*Note* This piece uses the Christian belief system of Heaven, Hell and Purgatory, and these are merely our interpretations and no offense is meant to anyone by our portrayal of God, Heaven, etc.

Chapter 2

The only sound in the dismal hospital room was the ragged, uneven breathing of a dying man.

Matthews and Styles had been perched beside their Commander's bed for 18 hours. They had finally persuaded Commodore Pellew to return to his inn and get some rest. 'Poor man', thought Matthews, 'It's his protege dying, probably as close as he ever got to having a son.'

Styles sat hunched beside him, and whispered to Matthews, "it's no good Matty, the docs say that he's done for. It's like he's given up..."

"Stop that talk, Styles! If the captain can hear you, that ain't what he needs to hear!" Matthews picked up one of Horatio's limp hands. With all his soul (if he had one left, that was) he wished that it was him, dying in this stinking hospital, surrounded by the cries of the insane, and the screams of the infirmed.

"It's my fault, you know that, don't you Matty?" Styles' hoarse voice was beginning to break. "He was shot, and none of us realized it. He was fightin' off Frogs with a d*mned musketball in his shoulder! Then, afterwards, he was sittin' on the maindeck, callin' orders, and no one thought to ask 'im why he was sittin' there..."

"Enough, Styles, there's lots of blame to go around! Fact is, he was still sittin', yellin' orders, half an hour later, when he keeled over. It's all our faults, not lookin' out for our captain..."

"I keeled over?" A weak groan came from the man lying in the bed. "Oh h*ll, I bet that caused a racket." To the shock of Matthews and Styles, a faint smile was present on their commander's face. He was deathly pale, but his eyes were bright. "On the maindeck? Did I really?"

Matthews covered his surprise at seeing Hornblower awake. "Sir, have you been awake long?" He was thinking anxiously about his conversation with Styles about the captain's imminent...

"It's alright, Matthews, I know I'm dying."

"Sir-!"

"No, do you think I haven't heard the doctor too? I haven't been unconscious all this time, you know." A measure of his old intensity crept back into Horatio's voice. "Listen here, Matthews, Styles, the both of you. It's nobody's fault. Do you hear? The captain has a responsibilty to his crew just as you feel your responsibilty to me. And if I must ignore thoughts of my own well-being to keep my men safe, that is the price of command. So stop with the blame!"

For a brief moment, the spark of life had appeared in Hornblower's eyes. The spark which caused men to follow him unflinchingly into danger. It evaporated as he slumped back into bed. And yet, the pain- Odd. The pain was gone. "You were right, Archie. It doesn't hurt anymore."

His wayward thoughts drifted back to that day in Kingston. 'You weren't afraid to die, were you, my friend?' His thoughts called out as if he expected an answer from beyond the grave. 'If you weren't, neither shall I be.'

Matthews and Styles saw the commander's face relaxing as he slowly slipped away. The bosun's mate ran for the door: "Get Commodore Pellew, NOW!"

Matthews returned to Hornblower's side. "Hang on sir, 'til the commordore gets here. He'll want to, to...talk to you, sir."

Horatio chuckled inwardly at what Matthews had refused to say. 'No the commodore doesn't want to say good-bye, he just wants to talk'. Horatio imagined Pellew coming to his deathbed to give him a mission briefing, or to dress him down for some error. Or to discuss the price of spars and sail canvas.

"Styles, Matthews," he whispered. As one, they turned. "Thank you both. It was indeed an honour..." he trailed off as he ran out of breath. His lips quirked into the ghost of a grin. "Styles, don't let any more rats chew that lovely face of yours."

Both men came to attention and saluted their fading captain...

...and Pellew entered the room to see the peaceful face of Commander Horatio Hornblower, and the tears in the eyes of the two men beside him. "Is he still alive?" Sir Edward whispered.

Dr. Chesterson had slipped in, wraith-like, behind Pellew. He was now leaning over Hornblower's prone body. "He's not dead, sir." As the commodore began to sigh in relief, the doctor clarified: "Of course, I can't rightly say he's alive, either..."