Okay, this is the actual, real draft of Chapter 5. I'll probably do some editing later, but these are the actual events which will comprise this chapter. The next one might take even longer because, although it was already half-done, I accidentally deleted the only copy of it. [expletive deleted

Chapter 5: Rations

Captain Pellew considered it a cruel hand dealt by the Almighty that a Spanish anchorage lay just six miles off of Gibraltar. There were nine ships there when they arrived, which made negotiation into and out of the bay tricky. It took them all day to make their way to the port, make anchor, and by the time the two Captains were able to report in to the Port Admiral night had already fallen. The men were in good spirits all that night; ports meant shore leave, and those with and without families had pockets full of money to spend on beer, decent food, and no doubt a bit of female companionship.

Their spirits were considerably dimmed the next morning. Because of the high turnover rate of supply ships in recent weeks, Captain Pellew had been forced to reduce the rations by half. Riley braced himself for rough weather and waited for the rumblings to begin.

Hornblower's spirits were likewise diminished, though in a different way and for a different reason; the Captain had put him forward for the next round of examinations for Lieutenant. The stress was enormous, and did little to aid in his ability to handle a crew with uncertain morale, facing half-rations.

"It's a gallant British man-o-war lies in Gibraltar Bay –

And the jolly-jacks aboard her wish that they could have their say…"

"A highly appropriate song for the times, is it not, Mr. Bracegirdle?" Riley commented.

"Indeed it is, Mr. Riley," Bracegirdle agreed.

They met Midshipman Cleveland at the top of the stairs.

"The nightingales are in full voice tonight, are they not?" Bracegirdle was pleased with the fact, and rightly so. It was better than the alternative.

"Yes, sir," replied Cleveland, "But Mr. Hornblower has no time for birdsong." He saluted and moved on, in the direction of the singing. Bracegirdle and Riley exchanged glances. One of them would need to have a word with Hornblower about this.

"Shall you or shall I?" asked Bracegirdle.

"I believe I must concede to honor to superior rank," said Riley. It would have been too odd, counseling Hornblower. Besides, Bracegirdle had a bit more than Riley's two years on the boy, and had actual experience to back him up rather than just stories.

Bracegirdle nodded, "Agreed." He headed in the direction of the deck. Riley returned to the officer's mess, singing along with the men under his breath.

"It is a clear and cloudless night,

And the wind blows steady and strong.

And we have lain in Gibraltar Bay

For many a day too long.

Biscuits one, pease pudding none-"

The song cut off abruptly as Cleveland delivered Hornblower's admonishment. Riley could here it from the next deck up.

"Acting Lieutenant Hornblower requests a little less gusto on the chorus, if you please."

It was anything but a request. Riley shook his head. He could understand being nervous for the examination. He'd been extremely nervous himself, staying up two nights in a row studying. It was nothing less than a miracle he'd passed; he was so exhausted that he had almost keeled over walking into the examination room. Fortunately his mouth had taken over once the trio of Captain's began to question him, and he'd been able to sit back in astonishment at his own breadth of knowledge. But to demand that the men to stop singing so that he could study would have been unthinkable, especially under these circumstances. Most of the men had seen the effects of rationing before; they knew exactly what was coming, and feared it. It was more than just empty bellies and a bit of weakness. It was starvation, and disease, and death. And their options were to sing or weep. Deny them the ability to sing and… well. The consequences were unpleasant.

The singing picked up again, louder than before. Insubordination though it was, Riley thought it wrong to reprimand them.

"Biscuits one, pease pudding none,

And salt-beef only half.

Our rations would not feed a man,

But our officers only laugh.

Ha-ha, hee-hee, ha-ha!

A gallant British man-o-war lies in Gibraltar Bay

And the jolly-jacks aboard her wish that they could have their say.

But they must keep their mouths tight shut

Although their thoughts be dark…"

The letter from his mother rested heavy in his pocket. Safely inside his cabin, Riley brought it out and laid it on the table. He lit the candle and brought out a quill pen, inkbottle, and paper. Then he took up the letter once more and broke the seal.

"Dear George," it began, "I trust that you still enjoy excellent health. I am quite well. Yesterday your Aunt Sally…"

It went on in such a manner for about a page. Riley didn't give it much more than a cursory glance; it wasn't anything his mother really wanted to say. When he'd gotten through the code that he had developed specifically for this purpose, the important part of the letter became clear.

I know you told me not to write to you very often, for fear of discovery, but I just had to tell you. You cannot believe what has happened! Madame Bucksley has died, God rest her soul, and has left me in charge of the House! The Lilac Twins are good and jealous, and serves them right, stealing so many of my customers. What I can't see is how they could have thought that the Madame would let any girl, much less twins still in their prime, replace her. By their own account they attract half of our custom, so why the bloody hell should they be taken off the market! But I won out in the end, having seniority, and a good thing, too. I'm not as young as I once was, and I couldn't have kept it up much longer as a common whore. Now I can make a living off the other common whores.

Oh there, now, look at that. I'm so excited my language had gone all to rot. But your Mum is getting good at using this secret message thing, ain't she? Keep safe, dear.

This was excellent news. His mother had always wanted to run the Swan, but she'd never thought she had a chance to. Riley was happy for her. He refolded the letter and put it in a box on the table. The unused writing materials were put away; he hadn't needed them. It was dangerous to write these things down, so he avoided it whenever possible. A thing like this, properly sown, could ruin a man's career. Not to mention what might happen if anybody unearthed the rest of it.

Riley was proud of the men. It had been three weeks since the rations had been curtailed; some of the more grizzled sailors were beginning to fall ill, everyone was weaker and more irritable, and there had not been a single complaint. None of the dangerous sort, at any rate; Soldiers are soldiers, by land or by sea /So it always has been and ever shall be, as Captain Thornton used to say. Riley would have laid even odds that the Roman legionaries posted along the Gaulish border griped about everything from the weather, to latrine duty, to the good character displayed by their superiors, or lack thereof. It was when they stopped grousing and started muttering that a good officer became concerned, and thus far nothing of the sort had been exhibited among Riley's men. He was delighted. Were it not for the ever-intensifying gnawing sensation in his belly and the fact that Lieutenant Hornblower was rapidly becoming intolerable, he would have been positively cheerful.

It did not help that both officers and men were caught up in a veritable epidemic of irritability, born of almost two dozen days without quite enough food. Riley was less affected than the others, or at least he displayed it less; when he caught himself becoming waspish, he was sure to rein it in. Both the Captain and Mr. Bracegirdle seemed relatively pleasant as well, although Riley suspected that internally they were just as irascible as the rest of them. Unfortunately, Hornblower was possessed of a somewhat lesser self-control, and inaction in the face of impediment did not suit him in the slightest. Every ship arriving at Gibraltar brought tales of the Great and Glorious Captain Foster's exploits against the Spanish, and with that shining example of action – and failure - before him Hornblower could not but feel frustrated. Which did no make his behavior any less juvenile, irrational, and exceedingly aggravating to every officer with whom he came into regular contact.

A constant state of abrasiveness permeated the air about him like a tempest, but he voiced no explicit criticism. Until one afternoon. Hornblower was very fortunate that neither Bracegirdle nor Bowles were there. Only Riley was present, sitting quietly at the mess table and reading Herodotus.

Hornblower stormed in, his jaw tight enough to drum a beat upon. When he saw Riley his lip curled, and he gathered his thunderclouds in the direction of his cabin. This was too much for Riley. He had to say something.

"You seem upset, Mr. Hornblower," he said, watching the young Lieutenant over the top of his book.

Hornblower did not stop, turning to face Riley as he yanked his door open. "Indeed, sir."

"Might I inquire as to the reason?"

Hornblower had to stop, halfway through the frame. "You may inquire, sir," he said, in a clipped, highly impolite tone that was meant to cut of any attempt at further conversation and should never be used when addressing an officer who outranked the speaker. Riley chose to ignore this. Hornblower tried to close the cabin door behind him

"And you may come over here and answer, if you please."

Abandoning all attempts to retreat into his room and probably very pleased to have a true confrontation at last, Hornblower re-entered the mess, slammed the door shut, and stood before Riley at attention. Riley looked up at him blandly.

"You are damned lucky I'm not someone else, Mr. Hornblower," he said. The ill-fed and annoyed part of his mind had long since tied the boy into a German pretzel and thrown him back into his cabin since he liked the place so much. But Riley did his best to smother the impulse "Now, what is it that's troubling you?"

The jaw was really working now. How it managed to do that without snapping a muscle was beyond Riley.

"With your permission, I'd rather not discuss it, sir."

"You do not have my permission," Riley barked, rising, "Damn it, Hornblower, do you have to be so blasted contrary?"

The glared for several minutes, each waiting for the other to give in. Finally, Hornblower stepped around the table and planted himself in the chair across from Riley, arms folded over his chest. He raised his eyebrows.

"You wanted to know what is the matter," he said, "Well, I'll tell you. Please sit down."

Riley sat slowly, marked his place in Herodotus with a strip of leather, and closed the volume, all with an air of quiet control. Inwardly, he was seething, but that would never do. He rarely let anger bubble for long in situations where it could hinder him, and he knew that if he acted calmly, soon he would truly be calm.

"We sit around doing nothing while the Spanish pick off our fleet," he began testily. "We should be out there following Captain Foster's example."

"Captain Foster failed, as I remember it," Riley remarked.

"Better to try and fail than to sit and rot in disease and starvation."

"Is that so?" Riley asked. "And what good, pray tell, will we do the Navy rotting at the bottom of the ocean? No, let me finish," Riley held up a hand to silence Hornblower. The question had been rhetorical. "Our crew is strong enough for combat right now, and it would be folly to throw ourselves away on attempts that are already doomed to failure. The Lords of Admiralty are not stupid, Mr. Hornblower. They know perfectly well that we cannot simply sit and wait for a supply ship to make it through. I don't know what they intend to do; perhaps they will start sending frigates as escorts, or have them come by some other route."

Hornblower looked skeptical. "We're in Gibraltar. What 'other route' is there?"

"We could get supplies from Africa, I suppose. I told you; I don't know. But the point is that a plan will be formulated by our superiors, and until then we cannot go haring off on some wild adventure, especially not with a fatigued crew."

"So you are suggesting complacency?"

"Until I am presented with a viable alternative, yes," Riley said curtly.

Hornblower snorted, but for the moment could find no better retort. Riley excused himself and retired to his own cabin. He closed the door behind him and collapsed into his bunk. He was trembling. Not informing Hornblower that he had rather overstepped the mark, actually allowing him to discuss policy in his presence, was quite possibly one of the most dissident things he had ever done. He brought out Herodotus again to steady himself, then shut the book abruptly. What kind of a coward was he? What sedition could anyone possibly find in his actions? His entire attitude about supposedly mutinous talk was thoroughly absurd… unless someone did take notice, and decided to do some research. Then, oh then, he would be in trouble. But was it truly necessary to be so cautious? Surely His Majesty's Navy desired her officer's to think? It would bear some puzzling. Riley re-opened Herodotus' Histories and began to read once more.

As it happened, both of Riley's predictions about the Admiralty came true. Another week later, the Indefatigable was ordered to escort the transport brig Caroline to Oran for supplies, taking with them a certain Mr. Tapling of the diplomatic service to conduct negotiations. Riley was ordered to see to it he was "comfortable."

Mr. Tapling was a bit on the short side, and more than a bit on the corpulent side, of your average Englishman. Riley was consequently forced to have him swung aboard in what resembled nothing so much as a pair of over-sized canvas trousers, with the addition of bottoms to the legs so that the passenger was able to stand. Mr. Tapling was not at all pleased with this arrangement, and kept up a near constant stream of criticism, interposed with wails of dismay, throughout the entire process.

"Welcome aboard, sir." Riley greeted him when he was finally over the side.

"'Welcome aboard?'" Tapling repeated. He was the very picture of outraged indignation, despite or perhaps because of the fact that the canvas trousers swayed with every movement. "I have never been so mishandled in my entire life. Do you know who I am, sir?"

"You are Mr. Tapling, of the diplomatic service," Riley said.

Tapling seemed a trifle miffed at being unable to inform Riley in no uncertain terms exactly who he was. "Well, at least that's something," he conceded in a singularly aggrieved tone.

"Mr. Riley!" Pellew shouted. "Get that raffle cleared away immediately!"

"Aye-aye, sir!" Riley called back. The men around him chuckled.

"Well help me!" Mr. Tapling demanded.

Once the diplomat was firmly on deck, Riley showed him to his cabin, at which he immediately grimaced.

"Were there no other rooms available?" he asked.

"No," said Riley, which was a lie. "None as good as this one, at any rate."

That was also a lie, but not much of one. There were one or two others that were about the same as this. One was perhaps better, but Riley was sure that Tapling would have found them all equally distasteful.

"I suppose I shall have to bear it," Tapling announced. He squared his shoulders like an infantryman going into battle, sniffed melodramatically, pinched his nose against the smell, and marched in. He closed the door. It made an affronted 'snicking' sound as it did so.

Riley groaned. At any other time, he would have found Tapling highly amusing. As it was, he would have to hope that, like fine wine, Mr. Tapling would improve with age.

The entire ship knew of the crime by the morning after it happened. Morale, it seemed, was not as glowing as Riley had thought. Unless, of course, Bunting was a freak. That would fit with Riley's observations, though such matters tended to be indicative of the general mood of the crew. But Riley had been sure that dissension was almost non-existent. Now he could not be so certain. The whole affair was troubling to say the least.

Riley heard about it from Hornblower. Apparently, Bunting had been speaking mutiny and attempting to seed malicious rumors ever since his mate, Finch, had died of disease and fatigue as a result of rationing. Hornblower given him a second chance, both because he knew that Finch's death must have been unsettling and because he felt indebted to the deceased seaman: Finch had saved Hornblower's life on the Papillon, when the then Midshipman had been shot out of the rigging by Mr. Simpson.

But in defiance of Hornblower's benevolence, last night, when the Steward and the Marine Guard snuck off for a tot of rum, Bunting had broken into the ship's larder. He had apparently been under the impression that there was good food down there, and that the officers had been hoarding it for themselves at the expense of their men. He was badly disappointed; all that was to be found in the hold were moldy cheese and stale, maggoty seabiscuits. Hornblower and the Steward had found him groveling in the pebble ballast, weeping pitifully.

This performance did nothing to illicit sympathy. Bunting was promptly locked in the brig until Pellew awoke, at which time he was hauled in front of the Captain, who had given him the harshest dressing down that Hornblower had ever seen. It was decided that he should be put through the gauntlet, a brutal punishment whereby the offender was led at sword-point through the ranks of his shipmates, who whipped him as he passed; to Riley's mind a fate he thoroughly deserved.

At this point, Hornblower had felt compelled to speak. He claimed responsibility for Bunting's actions, saying that he had had trouble with Bunting before and should have dealt with him more firmly.

"You should have known it couldn't work," Riley interjected, "He has to be made an example of, and to be perfectly frank this man Bunting is extremely lucky not to be hanged."

"He might disagree with you," Hornblower replied grimly, "But you're right, of course. All I accomplished was earning myself the 'honor' of leading him through it."

"The gauntlet?"

Hornblower nodded.

Riley grimaced. "He'll never forgive you for that."

"Why?" asked Hornblower, "I tried to defend him."

"Yes, but you turned him in" Riley pointed out, "And it will be your face he sees while he's being whipped. Men like Bunting don't think the way the rest of us do, Horatio. He should be grateful, but the best he is likely to give you is a bit more respect, and believe me you would be extremely lucky to receive it. How much longer?"

"Not enough," Hornblower said. "We'd better go up."

Riley went to the quarterdeck with the other officers, while Hornblower remained with Bunting and the other seamen. When all were assembled, cords in hand, Pellew addressed them.

"This man is a thief!" he announced. He stretched his words out, reinforcing the message with every syllable. "A man caught stealing food, from the hold, steals from each and every one of you. Make sure you teach him his lesson. Any man going easy on him will be implicatedin the theft."

Pellew glared down at the men to be sure they understood and said, more quietly, 'Carry on, Mr. Hornblower."

"Yes, sir," said Hornblower.

Bunting's shirt was lifted over his head and bundled around his arms, restricting his movement. Riley could see his chest going in and out in equally restricted panic. At least the man was no coward. Hornblower drew his sword and leveled it at Bunting's belly, Matthews doing the same from behind. The drummers set the beat, and they began to move.

They made it halfway through without serious incident. Two man-lengths through the second half, a blow landed across Bunting's face. Mr. Tapling, also watching from the quarterdeck, had been forced to look away several times by then; now he did so for good. Riley suppressed a cringe.

Halfway through the second half, Bunting collapsed. Not wishing to seem lenient, the men surrounding him broke rank and formed a circle, their arms rising and falling repeatedly to rain blows on his fallen body.

"Enough!" Pellew bellowed. "Enough I say!"

The men cleared away, leaving Bunting lying there. All attention went to Pellew.

"I think the lesson is well taken," he said. "From this day forth, the next man caught stealing food from the hold shall hang from the yardarm!"

Riley looked around at the faces of the men. He didn't think there would be any further incidents. From their collective reactions to the gauntlet, he judged Bunting to be a severe minority. Poor, stupid bastard.