Christmas in the Navy

Clang clang!

Archie Kennedy groaned and shifted in his hammock, officially deciding for the 800th time that there was no other sound he hated more than the blasted morning bell's incessant ringing. How dare it burst in on such a pleasant night's sleep, especially when he'd been up late finishing that game of whist, and especially when he…

Then the thought fell on him like a barrel of molasses.

Today is Christmas.

Archie shot up, hitting his head on the planked ceiling, but he paid no mind to the newly-formed throbbing lump as he jumped down and scurried over to the half-conscious form that was his best friend, Horatio Hornblower.

"Horatio!" he exclaimed, shaking him. "Get up, Horatio, you fool!"

"Was that the bell?" Horatio murmured sleepily.

"Of course it was, but that's not important. What's important is that today is Christmas!"

"Christmas, hmm, very nice." Horatio rolled over.

Archie rolled his eyes. Apparently, the spirit of excitement and good cheer that Christmas produced in him was not to be found in everyone else.

He watched his friend lie there peacefully in a vain attempt to catch a few more moments of sleep.

"I'll get it out of him somehow," he muttered, and stood up to get ready for the day.

*

Horatio splashed his face with cold water and furiously rubbed his cheeks, hoping the effort might wake him up. No such luck. He still felt as if lead weights were attached to his eyelids, and every pore of his being screamed for sleep.

Horatio slapped himself a couple times and stood up briskly. Rest was out of the question, and as such he needed to focus on the tasks of the day ahead.

He pulled on his uniform and hat, then carefully adjusted it in front of the mirror. When its position appeared proper, he stepped back and studied the reflection.

Horatio Hornblower, midshipman on His Britannic Majesty's frigate Indefatigable, future naval hero and admiral of the fleet.

Of course. Well, he had the dead-eyed, world-weary expression down cold. The mighty deeds would surely fall into his lap now.

Horatio sighed and climbed up to the deck, responding politely to the "Good morning, sir's" and various other respectful salutations from the crew. As he ascended the final steps into the chill open air, Mr. Matthews passed him by.

"'Morning, sir," he said cheerfully, "and a merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Matthews," Horatio said automatically. Then he blinked. Christmas? He looked down the stairway behind him, and saw the old sailor exchange the same jovial greeting with another man, who replied similarly.

A vague recollection of someone telling him that the day was, in fact, Christmas came to him, but the memory was as hazy and distant as a dream.

Then Horatio scanned the officers and seamen scattered along the deck, spotted one, and the events of the morning came crashing painfully down upon him.

*

Upon seeing Horatio emerge from below decks, Archie courteously concluded his talk with one of the other midshipmen and casually strode over to where his friend was standing, hands characteristically clasped behind his back and gazing into the distance. Archie stood a couple feet away, put his hands in a similar position, and stared straight ahead.

Horatio closed his eyes. "Hello, Mr. Kennedy."

A smirk planted itself on Archie's face. "Hello, Mr. Hornblower."

Silence. Some passing sailors, seeing the intense, dignified figure of Horatio and the exaggerated impersonation standing next to him, couldn't help but snigger under their breaths. Archie focused his attention on a seagull hopping about on the rail and waited for Horatio to speak. Finally, it came.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Kennedy."

"With that tone of voice, Horatio, you could've said 'The wind feels ominous, Mr. Kennedy' and I would not have thought twice about it."

"I'm very sorry you feel that way."

"I'm sorry for you," Archie mumbled. He glanced at Horatio, who was still intently watching the on-deck activity. "I suppose I was just looking forward to having someone to celebrate with." He laughed quietly. "Foolish of me, I know. This is the Navy. There's no time for holidays."

With that, he went on his way, leaving Horatio lost in his own thoughts and memories.

*

"Good king Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen, while the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even…"

The faint sound of hearty voices below singing the old carol barely reached Horatio's ears. He had been standing on deck for the past hour, his breath appearing as a foggy cloud, pacing back and forth. He often did so to clear his head in the evenings, but on this night, as he wandered about, his head seemed to get even more muddled.

I've always loved the idea of Christmas, he thought to himself, but that idea, in my life, has never transformed into reality. Yes—that's how he would begin his conversation with Archie. The man was his best friend—probably his only real friend on the Indy—and he couldn't bear having this absurd block between them.

"…to save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray…"

He heard the words becoming clearer and clearer, along with noise on the steps leading to the 'tween decks. Someone was coming up.

"Horatio! Come down and join us! You couldn't possibly hate the holiday that much!"

Horatio turned to find Archie standing on the top step, panting, with a grin on his face that always made him look more like a giddy schoolboy than a midshipman.

"Mr. Kennedy," Horatio said solemnly, slowly walking to where his friend stood, "I've been meaning to speak to you about our…misunderstanding this morning."

"All right then, Mr. Hornblower," said Archie, still grinning and over-enunciating Horatio's formal title. "Speak."

Horatio sighed and looked off into the distance, anywhere but Archie's face. "While I may always have loved the idea of the Christmas holiday—the love and peace on Earth—I suppose I never felt it myself. You know my mother died shortly after I was born, and my father, though a good man, did not know how to raise a child on his own. I was alone most every day, and the Christmas season was no different. I would receive grand gifts that my schoolmates might have killed for, and I would eat the finest meals and admire the decorations, but I felt nothing. It was all empty. Christmas never aroused any feelings of excitement in me—it was just another day of another year…another year without my mother."

Such a silence fell that for a moment, Horatio wondered if Archie was even there. He glanced over, and saw his friend watching him keenly. Their eyes met.

"I'm incredibly sorry, Horatio."

He looked down, pretending to be quite interested in the planks of the deck. "It's no matter."

"I'm afraid it is." Archie stepped closer. "You've just poured out your soul to me, and that's all well and good. Now you need to get your nose out of any horrendous Christmases you may have had, and begin with a clean slate. Starting tonight."

Horatio laughed. "Archie, this Christmas is nearly over."

"Sure, the day might be. But then you'll have three hundred and sixty-four more days to prepare for the next one."

"You never fail to amaze me."

Archie stood beside him and slung an arm around his shoulder. "I have a marvelous idea. How about the next time we get shore leave, you come to Lincolnshire and see what a real Christmas is like."

"What are the odds of you and I getting shore leave in December?"

"It doesn't have to be in December. Anytime when you can get a crowd of people who love one another together, it will feel like Christmas. And when you live with four grandparents, nine brothers and sisters, two aunts, and three dogs, it feels like it every day of the year."

Horatio gave a small smile. "I may take you up on that."

"Splendid. And bring your father, too. He might have forgotten what it feels like to have a festive holiday spirit." Archie began to head for the steps, then turned around. "Now will you come down? Unless you can't remember how any of these songs go."

Horatio grinned for the first time in a long while. "Oh, I think I can remember."