-This is another "HoratioJAM" written by posters on the
A&E fan fiction board (which is now dead).
By: Blackthorn, papergrl74, capital, dogwatch, Kiddo39
When the sword whistled over his head, Hornblower managed to
duck just in time. As it was, his luck and instinct had managed to save him
once more. Bolting to his feet, he jumped away from another blow. Before his
opponent could land another blow, he turned his shoulder into the man and
shoved him across the deck as hard as he was able. While he reganied his
breath, he took the chance and looked over his shoulder. He could see Matthews
and Styles forcing their way onto the quarterdeck with the help of some of the
ship's company, but still they were outnumbered. If they did not take the ship
soon, they would all be lost.
However did this happen? he wondered as he raised his pistol and fired at a
French seaman. The man fell to the deck and Hornblower turned his attention
back to the fray. It had been a good plan and one that should have been
frightfully easy. Board the Citoyen under the cover of darkness and, as they
had done so often in the past, cut her out and take her for England. Somewhere
along the line they had horribly miscalculated. The French had been ready for
them, but instead of coming right out and fighting, had let them board and
waited until they made their move. Now, the plan was in tatters. Hornblower
cursed anything and anyone he could think of. The one time for his nearly
legendary luck to fail him.
Turning, he hurried across the deck toward Archie Kennedy who had just shot one
of the Citoyen's senior officers and now found himself engaged with another.
ducking, Hornblower threw off the man who was charging toward him, then
continued on. Suddenly, he slipped on the blood slick deck and slammed into the
railing. Grunting in pain, he turned and pulled himself to his feet. A pistol
shot rang out and the wood railing splintered no more than an inch away from
his left ear. Quickly he turned and found himself face to face with the captain
of the Citoyen. The elder man held another pistol and had it aimed directly
between Hornblower's eyes. Another shot rang out and the man picthed forward.
Hornblower watched him fall, then loked back up. A tall dark haired man stood
no more than five feet away from him. He was dressed extremly well, all in
black with a beautifully tied cravat at his neck. Hornblower could not help but
frown in confusion. The man took two strides forward and grabbed Hornblower and
pulled him to his feet. Before he could managed a thank you the man spun around
and fired another shot.
"Try not to hit my men!", he cried over the din. The man did not
reply, but stepped further into the battle. Hornblower followed and in what
seemed like the blink of an eye the two men were standing back to back fending
off a half a dozen french sailors.
"Sir, it's ours!", he heard Matthews shout from somewhere behind him.
Almost immediately the French dropped their weapons and surrendered. Hornblower
was not sure what had just happened, but it appeared, for the moment at least,
that his luck had returned.
Moving toward the quarterdeck he was keenly aware of the tall man following
him. He looked up at Kennedy and smiled.
"All secure Mr. Kennedy?", he asked as he wiped sweat from his brow.
Kennedy nodded and offered him a salute. Hornblower gave Matthews and Styles
his orders as Kennedy hurried down the steps to join him.
"A friend of yours Horatio?", Kennedy asked and turned to the tall
man at Hornblower's left. Horatio scowled.
"I can only hope so Archie.", he replied, then held out his hand.
"Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower of His Majesty's Frigate Indefatigable,
this is Lieutenant Archie Kennedy.", he introduced quickly. The man smiled
and nodded before turning his attention to Archie. Archie nodded as well,
thinking that this man looked awfully familiar. With a grand gesture the man
bowed deeply.
"Percy Blakeney, at your service my dear Lieutenant Hornblower.".
My God! Percy, Percy Blakeney!" Archie said
dumbfounded. Then he turned to an even more astonished Horatio.
"This is my neighbor. Well he was until he moved away to the city,"
Archie said with a smile, the memories coming back to him.
Percy laughed as he regarded the two British officers.
"Oh Archie, you haven't changed a bit. I had heard you were in the navy,
but here?"
Horatio stood uncomfortably watching the two men converse. Somehow he didn't
quite trust this stranger. Something about him was not quite right.
Archie was all smiles now as he introduced Percy to Horatio.
"Horatio, did you know that Percy saved my life once."
He shrugged," No, I did not."
"Oh Archie, you call getting Miss Plumb to not marry you, saving
you?"
Archie laughed," Yes, especially after I saw her in-laws!"
This brought another round of laughter.
Horatio faked a smile as he announced," I need to tend to the men. Please
excuse me."
"Certainly," Percy replied as he watched him head aft.
Turning back to Archie he commented," I hope he isn't like that all the
time?"
"No," Archie sighed," He is just doing his duty."
"Oh," he answered, wondering what Hornblower was thinking about him.
"I must attend to my duties as well, but it was great to see you again
Percy," Archie said eagerly.
Percy smiled. "Yes you too Archie." He watched Archie join Horatio
and wished he could hear what they were saying about him.
Styles winced in pain as he got to his feet. The sharp pain
in his back told him something was wrong, terribly wrong. He reached a hand
behind him and tried to massage the sore spot.
Matthews saw this and quickly went to his friend's side. "Are you all
right lad?"
Styles grunted in pain as every move seemed to ignite the pain even more.
"I don't know. I know I didn't get shot."
Matthews stood behind Styles and studied his back. Placing a hand gently on his
spine he pressed down. "Does this hurt?"
A whimper escaped his lips as the pain exploded through his back and down his
legs. "YES!"
Matthews frowned as he took his hand away. "You didn't fall did you?"
Styles gingerly sat down on a barrel as he thought back to the battle.
"Come to think of it, I was pushed backwards. But it didn't hurt any."
"Oh dear," Matthews sighed. "I knew someone that did that once.
Hurt their back so badly they couldn't walk for 4 months."
"Four months!!!" Styles blurted out in disbelief. He stared down at
the deck in amazement.
Matthews patted him on the shoulder, trying to ease his pain. "Maybe it
will only be 3 months."
Styles growled and cast his angry gaze about the newly captured ship. Horatio
and Archie seemed to be conversing with a someone. Someone who was not part of
their crew. "Who is that?" he asked pointing his question to
Matthews. "I dunno," was all he could say.
"Better get back to the Indy and let the doctor take a look at that."
Styles only sneared and tried to stand up gracefully. Instead he had to grab
the rail and pull himself up. Now he couldn't even stand up straight. Hunched
over like a old man, he slowly limped toward Archie and Horatio. Matthews
watched with a twinkle in his eye and swallowed the laughter that was
threatening to escape his mouth.
"Calis-lis-thenics?" Styles exploded. Catching
Hornblower's eye, he reddened slightly and pitched his voice lower.
"Calis...uh, sir?"
"Not now, no indeed," the doctor, one very young and earnest Harry
Frick, assured him. "You'll have to stay down here, flat on your back, for
a good while. But, in the future, I think a regular round of morning
calisthenics would prove of great benefit for the ship's company. They're
rather novel--they improve circulation and posture."
"Sir--"Styles glanced at Hornblower, who nodded a bit absently.
Turning to the doctor, Styles tried to keep his voice from wavering, "I
don't even know what calisthen--calis--I don't know what they are."
Matthews snickered as the young doctor launched into an elaborate display.
Hornblower rose to his feet and walked to the entrance of the sick berth, past
the other wounded men. On the way, he turned to address one A.B., Davies, who
was groggily recovering from a concussion, but a black figure caught his eye.
Percy Blakeney, as dapper as ever.
With a fluid bow, Blakeney saluted Hornblower. "Captain Hornblower, I was
wondering if I may be of assistance."
Hornblower did his best to reprocate the handsome good will radiating from
Blakeney, and did manage, in part, to dilute the frown that edged onto his
face.
"The doctor will best direct you." And, with a painfully strained
smile and a "Thank-you, Blakeney," Hornblower strode past him, to his
quarters.
What was it about Blakeney that irked him? Was it the clothes? How did the man
manage to breeze through a skirmish and subsequent upheaval without creasing
his cravat? Beau Brummell himself would be put to shame. And he had obviously
excelled at his dancing lessons--he had superb poise and balance, even when the
sea pitched something awful.
Hornblower rebuked himself as he entered his berth. Whether Percy Blakeney was
in fact a life-size waxwork was neither here nor there--the question remained
about his presence on the French ship. That was highly suspicious. And he
dressed rather French, too.
Gritting his teeth, Hornblower resolved to forget about the adamant polish on
Blakeney's shoes, and to send for Kennedy.
When Archie was nowhere to be found, Horatio went in search
of him. It would not be a long search, the Citoyen was not a large ship. When
he stepped onto the deck he could hear laughter somewhere in front of him. it
came as little surprise when he discovered Archie standing near the bow of the
ship leaning aganist the railing. Beside him stood Blakeney, his back to
Horatio. Horatio sighed deeply and strode toward them.
"...and that was when I said, madame, at least I will be sober in the
morning.", Blakeney finished. Archie chuckled, then stopped abruptly when
he caught sight of Horatio. Blakeney looked over his shoulder slightly as
Archie approached his senior officer.
"Archie, a word, please.". Archie bowed to Blakeney then fell into
stride beside Horatio.
"Problem?", he began. Horatio did not stop walking until they were
well away from Blakeney.
"I should think. I know he's a friend of yours, but I find it rather odd,
Blakeney being aboard a French vessel.", he announced. Archie stopped for
a moment, his eyes lighting up.
"He could be a spy.", Horatio continued. Archie bit his bottom lip
fiercely, then shook his head slightly.
"Rubbish, Blakeney's no spy!", he insisted, wondering when Horatio
had gotten so paranoid. He had to admit, he did wonder about Blakeney's
presence aboard the Citoyen, but he figured a man as important as Blakeney
could have had a dozen reasons.
"Horatio, you don't know Sir Percey Blakeney. He is one of the richest men
in England and he happens to be one of Prince George's closest friends. He's a
fop, a dandy, but I can guarantee he is no spy.", Archie explained. As he
spoke Horatio had turned to Blakeney. The man was pacing back and forth leisurely,
looking up at the stars. For a dandy, the man fought very well.
"Besides, if you want to know what he was doing on this ship, why don't
you ask him?", Archie continued. Horatio nodded absently. Before either
man could move Matthews ran toward them.
"Sir, ships astern!", he cried. Horatio spun around and squinted into
the darkness.
"Damn!", he hissed, then ran for the quarterdeck with Matthews and
Archie following.
"Archie, get Blakeney below decks, I will not have a civillian, especially
a friend of Prince George's in any danger!", he ordered shaply. Archie
pulled up quickly and nodded. As he hurried to follow orders he wondered just
what kind of bee had flown into Horatio's hat.
Horatio pulled out his eye glass and turned his attention to the rear of the
ship. There they were, two French ships closing in on them... fast. They were
still miles away from the rendevous with the Indy. This was going to be close.
Archie approached his friend who had been watching him ever
since Horatio had interrupted their laugh. Percy could tell something was wrong
by Archie's look. "What is it?"
"Horatio, I mean Mr. Hornblower has ordered me to take you below," he said
feeling awkward. Percy smiled. "Well then you better take me below." Archie's
frown was replaced by a smile as he led the way. The ship wasn't very big and
Archie decided the best place for Percy was in the hold. As they entered the
dark room, Archie lit a candle. "Sorry Percy but Horatio doesn't want a
civilian on his deck. Well not with the French following us."
Percy moved some rope off a crate and sat down. "I understand. I just hope Mr.
Hornblower doesn't think I am a French spy."
With those words Archie looked at him puzzled. "Percy, why were you on that
ship?"
"Well, as you know I am good friend's with old George. He asked me to be a
diplomat and see if I could talk some sense into the frogs."
A sigh of relief escaped Archie's lips. Percy caught this and began to laugh
out loud. "Oh my! Archie, you seriously thought I was a spy!" Archie too began
to laugh. "Well the thought did cross my mind."
Their laughter was once again interrupted but this time by the distant sound.
Archie turned to leave but called out to Percy," Cannon fire, Horatio will need
me. Stay here Percy!" And with that Percy sat staring at the tiny candle as it
flickered in the dark.
Styles strained to see where the cannon fire had come from. The pain in his
back suddenly exploded once again and he cringed in agony.
Matthews came up behind him, knowing he was trying to hide his injury.
"Styles," he began concerned," why don't know you go below. At least until we
get back to the Indy."
Styles grunted as he struggled to his feet. "No. I can't leave. I have to do my
duty. You need me right now."
Oldroyd joined them, noticing that Styles couldn't stand up straight. "You
okay?"
Styles didn't care to let anyone else know how hurt he was and went to smack
Oldroyd. But lifting his arm sent the pain shooting through his entire
backside. He fell to the deck clinching his fists, as the pain grew more
intense.
Quickly Matthews and Oldroyd escorted Styles below, all the time listening to
him protest. As they entered the hold Percy stood up to greet them. "Good,
company," he said warmly and helped get Styles into a hammock.
Matthews gave one last look at his friend. "Take care of him."
Percy nodded in understanding and watched the two sailors go. Turning his
attention back to the big man he commented," Looks like we may be down here a
while. Think you can play cards?"
"Begging your pardon--" Styles was cut off at that
instant by another muffled boom. It was louder than the ones they had heard but
a few moments earlier.
"Is that us or them?" Blakeney asked.
"That's the Frogs, sir." Styles peered at the handsome man beside his
hammock. Oldroyd had said that Percy Blakeney, had been on the Citoyen when
they had taken her, but Oldroyd (and Matthews and Styles) had been preoccupied
at the time, and none of them had remarked upon this. Now that Styles was holed
up with the Blakeney cove, he couldn't help but wonder if the man was Roast
Beef or a Froggie. He squinted more intently, and a few more thuds boomed out
overhead.
"Those are closer. Are we firing?"
"I don't think so, sir. We'd likely hear it louder, and our gun carriages
besides." Styles twisted in his hammock uncomfortably, wincing as a few
more knives ground into his spine. He'd always done his duty up top, it pained
him to be cossetted down below like a big baby, and really, he had no idea what
was going on. The only thing that he could think to do was to keep talking, to
distract Blakeney, in case the man was a Frenchie and plotting to slit his
throat and then run up and stab Hornblower. But, if he, Styles, kept the man
talking--indeed, this sounded like a ruse. Styles cheered at the prospect of
being somewhat useful.
"What is he doing, then? Shouldn't he be firing back?" Percy
exclaimed. "Do you think that I--"
"Well, now, sir, the captain always has a cunning plan...and how about
them cards?"
Hornblower, at the stern, stared at the two ships firing at them. Confound
those Frenchies--they were still wasting their shot, but by less and less a
margin, and his own men were getting anxious. The Indy was still a few miles
ahead, probably a half-hour away. The wind was keeping steady, but the night
was falling fast.
Turning to midships, Hornblower called for more sail. With any luck, they might
steal the frog's wind. Their boats were better gunned, but the Citoyen might
prove more fleet. Of course, he might always try to disapear in the gloom, and
then serve one of them with a crushing broadside--a great number of daring
plans whipped through Hornblower's mind, but he shelved them quickly. The
French simply had more shot. As it stood, his stern guns were probably a good
match for the French forecastle ones, but a lucky shot could cripple the
Citoyen to a halt, and the French ships would bear down upon her, and the Indy
would be too far away.
"Kennedy!" he bellowed, whipping around. Another shot rang out, but
this one was not followed by a splash. Kennedy dashed up, followed by Matthews.
"Sir--"
Hornblower called out to four of his men, ordering them to the pumps.
"Kennedy, go to the hold, check the damage and--" here, he thought of
Styles and that Blakeney man, though they were stowed further
ahead--"cheerily, Kennedy."
"Aye, sir!" Kennedy nodded and darted away.
"Matthews--" Hornblower glanced up at the sails. They were very taut.
The wind was picking up. Two shots splashed into the sea to his left, a close
miss. How much canvas could the Citoyen bear?
"More sail! Top-gallants!"
The strange crashing sound made Blakeney and Styles stop in
mid play of the cards. Blakeney gave his partner a questioning look. Before
Styles could comment he spoke. "I better check that out," he stated as he set
his cards on the barrel they had made into a makeshift table.
"Wait! Sir!" Styles called out to the retreating man's back. But he didn't stop
and disappeared into the dark hold.
"Great! This is just bloody great! I am down here with this frog and can't do a
bloody thing about it!"
Styles squirmed in the hammock trying to sit up. Every tiny movement was met
with agonizing pain. With one loud grunt he forced himself up. Breathing hard
he looked about the small hold and heard something. Something he had heard
before. It was the sound of water rushing into the hole he knew the cannon ball
had made just a few moments before.
"Where is that blasted frog!" he muttered under his breath. Gingerly he swung
one leg out of the hammock followed by the other. The pain was not as bad if he
moved slowly. Pushing forward he tried to stand but his aching muscles failed
him and he crumpled to the wooden floor. Lying on his side he forced his rapid
breathing to slow down. "Think Styles, think!"
Suddenly he felt the icy touch of cold seawater. "Sir! Mr. Whatever your name
is! Someone help me!" he cried out, as panic started to take hold. He couldn't
swim and in his present shape he would surely drown. The water was getting
higher as he recognized the sounds of the pumps being worked. Little good it
would do him in the frigid water. He closed his eyes and silently prayed for a
miracle.
"Heavens! What are you doing down there, my good man?" a familiar voice rang
out. Styles opened his eyes and saw Blakeney standing over him with a huge grin
spread across his handsome face.
"I'm taking a bath! What does it look like I am doing!"
Blakeney laughed as he reached down and pulled the stiff man to his feet. "Can
you walk?" he asked, still smiling at him.
Through clenched teeth Styles spat," Of course I can walk! Next I'm going to
beat you to a pulp!"
Uproarious laughter escaped Blakeney as he and Styles made their way to the men
working the pumps. "I like a man with a sense of humor. I'm sorry I didn't
catch your name earlier."
Styles eased onto a barrel and regarded the strange frog. Either he was
beginning to like this bloke or the pain was causing his brain to malfunction.
Not waiting for Styles he thrust out his hand. "Percy Blakeney at your
service."
Styles shook his hand as he replied," Styles, temporarily out of service."
Percy erupted again in laughter as Styles decided this frog was a good frog. At
least for now.
Archie looked over his shoulder as he and one of the men
furiously worked the pump. Blakeney nodded slightly as he pulled off his long
coat and cast it aside.
"Gentlemen, I hate to say it, but I believe the Citoyen is a lost
cause.", Blakeney observed, regarding the water that was rapidly rising
around his boots. Archie shook his head. Not that he did not agree with
Blakeney's opinion, but he could not leave until Horatio gave the word. He did
not have to explain this to Percy. Blakeney looked at each of the men before
him then turned and sloshed his way toward the steps and disappeared onto the
deck.
Above, Horatio was doing his best to fend off the pursuing ships. Only a few
more mintues and then they would be safe.
"C'mon.", he urged the darkness before him. Other than cannon fire,
there was no answer.
"Excuse me Captain.", Percy's voice asked from behind him. Horatio
grit his teeth.
"Not now Blakeney.", he shot back, nowing he was not exactly
addressing the man properly. He figured he could make apologies if they managed
to make it out of this alive.
"Terribly sorry to trouble you Captain, but I think it would be best if
abandoned ship.", Percy offered, ignoring Horatio's last statement.
Horatio spun around on him, the anger in his face unmistakeable.
"Sir Percy, what makes you think that if we cannot outrun the French here
we can aboard a jolly boat?", he demanded. Incredibly, Percy smiled.
"I should think a jolly boat is better than the alternative.", he
replied just as another cannon roared overhead. Horatio turned as the shot hit
the water less than a foot away from the Citoyen. Percy remained non-plussed.
The two men looked at each other for a few moments then Horatio turned to
Matthews.
"Abandon ship.", he said simply and stormed away. Percy turned to
Matthews and the two of them went about making the jolly boat ready.
"Tell the men at the pump Abandon Ship,"
Hornblower barked at one of the midshipmen. The reefer nodded and dashed away
down into the hold.
Hornblower gave a few more orders and strode to the powder room. The jolly boat
was nearly ready, and the injured men were brought on deck, and his duties were
nearly fulfilled, and still, he could not shake off his fury. He should have
noticed that the Citoyen would not make it to the Indy--but it was Percy
Blakeney who had taken the initiative in this case. Also, had the sails been
increased earlier...
Now was not the time for regrets! (or for jealous rage sparked by gorgeous
dandies). He had thought of a plan, perhaps it was childish and peevish, but it
might help them.
Quickly, Hornblower scanned the interior of the powder room, saw that it was
well-stocked, and returned on deck.
"Matthews, have you finished? Come with me--" Hornblower pretended
not to notice Blakeney, who had turned to face him at this address.
"Collins, Hartley--Kennedy--all is set, Matthews?"
"Aye, aye, sir! We've got the sick and Styles in the boat--"
"There's just one more thing to do--follow me--"
Hornblower led them to the powder room. The Citoyen was starting to careen back
and forth; she was definetely lower in the water than before. Matthews turned
to Hornblower, "Sir, we've already stocked the boat for our muskets. Do
you want us to bring more?"
"We can't leave good powder behind."
Matthews, Kennedy, and the rest of the men nodded, somewhat hesitantly, as the
Citoyen tipped at a steep angle and swung back. Did Hornblower want all of the
powder? Why? There were at least half-a-dozen barrels of the stuff.
"Gentlemen--I fancy some fireworks." Hornblower smirked as he caught,
out of the corner of his eye, sight of Blakeney, edging towards the room.
"Let's give the French a little entertainment."
Quickly the extra barrels of powder were passed out. "Now
follow me!" Horatio called out as he went on deck. "Oldroyd, Matthews. Put
those aft by the wheel. Collins, Hartley to mid-deck. Mr. Kennedy, follow me to
the foc'sle."
The sound of someone clearing his throat made Horatio stop in mid stride. He
turned around to face Blakeney, who still had that stupid grin on his face.
"Did you need something?"
"I was just wondering what you wanted me to do with my barrel?"
"Um, yes," Horatio said straining to be polite," Come with me." The men did as
they were told. It was getting harder to walk on the sloped deck as the Citoyen
sank lower. "Archie, lay the fuse and meet up with Matthews. Make sure all the
barrels are tied together." Quickly Archie did as he was ordered, leaving Percy
to help Horatio.
"Do you know a fisherman's bend?" Percy asked.
"What?"
"Well I think a fisherman's bend would be the best way to strap these barrels
to the side of the ship."
Horatio looked at him dumbfounded. "Be my guest Mr. Blakeney," he said as he
step aside. With lightening speed Percy worked the ropes like a true sailor.
Horatio had to admit he was impressed.
Quickly they made there way aft and to the rest of the waiting men. "Ready Matthews?"
The older man nodded. "Good, then everyone off the ship. Light the fuse."
Matthews did as he was told and followed Horatio into the boat with the rest of
the men. As the shoved off they watched as one of the French ships overtook the
doomed vessel. Silently they observed the French boarding the Citoyen. Matthews
whispered," Should be getting close sir."
Suddenly an ear shattering bang broke the silence. The Citoyen went up in a
million pieces. Fire erupted on the French ship. The screams of men burning
echoed across the water. "Yeah!" the English sailors shouted in triumph.
"Excellent plan My. Hornblower," Percy congratulated. But Horatio didn't smile.
"Don't start celebrating yet. We still have to get back to the Indy. And in
case you haven't noticed, there is still one enemy ship out there."
Horatio watched as the ship burned. For a time all any of
them could see was the blazing fire. Then slowly the second ship appeared,
rising like a phoenix out of the ashes. Horatio shook his head slightly.
"Damn.", he muttered to himself and looked at the men around him.
None of them moved, waiting for his orders. As the French vessel got closer
Horatio's heart beat faster. This was *not* one of his better plans.
"Horatio?", Archie whispered expectantly. All Horatio could do was
shake his head. The ship was less than one hundred feet away from them. Horatio
turned and looked ahead, hoping beyond hope that the Indefatigable would
appear.
Next to Oldroyd, Blakeney sat in silence as he watched the ship get closer.
They would have to do something soon if they were to have any hope of getting
out of this. He'd been in a French jail and did not relish the idea of
returning. Reaching past Oldroyd, he touched Archie on the shoulder.
"Do you still have those fits?", he asked. Archie nodded solemly.
Already he had figured out what Percy was up to. Getting to his feet Blakeney
began waving his arms at the ship and calling out in French. Archie also stood,
but remained silent. Horatio watched in horror as the French captain moved to
the bow of the ship.
"Archie!", he hissed. Archie raised his hand slightly as if telling
Horatio to remain quiet.
Blakeney moved to the back of the boat and bowed to the captain above him.
Carefully, Archie made his way to his side. The boat moved closer and they
could see a half a dozen pistols trained on them. A ladder was then thrown down
and Horatio heard the captain order Blakeney to board. Percy tossed a quick
smile at Horatio as Archie grabbed a hold of the rope and began climbing. Blakeney
held the ladder and waited. Archie was halfway up the side of the ship when he
began jerking back and forth violently. Above him the captain a few members of
his crew watched in dumbfounded shock. Horatio kept his eye on the frogs,
waiting for one of them to shoot Archie instead of allowing the 'fit' to go on.
Slipping his hand to his side, he took up his own pistol.
The captain continued shouting at Blakeney, demanding to know what on earth was
wrong. Percy smiled and informed the man that Archie was possessed. In a flash
the captain aimed his pistol at Archie who, noticing his imminent danger
dropped himself from the ladder and into the water. The captain fired while
Blakeney yelled at him to stop, assuring the man that Archie was no danger to
anyone but himself. Although it did not exactly have the desired effect the
result of the stall was indeed a favorable one.
"Sir.", Matthews whispered and nodded to the waning darkness before
them. Horatio turned around quickly and finally allowed himself to smile. The
Indefatigable. Angry French voices turned to panic as the frigate moved closer.
From the Indy a cannon roared, missing the corvette by no less than a hand
span. Blakeney grinned.
"Do you still want me to come up there?", he inquired in French. No answer
was forthcoming from the captain as he stared in disbelief at the
Indefatigable. Percy let go of the ladder.
"I will take that as a no.", he added, then sat down and waited for
the French to surrender.
"Hey,", Archie called from the freezing water, "A little help
here.". Immediately Oldroyd and Matthews pulled him back onto the boat.
Despite his rather soggy exterior he was grinning.
"That has to be the stupidest thing I have ever seen.", Horatio
announced, then gave orders to pull for the Indy.
Captain Pellew laid down Hornblower's report and stared at
Hornblower, who met his gaze unwaveringly. Finally, after several seconds,
Pellew inhaled.
"Hornblower..."
"Yes, sir?"
Pellew cocked an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You are not a man of
exaggeration."
Hornblower held his gaze, resisting the urge to shake his head.
"And you have yet to resort to fiction, am I right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, I suppose..." Pellew cast his eyes upon the report on his
table. Hornblower had spent much of the previous night (after coming aboard the
Indy and giving a short verbal account), in composing it, and had then given it
to Captain Pellew at dawn. And Pellew, over a mug of watery weedy coffee, had
read and re-read the document, particularly the sections concerning Kennedy's
fit and the French's subsequent flight.
"...there are stranger things," Pellew concluded. A hint of a smile
crept onto his face. Hornblower pretended not to notice this. "You are
dismissed, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
Hornblower bowed and turned to go, not before seeing Pellew's faint smile
harden as he addressed the midshipman waiting outside the open cabin door.
"Send for Blackeney."
"I say," Matthews smirked, "I thought you was a coddled pet, and
then them frogs panicking when Kennedy pulled his fit was more of a jest--but,
now, I'd wager that them frogs would have a good laugh now."
Styles nodded, fidgetting uncomfortably. The good young doctor Harry Frick was
trying a new technique recently developed in Edinburgh. He had procurred a
board, roughly Styles' height and width, and he had strapped Styles in it,
upright. This new predicament embarrassed Styles completely.
"You look like one of them wrapped up dried up chaps from Ancient
Ee-gypt."
"Please, Matthews--" Frick scurried over, "do not distress poor
Styles. He is in much pain."
"Oh, no, Doctor! I was lifting his spirits."
Styles offered a wilting grin, as to indicate that his spirits were indeed
lifted.
"See, Doctor, the man loves a good joke. Just the thing for him and his
spine."
"Oh, well, then," Harry Frick smiled apologetically, "I've much
to learn about the humour of the valiant sailor." He beamed upon them both
and left them.
"Hey," Styles whispered, "what about that Blackeney character?
What did they do with him?"
"I dunno. Maybe he isn't a frog."
"Well, if he is, they ought to hand him over to Frick so he can clap him
up here and fix HIS back."
Percy Blakeney stood before Captain Pellew looking rather
aghast. "Very well, Captain. I take your point. Rest assured I shall not
interfere, as you put it, any further with your officers and their duty. If
that is all, I beg your leave." Bowing respectfully he backed toward the door.
"Yes, Sir Percy, that is all. Good day." Pellew's tone was even icier than it
had been during his earlier rebuke of the gentleman standing on the other side
of the table.
Blakeney closed the cabin door behind him and whispered into the breast pocket
of his jacket. "I fear the captain has no sense of humor, Franny. What say we
try to find someone who might appreciate our company?"
At the sound of his name, Franny poked his little brown and white head out of
Percy's jacket. His master patted him quickly and gently pushed him back
inside. "Careful, my boy. Somehow I think your presence on board might cause an
even greater uproar than mine."
****************************
Beads of perspiration dotted Styles' forehead as he remained lashed to what he
now called "the rack". He had to admit the pain in his back was lessening but
it was incredibly annoying being practically immobile. True he had the use of
his arms and he could move his head but the rest of him was firmly strapped to
the board by yards and yards of strong cotton muslin.
Matthews was now back on deck attending his duties leaving Styles alone to
stare at the dismal walls of the sick berth. With nothing better to do Styles
decided to try to get some rest but just as he was about to drift off a
familiar voice filled the room.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't old King Tut himself!"
Style opened his eyes to see Blakeney standing right in front of him, his mouth
stretched into an absolutely foolishly large grin. He simply closed his eyes
and replied, "Nice to see the cap'n didn't keelhaul ya yet, Sir. Would've hated
to miss that."
Blakeney laughed heartily. "At least YOU still have a sense of humor, Styles.
More than I can say for your captain!" Franny popped his head out of Percy's
jacket once again and let out a small yip. The strange sound caused Styles to
quickly open his eyes. Eyeing him from Blakeney's chest area was what appeared
to be a very small dog. The animal was brown and white with two enormous ears
covered in long, feathery hair, which stuck out on each side, giving them the
illusion of wings.
"What on earth is that?" queried Styles.
"I do believe you mean, WHO on earth is that, Mr. Styles. Please allow me to
introduce you to Francoise, Franny for short, undoubtedly the smartest dog in
all of France and England."
Styles began to chuckle. "What, that little runt, the smartest dog in France
AND England. Ya must be jokin'!"
"I assure you, Mr. Styles, I am not joking."
Styles stared at the little dog in doubt. "You're telling me
that," he pointed his finger at Fanny," that dog is smart!"
Percy laughed out loud," I knew you would cheer me up, old boy!"
Styles twisted in discomfort as Percy pulled Fanny out of his pocket and set
her in his lap. "How about a test then?" A grin of mischief crossed Styles face
as he nodded in agreement.
Percy began looking about the room. "I know!" Styles said with delight. "If
that dog can fetch me Oldroyd's secret stash, then you have convinced me."
Percy caressed Fanny tenderly. "What is Oldroyd's stash?"
"Well," Styles continued lowering his voice," in his bunk he has the best beef
jerky I have ever tasted. He won't share it with anyone, selfish pig!"
"Yes, yes," Percy said as he continued to pet Fanny. "But how do you know it is
the best if he won't share?"
A smile of pure delight spread across the big sailor's face. "Let's just say I
found it by accident like and leave it at that."
"Very well." Percy picked up Fanny and held her up so he could look her in the
eye. In a totally serious tone he said," Fanny, I have a mission for you. Find
beef jerky. Do you hear my? Find beef jerky. I know you can do it girl! You are
the best sweetie." Gently he set the tiny dog down. "Go Fanny! GO!"
Like a flash of lighting Fanny sprang into motion. In seconds she was gone from
the room.
"Wow, that little bugger is fast!" Styles blurted.
Percy only smiled knowingly and pulled out his pocket watch.
Horatio stood at watch on the quarterdeck. After his session with the captain
he was in a bad mood. He paced in front of the wheel, watching every movement
of his division below. He already yelled at Oldroyd once today for being to
slow. With Styles out of action , the rest of the men had to work harder. "D@mn
French anyway," Horatio muttered under his breath.
Oldroyd stopped to stretch his aching arms. Peeking up he caught Hornblower's
look and jumped back into moving the heavy ropes.
"Matthews," he whispered still working.
"Wot do you think is buggin' him?"
Matthews only frowned. "Doesn't matter as long you do your share."
Oldroyd quickly pulled the arm full of ropes to the other side of the Indy.
"Everyone is ina bad mood!" he said to no one.
The dinner bell sounded and Oldroyd sighed in relief. Quickly he headed below
and to his secret stash. It was his habit now to get a bite of beef before his
real meal. This way no one saw him pull the succulent meat out of its hiding place.
Nearing his bunk he thought he heard a strange sound. As he got closer the saw
his stash moving. "Wot!" he exclaimed in surprise as Fanny sprang from the
bunk, carrying a sack in her mouth.
"Rat! Rat!" Oldroyd began screaming in anger. "Come back 'ere!"
Fanny bolted up the stairs and out to the quarterdeck. Horatio never saw what
hit him as the little dog flew past, knocking him off balance. By the time
Oldroyd reached him it was too late. He stood over the unconscious Hornblower
and wondered how he was going to explain this.
Styles and Percy had heard the sounds of men yelling and sat in anticipation.
"You think its ok?" Styles asked worried.
"Yes, she is fine. And if you would please refer to IT as a her, I would much
appreciate it." Before Styles could reply a white and brown blur fly into the
room, jumping into Percy's waiting arms.
"Oh Fanny!" Percy cried in relief. "I knew you could do it sweetie." Styles
took the packet from the dog's mouth and opened it. "Have a piece?" he said
wickedly.
Percy smiled and placed Fanny back in his pocket. "Don't mind if I do. But I
think Fanny deserves the first piece!"
Hornblower stirred and awoke groggily. It was a few seconds
before he realized that he was not in his cabin, and a few more before he
realized that he was in the sick room. And, then, slowly (amidst much pounding
inside his head), he realized that he was indeed a patient.
He tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea checked his attempt. Clenching his
jaw, he struggled upright and glanced as the room swam around him. There were a
few lamps lit, and some wan daylight coming from a porthole, and these points
of illumination swirled and multiplied. Feeling his stomach flip, Hornblower
decided that the best way he could serve his ship was by quietly recovering in
the least uncomfortable position possible, and so he laid back onto the bunk.
"Doctor--" he croaked. His mouth felt full of sand. Raising one hand
to his aching head, he touched a veritable turban. Panicking, he called for the
doctor, but no sound came out. He slapped the bed with his hand, and the blow
resounded painfully.
"Hornblower! Sir!"
That sounded like Styles! Hornblower twisted and craned his neck.
"Over here, sir!"
"...Styles..." Hornblower was pleased to find his voice; he did not notice
that Styles was rather oddly wrapped up like John Donne in St. Paul's.
"Can't move, sir! Nor can you, actually. You've had quite a clout."
"How long?"
"Almost two days."
At this, Hornblower wrenched upright--his head protested, but he stayed up and
eased his legs over the bed to the floor. He was clad in a nightshirt, he
noticed with some disgust. Someone must have undressed him. What a sorry state
of affairs!
He took to his feet like a toddler of ten months. The ship underfoot leapt
about as though she was in a tempest. Grimly, he calmed himself--he had started
his career, after all, by being sick at anchor; he was hardly a natural sailor,
and it was understandable that he had lost his sea legs. By clinging to the
bunks and other fairly solid fixtures, he made his way to Styles, who was
propped up in the corner of the berth.
"What happened?"
"Oh, Oldroyd says that you tripped over a rat
"Styles--" Hornblower tried not to glare at him.
"But, sir, it's true! Ask Oldroyd yourself!"
Hornblower eyed Styles for an instant. The big sailor was not a complicated man
to read, and Hornblower could tell that he was in earnest.
"Very well, Styles. But I'd still like to talk to Oldroyd. Run up and
fetch him." Hornblower permitted himself a small smile.
Kennedy heard a whisper as he was about to enter the officers mess. He glanced
about and saw an elegant, gloved hand beckon him.
"Percy!"
"Shhh!" Percy cautioned.
Kennedy trotted over to him. "I haven't seen you for days! Where have you
been?"
"Oh, here and there, at the races, on Rotten Row, on Polish
Street..." Percy snickered and Kennedy grinned in reply.
Actually, Percy had been here and there, about the ship. Stung by the dressing
down given to him by Captain Pellew, Percy resolved to cloister himself, and
soon found out how hard it was to do this on a ship teeming with men. He dined
with the officers, and slept in one of the lieutenants' quarters, but otherwise
kept away, dividing his time between the sick berth, a sliver of the
quarterdeck (by unspoken agreement with Pellew, they each kept to opposite
sides of the deck when their presences coincided there), a bit of the hold, too
much of the head. He tried to be friendly with the hands, to pass the time a
bit, but this association was withered both by difference of rank and by
unspoken disapproval of Pellew, and, in short, he was living a fairly miserable
experience. The French officers in chains in the hold were scarcely worse off
than he. Most of his time he spent with Styles (quickly leaving when other
company arrived) or in his tiny lieutenant's cabin teasing Franny.
He had mentioned the French officers during his interview with Pellew, and it
was this precise subject that had purpled Pellew's countenance. Blakeney had
offered to question them, as his French was perfect, and Pellew responded by
forbidding him near that section of the hold. The marines guarding the
prisonners were warned to keep Blakeney away.
So, the little dog was his only consolation! Blakeney sent her on all sorts of
little missions, fully trusting her abilities of discretion. And each task
(except that concerning Oldroyd's jerky) was doubled by a command to "put
it back." Stealing on a ship was a serious crime, and Percy did not want
himself or his dog to dangle from the yardarms, but he was so bored!
And then, this morning, Franny had disappeared! He had sent her off on a rather
audacious task, judging her worthy of the challenge, but she had not come back,
and he was sick with worry. And, though he was not prepared to tell Kennedy
about the dog, he needed to talk with him. To ask him a few questions.
"Kennedy, I've been keeping to the shade--a small matter, really. My
rendez-vous with the captain wound up a frost, and so I'm banking that absence
will make the heart grow fonder in my case. After a few years, I will be warmly
enfolded in the captain's navy-clad arms as the son he never had."
"I can't understand why Captain Pellew would be so harsh," Kennedy
exclaimed. "After all, it was your idea to abandon ship, and to scare off
the second ship. Not to mention the fisherman's bend."
"True, true," Percy waved his gloved hand airily, "but it was
rather forward of me. Anyhow, I was wondering if the captain keeps to a
schedule--I've noticed that he goes up on the quarterdeck at dawn, and so
forth, I won't bore you, but if I knew his pace, I could keep my phizz out of
sight and yet lead something less of a hermit's existence."
"Oh, of course!"
"So, for instance, when is he most likely to be in his cabin? Or,
conversely, least?"
Blakeney peered into the dim sick-room. The doctor was on
board contorting the sailors with stretching exercises.
Hornblower appeared to be asleep. Excellent. Blakeney smiled. He had nothing
against the lieutenant, he admired his perserverance and courage, and he still
hoped that relations between them would lose a bit of ice, but he could not
forget that Hornblower was an obstacle.
Gingerly, Blakeney tip-toed into the sick room, gazing at Hornblower, turning
excuses over in his mind should the lieutenant suddenly crack an eyelid or
stir. Hornblower's accident had made his, Blakeney's, life, more constrained,
but, fortunately, Hornblower was sleeping a lot, and very soundly.
The lieutenant was presently on his back, his head wrapped up in bandages, his
arms, on the outside of his bedclothes, primly clasping them to his sides. His
chest rose and fell evenly.
"Like a little nun..." Blakeney murmured, creeping past to Styles.
"Oy!"
"Shhh! musn't rouse the young turk from his peaceful repose..."
Blakeney whispered.
"You've been a stranger, sir." Styles hissed back.
"I'm sorry to deprive you of my company, old boy, but the lieutenant will
recover faster without it."
"He's a good sort, sir. A bit stern, but sterling."
"Yes, but we don't see eye to eye. Anyway, have you seen Franny?"
Styles shook his head. "Not since the last of the jerky."
"She's gone missing. If she winds up in here, please tell her to, ahem,
"go to daddy"--and don't tell anyone else about her. Having a dog on
board would slam me in the good captain's blackest books."
"Aye, aye."
"Thank-you, Styles." Percy clapped his hand on the sailor's shrouded
shoulder. "You're a fine chap."