The Characters are not mine. I do this for personal pleasure not money!! My
thanks to Mady who is willing to put up with my work long enough to BETA it
... she's great.
A Paper Dagger
by Cyndi
I am writing this journal because The Good Doctor, Luis Sebastian, said to. Just as happened the night of our first meeting, I have pent up too much of my feelings and if I do not release them soon, I will again fall victim to the fits that have so long tormented me. As for me, I cannot say what God intends, but I have no idea what feelings he thinks I dwell. I thought I had a mild case of the influenza, nothing more.
The outbreak of this ailment is strong; half the ship was down with it. It nearly killed Mr. Hornblower. It has been weeks, but I do remember it as if it were only moments ago. The day had seemed normal until the moment one of the younger midshipmen told me that Horatio was not answering the door. He was due to relieve me on watch in just a few minutes. It was unlike him not to be 'Johnny on the spot.' I remember an odd twisting in my gut, as if someone had taken hold of my stomach and wrenched it from its place. I replaced myself with this young midshipman. I excused myself and ran to the cabin. The door was stuck, unmoving against all my efforts. Finally, it gave in to my final attempt. I entered the portal only to find my roommate keeled over on the floor in front of it. His face was ashen, as white as the shirt on his back, maybe more so. His skin burned with fire. I had chosen to ignore the occasional cough that had kept me up on several occasions. I should have known better. He had fallen sick. The influenza that had up to this time not yet taken grasp of this ship was strangling the life from a man I had at one time considered a friend. I got him to the surgery, but even the doctor was not apt to wager on his survival.
After that night, more and more of the men fell victim to this vile illness. My shifts doubled and my sleep... it too did not go undisturbed. I had succumbed to my first fit in months. With no one else in the room, it went unnoticed, and it would have remained unnoticed to even me but for the bruise on my cheekbone I can only assume came from flailing myself. I passed it off to the good doctor as being clumsy enough to have tripped over my own feet and colliding into the bulkhead. I assumed he accepted my explanation, for he allowed me to continue my watch undisturbed.
Damn, I don't even want to think of those days again.
Nor should I have to. After all, the ship was lucky the fever only took three of our ratings. Good men, and a sad loss, but the situation still could have been worse. Luckily for the ship and Captain, Mr. Hornblower did survive, and though he was stuck convalescing in the sick berth, I too was relieved for his health, for soon my shifts and my nights (I prayed) would return to normal. There had been several more incidences with my ailment, gratefully only after I was off duty and attempting sleep. I rarely awaken right after a fit but there were always telltale signs - the dried, drool- wet clothing and occasional bruise or cut I suffered due to the spasms. Clayton often told me my fits were amidst a bad dream. If I was dreaming, I do not recall the dreams, nor having so many since the Justinian. I know, as the doctor has told me often enough, I will live with this affliction for the rest of my days. Maybe it was the influenza that brought them on this time, for I, too, fell victim to the fever. I cannot say when it started, only that I seemed to have given into its clutch right after Mr. Hornblower was released from the sick berth.
Mr. Hornblower came to the deck to tell me of his good fortune. I remember welcoming him back. I remember Mr. Whittier relieving me from duty only hours later and I remember going to our cabin and finding Mr. Hornblower lying comfortably on his bunk. After that, I don't remember anything until I awoke here in Sebastian's good care.
He told me what Horatio said; I dropped as if hit by a cannonball. I was wet with fever and chilled to the bone. He told the doctor that before he could gain help I was felled by a fit and when the doctor told me he was certain it had not been the first one in the past weeks, I found myself unable to even look at him, yet alone lie. He says there is more to me that even I understand. He says there seems to be a trigger that fires off my curse, just as a pistol has a trigger to fire off its shot. He claims that there is very little the medical field knows of this problem but what he has seen in me only seems to happen under heavy stress. Like the expectation that comes from knowing that Jack Simpson was on board my ship. Still, if that were wholly true, then my affliction would have passed with the news of his demise or continued every time I went into battle. He says this stress is emotional.
Stress of Duty only heightens my acuity. Emotional stress undermines my very soul. So says the good doctor.
He has asked me several times when the fits began. I have told him nothing. He concluded from talking to Mr. Hornblower that it began sometime after he fell sick. Still I had nothing to say. He asked me if Horatio's illness could have had something to do with it. Horatio? I have had these fits forever it seems. Horatio is but a shipmate I have known for a few of my tormented years.
Something is still haunting me, so he says. It is why I cannot seem to get rid of this illness. Mayhap, it is why I can't get rid of this fear in my heart. He says something has triggered my emotions. Something has uncovered a well-hidden pain and left me exposed to this, my truest of all enemies, my own mind. The fits are just a small part of it, he says. I if I don't relinquish this burden he believes me to carry, I am liable to encounter them as often as I did within the prison walls or even on board the Justinian. I am frightened by that thought.
What do I do? Where do I start?
It is cold and dark out tonight and yet I am miserably hot, and the light of the candle is burning though my brain, and I feel very much alone. What do you want from me? What can I write to make you go away? I do not understand the purpose of this exercise in futility. Pent up feelings be damned, if anything should give me fits it would be this damned journal.
Note to self... Do not toss the journal, or any book, at the sick berth door. The chances of our overly attentive doctor coming though it is insurmountable and then you get stuck with the "I told you so look" and a thirty-minute speech on the dangers of stress.
After noting my fever had returned with a vengeance, he took the damned book away from me until just now. I have been quite ill according to Horatio. I do not recall. The doctor said the fits have become more a part of my nights than rest. He begs me to tell him what bothers my soul. I can not tell him what I do not know and I do not know that I would tell him if I did. Trust never came easy and now it seems that it never comes at all, and so he returned this book. "Express your fears. Express your dreams," he said. "Give words to your anger, whatever they may be, but forgive your trespasses as you should forgive those who trespass against you. If not, I shall be forced to sign your pardon from His Majesty's services."
He would have me discharged. Unfit. I would rather die than face that. Dear God. Please...
Where do I start?
...Forgive those who trespassed against you... there have been so many trespasses in my life, why is it so important now? Trespasses, betrayals, broken trusts...could it be? It has been so long that I thought we had found peace between us. Mayhap it was more of an understanding. That should be enough. It was an understanding that had to come to pass if we were to remain onboard ship together. Could it be I was wrong? Could it be that once again my past has come forward to slap me hard across the face? That is how it felt then and it is how I feel now. I feel betrayed, now, by my mind. Then...by he who I had trusted with my darkest secrets.
It was the second day of our return to the INDY, since being returned to England by the Spanish, in recognition of our rescue of the survivors of the Almarie.
The Captain had been made aware of my affliction many years previous, the night of the attack on the Papillion. It would be one of the first things he brought up on my return to the ship.
I thought I would die standing there, and in fact, I prayed for it
"It is something I should have been made aware of sooner," he insisted.
I had no reply. I had nothing to say. I didn't think I could have said anything even if I had been able to open my mouth. I truly wanted to die right then and there.
"Still," he added, "Mr. Hornblower seems to think that this fit was brought on when Mr. Simpson came on board. He seems to believe that if I let you tell your side of the story, I will come to understand your silence. I have heard tale of his actions on board the Justinian and I have seen his cruel and vile conduct. I have no doubt that if you tell me he is the cause, that you would tell me the truth."
What I would have given to have a cannonball break through the walls and cut me in half. My tongue was numb, as was the rest of me. My knees wanted to buckle. I recognized this feeling; I was on the verge of a fit, right there in the Captain's cabin. The captain's words were no longer a part of my world. He continued to talk but I heard nothing but echoes in my head. Then something shattered the tunnel and made it though to my mind.
"Show him, Archie," Horatio said. "Show him the scars."
I didn't believe my ears. Surely I was hallucinating. Horatio would never break his word to me.
"Show him the scars, Archie."
I guess I was wrong, because as bold as brass, Horatio shattered that pledge made to me years ago like so much unwanted crystal. I could do nothing but look dumbfounded. He had promised never to tell.
"Show him!!" he yelled. I looked back at the Captain, hoping he would say it was unnecessary. The words never came.
I removed my jacket as the Captain looked on. I was beginning to feel lightheaded. Dear God, what would have been worse showing off my scars or having a fit right there in Captain's cabin? Horatio snapped me around angrily and stared hotly into my eyes. I felt a sudden urge of anger and hate towards the man whom I had come to see as more of a brother than a friend. Still, that moment's heat was enough to burn away the fit for the moment. I wondered if Horatio knew that would happen. Then I wondered if he cared.
I finished removing my shirt. For a moment I thought Mr. Bowles was going to keel over. I thought this reaction odd, for he had seen many a flogged back. The Captain dropped heavily into his chair and then Mr. Hornblower saw fit to turn me around. My back was no sooner to the Captain than Mr. Bowles pushed his way out the door of the Captain's cabin.
I remember the first time Horatio had seen my back. I did not own half the stripes I wear now and he, too, lost control of his stomach. He had yet to see a flogging and some of my wounds were fresh, so his reaction might have been expected, only he did not make it out of the door. A midshipman is not to be flogged under the Articles of the service, but then those who chose to do this did not see an officer, or a human, for that matter. The numbness started to ease its way back into my mind.
The Captain walked up behind me and gently placed my shirt over my back.
"The Prison?" he asked me, in an almost fatherly and hushed tone, as he turned me back around to face him.
"Some of the newer..." I tried to tell him.
Pellew sat on his desk. His eyes followed the map of still visible old and new scars that crossed a small part of my stomach and sides.
"I want the truth, Mr. Kennedy," he said. "I want the whole truth."
"How far back would you like me to go? I inquired."
"As far as you can stand to relate," he replied. "I will hold all you say to me this day within strictest confidence."
Suddenly my mind screamed out, "Forgive me, sir. But I have heard those words before. " At least I believed it was spoken only in my mind. My stare glazed over to Horatio, who would no longer look me in the face.
"I can ask Mr. Hornblower to leave if you wish it. Though, I believe his failure to maintain any contract with you was, in his eyes, an attempt to keep you afloat. I, too, reiterate that I will not break this oath to you unless I deem it a danger to England and or this ship. He looked past me over to Horatio, as if to dismiss him. But I begged him to allow him to stay, after all, I thought a man being punished should be done rightly so within the view of his mates, to warn them of that which could befell them should they fall from grace.
I can only assume he read the fear in my face as he added, "Please understand that even knowing what I know, Mr. Kennedy, I consider you one of my best men and I would dearly hate to lose you. "
I am not so sure the words registered; I am not sure I even cared. I just wanted out. I wanted death. At this point I wanted Horatio dead, as well. So, I again related my tale.
"When I was six," I told him, "I saw my father hit my mother. I had often heard my mother cry at night but I didn't know what was going on until that night. My ma took to calling me her little man. When I was very young but I did not feel as a man if being a man meant treating people the way my dad did. I was fairly sure I wanted nothing of manhood. It was not until I was nearly eleven years of age that my father hit my mother in front of me again. I rose up to defend her, as I had seen the heroes do in the theater on our visits to Drury Lane. I called him a coward, and when he slapped me I tried to hit him back but he slapped my hand way like a bothersome gnat. So, I kicked him in the shin with everything I had."
For a moment I thought I saw a cross between shock and humor traverse the Captain's eyes. Still, I continued my story.
"I awoke three days later. My father, in all of his drunken glory, had chosen to remove the belt from his waist and slam it, buckle and all, against my head, back and legs. It was after that that the fits started, sir. At least that is what I am told. I was confined to my room for many months, with no doctor and no relief to the pain. My only aid came from my older brother and sisters. They would spend several hours of their days reading me stories and helping me to walk. He, my father, would not even allow me to eat with the family. He did not want to see me until after the wounds had completely healed. He was not to be reminded what had been done.
When finally all of the mandates of my punishments were met, I was made ready for dinner and led to the dinner table. Up 'til then I don't think I had ever been so terrified. I was not to say anything to him or ever bring up the incident again. He informed me that my punishment had been served and that I was free to go about the house. Then suddenly his ire returned and he announced that if any word reached outside the walls of his house he would punish them who told as he had done to me. I do not recall ever eating my dinner. Instead, I awoke in my bed to the sounds of my mother's tears. I had fallen before my father in a fit. I was his son no longer. I would not see his face again. Six months later, at eleven years of age, I was a midshipman on board the Justinian. Sir."
"So these scars were your father's doing? "
"Only small few."
The look of anger that flushed his face faded as quickly as it had come. I thought him liable to explode at any minute and then suddenly, almost miraculously, calm
"Then please continue, sir. I wish to know what it is that haunts you."
"There is nothing that haunts me, sir, save the loosed tongue of one who would be my friend." The words spat out of my head quicker that I had dared believe. I could not have cut Horatio any plainer should I have brandished a sword.
Still, the Captain would have no self-pity on board his ship, and told me as much. "Continue if you wish, or leave me to make my decision with what little I have to go by. If you should ever see yourself as gaining rank in this man's Navy, you might be a little bit more forthcoming of information. I would be grateful for any knowledge that would tip the sails to your favor. Mr. Hornblower, no doubt, understands this, though his methods are a bit brisk. I doubt you believe it at this time, his thinking is sound."
Horatio told to save me from losing my commission. He believed there was no other way around my predicament and I knew in my heart he was not wrong, but my anger was far from cooled.
"Yes, sir," I spoke, not knowing how or where to start. He asked me to tell him where Mr. Simpson figured into my ailment. "Mr. Simpson was the lead midshipman of the Justinian, sir," I stated in no uncertain terms, just as it had been taught to me. He may levee a toll on our sea chest, likewise our issue of spirits and best cuts of meat. He is...uh...was senior officer in the mess. He had privilege to stake claim on anything he wished."
"Render unto Caesar," Mr. Hornblower mumbled.
I felt my eyes close. "I had not seen my first night on board ship before Mr. Simpson staked his claim on me." I continued talking to him as if he and Horatio were not even present in the room. I tried my damnedest not to look the Captain in the eyes. A great part of me was so tired of hiding that my stare must have seemed challenging, for it was the Captain whose eyes found comfort in the floor.
"I was gagged and tied down, belly first, over some table stowed in the ship's hold. It had two holes bore though the wood in which two sheep shanks wedged through them were used to cuff me to it."
At this point I found swallowing a challenge, yet alone talking.
"He removed my trousers and struck me twice with a boson's starter. He then began to ...to acquaint himself with my ...with me. I do not remember what happened save what Mr. Clayton informed me. It seems I had suffered a fit. Mr. Simpson returned. He then finished the beating he had started earlier, as he informed me I was not going to feign illness to get out of my duties to him. I was his to do with as he would and then he carved his initials in my backside. If I spoke to anyone about this he would tell the Captain I was unfit for duty. If he chose to he would do it anyway. I had no place to go. I had no home. The only thing I could hope for was death. And I prayed for it daily. He had different toys for different occasions. I was first flogged after the ratings had been flogged for attempting to run. I was hit five times with the cat before I succumbed to the pain. He also found value in the sail makers' tools and various items from the kitchen."
"Certainly someone noticed the blood on your shirts?" the Captain asked.
"Have you ever seen Mr. Kennedy out of uniform, sir?" Mr. Hornblower announced. "Blood does not too visibly show on dark blue wool."
"Certainly someone knew of this travesty. Were you not seen by the doctor? "
"Aye, sir. On the occasions when dousing my wounds in rum could not control the infections or he beat me senseless, he would send me to the sick berth under the guise of my clumsiness or punishment resulting in a visit from the boson's mate. He had a convincing story for everything. My only respite came when he or I were sent away on separate missions or if we were given leave."
"You mean to tell me not one would stand against this beast?"
I looked him square on. He truly could not comprehend the loneliness of my situation. "On a rare occasion, a midshipman would attempt to intervene, but rarely did he live long enough to regret his kindness."
"Mr. Simpson would not dare commit murder on board a ship of His Majesty's Navy. Mr. Keene may have been a lot of things but he was not stupid."
"Of course not, sir," I growled. "If you were to check the journals, you would find they were accidents one and all. The first was Mister Conyers, sir. He fell victim to a storm, lost at sea during a watch that should have been Mr. Simpson's. The second was Mr. Howard; he was lost when he fell from the mizzenmast to the deck. Mr. Simpson claimed he tried to save him but was unable. There were a few others whose accidents left them either lame or dead, each coming after the poor bloke attempted to help me. The last of these coincidences would have been Mr. Clayton, in lieu of Mr. Hornblower's request for a duel. The issue of cards had little or no bearing on the challenge, although it might have to Mr. Hornblower. Mr. Clayton was one of the few who knew the extent of my dishonor. He only hoped to prevent Horatio from falling victim, too."
"Mr. Kennedy!" he roared. "You mean to tell me that this continued for ... for..."
"Seven years," I finished. Quite calmly I might add. He was not pleased with my finishing off his sentence but for the first time in all my years, I felt stronger than I ever had.
"Sir. The reason you never knew about the fits," Horatio intervened, "was because until Simpson boarded the ship, there had not been any fits to report. They only seem to occur under times of great mental anguish, invoked on a rare occasion by a nightmare, but never, save that one incident, did it ever affect Mr. Kennedy's duties on board the Indefatigable. Never."
"Dear God. It is any wonder that you have any faith left, my lad. That which you have endured would have broken many a good man."
"My faith in my fellow man or my faith in God?" I asked, readily angered by my own question.
"Either, sir," he challenged.
"My faith in my fellow man was not wholly broken...until recently," I added. "My faith in God. Well, sir..."
"Do you blame God, sir?"
"Well sir, no, sir. I only blame myself. Maybe if I had been a better person, a better sailor or even a better son, maybe it would have been different. For this I can only beg thy Holy Father's forgiveness"
"Nonsense man. For what you have been through, I would believe God, above all, would understand. You are not to blame."
It was then my knees buckled beneath me. I felt as if I were going to be sick. Mr. Hornblower tried to catch me but I jerked away from him. This all was his fault. I would have been fine, have survived, or more importantly died, in prison had he not interfered. I hated him, but I hated myself more.
The Captain sent Horatio for the surgeon, and he himself eased me to a chair.
"I am sorry, sir," I remember muttering as he handed me a snifter of brandy to try and calm my nerves.
"I will not hear it. It is I who should be apologizing, sir. I should not have forced such memories upon you so soon after your release from capture."
I am too tired to write any more. This damned book has become a paper dagger that is continuously thrust in my stomach. Or maybe it is this damn illness. I will try to rest. Maybe tomorrow I will continue to bandy with my nightmare. I can only hope that this struggle is worth the effort.
A Paper Dagger
by Cyndi
I am writing this journal because The Good Doctor, Luis Sebastian, said to. Just as happened the night of our first meeting, I have pent up too much of my feelings and if I do not release them soon, I will again fall victim to the fits that have so long tormented me. As for me, I cannot say what God intends, but I have no idea what feelings he thinks I dwell. I thought I had a mild case of the influenza, nothing more.
The outbreak of this ailment is strong; half the ship was down with it. It nearly killed Mr. Hornblower. It has been weeks, but I do remember it as if it were only moments ago. The day had seemed normal until the moment one of the younger midshipmen told me that Horatio was not answering the door. He was due to relieve me on watch in just a few minutes. It was unlike him not to be 'Johnny on the spot.' I remember an odd twisting in my gut, as if someone had taken hold of my stomach and wrenched it from its place. I replaced myself with this young midshipman. I excused myself and ran to the cabin. The door was stuck, unmoving against all my efforts. Finally, it gave in to my final attempt. I entered the portal only to find my roommate keeled over on the floor in front of it. His face was ashen, as white as the shirt on his back, maybe more so. His skin burned with fire. I had chosen to ignore the occasional cough that had kept me up on several occasions. I should have known better. He had fallen sick. The influenza that had up to this time not yet taken grasp of this ship was strangling the life from a man I had at one time considered a friend. I got him to the surgery, but even the doctor was not apt to wager on his survival.
After that night, more and more of the men fell victim to this vile illness. My shifts doubled and my sleep... it too did not go undisturbed. I had succumbed to my first fit in months. With no one else in the room, it went unnoticed, and it would have remained unnoticed to even me but for the bruise on my cheekbone I can only assume came from flailing myself. I passed it off to the good doctor as being clumsy enough to have tripped over my own feet and colliding into the bulkhead. I assumed he accepted my explanation, for he allowed me to continue my watch undisturbed.
Damn, I don't even want to think of those days again.
Nor should I have to. After all, the ship was lucky the fever only took three of our ratings. Good men, and a sad loss, but the situation still could have been worse. Luckily for the ship and Captain, Mr. Hornblower did survive, and though he was stuck convalescing in the sick berth, I too was relieved for his health, for soon my shifts and my nights (I prayed) would return to normal. There had been several more incidences with my ailment, gratefully only after I was off duty and attempting sleep. I rarely awaken right after a fit but there were always telltale signs - the dried, drool- wet clothing and occasional bruise or cut I suffered due to the spasms. Clayton often told me my fits were amidst a bad dream. If I was dreaming, I do not recall the dreams, nor having so many since the Justinian. I know, as the doctor has told me often enough, I will live with this affliction for the rest of my days. Maybe it was the influenza that brought them on this time, for I, too, fell victim to the fever. I cannot say when it started, only that I seemed to have given into its clutch right after Mr. Hornblower was released from the sick berth.
Mr. Hornblower came to the deck to tell me of his good fortune. I remember welcoming him back. I remember Mr. Whittier relieving me from duty only hours later and I remember going to our cabin and finding Mr. Hornblower lying comfortably on his bunk. After that, I don't remember anything until I awoke here in Sebastian's good care.
He told me what Horatio said; I dropped as if hit by a cannonball. I was wet with fever and chilled to the bone. He told the doctor that before he could gain help I was felled by a fit and when the doctor told me he was certain it had not been the first one in the past weeks, I found myself unable to even look at him, yet alone lie. He says there is more to me that even I understand. He says there seems to be a trigger that fires off my curse, just as a pistol has a trigger to fire off its shot. He claims that there is very little the medical field knows of this problem but what he has seen in me only seems to happen under heavy stress. Like the expectation that comes from knowing that Jack Simpson was on board my ship. Still, if that were wholly true, then my affliction would have passed with the news of his demise or continued every time I went into battle. He says this stress is emotional.
Stress of Duty only heightens my acuity. Emotional stress undermines my very soul. So says the good doctor.
He has asked me several times when the fits began. I have told him nothing. He concluded from talking to Mr. Hornblower that it began sometime after he fell sick. Still I had nothing to say. He asked me if Horatio's illness could have had something to do with it. Horatio? I have had these fits forever it seems. Horatio is but a shipmate I have known for a few of my tormented years.
Something is still haunting me, so he says. It is why I cannot seem to get rid of this illness. Mayhap, it is why I can't get rid of this fear in my heart. He says something has triggered my emotions. Something has uncovered a well-hidden pain and left me exposed to this, my truest of all enemies, my own mind. The fits are just a small part of it, he says. I if I don't relinquish this burden he believes me to carry, I am liable to encounter them as often as I did within the prison walls or even on board the Justinian. I am frightened by that thought.
What do I do? Where do I start?
It is cold and dark out tonight and yet I am miserably hot, and the light of the candle is burning though my brain, and I feel very much alone. What do you want from me? What can I write to make you go away? I do not understand the purpose of this exercise in futility. Pent up feelings be damned, if anything should give me fits it would be this damned journal.
Note to self... Do not toss the journal, or any book, at the sick berth door. The chances of our overly attentive doctor coming though it is insurmountable and then you get stuck with the "I told you so look" and a thirty-minute speech on the dangers of stress.
After noting my fever had returned with a vengeance, he took the damned book away from me until just now. I have been quite ill according to Horatio. I do not recall. The doctor said the fits have become more a part of my nights than rest. He begs me to tell him what bothers my soul. I can not tell him what I do not know and I do not know that I would tell him if I did. Trust never came easy and now it seems that it never comes at all, and so he returned this book. "Express your fears. Express your dreams," he said. "Give words to your anger, whatever they may be, but forgive your trespasses as you should forgive those who trespass against you. If not, I shall be forced to sign your pardon from His Majesty's services."
He would have me discharged. Unfit. I would rather die than face that. Dear God. Please...
Where do I start?
...Forgive those who trespassed against you... there have been so many trespasses in my life, why is it so important now? Trespasses, betrayals, broken trusts...could it be? It has been so long that I thought we had found peace between us. Mayhap it was more of an understanding. That should be enough. It was an understanding that had to come to pass if we were to remain onboard ship together. Could it be I was wrong? Could it be that once again my past has come forward to slap me hard across the face? That is how it felt then and it is how I feel now. I feel betrayed, now, by my mind. Then...by he who I had trusted with my darkest secrets.
It was the second day of our return to the INDY, since being returned to England by the Spanish, in recognition of our rescue of the survivors of the Almarie.
The Captain had been made aware of my affliction many years previous, the night of the attack on the Papillion. It would be one of the first things he brought up on my return to the ship.
I thought I would die standing there, and in fact, I prayed for it
"It is something I should have been made aware of sooner," he insisted.
I had no reply. I had nothing to say. I didn't think I could have said anything even if I had been able to open my mouth. I truly wanted to die right then and there.
"Still," he added, "Mr. Hornblower seems to think that this fit was brought on when Mr. Simpson came on board. He seems to believe that if I let you tell your side of the story, I will come to understand your silence. I have heard tale of his actions on board the Justinian and I have seen his cruel and vile conduct. I have no doubt that if you tell me he is the cause, that you would tell me the truth."
What I would have given to have a cannonball break through the walls and cut me in half. My tongue was numb, as was the rest of me. My knees wanted to buckle. I recognized this feeling; I was on the verge of a fit, right there in the Captain's cabin. The captain's words were no longer a part of my world. He continued to talk but I heard nothing but echoes in my head. Then something shattered the tunnel and made it though to my mind.
"Show him, Archie," Horatio said. "Show him the scars."
I didn't believe my ears. Surely I was hallucinating. Horatio would never break his word to me.
"Show him the scars, Archie."
I guess I was wrong, because as bold as brass, Horatio shattered that pledge made to me years ago like so much unwanted crystal. I could do nothing but look dumbfounded. He had promised never to tell.
"Show him!!" he yelled. I looked back at the Captain, hoping he would say it was unnecessary. The words never came.
I removed my jacket as the Captain looked on. I was beginning to feel lightheaded. Dear God, what would have been worse showing off my scars or having a fit right there in Captain's cabin? Horatio snapped me around angrily and stared hotly into my eyes. I felt a sudden urge of anger and hate towards the man whom I had come to see as more of a brother than a friend. Still, that moment's heat was enough to burn away the fit for the moment. I wondered if Horatio knew that would happen. Then I wondered if he cared.
I finished removing my shirt. For a moment I thought Mr. Bowles was going to keel over. I thought this reaction odd, for he had seen many a flogged back. The Captain dropped heavily into his chair and then Mr. Hornblower saw fit to turn me around. My back was no sooner to the Captain than Mr. Bowles pushed his way out the door of the Captain's cabin.
I remember the first time Horatio had seen my back. I did not own half the stripes I wear now and he, too, lost control of his stomach. He had yet to see a flogging and some of my wounds were fresh, so his reaction might have been expected, only he did not make it out of the door. A midshipman is not to be flogged under the Articles of the service, but then those who chose to do this did not see an officer, or a human, for that matter. The numbness started to ease its way back into my mind.
The Captain walked up behind me and gently placed my shirt over my back.
"The Prison?" he asked me, in an almost fatherly and hushed tone, as he turned me back around to face him.
"Some of the newer..." I tried to tell him.
Pellew sat on his desk. His eyes followed the map of still visible old and new scars that crossed a small part of my stomach and sides.
"I want the truth, Mr. Kennedy," he said. "I want the whole truth."
"How far back would you like me to go? I inquired."
"As far as you can stand to relate," he replied. "I will hold all you say to me this day within strictest confidence."
Suddenly my mind screamed out, "Forgive me, sir. But I have heard those words before. " At least I believed it was spoken only in my mind. My stare glazed over to Horatio, who would no longer look me in the face.
"I can ask Mr. Hornblower to leave if you wish it. Though, I believe his failure to maintain any contract with you was, in his eyes, an attempt to keep you afloat. I, too, reiterate that I will not break this oath to you unless I deem it a danger to England and or this ship. He looked past me over to Horatio, as if to dismiss him. But I begged him to allow him to stay, after all, I thought a man being punished should be done rightly so within the view of his mates, to warn them of that which could befell them should they fall from grace.
I can only assume he read the fear in my face as he added, "Please understand that even knowing what I know, Mr. Kennedy, I consider you one of my best men and I would dearly hate to lose you. "
I am not so sure the words registered; I am not sure I even cared. I just wanted out. I wanted death. At this point I wanted Horatio dead, as well. So, I again related my tale.
"When I was six," I told him, "I saw my father hit my mother. I had often heard my mother cry at night but I didn't know what was going on until that night. My ma took to calling me her little man. When I was very young but I did not feel as a man if being a man meant treating people the way my dad did. I was fairly sure I wanted nothing of manhood. It was not until I was nearly eleven years of age that my father hit my mother in front of me again. I rose up to defend her, as I had seen the heroes do in the theater on our visits to Drury Lane. I called him a coward, and when he slapped me I tried to hit him back but he slapped my hand way like a bothersome gnat. So, I kicked him in the shin with everything I had."
For a moment I thought I saw a cross between shock and humor traverse the Captain's eyes. Still, I continued my story.
"I awoke three days later. My father, in all of his drunken glory, had chosen to remove the belt from his waist and slam it, buckle and all, against my head, back and legs. It was after that that the fits started, sir. At least that is what I am told. I was confined to my room for many months, with no doctor and no relief to the pain. My only aid came from my older brother and sisters. They would spend several hours of their days reading me stories and helping me to walk. He, my father, would not even allow me to eat with the family. He did not want to see me until after the wounds had completely healed. He was not to be reminded what had been done.
When finally all of the mandates of my punishments were met, I was made ready for dinner and led to the dinner table. Up 'til then I don't think I had ever been so terrified. I was not to say anything to him or ever bring up the incident again. He informed me that my punishment had been served and that I was free to go about the house. Then suddenly his ire returned and he announced that if any word reached outside the walls of his house he would punish them who told as he had done to me. I do not recall ever eating my dinner. Instead, I awoke in my bed to the sounds of my mother's tears. I had fallen before my father in a fit. I was his son no longer. I would not see his face again. Six months later, at eleven years of age, I was a midshipman on board the Justinian. Sir."
"So these scars were your father's doing? "
"Only small few."
The look of anger that flushed his face faded as quickly as it had come. I thought him liable to explode at any minute and then suddenly, almost miraculously, calm
"Then please continue, sir. I wish to know what it is that haunts you."
"There is nothing that haunts me, sir, save the loosed tongue of one who would be my friend." The words spat out of my head quicker that I had dared believe. I could not have cut Horatio any plainer should I have brandished a sword.
Still, the Captain would have no self-pity on board his ship, and told me as much. "Continue if you wish, or leave me to make my decision with what little I have to go by. If you should ever see yourself as gaining rank in this man's Navy, you might be a little bit more forthcoming of information. I would be grateful for any knowledge that would tip the sails to your favor. Mr. Hornblower, no doubt, understands this, though his methods are a bit brisk. I doubt you believe it at this time, his thinking is sound."
Horatio told to save me from losing my commission. He believed there was no other way around my predicament and I knew in my heart he was not wrong, but my anger was far from cooled.
"Yes, sir," I spoke, not knowing how or where to start. He asked me to tell him where Mr. Simpson figured into my ailment. "Mr. Simpson was the lead midshipman of the Justinian, sir," I stated in no uncertain terms, just as it had been taught to me. He may levee a toll on our sea chest, likewise our issue of spirits and best cuts of meat. He is...uh...was senior officer in the mess. He had privilege to stake claim on anything he wished."
"Render unto Caesar," Mr. Hornblower mumbled.
I felt my eyes close. "I had not seen my first night on board ship before Mr. Simpson staked his claim on me." I continued talking to him as if he and Horatio were not even present in the room. I tried my damnedest not to look the Captain in the eyes. A great part of me was so tired of hiding that my stare must have seemed challenging, for it was the Captain whose eyes found comfort in the floor.
"I was gagged and tied down, belly first, over some table stowed in the ship's hold. It had two holes bore though the wood in which two sheep shanks wedged through them were used to cuff me to it."
At this point I found swallowing a challenge, yet alone talking.
"He removed my trousers and struck me twice with a boson's starter. He then began to ...to acquaint himself with my ...with me. I do not remember what happened save what Mr. Clayton informed me. It seems I had suffered a fit. Mr. Simpson returned. He then finished the beating he had started earlier, as he informed me I was not going to feign illness to get out of my duties to him. I was his to do with as he would and then he carved his initials in my backside. If I spoke to anyone about this he would tell the Captain I was unfit for duty. If he chose to he would do it anyway. I had no place to go. I had no home. The only thing I could hope for was death. And I prayed for it daily. He had different toys for different occasions. I was first flogged after the ratings had been flogged for attempting to run. I was hit five times with the cat before I succumbed to the pain. He also found value in the sail makers' tools and various items from the kitchen."
"Certainly someone noticed the blood on your shirts?" the Captain asked.
"Have you ever seen Mr. Kennedy out of uniform, sir?" Mr. Hornblower announced. "Blood does not too visibly show on dark blue wool."
"Certainly someone knew of this travesty. Were you not seen by the doctor? "
"Aye, sir. On the occasions when dousing my wounds in rum could not control the infections or he beat me senseless, he would send me to the sick berth under the guise of my clumsiness or punishment resulting in a visit from the boson's mate. He had a convincing story for everything. My only respite came when he or I were sent away on separate missions or if we were given leave."
"You mean to tell me not one would stand against this beast?"
I looked him square on. He truly could not comprehend the loneliness of my situation. "On a rare occasion, a midshipman would attempt to intervene, but rarely did he live long enough to regret his kindness."
"Mr. Simpson would not dare commit murder on board a ship of His Majesty's Navy. Mr. Keene may have been a lot of things but he was not stupid."
"Of course not, sir," I growled. "If you were to check the journals, you would find they were accidents one and all. The first was Mister Conyers, sir. He fell victim to a storm, lost at sea during a watch that should have been Mr. Simpson's. The second was Mr. Howard; he was lost when he fell from the mizzenmast to the deck. Mr. Simpson claimed he tried to save him but was unable. There were a few others whose accidents left them either lame or dead, each coming after the poor bloke attempted to help me. The last of these coincidences would have been Mr. Clayton, in lieu of Mr. Hornblower's request for a duel. The issue of cards had little or no bearing on the challenge, although it might have to Mr. Hornblower. Mr. Clayton was one of the few who knew the extent of my dishonor. He only hoped to prevent Horatio from falling victim, too."
"Mr. Kennedy!" he roared. "You mean to tell me that this continued for ... for..."
"Seven years," I finished. Quite calmly I might add. He was not pleased with my finishing off his sentence but for the first time in all my years, I felt stronger than I ever had.
"Sir. The reason you never knew about the fits," Horatio intervened, "was because until Simpson boarded the ship, there had not been any fits to report. They only seem to occur under times of great mental anguish, invoked on a rare occasion by a nightmare, but never, save that one incident, did it ever affect Mr. Kennedy's duties on board the Indefatigable. Never."
"Dear God. It is any wonder that you have any faith left, my lad. That which you have endured would have broken many a good man."
"My faith in my fellow man or my faith in God?" I asked, readily angered by my own question.
"Either, sir," he challenged.
"My faith in my fellow man was not wholly broken...until recently," I added. "My faith in God. Well, sir..."
"Do you blame God, sir?"
"Well sir, no, sir. I only blame myself. Maybe if I had been a better person, a better sailor or even a better son, maybe it would have been different. For this I can only beg thy Holy Father's forgiveness"
"Nonsense man. For what you have been through, I would believe God, above all, would understand. You are not to blame."
It was then my knees buckled beneath me. I felt as if I were going to be sick. Mr. Hornblower tried to catch me but I jerked away from him. This all was his fault. I would have been fine, have survived, or more importantly died, in prison had he not interfered. I hated him, but I hated myself more.
The Captain sent Horatio for the surgeon, and he himself eased me to a chair.
"I am sorry, sir," I remember muttering as he handed me a snifter of brandy to try and calm my nerves.
"I will not hear it. It is I who should be apologizing, sir. I should not have forced such memories upon you so soon after your release from capture."
I am too tired to write any more. This damned book has become a paper dagger that is continuously thrust in my stomach. Or maybe it is this damn illness. I will try to rest. Maybe tomorrow I will continue to bandy with my nightmare. I can only hope that this struggle is worth the effort.