William Bush had always taken discipline as a given on board one of His Majesty's ships. He saw it as something necessary to its running, to keeping all the parts perfectly in order – discipline was the oil that kept the gears running smoothly. He was not one for high-browed idealism – life was not fair, and there was little that he, or anyone else, could do about it. One might even say that he had become hardened against the inherent unfairnesses in his profession, and was able to brush them off as necessary sacrifices for the good of the ship.
What had always amazed Bush about Horatio Hornblower was that for all his brilliance and strength, he suspected that his friend and captain had not been likewise hardened. He did not shirk from the need to bestow discipline on his crew, but he struggled with it in a way that surprised William. He remembered when Styles had been beaten – at one point, he had chanced a glance at Hornblower, his own face blank and impassive, only to see the captain struggling to keep such a calm and steady gaze. If he had not known Hornblower as well as he did, he might have thought him weak for clinging to idealism as he did, even as he desperately tried to hide it.
Funny how instead he thought him the strongest man he knew for just that same reason and wondered at his ability never to truly harden against the difficulties of their livelihood.
One evening, William thought that he nearly caught a glimpse of the answer. It was a cool night, though the wine they drank warmed them slightly as they relaxed in Hornblower's cabin. The captain had invited his first lieutenant to dinner, not an unusual request, and thanks to the friendship that had grown between them, William lingered after the food was long eaten, appreciating the time of shared company and relaxed protocol in a way that, before meeting Horatio, he would have never expected to have enjoyed. Afterwards, he couldn't remember exactly how, but one way or another, their calm conversation flowed to the topic of their experiences as midshipmen.
William chuckled wryly. "I must admit, my first week onboard didn't exactly go well," he admitted with a shake of his head.
Horatio, resting back in his own chair, quirked an eyebrow with curiosity and amusement, allowing himself a small smirk in the friendly atmosphere. "Really? Now I'm afraid you have me curious, Mr. Bush. Do tell."
"I slept through one of my watches, I'm afraid," William admitted, causing Horatio's other eyebrow to raise in order to meet his first, though this time more in surprise than amusement. "And I paid for it, let me tell you." He shook his head again.
"But you've always been so punctual."
"It's remarkable the lesson a good beating can teach you." It was William's turn to smirk.
But Horatio's face had suddenly darkened, or so it seemed in the dim light of the cabin. He gave a slight nod in response, but was clearly distracted. William frowned slightly, unsure of what to make of Hornblower's sudden change of mood, and made an attempt to somewhat change the subject. "It is probably entirely improper of me to ask-" William's smirk returned, for it was often a half-joke of theirs to hold onto propriety in even intimate and friendly settings such as this "-but dare I ask what punishments you weren't quite able to escape?"
This did not help Horatio's mood at all, though; as a matter of fact, his discontent only became clearer.
The silence stretched long enough that William finally became sure that his question was going to go unanswered, but before he prepared to change the subject for good with another comment, Horatio said quietly, "On my first ship, the /Justinian/," and it might have been Bush's imagination, but he thought he heard a note of contempt in the captain's voice as he spoke the name of the ship, "I spent some time in the rigging for fighting – or lying about fighting, depending on how you look at it."
A look of surprise that neared amusement came over William's face. "Fighting? You, Horatio?" Hornblower smiled, his tight smile obviously forced as he nodded.
"It's a bit of a story."
William shook his head. "Well, that's not so bad, anyway."
Horatio's expression became even gloomier and introspective, even his forced smile fading away. "No, no, it wasn't," he agreed quietly. William frowned and watched his friend's expression curiously, suddenly suspecting that they were not talking about quite the same thing. "There was much worse for others…" At William's perplexed expression he quickly added, "not from the ship's discipline, no, that wasn't it, but from…"
William watched Horatio closely, waiting for him to continue, but Hornblower's thought trailed off into nothingness, or at least was not expressed. Finally, though, he spoke. "It is a strange thing, Mr. Bush, to be treated unjustly, but at the same time to watch others deteriorate under worse injustices, ones you're not sure you want to imagine, especially so early in one's career. It's certainly a better lesson then being beaten a couple of times."
At that, Horatio fell silent, and a few moments later, he quickly changed the subject to one of ship's business. Their conversation continued for some time, but it was clear to William Bush that his friend's mind was elsewhere, his mind lost in whatever unknown memory had prompted his earlier words.
They were words that William found his mind returning to later that evening when he lay on his cot. He doubted that he would ever know what memories had prompted them, but the conversation had left him feeling a step closer to understanding his friend.
What had always amazed Bush about Horatio Hornblower was that for all his brilliance and strength, he suspected that his friend and captain had not been likewise hardened. He did not shirk from the need to bestow discipline on his crew, but he struggled with it in a way that surprised William. He remembered when Styles had been beaten – at one point, he had chanced a glance at Hornblower, his own face blank and impassive, only to see the captain struggling to keep such a calm and steady gaze. If he had not known Hornblower as well as he did, he might have thought him weak for clinging to idealism as he did, even as he desperately tried to hide it.
Funny how instead he thought him the strongest man he knew for just that same reason and wondered at his ability never to truly harden against the difficulties of their livelihood.
One evening, William thought that he nearly caught a glimpse of the answer. It was a cool night, though the wine they drank warmed them slightly as they relaxed in Hornblower's cabin. The captain had invited his first lieutenant to dinner, not an unusual request, and thanks to the friendship that had grown between them, William lingered after the food was long eaten, appreciating the time of shared company and relaxed protocol in a way that, before meeting Horatio, he would have never expected to have enjoyed. Afterwards, he couldn't remember exactly how, but one way or another, their calm conversation flowed to the topic of their experiences as midshipmen.
William chuckled wryly. "I must admit, my first week onboard didn't exactly go well," he admitted with a shake of his head.
Horatio, resting back in his own chair, quirked an eyebrow with curiosity and amusement, allowing himself a small smirk in the friendly atmosphere. "Really? Now I'm afraid you have me curious, Mr. Bush. Do tell."
"I slept through one of my watches, I'm afraid," William admitted, causing Horatio's other eyebrow to raise in order to meet his first, though this time more in surprise than amusement. "And I paid for it, let me tell you." He shook his head again.
"But you've always been so punctual."
"It's remarkable the lesson a good beating can teach you." It was William's turn to smirk.
But Horatio's face had suddenly darkened, or so it seemed in the dim light of the cabin. He gave a slight nod in response, but was clearly distracted. William frowned slightly, unsure of what to make of Hornblower's sudden change of mood, and made an attempt to somewhat change the subject. "It is probably entirely improper of me to ask-" William's smirk returned, for it was often a half-joke of theirs to hold onto propriety in even intimate and friendly settings such as this "-but dare I ask what punishments you weren't quite able to escape?"
This did not help Horatio's mood at all, though; as a matter of fact, his discontent only became clearer.
The silence stretched long enough that William finally became sure that his question was going to go unanswered, but before he prepared to change the subject for good with another comment, Horatio said quietly, "On my first ship, the /Justinian/," and it might have been Bush's imagination, but he thought he heard a note of contempt in the captain's voice as he spoke the name of the ship, "I spent some time in the rigging for fighting – or lying about fighting, depending on how you look at it."
A look of surprise that neared amusement came over William's face. "Fighting? You, Horatio?" Hornblower smiled, his tight smile obviously forced as he nodded.
"It's a bit of a story."
William shook his head. "Well, that's not so bad, anyway."
Horatio's expression became even gloomier and introspective, even his forced smile fading away. "No, no, it wasn't," he agreed quietly. William frowned and watched his friend's expression curiously, suddenly suspecting that they were not talking about quite the same thing. "There was much worse for others…" At William's perplexed expression he quickly added, "not from the ship's discipline, no, that wasn't it, but from…"
William watched Horatio closely, waiting for him to continue, but Hornblower's thought trailed off into nothingness, or at least was not expressed. Finally, though, he spoke. "It is a strange thing, Mr. Bush, to be treated unjustly, but at the same time to watch others deteriorate under worse injustices, ones you're not sure you want to imagine, especially so early in one's career. It's certainly a better lesson then being beaten a couple of times."
At that, Horatio fell silent, and a few moments later, he quickly changed the subject to one of ship's business. Their conversation continued for some time, but it was clear to William Bush that his friend's mind was elsewhere, his mind lost in whatever unknown memory had prompted his earlier words.
They were words that William found his mind returning to later that evening when he lay on his cot. He doubted that he would ever know what memories had prompted them, but the conversation had left him feeling a step closer to understanding his friend.