Part 2

Part 2

"Sir, if I may add...when I was in the boat, I overheard the argument between Foster and Hammond which led to the challenge. I must confess that their conduct left something to be desired. Perhaps Foster resents my witness?"

Pellew shook his head. "There's got to be something more. Pray that Mrs.Pellew will manage to drag it up."

"I hope so, Sir," Hornblower nodded, remembering her keen brown eyes, so similar to the captain's, who routinely picked out rust and frayed lines, the most distand and faded of ships' colours and the smallest points of decay in dim light. If Lady Pellew could match her husband's powers of acuity, then both Pellew and he were safe.

Pellew eased back in his chair. "Perhaps Susanna is right," he pondered, "maybe Foster is jealous. Of me. But what does this have to do with Horatio?"

Hornblower, surprised at hearing such familiarity, shifted in his seat, causing a loud creak. Pellew was snapped out of his thoughts; he turned to face Hornblower, whose eyebrows were well raised by the two first names.

"What do you gape at, Hornblower?" Pellew chided with a mixture of amusement and irritation.

"S-S-Sir?"

Susanna Pellew stirred her tea, slowly, waiting for a break in Lady Gertrude Hood's monotonous and eminently predictable accountings of her wastrel son and his nitwit wife, with all that they had given him, to have squandered everything, and turning then, inevitably to yet another teary account of her dearly beloved daughter's unfortunate demise in childbirth these past seven years. Susanna paused to ready herself for the coming remark, which never failed…

"Like you, she was, Susanna, such a lovely creature," Gertrude looked back from the bay windows where she had been peering to look directly at Susanna. "Reminded me of you, my dear, have I mentioned this?" she pursed her faded lips so as to keep them from trembling and dabbed at them with her damask napkin.

Only each and every time I see you, dear lady, thought Susanna to herself, and then reached over and gently clasped her wrinkled hand across the table. "You are so kind to think so, Gertrude." She smiled softly and saw that she had her chance. "And I am always so pleased to have an occasion to visit with you whenever I am in Portsmouth - even under such trying circumstances as now seem to-"

"Oh now, don't you worry your lovely head about that, my dear," Gertrude piped in eagerly. "Alfred's not mentioned the details to me, God knows, but your husband, dear me, if there was ever anyone beyond reproach, it must be Edward Pellew. Such a man, a tribute to the service, you know, not like my Oliver, sorry to say, that philandering scoundrel - even tried to be an actor, did I tell you that? The horror! As if the baronetcy was not enough for him, then finally the service, and all of it a wash…disgrace to his father he is, to say nothing of my ancestry - oh dear, I've run off again, haven't I. Just seeing you, my dear, imagining that blossoming family of yours, that gallant husband of yours, your good fortune in having been so blessed." Gertude sighed.

"We are, dear, indeed we are. And from what you know of my husband, why you can imagine his distress. His honour is at stake here, not just his command. And the reputation of Indefatigable, and its officers. And now dear Lieutenant Hornblower is targeted as well," said Susanna.


"Hornblower? I seem to recall that name - do I recall that name? You know, I had to stop reading the gazette some months ago - my eyes you know - old age, my dear, the print is just too small for them nowadays, but he was gazetted not too long ago - a name like that, a busybody like me, why I never forget a name! My Welsh background, you know!"

"Yes, it was him. The fire ship attack on Gibraltar - he was promoted afterwards. Such bravery! My husband sees great things for him, and, like Edward, he too is without any stain of dishonour -- why the very notion offends them both utterly, you must believe me."

"Of course, my dear, of course. Go on, then."

"Someone is either trying to frame them, or possibly set a trap for someone else," and here she paused, looking about to insure they were alone in the Hood's tastefully furnished sitting room. They were - no servants even, the maid having removed to go and refill the teapot. And how this gesture excited Gertrude - intrigue! She had long since lost interest in her husband's career, for all its glory, pomp and circumstance, as it was now utterly boringly and filled with complacency. Her husband had long since lost interest in sticking his neck out - except to make sure that it was still duly attached to both torso and head, and had likewise lost interest in explaining any of the Admiralty's goings on to her. And stories of maneuvres and battles could never be her cup of tea - though, make no mistake about it, she was immensely proud of dear old bewigged Alfred. But political intrigue - lo, that was something else entirely. She took the bait. "Who, my dear child? Who is it?"

"Well, now that Captain Foster has stepped in-"

"Foster, that noisome little windbag!!! Dear me, is it he who's got the reins of this now?" Gertrude bellowed.

"Gertrude, you shock me!" cried Susanna, her hand to her mouth. "But, I confess, you are too, too funny! Yes, he is conducting the investigation - taken up lodging in Edward's cabin, no less! And Edward tells me that now he intends to hold Hornblower responsible for the espionage, as he was the one found the steward, mortally wounded with the dispatches in his possession. But it cannot hold up under scrutiny, for God's sake, this is all a mockery!"

"So, then why is it happening? What is behind it, is that what you would like me to hustle up for you, my child? Lord, how I love to call a spade a spade!"

"Dearest Gertrude, if you could find out anything, anything at all. Edward is held captive on board Indefatigable - he is not permitted to leave. Why, you may be our only chance of uncovering the reason for all of this," said Susanna.

"And they've not appointed a new Captain to Impetueaux, you say?" Gertrude recalled, as Susanna nodded. "and Foster is happily scavengering his way through your dear Edward's quarters by now - leaving Dreadnought all to its own -" and then she paused. Wait a minute, she thought. Had not Alfred mentioned something about a disturbance on board Dreadnought? She recalled it because there had been such fury in his voice as she overheard him browbeating some unlucky mignon - the poor lad who'd had the misfortune to have been the messenger of such a notice. What had he said, something about Foster having had his comeuppance due him at last? Good God, that could be the key. Susanna was staring at her intensely, those huge brown eyes so filled with hope.

"My dear, while I cannot tell you the details - twouldn't be proper, of course, I will say this. I think there may be two birds at play here - your Edward's ill-fated and turncoat steward, and something to do with the Dreadnought. I think Alfred needed to get Foster off his ship for a reason - a reason that Foster would not find to his liking if he knew it to be so."

Susanna gasped. "Could it be?" she clasped her hands together.

"Tell your dearest Edward that while this poppycock nonsense is troublesome, it may well be for the greater good of the service, and if he can bear to suffer it awhile longer, he may well end up assisting my Alfred in something else entirely." She placed her napkin on the table. "I will do my best Susanna. I will try to engage him in conversation on this - you never know, it may work. It will probably give him an apoplectic fit to find me so suddenly interested, or else perhaps it may actually get those smoldering coals that are left of our marriage a bit of a boost. He is a good man, you know, you do know that, don't you. He is just following the rules - protocol, my dear. Alfred never met a rule he didn't like."

"Surely, my dear Gertrude, surely. And you do you remember that beloved saying of my Mother's don't you -where there's smoke…."

"Yes, love, so it was. Indeed." Gertrude smiled at the memories. "Your Mother, my best friend she was."

Susanna rose and went to embrace her shoulders. "I cannot thank you enough! If you could get word of any news you obtain to me at the Mermaid, I should be so grateful! I shall see you soon, promise!"

Two man-servants, quaking a bit under the butler's eye, gracefully presented Lord and Lady Hood with the desert, a pudding, and proceeded to spoon out two portions. Lord Hood nodded absently, and Lady Hood smiled benevolently, though she privately thought such deliberations were ridiculous without guests. It would be far simpler for someone to prepare two portions in the kitchen, requiring one servant, and not three. But, Lord Admiral Hood was a stickler for form even in his hours of leisure, and he had qualms about letting his servants go soft. He said that the Navy had given him an appreciation for routine and discipline. Sometimes, though, Gertrude wondered if he was rather more strict with the servants than with his captains.

"Alfred--"

Lord Hood glanced up, his spoon poised in front of his mouth. "Yes, my dear?"

Gertrude sighed softly. "Oh, Alfred, I'm much distressed."

"Good God, Gertrude," Lord Hood lay down his spoon with a clatter, "That--our son--what has he--"

"No, no, it's not Oliver."

"For once, it's not Oliver," Lord Hood grumbled.

"I am having tea with his Margaret next Tuesday, just to remind you."

"I offer my regrets; I will not be present."

"No, of course not," Gertrude smiled. Admiral Hood was made out of iron and oak, and his daughter-in-law of nothing more substantial than a perfumed breeze, yet she had the courage and resolve to stand up against him. The two never saw eye to eye, though Hood once grudgingly admitted that "The hoyden has some brains in her box, but she flies them all at me, and then there's none left to manage her affairs." At any rate, the two usually conducted their interviews in anger and spite, and consequently, Hood avoided her save in larger company.

Gertrude sighed again.

"My dear, are you trying to be winsome?" Lord Hood winked at her.

"Alfred, it's this dreadful business with that boy."

"So it is Oliver."

"No, it's--" Gertrude fished the rather unfortunate name out of her progidious Welsh memory--"Horatio Hornblower. He's a lieutenant, I believe."

"Aye, with Pellew and the Indy. Brave lad, crawled aboard a fireship and steered her away from the harbor. Captain Charlie Hammond saw it with his own eyes, and pressed the Board to confirm Hornblower's commission."

"Hammond's a good man, though a bit hot-tempered. I'm surprised that it wasn't Foster that addressed the Board, though. Lieutenant Hornblower saved his life."

"Yes, well, my dear," Hood chuckled, "Foster can't keep track of everyone who pulls him out of the sauce. A brave man, but reckless."

"Would you say that he's a good captain, Alfred?"

Lord Hood paused, thinking of the business with the Dreadnought. The Impetueux was not the only ship plagued with discontent. Many of the ships in his squadron were filled with men who were too idle. There was the usual problem of mutiny, but other things were festering. That spy, for instance. A man on the Indefatigable, and not the Impetueux, but Hood had no doubts that there were at least twenty more hidden away in the Impetueux. He regretted very much the fact that he himself had recommended the spy for Pellew's employ. Where had that man come from? With such a favourable reputation? Lord Hood wracked his brains for Fiennes' provenance, but failed to remember. One of his subordinants would know.

Thus relieved for the instant, Hood remembered Gertrude's question, and hauled his thoughts back to Captain Foster. Why had he thought of the Impetueux? Was it because her mutiny was more striking? Good knows what those men were up to now. But--the Dreadnought--ah, yes, the Dreadnought. Yes, there was some rancour simmering there, too. Rumour had it that, during a long bout of half-rations, Foster had seized two sides of beef off a plague ship, and that these were mainly reserved for the officers. The crew might have been appeased had they'd been served a more decent share, but the scraps that wound up on their wooden trenchers weren't half enough to distract them from the fact that they might be infected. Of course, the infection never struck, the plague, that is.

"To answer your question, Gertrude, the man in many ways is a fine captain. He's brave and larger-than-life--he's quite the idol, you know, Dreadnought Foster, and maybe he runs his crew and ship a bit hard, and heaven help others in his grasp--he's sunk many a ship, but many a ship under him."

"And the Dreadnought?"

"Unfortunately, the man has no patience for details." Hood wiped his mouth clean with his napkin and turned to the butler, motioning to his empty plate. "A second helping--" The butler nodded. Hood addressed his wife once more, "But why are you so concerned about Foster, Gertrude?"

"I'm not. But I wish he wasn't so venomous against poor Lieutenant Hornblower. Hardly a way to treat someone who's saved your life."

Lord Admiral Hood leant forward, rising slightly off his seat. "Hardly a way--Gertrude--what is that Foster up to?"

Pellew paced the quarterdeck, more restless than usual. All this business of spies and mutiny left a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. How he longed to be on some mission out to sea with the wind pushing his beloved Indy to her next adventure. Lost in thought he didn't notice Kennedy's approach.

"Captain Pellew, sir?" he spoke softly.

Pellew almost didn't hear him. He turned and regarded the young man. Good god, Kennedy was as white as a ghost! "Are you well Mr. Kennedy?"

Archie gave him a half smile, trying to reassure his captain as much as himself. "I am fine sir. But if I may, I need to ask you about Mr. Hornblower."

Pellew gave him his full attention now.

Nervously Archie fiddled with the buttons on his uniform as he spoke. "On the day Fiennes was killed, it just doesn't add up."

Pellew's eyebrow shot in the air. "Please go on Mr. Kennedy."

"Well, I was trying to follow Horatio, you know how tall he is." Archie was lost in his story as Pellew smiled to himself.
"And Fiennes was just nowhere to be found. We had already accompanied him to several shops and ordered most of your list. He was really a nice fellow when not aboard the Indy. He hated to sail."

"Was there a question you had Mr. Kennedy?" Pellew said getting a bit impatient.

Archie caught himself and continued. "Sorry sir. Anyway, there was an incident in front of the Lamb. Someone tried to pick Fiennes pocket. I had almost forgotten this until yesterday when I saw Captain Foster and his two escorts. One of them was the one I saw that day sir."

Pellew could not believe his ears. Was it possible that Foster had set this whole thing up? Why would he go such a thing? Did he want command of the Indy? Questions flooded his mind as he nodded his head.

"Sir?" Archie asked, worried about the silence that engulfed his captain.

"Is there any doubt in your mind, Mr. Kennedy, that it was Fosters man?"

Archie swallowed, then straightened. "No sir, it was him. As he ran from Fiennes and Horatio, um Mr. Hornblower, he pushed me aside. I would recognize those dark eyes anywhere. Besides he also had a scar on his face similar to Captain Fosters."

"Thank you Mr. Kennedy. Please don't tell anyone what you have just told me. Understood?"

"Aye, aye sir!"

Pellew regarded him once more. "Good job. You may have just saved my life, again."

Archie saluted, leaving Pellew alone once again with his thoughts. "Now if only the rest of the pieces of this puzzle would fall into place. I need Susanna."

No sooner had Pellew finished that silent and prayerful utterance, when he heard the call of an approaching gig. He came quickly to the deck just as it came alongside - dear God, here she was! Goodness, he thought, I know I am a fair commander of frigates, perhaps, someday, a ship of the line, but I am no genie!

She came up the ladder, slightly breathless, her face flushed with excitement. He swept her up into his strong arms. "You're here!" he cried.

"Because YOU'RE here!" she answered with, smiling, and embraced him again.

"No...it's...I just wished for you, just now, and then I heard the call -- for God's sake, I feel like Aladdin!"

"Well, that's one wish successfully granted, then! Shall we try for the other two?" she asked playfully.

"Susanna," he murmured sweeping her close to him, again.

She drew back to gaze at him. "Oh, Edward, it is good to see you smile again."

"Come,my Love," he said. "We should get below - I have news!"

"As do I" she promised, her eyes bright.

**********

She reclined back against the wall, carefully, Lord but these cots were a devilish prospect to manage. Goodness! She sighed, trying to put all of these varying pieces together, as her husband paced the floor - or rather stepped once or twice and then repeated the maneuver - the closest thing to pacing in such a cramped space.

"Foster's man? In the marketplace? Can it be?" she asked, her dark corkscrew curls sloping gently over her shoulders as she shook her head.

"Kennedy gave me his word - I believe him, Susanna. Lord knows he is devoted to Horblower - they owe each other much - but he is an honest man, I know that. He is not saying this to protect Horatio - much as he might wish to - I believe it to be the truth."

"Then, Foster, dear God, could he be at the heart of all this - this -"

"I cannot say that," said Pellew. "I am not ready to say that. Not yet. Christ knows, the man is a gloryseeker, a pompous and reckless fool on too many occasions. But, treason? By God, treason! The man is still a captain in his majesty's navy. Would he sell his own mother down the river for glory, perhaps - but could he betray his country, his king? I cannot believe that. I am not prepared to believe that. He is a patriot - dear God, I pray he is at least still that."

Susanna regarded him intently, pride filling her heart at how sacred he beheld his own honor. "I see. So, then, if it is not Foster - then somone or others around him, then, and that brings to mind what I learned from Gertrude, my love."

"Yes," he stopped his pacing and turned to her. "You saw her - what did she say?"

"She overheard Admiral Hood to say that there had been trouble on the Dreadnought. She thinks Hood may have needed a reason to get Foster off his ship, so as to investigate what was going on there. You, my dear, just happened to come along and provide him with the perfect opportunity, and the ship, to park him on, and not the Impetueaux, I might add, however infuriating this whole business has been for you, Edward."

He nodded. "Yes, yes. That could be it, then. A ring of spies aboard the Dreadnought, perhaps. With Foster all unawares. Possibly...Possibly. Or is there still something more to this lurking out there somewhere? Something else at stake? But surely we must be getting close. Surely!"

"We must be, Edward. And you must see to it that Hood is aware of this news from Mr. Kennedy! You must!"

"Indeed," said Edward. "I shall write it up at once. Will you take it to him?

"Of course," she nodded. "I am sure he will take a moment for me. If not, then Gertrude will see that he has it by this evening, at the latest."

Pellew sat down at the small desk and wrote quickly, his hand swift and steady. Susanna came up behind the chair and softly embraced his shoulders as he sanded the page and set the seal. "Soon, darling, soon, and this shall all be behind us," she whispered.

"I pray so, my dear, and that shall be another wish granted, then." He leaned back into her embrace.

"And the last wish, then, what should you like that to be?"

"Well, I was rather hoping, my dear," he said, "that that one could be the last wish" and he turned to face her, a wry smile creeping over his face.

"I see," she said, playing along, with her eyebrows raised as she stroked his hair. "and so the second wish, then, may I take it you have something already in mind, Sir?"

"I do, Madam, indeed I do."

"And?" she prompted.

"It is, of a rather personal nature, My Lady, if I may say so..."

"Indeed, Sir?" she whispered, easing herself very gently into his lap. "Would it surprise you to learn that those are my favourite kind?"

Edward drew his hand softly down her cheek and smiled. "Oh, how I hoped you would say so, my dearest."

The streets of Portsmouth loomed dark in the dead of night. Not a soul was in sight as the wind blew cold through out. Not a soul that is except one. A lone figure shivered in the cold. He was barely visible in the darkened alley. Nervously he shifted his weight from foot to foot. At first glance he could easily have been taken for a tramp or thief. But upon closer inspection, his cloak revealed a naval uniform.

Suddenly out of the black appeared another dark figure. Was it man or beast? The figure in the dark almost looked like the devil himself. With his gray cloak wrapped around him, he slowly made his way to the alley and the waiting man.

"Are you alone?" the gray cloaked man hissed.

"Do you see anyone standing here next to me!" the alley man spat back.

The gray cloaked fellow opened his robe revealing a package.
"Here," he grunted and shoved the object at the alley man. "Obey these last instructions and all will be well."

The alley man protested," What do you mean all will be well! Will I get my ship back? Will Pellew be cleared of the charges! Answer me damn it!"

The cloaked man only sneered. "Just do as you are told and you won't die. Unless you want to die. Then I will be happy to oblige."

"No," the alley man whispered. "Get out of my face before I change my mind."

The cloaked figure slowly disappeared in the night, leaving Captain Foster colder now than he had ever been in his life.

"Captain Foster," Lord Hood faced his wife, waving at a servant to take away the second serving of pudding, "has a leak."

"A leak, Alfred?"

"A leak," Lord Hood intoned gravely.

"I take it you mean Foster, and the Dreadnought."

Lord Hood shook his head, collecting all of the facts--if one could call them that, though some of them were demned slippery--for an explanation. The affair was complicated, self-contradictory, and largely still-unlearnt, and it had apparently been years in the planning. Foster, with his usual bravado, had jumped into many a fray--this time, unwittingly, into a large, nefarious plot. Confronted at an Admiralty interview, conducted with much discretion, Foster had confessed to some of the irregularities of his ship's accounts--stores received from suspicious sources, a few men here and there hired in distant ports without past histories--his explanation was that he did what he had to do in a pinch. He appeared to be relieved to be airing the affair. Yet, Lord Hood suspected that Foster was withholding information. He did not mention this to the two other admirals present at the meeting, hoping that he could clear the matter up without compromising Foster publically.

"Basically, Gertrude, Foster's had a run of bad luck. He's ordered to attack the French ship Mareschal, who is cruising a few miles off the coast, alone. Nobody knows about this, nobody knows that the Dreadnought is approaching. How could they? She hasn't put into port in nearly twelve months--we've been stocking her off-shore, in a specific spot, to avoid attracting attention. An idea of Lord Keith's, and, so far, it has worked. Dreadnought, thus concealed, has managed to surprise and capture a few French ship. Yet, she's within sight of the Mareschal, and there's company waiting for her. Chance? The same thing happens two months later. Blast my foul luck, Foster says, and restocks the Dreadnought, and takes her out for another spin, and again, foul luck for him. His quarry, the presumed idle and lonely 74-gun Victoire, is flanked by her friends."

This gives us cause for concern, but of course, it takes months for news to reach us. So, we send a frigate down with alternate orders, expecting that Foster has been blown to bits by now, for it's patently obvious that he has a leak, but we find that, no, he's been successful, and there's two sweet French prizes, a supply ship and a frigate, nearing an English port, and he's apparently plugged up the leak, if it existed.

Alas, neither French prize ever reaches port--they disappear. This causes some consternation. And then, another one of his Majesty's ships runs into foul luck. Captain Willis meets a bad end, surprised by two french 74s. And then, another, Captain Blake. So, it's obvious that our information is no longer trustworthy, and we dissolve the scheme.

Meanwhile, Captain Foster is sailing quite well, despite the loss of his prize crews, over a hundred and fifty men for the two prizes and an additional third, a frigate, Puissance. Not to mention his losses from the exchanges, though these numbers are rather low. He has taken a few men, but very few. At the same time, however, his stores have been depleted more than one would expect. I follow my suspicions, and order a reckoning of his crew, and we find that--with much wriggling about, you know what I mean, Gertrude, a few men who should have, by all accounts, gone down with the French prizes they reportedly boarded as prize crews. To find them safe and sound on the Dreadnought's deck was rather puzzling.

Naturally, this is rather unusual, and Foster, pressed for an explanation, said that the accounts weren't all cleared up due to the urgency of the matter, some men went on the prizes that weren't accounted for, and vice versa.

We press him for reports, and he begs for a day, to write them up--he had sketched the details, and he showed us these brief entries, but he hasn't had the time to write them up, not since his chase and successful capture of the French frigate, the Puissance. She arrives in Portsmouth, two days later, with her prize crew and some French prisoners--not many, for their losses were great, and we examine her, and all is well. The crew is returned to the Dreadnought.

And then, it becomes clear that there are more men than accounted for. Not many more, but a few. Foster claims that he didn't have time to keep better track, they were all horribly fatigued and distracted, etc, etc."

Gertrude leant forward, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, this is most interesting. Do you know where they came from, Alfred?"

Lord Hood shook his head. "And there are discrepancies with the supply accounts, too. Small things, but puzzling. It may all be coincidence, yet, and certainly, the Admiralty has been satisfied with Foster's explanations, and yes, it is hard to keep clear books when shot and blood and limbs are flying about--pray, excuse me, Gertrude--"

"Of course, Alfred."

"But I am not satisfied, and that's why I have discreetly taken Foster off his ship. For the time being."

Night was falling aboard the Indy and all seemed well. But Pellew had a feeling, a bad feeling. He couldn't explain it but something was not quite right. With dinner over he made his way to the quarterdeck and some peace and quiet. Slowly he paced behind the helm. Back and forth, his mind engaged the whole time. This whole business with Foster and Fiennes weighed heavy on his mind. Over and over he tried to relive all the time he spent with Fiennes. Going back there was never a moment or incident that would lead him to believe Fiennes was a spy. Which lead him to think those papers were planted on the man before he was killed. That was the only explanation. Pellew refused to believe his steward, ever how much he disliked him, was a spy.

And now this business with Foster going after Hornblower didn't quite fit. It was as if he was doing it to throw him off track. Maybe that was it. Someone was getting to close to the truth so Foster had to make a distraction. "Quite a story." Pellew thought to himself. But who would believe such a thing? Foster being such a decorated and brave Captain. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by shouting from the foc'sle. "Boats to starboard!"

Men raced on deck from everywhere. Pellew strained in the darkness to see the foc'sle and what was going on. Foster materialized by his side. "What is this Captain Pellew?"

Pellew only half acknowledged his presence. "You know as much as I."

Out of the dimness, Pellew gasped in horror. "We're being boarded!"
Foster too witnessed the men that were now pouring over the sides, invading the Indy.
"All hands to stations! Fend off those men!" Pellew shouted.
Swords clashed together as the crew fought the new threat.

"Who in God's name is boarding us!" Pellew barked. Foster stood stunned next to him. "It can't be," he whispered in recognition.

Pellew peered through the mob of men, that's when he noticed the uniforms. They had on English naval uniforms. Pellew whirled on Foster in anger, grabbing him by the collar. "What have you done! Those are your men aren't they!"

Foster babbled," It wasn't suppose to happen like this."

Pellew shoved him aside, disgusted at the sight of him. "Well no mutinous dogs are going to take over my ship!" he growled as he pulled his sword out to defend the approaching mob.

They seemed to be everywhere, as the quarterdeck was swamped. Pellew fought off one after another. Suddenly Horatio was at his side. Pellew almost mistook him for one of the others. "Good to see you sir!" he said in between swings of his own sword.

Pellew thrust his weapon through the man in front of him. "Report Hornblower!"

Taking a defensive position next to his captain Horatio quickly spilled out the grim details. "Foc'sle is entirely over run by these mutineers sir. Midships is the main battle. Kennedy is there now holding his ground."

Pellew watched as Horatio took out the last of the scoundrels on his quarterdeck, at least for the moment. "Well Hornblower, now that we have the helm again, get back to Mr. Kennedy."

"Aye sir."

Pellew rested on his sword, trying to catch his breath. It had been some time since his last hand to hand battle. A noise from behind caught him off guard as he turned to see a man lunging at him. Pellew watched helplessly as the man's sword was about to tear into his side. That's when Foster reappeared. With one swing he cut the man in half. Pellew stared in horror as the man withered in agony.

Looking back at Foster, Pellew sighed," Thank you."

Foster stood next to the man, seemingly frozen in place. "He was one of my midshipmen," he said simply.

Pellew looked up from the bloody mess and thought he saw a tear in Foster's eye.

Horatio raced back to the main mast, where he had left Archie. Fighting his way through, he suddenly caught glimpse of him. "No!" he screamed as he watched Archie fall to the deck. Like a madman he hacked mercilessly through the crowd, trying to reach his friend. Finally he spotted Styles, who was creating his own bloodbath. "Styles! Over here!" Quickly the two men were at Archie's side. Styles pulled Mathews and Oldroyd out of the mess and over to Horatio. Kneeling next to his fallen comrade, Horatio gently shook him. Blood seemed to poor out from everywhere. "God Archie, why did you have to try and be a hero." Without thinking he scooped him up and headed for the quarterdeck. "Styles! This is a lost cause, fall back to the helm!"

"Aye sir," Styles called after him. They made their way to the railing. But to Horatio's shock, the quarterdeck had fallen.

Pellew and Foster stood in the corner, fighting for their lives. Attack after attack swept over them. But they had managed to hold them off when suddenly they stopped. A lone figure stepped out from the men holding their swords all drenched in blood, the crew of the Indy's blood. The figure held up his hands, signally for his men to hold. Foster instantly knew him. Knew him from a cold night in Portsmouth. In fact the figure still wore the gray cloak, only now it was stained with blood.

"Collins. I should have known better!" Foster spat. The cloaked figure smiled ruefully at him. "Ah my dear Captain Foster. Good to see you again sir. But if you please, I must ask for your surrender."

Pellew growled," You will have no surrender from me, you cowardly b@stard!"

Collins only laughed as Foster took a step toward him. "Very well, we surrender."

Pellew grabbed Foster by the shoulder. "What are you doing!"
Foster looked him in the eye as he spoke. "Edward, this is no time to die. To continue fighting will mean the death of every man aboard." He lowered his voice as he finished speaking. "That also includes Hornblower."

Pellew released him and only nodded.

Collins quickly snatched up the captains' swords. "Now if you please Captain Pellew, order your men to stand down."

Pellew did as he was told. "Who is this dog?" he asked Foster.

With hatred in his voice Foster replied," Anthony Collins, my first officer."

Lady Hood, suddenly noticing that she could not see her husband very well in the deepening gloom, beckoned a servant to her side. The dinner service had already been cleared away, without Lord or Lady Hood's ever realising it, counter to usual custom. After dessert, the servants would bear away the platters, and Lord Hood would retire to his study, and Lady Hood to her dressing room. This night, however, two hours past desert, Lord and Lady Hood still sat at the table, sifting the affair of the Dreadnought. The servants, made uneasy by this irregularity, stood congregated at one end of the dining room, exchanging questioning glances.

"More candles, Thompson."

Thompson thus dispatched, Gertrude turned to Alfred. "So, who's in command of the Dreadnought now?"

Lord Hood instantly purpled. "Blast it, confound me--a thousand pardons, Gertrude--I have not the head I once had--"

"Calm down, Alfred," Gertrude murmured.

"I left his first lieutenant, Anthony Collins, in command."

"And is he cause for such temper?"

"Not directly, no, but he's put to mind that I've muddled the tale completely. Some Admiral I am!"

"Alfred--"

Lord Hood cast his eyes up to the ceiling. "What did I say Foster's prizes were? A ship of the line, and then a supply ship, and another frigate, Puissance?"

"I do believe that the first was rather a frigate," Gertrude replied, fanning herself with some satisfaction.

"Well, she ain't. There's my muddle. Foster captured a ship of the line--stroke of good luck there, and her name was, oh, wait, let me see--L'Égalité...I think. Or Fraternité--something off one of their dxmned--pardon, Gertrude--mottos."

"So, a larger ship, and not a frigate, hmm?"

Thumping the table with his fist, Lord Hood rose out of his chair.

"This is where Anthony Collins comes in. Foster appoints him acting-captain of this ship, L'Égalité, and then she disappears. Our spies hear nothing. And then, eight months later, another French ship is captured, Impetueux, an easy task, for she is under-manned at the time and they made a few blunders, and then at least four score of English prisoners are found in her hold, including Collins."

"So, the Impetueux must have shot down his other ship, and picked him up from the wreckage."

"No, Gertrude, there is no other ship. I am certain that L'Égalité and the Impetueux are the same."

"Indeed," she breathed.

"The prisonners all have the same story, their ship was captured by a boarding party, and then the French locked them up ashore and then returned them to the ship. We kept them on the Impetueux, with Collins as first lieutenant--no, second, someone else was senior, but then there were those stirrings of mutiny, and Foster, perhaps fearing for his old lieutenant, requested Collins's transfer. And there it is."

"So Anthony Collins is on the Dreadnought now--"

A few muffled booms rang out. Lady Hood gasped, Lord Hood leapt out of his chair with surprisingly youthful agility, and over to the window, Lady Hood trailing after him. The view of the harbour was, unfortunately, blocked.

"They're firing, blast it!" Lord Hood, snarled, whipping his hand out at the mass of servants edging towards the window, "A horse, a carriage, my cloak, you dogs!" The servants scattered, tripping over themselves in their haste. "Handsomely, you lubbers," Lord Hood roared, dashing after them, "They're firing at my ships!"

Gertrude, picking up her skirts, trotted after him to the main entrance, and commanded a second carriage, to take her to the Mermaid.


-------------------

Susanna Pellew grabbed her cloak and dashed out of the Mermaid. There was a crowd collecting, moving towards the harbour with the jocular manner of sightseers.

"We'll blast them Frogs through and through!--Watch 'em scurry back to their pond--What sport--What's all that noise--this ain't nothing to the Massacre of Amboyna, I was there--"

"Please," Susanna cried, elbowing her way through the thicket of people, "what's happening?"

At that, she was offered a variety of conflicting opinions, the French, the Spanish, those blxxdy Colonists--muttering a stream of thanks and pardons, she put her head down and thrust her way through until she saw the sea glistening with spurts of flame. As she approached the harbour, the yelling and the gun and cannon-fire grew to a deafening pitch; she redoubled her efforts, set her jaw, and with a vicious burst, forced her way to the water's side, onto one of the docks. Out in the mouth of the harbour, where the ships of the fleet were anchored, Susanna noticed that most of them were congretating, firing at one ship in particular which seemed to be sailing away. The watermen and women below were chattering excitedly in a tight knit of boats and punts. Susanna yelled at the closest one.

"They're firing at a French ship, Ma'am," the waterman replied, pointing a gnarled hand towards the scene of the tempest. "She tried to edge in, but they caught wind of her, see how she slinks away--so they'll be sinking her--Curse her! Cripple her!"

Susanna peered closer, and her blood ran cold. Without a second's hesitation, she gathered up her skirts and cloak with one hand, and with the other, grabbed onto the side of the dock to guide her leap into a boat directly beside. The nearer oarsman whipped about, startled.

"Hey, Ma'am--what's this--"

Susanna withdrew her purse and flung it at him. "They're firing at my husband, Captain Pellew, d'you hear? Row or I'll throttle you! Row!"

The hapless oarsman gawked at her.

"ROW? Are ye' mad? Into that bloody bus'ness? Y've got a death wish, you 'ave, Miss, and I'm not 'avin' none of it!"

"Of course you'll have it, you're a boatman, this is a boat, this is YOUR boat, you bloody idiot, and this is obviously what you do for a living, now GET ON with it!"

"I runs a respec'able bus'ness I does, M'um, and it don't involve sailin' right smack into a bleedin' bloodbath….not fer me usual price, not no way an not no how!"

"So it's money, then, is it, fine! Name your price, you blackguard!" Susanna screamed. "Can you do that and row at the same time, or are the two activities not simultaneously performable with a brain allotment such as yours? Hmmm?"

"Now 'old on there, 'old on, there's no need to be gettin' all personal like, M'um, I'll take ya, I'll take -"

"LADY PELLEW!" a loud voice boomed out over the fray. "For God's sake Madam, what on Earth do you think you're doing?"

Susanna wheeled around, very nearly upsetting the poor little skiff. "Admiral Hood!" She blanched.

"Get back on that dock this instant! Holy Mother of God, this is no place for you, Madam!" Hood bellowed, trying nervously to make his way to the forefront and get seated in his own gig.

"They are firing on Indefatigable, Sir! Surely you can see that! My husband is on board, you know it the same as me! He could be injured, my God he could be - " She looked across her in the boat. Her pathetic little commander was frozen in place, dumbstruck in the sight of the Admiral's gig coming alongside him. For God's sake, thought Susanna, what IS it with some of the men in this world? A blazingly simple task, get me from here to there, the urgency and the rationale for it plain as the noses on all their faces and yet they stare at me like I'm an apparition! That does it, she thought, and just as the Admiral's boat collided into hers, and with one graceful sidestep maneuver she retrieved her reticule and hoisted her skirts and jumped aboard the Admiral's gig, and took her place beside Lord Hood, sidling up beside him as if it was the most natural place for her to be. The Admiral's crew gaped at her, their oars at a standstill, not knowing what to make of this unexpected cargo.

"My Lady you cannot be serious!" cried Hood. "This is preposterous! You are a woman! They are exchanging gunfire out there! I mean to put a stop to it but I'll not see you endangered!"

"Well, you are stuck with me, Sir, and there's an end to it. You are not endangering me, I am endangering myself. My husband is on that ship and that is where I need to be. Now are these men of yours going to get the business ends of those oars into the water where they belong or not, Sir?"

Hood's mind was awhirl. Dear God!! What on earth had possessed her? Was she mad? This was no stroll through the park, this was, unbelievably, smack in the middle of Portsmouth harbour, a battle!!! He managed to suppress his gentlemanly concerns and allowed the Admiral inside him to assume command. He needed to get to the bottom of this mess and needed to do it now. He would get himself on board the closest frigate, sort it from there and have Sir Edward's firebrand of a wife sent back to shore, muzzled if need be! "Pull!" he shouted, "Lively now, men, "Pull!"

And Susanna nodded her head. Finally, they were getting somewhere!

"You must be seated, my Lady," he said. "And for God's sake, pull your cloak over your head. If any of these Captains see me casting about with a woman on board, by God, I'll have to resign my post, I will." He shook his head. "And keep your head down, those aren't blanks they're firing, I'll have you know!"

"I am aware of that, my Lord," muttered Susanna, and very nearly thought of offering his Lordship the pistol she carried in her reticule - just in case. She wasn't just a fine horsewoman, God knew she could race the pants off Sir Edward on a regular basis when he was at home, and did so, to her inexhaustible glee and his good natured sportsmanship - riding is not my forte, Madam, you must forgive me that, he had told her only on in their courtship. No, she was a fine shot as well, she was. Even though she traveled with her own carriage and coachman, she was known to traipse through the west hundred of their estate quite often alone, with just her faithful steed and her beloved retriever for companionship. Sir Edward didn't approve so much as he had resigned himself to the fact that some things were inevitable when it came to his indomitable wife. At least she could defend herself if need be.

She noticed that they were pulling for one of the ships that had engaged the Indy - they were nearly well enough behind it now to be seen by them - the Admiral's ensign proclaiming them to the crew on board. While part of her was pleased to be behind the line of fire, so to speak, this was the wrong ship, was it not?

"What are you doing, my Lord?" she cried, "this is not Indefatigable!"

"The Indefatigable is trying to pull away - we'll never reach her before she's well out of harbour or sunk - er - sorry, M'am. We'll get on board the Arethusa and find out why in God's name we have been firing on our OWN ship!"

Horatio had heard Pellew's voice call out the order to surrender, but he couldn't believe his ears. Styles echoed these same thoughts. "Did he say to surrender sir?"

Horatio blinked, not wanting to believe it. Before he could answer, they were spotted. The mutineers were upon them. With sword in hand, Horatio and his men continued the fight. But the odds and men were against them. They couldn't stay on deck. "Styles, we have to get below!"

"Aye sir," Styles answered and herded Oldroyd in that direction. Just as they made their way below, the sound of cannon fire erupted above them. "Are we under fire?"

Mathews shook his head grimly. "Must be the fleet. Figured out bout the mutiny by now."

Horatio agreed as he led them through the maze of rooms. "Well what would you think if gunfire came from a ship at dark and then started to sail away?"

Styles still carried the unconscious body of Archie Kennedy. "Can we rest a minute sir?" he asked worn out from the extra weight on his shoulders.

"We're almost there Styles," Horatio answered, as he opened a door to the hold. "This is the best place I can think of for now."

Mathews helped Styles place Archie in a comfortable position. Horatio knelt next to his friend and tended to his wounds. Slowly he peeled off his blood soaked jacket.

Shall I fetch Hepplewhite, Sir" asked Matthews, panting for breath.

"If you can find him, yes!" Hornblower stripped off Archie's coat. The blood seemed to be everywhere. Frantically, he searched for the wound. "My God, Archie!"