie poured more rum than he could manage into Hornblower's mouth. Making it rather hard to breath.
Clive sat opposite Hornblower and without caution dug the serrated edge of his saw into his left leg. His abdomen reflexively jumped to the sky and the midshipmen were having hardships holding him down. The knife's cold edge fell flat against his exposed muscle and created such a tension that he would rather be shot and damned eternally twice fold than endure this "surgery".
His pulse was racing and the heat around him was the devil. Seawater and gunpowder were his enemies, fighting to infect his stumps of his legs with gangrene. His chest wound still open and one leg still being sawed at he had grown used to the pain, but utter torture was something one never grew used to, even after hours of it. He could not bring himself to scream or fight the calloused hands that kept him in pain. Nor could he tell Clive to spare others lives and spare him the pain by treating a different patient… leaving him to die. No, he would endure; he had always endured and would not stop on account of an injury, though a life changing injury it was nothing special and no reason for him to be spared the life of pain when others had not. Endurance was a game and none played it better than he, he would persistently fight until there was nothing to fight for. With war raging, there was a cause and the cause was one nobody could abandon and he would fight for that.
