Chapter 2
It has been two days since I was allowed to spend time with this book. Dr. Sebastian has requested several times to read it, or at least discuss its contents with me. I told him straight out there was little I could do to stop him, but if he were truly requesting my permission I would beg him no.
He tells me that my dreams have become more constant, and with them, my fits. It seems I have cried out for forgiveness for what he would only surmise as an unbelievable amount of time. He begged me again for my permission to bear this cross with me. "If you cannot speak to the captain or Mr. Hornblower, then at least let me help. What you have written could be a clue of your problems. I believe that it may hold the key to your health, nay, your life.
What do I do now? I have no care for my life as it is. Still, something in me screams to live; to strive. Something in me needs to remain tethered to this mortal life. My work, I would guess, is yet to be done and God has made it plain that I will have to work for my glories that will follow in the after life. Or maybe it is that he is trying to tell me that I will not have to forge through this one alone.
Eventually, I will likely give in to one of his request to help me, he is persistent enough, butI am just not ready. When Horatio came in to add his request to my list, at first I laughed. What did he need, more dirty laundry to announce to the world?
Damn, I have forgotten my place. My mind wanders too often now. The fever has drugged me more so than a full bottle of Laudanum. If the doctor is right, then my relapse is due to something that happened that day, that infamous day in the captain's cabin. Where was I? Oh yes.
The Captain had just handed me a snifter of brandy when the doctor had shown himself. Mr. Hepplewhite and I had no love lost between us that were for sure certain. He enjoyed his blindness when it came to my injuries in the past. I suppose I should not blame him, for Mr. Simpson had an easy way with lies and then again, he would be content with the explanation if you announced that I had been keelhauled if it was given with either a straight face or a bottle of rum. I never told anyone but I was as afraid of that poor excuse of a doctor as I was of Mr. Simpson. His tongue was as sharp as any blade, and I was truly unfit to believe he was not right in is assessment of me. In his opinion I was a disgrace to the uniform. His was an opinion I would have to accept, since he was at the time the ship's leading medical expert. His opinion was also one of few things he bore no pain to give me. He was, after all, a man of knowledge. I would be a greater fool not to have given his education its proper respect. That too, was something he was more than willing to inform me.
I tried like hell to get the Captain to believe that I was fine, to which the good doctor announced, "It is well that I recognized my tendency to waist his time."
The captain left his office with Mr. Hornblower. I again was left to the verbal nurturing of the doctor. I believe it was something to the fact that I again was wasting his and the good Captain's time. Then something to the fact of: How he understood why it was Mr. Simpson had to discipline me, as often as he did, and of course my favorite: how I should be grateful for the lessons learned by his hand. But these were all words I had heard before. It was the words that followed that bore in to my soul.
It seems, he feels, that since the day I first boarded the Justinian, I had become the doctor's own personal plague, his bane if you will. One, he said in all honesty, was not missed during my absence.
Further dressings of my psychological wounds were gratefully interrupted by the entry of the Captain and Mr. Hornblower. I respectfully and gratefully stood from my chair at their entry, to which the doctor informed him he saw no reason for his own presence and excused himself. The doctor again left with doing no more than drinking a snifter of the Captain's good port and pouring salt on the open wounds of my heart and mind.
The captain took a seat behind his desk and had both Horatio and myself take seats across from him. He asked if I felt able to continue my report. I dare say I was not going to say no. I already knew the opinion of the doctor. If he had his say I would have never re-boarded the Indefatigable. If it had not been for that damned Hornblower we both may have been the happier for it. But I am here now and all the bile in the back of my throat is not going to change that. I have nowhere else to go. If I am forced to leave the Navy, I will not live the night. My soul will be damned, another thing I have to thank Mr. Hornblower for.
It was a few moments before I realized he was talking to me again.
"I suppose I should be grateful for what Mr. Simpson did to me," I muttered, still thinking on what the doctor had said.
"Dear God, sir. I cannot believe what I just heard. Please, tell me you didn't just say that."
I was both embarrassed and confused when he repeated to me my words and begged that I would tell him why anyone should feel grateful for such abuse.
"I know, sir, that this may sound strange, but after my capture, and my first attempt to escape, I was tied to a stake in the middle of the compound and beaten." I looked over to Horatio who sat with his head in his hands. The Captain popped up from his chair as if stung by a bee.
I don't remember how many lashes. It was not as if my efforts did not go unpunished on my journey back to my imprisonment. I was barely able to stand when we finally arrived
"Dear God," I heard the Captain murmur.
"Funny thing sir, but as I think back, it seems I was unimpressed by their punishment."
I wish I could have stopped time and painted the looks that crossed Horatio and the Captain's faces; shock, confusion, and more than a bit of worry for my sanity crossed those eyes.
"Sir," I continued, "When I was beaten in the French prisons it was nothing I could not bear. Unfortunately for me, they too realized beating me did nothing. So they introduced me to several other ways a man could be punished. Each time the punishment was a little more severe than the last" I know the look that crossed the Captain's face next; he wanted more information.
"Despite my ailment, I am nearly fourteen years in the Navy, sir; I know my duty as a British officer. The rules do not give leave as to how much you are allowed to bear before you are allowed to quit. So I continued my endeavors; the first chance I had, I ran. Each time the punishment was harsher than the last but each time I endured it and tried again. They continued to move me further and further away from my destination in hopes to dissuade any more attempts to get home. With each move there was less and less human contact, until I found myself alone in a Spanish prison. Yet, not having a clue how I was to get back to the Indy, I made yet another attempt to break free. It was the last time that left me without the use of my mind or my legs. In the end, it was the Spanish who broke me. Not by beating or flogging me or even stringing me up shirtless in the sun for three days. No, I was broken, after being forced to sit in the dark with none but the rats and myself. I was essentially buried alive with nothing more than small doses of water, a few crumbs of bread and my tortured mind for a month.
The Captain pulled himself around the desk, once again sitting on the corner, and laying his hand gently on my shoulder, said, "What I don't understand, Mr. Kennedy, is why it was you were not bothered by fits prior to Mr. Hornblower's capture and subsequent imprisonment? "
"At the time I had given up on life. I did not want to be rescued nor saved. Especially after finally knowing how it was I came to be alone in the longboat. What I said was not wholly true nor was it wholly false. I did have fits during my internment, but I was not bothered by them. I prayed for them, hoping I would swallow my tongue or bash my own head in. I knew eventually the odds had to go in my favor. I prayed that I would die and not have to face the world again. Do you know what it is like to be looked down on for eternity as poor Mr. Kennedy? To know that as soon as Mr. Hornblower was able to escape with his crew that the world would know how I was found, beaten and lost, laying in filth of my own making. Dear God, I was even the topic of the guards' conversations half the night, standing out side my window laughing. I guess they did not know I understood Spanish. It was dreadful.
"But you said," Horatio objected
"I said, I was not bothered by them. I don't know how to explain it other than I slept through most of them. Yes, there are ways to know they have happened and I did not care. Then along comes not only another English sailor but my shipmate. My embarrassment was complete. How plain could I have made it? You would have thought a mind like yours would have gotten the hint when you began to bathe me. I would have preferred death than to have to listen to the muffled comments of my weakness, my illness. Even Mr. Hunter understood that I would be better off dead. He even attempted to help me die.
I watched the whole thing play out in Horatio's eyes. Always the analytical mind is he. "By keeping quiet about you not eating?"
"Yes," I laughed. "He actually volunteered to eat my portions so that I would not have to smell the food dumped on the ground and of course you would never know I was not eating"
"Damn his soul, "Captain Pellew murmured adding, "If he were not already dead I would have him up on attempted murder charges."
"No sir, I beg you, forgive him. I don't doubt his motives were selfish ... but then so were mine." The thought of the smell of beef gravy and bread makes my stomach churn even now. Oh God!
It has been two days since I was allowed to spend time with this book. Dr. Sebastian has requested several times to read it, or at least discuss its contents with me. I told him straight out there was little I could do to stop him, but if he were truly requesting my permission I would beg him no.
He tells me that my dreams have become more constant, and with them, my fits. It seems I have cried out for forgiveness for what he would only surmise as an unbelievable amount of time. He begged me again for my permission to bear this cross with me. "If you cannot speak to the captain or Mr. Hornblower, then at least let me help. What you have written could be a clue of your problems. I believe that it may hold the key to your health, nay, your life.
What do I do now? I have no care for my life as it is. Still, something in me screams to live; to strive. Something in me needs to remain tethered to this mortal life. My work, I would guess, is yet to be done and God has made it plain that I will have to work for my glories that will follow in the after life. Or maybe it is that he is trying to tell me that I will not have to forge through this one alone.
Eventually, I will likely give in to one of his request to help me, he is persistent enough, butI am just not ready. When Horatio came in to add his request to my list, at first I laughed. What did he need, more dirty laundry to announce to the world?
Damn, I have forgotten my place. My mind wanders too often now. The fever has drugged me more so than a full bottle of Laudanum. If the doctor is right, then my relapse is due to something that happened that day, that infamous day in the captain's cabin. Where was I? Oh yes.
The Captain had just handed me a snifter of brandy when the doctor had shown himself. Mr. Hepplewhite and I had no love lost between us that were for sure certain. He enjoyed his blindness when it came to my injuries in the past. I suppose I should not blame him, for Mr. Simpson had an easy way with lies and then again, he would be content with the explanation if you announced that I had been keelhauled if it was given with either a straight face or a bottle of rum. I never told anyone but I was as afraid of that poor excuse of a doctor as I was of Mr. Simpson. His tongue was as sharp as any blade, and I was truly unfit to believe he was not right in is assessment of me. In his opinion I was a disgrace to the uniform. His was an opinion I would have to accept, since he was at the time the ship's leading medical expert. His opinion was also one of few things he bore no pain to give me. He was, after all, a man of knowledge. I would be a greater fool not to have given his education its proper respect. That too, was something he was more than willing to inform me.
I tried like hell to get the Captain to believe that I was fine, to which the good doctor announced, "It is well that I recognized my tendency to waist his time."
The captain left his office with Mr. Hornblower. I again was left to the verbal nurturing of the doctor. I believe it was something to the fact that I again was wasting his and the good Captain's time. Then something to the fact of: How he understood why it was Mr. Simpson had to discipline me, as often as he did, and of course my favorite: how I should be grateful for the lessons learned by his hand. But these were all words I had heard before. It was the words that followed that bore in to my soul.
It seems, he feels, that since the day I first boarded the Justinian, I had become the doctor's own personal plague, his bane if you will. One, he said in all honesty, was not missed during my absence.
Further dressings of my psychological wounds were gratefully interrupted by the entry of the Captain and Mr. Hornblower. I respectfully and gratefully stood from my chair at their entry, to which the doctor informed him he saw no reason for his own presence and excused himself. The doctor again left with doing no more than drinking a snifter of the Captain's good port and pouring salt on the open wounds of my heart and mind.
The captain took a seat behind his desk and had both Horatio and myself take seats across from him. He asked if I felt able to continue my report. I dare say I was not going to say no. I already knew the opinion of the doctor. If he had his say I would have never re-boarded the Indefatigable. If it had not been for that damned Hornblower we both may have been the happier for it. But I am here now and all the bile in the back of my throat is not going to change that. I have nowhere else to go. If I am forced to leave the Navy, I will not live the night. My soul will be damned, another thing I have to thank Mr. Hornblower for.
It was a few moments before I realized he was talking to me again.
"I suppose I should be grateful for what Mr. Simpson did to me," I muttered, still thinking on what the doctor had said.
"Dear God, sir. I cannot believe what I just heard. Please, tell me you didn't just say that."
I was both embarrassed and confused when he repeated to me my words and begged that I would tell him why anyone should feel grateful for such abuse.
"I know, sir, that this may sound strange, but after my capture, and my first attempt to escape, I was tied to a stake in the middle of the compound and beaten." I looked over to Horatio who sat with his head in his hands. The Captain popped up from his chair as if stung by a bee.
I don't remember how many lashes. It was not as if my efforts did not go unpunished on my journey back to my imprisonment. I was barely able to stand when we finally arrived
"Dear God," I heard the Captain murmur.
"Funny thing sir, but as I think back, it seems I was unimpressed by their punishment."
I wish I could have stopped time and painted the looks that crossed Horatio and the Captain's faces; shock, confusion, and more than a bit of worry for my sanity crossed those eyes.
"Sir," I continued, "When I was beaten in the French prisons it was nothing I could not bear. Unfortunately for me, they too realized beating me did nothing. So they introduced me to several other ways a man could be punished. Each time the punishment was a little more severe than the last" I know the look that crossed the Captain's face next; he wanted more information.
"Despite my ailment, I am nearly fourteen years in the Navy, sir; I know my duty as a British officer. The rules do not give leave as to how much you are allowed to bear before you are allowed to quit. So I continued my endeavors; the first chance I had, I ran. Each time the punishment was harsher than the last but each time I endured it and tried again. They continued to move me further and further away from my destination in hopes to dissuade any more attempts to get home. With each move there was less and less human contact, until I found myself alone in a Spanish prison. Yet, not having a clue how I was to get back to the Indy, I made yet another attempt to break free. It was the last time that left me without the use of my mind or my legs. In the end, it was the Spanish who broke me. Not by beating or flogging me or even stringing me up shirtless in the sun for three days. No, I was broken, after being forced to sit in the dark with none but the rats and myself. I was essentially buried alive with nothing more than small doses of water, a few crumbs of bread and my tortured mind for a month.
The Captain pulled himself around the desk, once again sitting on the corner, and laying his hand gently on my shoulder, said, "What I don't understand, Mr. Kennedy, is why it was you were not bothered by fits prior to Mr. Hornblower's capture and subsequent imprisonment? "
"At the time I had given up on life. I did not want to be rescued nor saved. Especially after finally knowing how it was I came to be alone in the longboat. What I said was not wholly true nor was it wholly false. I did have fits during my internment, but I was not bothered by them. I prayed for them, hoping I would swallow my tongue or bash my own head in. I knew eventually the odds had to go in my favor. I prayed that I would die and not have to face the world again. Do you know what it is like to be looked down on for eternity as poor Mr. Kennedy? To know that as soon as Mr. Hornblower was able to escape with his crew that the world would know how I was found, beaten and lost, laying in filth of my own making. Dear God, I was even the topic of the guards' conversations half the night, standing out side my window laughing. I guess they did not know I understood Spanish. It was dreadful.
"But you said," Horatio objected
"I said, I was not bothered by them. I don't know how to explain it other than I slept through most of them. Yes, there are ways to know they have happened and I did not care. Then along comes not only another English sailor but my shipmate. My embarrassment was complete. How plain could I have made it? You would have thought a mind like yours would have gotten the hint when you began to bathe me. I would have preferred death than to have to listen to the muffled comments of my weakness, my illness. Even Mr. Hunter understood that I would be better off dead. He even attempted to help me die.
I watched the whole thing play out in Horatio's eyes. Always the analytical mind is he. "By keeping quiet about you not eating?"
"Yes," I laughed. "He actually volunteered to eat my portions so that I would not have to smell the food dumped on the ground and of course you would never know I was not eating"
"Damn his soul, "Captain Pellew murmured adding, "If he were not already dead I would have him up on attempted murder charges."
"No sir, I beg you, forgive him. I don't doubt his motives were selfish ... but then so were mine." The thought of the smell of beef gravy and bread makes my stomach churn even now. Oh God!