Making The Most Of It
Title: Making The Most Of It
Author: Anteros
Characters: Kennedy / Hornblower, Pellew, Bracegirdle, Kempthorne, Hart
Rating: R
Notes: Something for the solstice. In which Archie does naval things and Horatio frets. Inspired by various reports nodbear and I have come across of the Indefatigable's young gentlemen undertaking various dashing cutting out expeditions.
PS: Apologies for the cheesy ending ;)
Hornblower paced, stopped and turned. Fifteen steps. Pace, stop, turn, sixteen. He must have shortened his stride. Pace, stop, turn, seventeen. The irregularity irritated him. Pace, stop, turn, sixteen. Pace, stop, turn, fifteen. Pace, stop, turn, fifteen. That was better. In the dim glow of the binnacle light he could see the helmsman casting a sidelong glance at him. Pace, stop, turn, fifteen. His traverse had brought him to the lee side of the quarterdeck. The first lieutenant was just visible opposite on the weather side, a dark bulk against the blacker night. Pace, stop, turn. Hornblower was by his side now, the first lieutenant turned his head towards him but said nothing. Bracegirdle had realised several hours ago that it was futile trying to distract Hornblower with conversation. Pace, stop, turn. Pace, stop, turn.
The watch bell rang. Hornblower paused as he turned. Four bells middle watch. An age had passed since the captain had given the command “Boat crews away” and he had watched Archie climb over the side and drop silently into the pinnace. Then three long black shadows had crept away from the Indefatigable’s side and disappeared into the pitch dark of the winter night. Long after they had vanished, Hornblower had watched the point where they had merged into the black, his nightglass fixed on that precious spot of darkness. That was three hours ago. His watch had ended at midnight and he was weary to the bone as he dragged himself down to his cabin, but despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned until the marine lieutenant rapped irritably on the thin partition separating their cabins. There would be no sleep for Hornblower that night. So he returned to the quarterdeck and began his promenade.
Pace, stop, turn. Pace, stop, turn. Hornblower hesitated, was that the distant report of a gun? He held his breath, straining to listen for the sound. Nothing beyond the rattle of the deadeyes and the wind in the shrouds. The absence of gunfire was a good sign, the rational part of his brain told him, the shore batteries had not opened fire, so thus far the attack had gone undetected by the garrison. Or it had already failed and they were all dead or captured. Hornblower’s mind raced ahead, running through all the risks, all the chances that could have caused the attack to fail. A careless seaman catching a crab or a sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds to reveal the presence of the boats, the jolly boat and gig dropping astern of the pinnace in the darkness, unusually determined resistance from the crew of the French brig. Anything could have happened out there in the darkness. And even if they had taken their prize, they still had to get her out from right under the nose of the shore batteries. The cables securing her to the shore might have fouled her rudder, she could have run aground on the shoals of the narrow passage or been intercepted by the guard boats. The possibilities were endless and the odds against them. One thing Hornblower was sure of, Archie would surely fight to the death rather than endure one minute more of captivity in the hands of the French. He had stopped pacing, frozen to the spot, seven paces from the weather rail, transfixed by the image of Archie lying dead on the blood slick deck of the French brig. “Hornblower?” Bracegirdle’s quiet voice roused him from the horror. He nodded stiffly to the first lieutenant, turned and paced back to the lee rail chiding himself for his lack of faith. Archie was a capable and courageous officer and he was more than equal to the task at hand. Besides, he had two dozen of the Indefatigable’s best seamen at his back, hand picked by Hornblower himself. But still… Pace, stop, turn.
It seemed a lifetime ago that they had sat in the great cabin of the Indefatigable listening intently as the captain issued their orders for the cutting out expedition. Archie was sitting opposite Hornblower and to his right, two of the younger midshipmen, Kempthorne, fidgeting with nerves and excitement, and Hart, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide and growing wider.
“Mr Kennedy will take the pinnace, Mr Kempthorne, you will take the gig, Mr Hart, the jolly boat. Mr Hornblower, you will oversee the preparations. Mr Kennedy will lead the attack. I want the boats away at six bells first watch. There are shore batteries, here and here.” Pellew pointed to the chart spread on the table in front of him. “Each mounting four 36 pounders. The Fraternité is anchored here. She may be attached to the shore with cables. There may be guard boats in the outer road. If they discover the attack, you will retreat immediately and return to the ship. Immediately, you understand?”
“Aye, aye sir.”
Pellew gazed at each of his officers in turn. Hart dropped his eyes to the table and flushed scarlet to the ears.
“The anchorage is too shallow for the ship to come in close enough to bring our guns to bear on the shore batteries, so your success will depend on stealth and surprise. Night actions are not to be inconsiderably engaged in, but in this instance the darkness will be your ally. Tonight is the longest night, so make the most of it, those few extra minutes of darkness could make the difference between success and failure. Do not let them go to waste gentlemen. Go in quietly and attack suddenly and together. Mr Kempthorne, you will board over the larboard quarter and cut the stern anchor cable. Mr Hart, board over the starboard bow and attend to the cables there. Mr Kennedy will board at the starboard quarter and proceed to the quarterdeck. The topmen will go aloft immediately on boarding to loose the sails. Speed is of the essence. Any questions gentlemen? No? Good. Then I wish you every success.”
Hornblower knew better than to question the captain’s orders in front of subordinate officers, so he waited until the others had departed, hanging back on the pretence of clarifying his own orders.
“Captain Pellew sir?”
“Yes Mr Hornblower?”
Hornblower cleared his throat. “Sir, may I request permission to join the boarding party?”
Pellew regarded him for a moment. “May I ask why Mr Hornblower? I have every confidence in the officers chosen to lead the attack. If you have concerns about their ability, then I would encourage you to speak out.”
“No, no! Not at all sir!” Hornblower could feel the colour rising in his cheeks, he knew in all conscience that he could give no justifiable reason for such a request. “It’s just...just...I would welcome the opportunity to join the attack.”
Pellew regarded him sharply. “Yes Mr Hornblower, I dare say you would, and I appreciate your enthusiasm and your concern, however I am quite sure that Acting Lieutenant Kennedy is perfectly capable of leading the boarding party, I trust you agree?”
There was no hint of anger in Pellew’s voice but Hornblower knew that to question his orders further would be folly of the highest order, to say nothing of a betrayal of the trust that the captain had placed in Archie. “Aye sir” he replied.
“However,” Pellew continued, his shrewd gaze softening a touch, “the success of this mission may yet depend on you Mr Hornblower.”
“Sir?”
“Your orders are to prepare for the attack. Handpick the crew of each boat, take only the best, those you would trust with your life. You may take four of the top men, and may I also recommend my coxswain and the crew of my barge? Leave nothing to chance Mr Hornblower, nothing.”
“Aye, aye sir.” Hornblower didn’t trust himself to look the captain in eye, so he saluted sharply, turned on his heel and left.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. The crew were in high spirits and the midshipmen positively exuberant. Though none of them begrudged Hart and Kempthorne the chance to prove their mettle, Hornblower knew that most of the larboard berth would be seething with envy that they had not been chosen to lead one of the boats.
Boarding pikes were taken down from the racks around the mast, wrapped in canvas and stowed in the bottom of the boats, along with grapnels and cable. The grindstone was brought up on deck and the seamen patiently lined up to sharpen boarding axes and cutlasses. The marine sergeant checked powder, shot and flints of the muskets and pistols and tied cloth around the locks to keep them dry. Oars were bound carefully in sailcloth and smeared with grease to prevent them rattling in the rowlocks. Meanwhile Kennedy and Hornblower picked the crew for each boat, assigned every man their orders, and sent them below to dress in whatever dark coloured clothes they could find, beg or borrow.
At last, at five bells first watch they were ready. The boats had been hoisted out and the men were assembled on deck. Archie had appeared shortly before, dressed in blue duck trousers, old hessian boots and an ancient undress jacket buttoned high at his throat. He went over their orders one final time and had a few quiet words of encouragement with Kempthorne and Hart. Meanwhile Hornblower personally checked that every man was sober and, despite Archie’s protestations, insisted on replacing one who he suspected of smelling of rum. Then the captain gave the order, the men scrambled silently over the side and dropped into the boats. Hornblower just had time to grasp Archie by the hand before he swung himself over the rail. “Mr Kennedy...” the words stuck in his throat and he found himself gripping Archie’s hand, unwilling to let go. Archie smiled back at him. “Mr Hornblower. Look after the ship till I get back won’t you?” He squeezed Hornblower’s hand once and was gone.
That had been three hours ago. An hour at least for the boats to pull in to the anchorage against a head wind, an hour to secure the ship, hopefully much less, another hour to get the brig underway and bring her out through the shoals of the passage. If the attack had been successful, the Fraternité should already be steering a course towards the Indefatigable. Hornblower strained his eyes towards the direction of the anchorage, even though he knew it was too dark to seeing anything from deck.
Then there it was, a tiny spark on the larboard quarter, right on the edge of his vision. He stopped, listened, unsure of what he had seen. A second flash, he was sure of it this time. He turned to alert the first lieutenant and found himself fact to face with the captain who had materialised on the quarterdeck.
“The shore batteries sir...”
“So I see Mr Hornblower,” the captain replied calmly. Bracegridle had joined them. “Let us hope our friends are well out of range of those guns.”
They remained at the larboard rail, watching the flash of the guns flickering in the darkness. Occasionally the faintest retort carried over the water. At last the flashes stopped but the three men remained motionless at the rail. Time dragged, Hornblower found himself hopping from foot to foot. He was desperate to start pacing again to release the pent up energy coiling inside him, but such a display of nerves would have been unseemly in front of the captain. Six bells sounded, seven, and still they waited. Hornblower found he was clenching his jaw so tightly that his neck was starting to ache. Then at last there was a cry from the masthead.
“Sail ahoy!”
“Where away?”
“Two points on the larboard quarter!”
“Fraternité?”
“Can’t see sir, but she’s coming up fast.”
Throwing decorum to the winds, Hornblower launched himself at the mizzen shrouds and scrambled to the masthead with a turn of speed that astonished the men aloft and the officers below. “There sir,” the lookout pointed to a paler patch of darkness. Hornblower fixed his night glass to his eye and focused all his will on the insubstantial smudge as it gradually thickened and resolved into a sail. Then a break in the clouds showed her clearly in the thin moonlight, the French brig was flying straight towards them with every shred of canvas spread.
Hornblower’s anxiety only increased as the brig came on through the night. He kept his glass trained on the approaching craft, desperately trying to pick out that one small, familiar figure in the darkness. His mouth was dry and his heart hammering wildly in his chest. As the brig drew nearer he could see her spanker boom was gone and her fore yard was hanging at a crazy angle but barring a few rents in her main topsail, she appeared to be in good shape. But still he could not make out the figures on the deck. At last, as the brig came about he finally saw him; Archie was standing abaft the helm with Kempthorne by his side. A wave of relief washed over Hornblower and he lurched against the mast as his knees almost went from beneath him.
“All right there sir?” the lookout turned to ask, but the lieutenant had already swung himself out of the top and was sliding down the backstay like a skylarking mid.
Officers and men alike were crowding along the larboard rail as Hornblower landed in an ungainly heap at the bottom of the mizzen backstay just as the brig came alongside. Kempthorne and Hart were first aboard, bloodied and dishevelled but glowing with pride. They were followed by the French captain and a young ensign, who were doing their best to maintain their dignity under the circumstances. The ensign was carrying one arm across this chest in a makeshift sling and Hornblower recognised the jacket draped across his thin shoulders as belonging to Archie. Next aboard came the seamen with the French prisoners, a disconsolate looking bunch, and lastly, Archie. His hat and jacket were gone, the front of his waistcoat was stained with blood and he was holding his neck cloth to a wound over his temple, but he came up the side beaming. He caught Hornblower’s gaze through the crowd of men, held it for a long moment before turning to the captain who was eyeing his men with obvious concern.
“Mr Kennedy, you are injured? Do you need treatment?”
Archie wiped distractedly at the blood that was still trickling down his cheek from the gash in his brow. “No sir, it’s nothing, just a scratch.”
Pellew peered at him closely before apparently satisfying himself that his junior lieutenant was not in immanent danger of expiring in front of him. “A successful cruise I see?”
“Aye Sir. Je vous présente Monsieur Decasse, capitaine de Fraternité. Monsieur Decasse, Captain Sir Edward Pellew.” The hair on the back of Hornblower’s neck prickled as Archie slipped into flawless French.
The French captain bowed stiffly. “Captain Pellew, it is a great honour to surrender my sword and my ship to such a great man.” He swept out his sword with great dignity and considerable ceremony, bowed again and presented it to the captain.
Pellew winced slightly at the extravagant gesture but he took the sword in the manner it was proffered, regarded it solemnly for a moment, before returning it to it’s owner. “The honour is all mine sir, I can assure you. As Acting Lieutenant Kennedy has already seen fit to leave you in possession of your sword, it is not for me to relieve you of it.”
The captain nodded his thanks, “Your men do you credit sir.”
“They do indeed captain, they are a credit to us all.”
Hornblower could feel his chest swelling and he had to blink furiously to dislodge whatever was making his eye water.
It was well into the morning watch by the time the brig had been secured, the prisoners sent below and the injured treated. Hornblower was poleaxed with exhaustion but he remained on deck until he was ordered below by the first lieutenant who informed him in no uncertain terms that until he got some sleep he was no good to man nor beast. Hornblower retreated indignantly to the sickbay, where he hoped to find Archie, but was sent packing in short order by the Indefatigable’s voluble German surgeon. Finding no sign of Archie, and not wishing to risk another broadside from the surgeon he retreated to Archie’s cabin to wait for him there.
When Archie finally returned to his cabin with his head wound cleaned and bandaged and his blood stained waistcoat bundled under his arm, he was surprised to find Hornblower asleep in his cot.
“Honestly,” he muttered, “what’s a man to do to get a berth around here?” He ran one finger lightly over Hornblower’s cheek, smoothing back the curls that had fallen over his brow. “Hey, Horatio, waken up.”
Horatio stirred and sighed, but didn’t waken. Archie leaned over him and kissed him on the cheek before whispering directly in his ear in an uncanny imitation of the captain “Lieutenant Hornblower, waken up!”
Hornblower woke instantly and sat up so suddenly he almost knocked Archie off his feet.
“Aye sir! Hmn? What?”
“It’s alright Horatio, it’s just me, no need to stand to attention.”
Horatio yawned and rubbed his eyes blearily. “Archie, thank god you’re back. You all right?
“Fine. Long night Horatio?”
“The longest.” Horatio yawned again and reached out to pull Archie closer to the cot.
“Well,” said Archie, stooping down to place another kiss on Horatio's forehead, “strictly speaking it’s not over yet.”
“What? It’s morning watch. What time is it?”
“Just after six bells. But the sun’s not up for another half hour so the night's not quite over. And remember what the captain said? Make the most of it, don’t let a moment go to waste...”
Hornblower would have replied but Archie’s lips were on his own, deft hands were working at his buttons and tugging at his shirt. He sighed gratefully, lay back, and resolved to follow orders.
~Notes~
The Indefatigable really did have a German surgeon called Niebuhr, from Reitzbuttel near Hamburg. At this stage we have no idea how he came to be on the ship but we hope to find out one day :)
Author: Anteros
Characters: Kennedy / Hornblower, Pellew, Bracegirdle, Kempthorne, Hart
Rating: R
Notes: Something for the solstice. In which Archie does naval things and Horatio frets. Inspired by various reports nodbear and I have come across of the Indefatigable's young gentlemen undertaking various dashing cutting out expeditions.
PS: Apologies for the cheesy ending ;)
Hornblower paced, stopped and turned. Fifteen steps. Pace, stop, turn, sixteen. He must have shortened his stride. Pace, stop, turn, seventeen. The irregularity irritated him. Pace, stop, turn, sixteen. Pace, stop, turn, fifteen. Pace, stop, turn, fifteen. That was better. In the dim glow of the binnacle light he could see the helmsman casting a sidelong glance at him. Pace, stop, turn, fifteen. His traverse had brought him to the lee side of the quarterdeck. The first lieutenant was just visible opposite on the weather side, a dark bulk against the blacker night. Pace, stop, turn. Hornblower was by his side now, the first lieutenant turned his head towards him but said nothing. Bracegirdle had realised several hours ago that it was futile trying to distract Hornblower with conversation. Pace, stop, turn. Pace, stop, turn.
The watch bell rang. Hornblower paused as he turned. Four bells middle watch. An age had passed since the captain had given the command “Boat crews away” and he had watched Archie climb over the side and drop silently into the pinnace. Then three long black shadows had crept away from the Indefatigable’s side and disappeared into the pitch dark of the winter night. Long after they had vanished, Hornblower had watched the point where they had merged into the black, his nightglass fixed on that precious spot of darkness. That was three hours ago. His watch had ended at midnight and he was weary to the bone as he dragged himself down to his cabin, but despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned until the marine lieutenant rapped irritably on the thin partition separating their cabins. There would be no sleep for Hornblower that night. So he returned to the quarterdeck and began his promenade.
Pace, stop, turn. Pace, stop, turn. Hornblower hesitated, was that the distant report of a gun? He held his breath, straining to listen for the sound. Nothing beyond the rattle of the deadeyes and the wind in the shrouds. The absence of gunfire was a good sign, the rational part of his brain told him, the shore batteries had not opened fire, so thus far the attack had gone undetected by the garrison. Or it had already failed and they were all dead or captured. Hornblower’s mind raced ahead, running through all the risks, all the chances that could have caused the attack to fail. A careless seaman catching a crab or a sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds to reveal the presence of the boats, the jolly boat and gig dropping astern of the pinnace in the darkness, unusually determined resistance from the crew of the French brig. Anything could have happened out there in the darkness. And even if they had taken their prize, they still had to get her out from right under the nose of the shore batteries. The cables securing her to the shore might have fouled her rudder, she could have run aground on the shoals of the narrow passage or been intercepted by the guard boats. The possibilities were endless and the odds against them. One thing Hornblower was sure of, Archie would surely fight to the death rather than endure one minute more of captivity in the hands of the French. He had stopped pacing, frozen to the spot, seven paces from the weather rail, transfixed by the image of Archie lying dead on the blood slick deck of the French brig. “Hornblower?” Bracegirdle’s quiet voice roused him from the horror. He nodded stiffly to the first lieutenant, turned and paced back to the lee rail chiding himself for his lack of faith. Archie was a capable and courageous officer and he was more than equal to the task at hand. Besides, he had two dozen of the Indefatigable’s best seamen at his back, hand picked by Hornblower himself. But still… Pace, stop, turn.
It seemed a lifetime ago that they had sat in the great cabin of the Indefatigable listening intently as the captain issued their orders for the cutting out expedition. Archie was sitting opposite Hornblower and to his right, two of the younger midshipmen, Kempthorne, fidgeting with nerves and excitement, and Hart, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide and growing wider.
“Mr Kennedy will take the pinnace, Mr Kempthorne, you will take the gig, Mr Hart, the jolly boat. Mr Hornblower, you will oversee the preparations. Mr Kennedy will lead the attack. I want the boats away at six bells first watch. There are shore batteries, here and here.” Pellew pointed to the chart spread on the table in front of him. “Each mounting four 36 pounders. The Fraternité is anchored here. She may be attached to the shore with cables. There may be guard boats in the outer road. If they discover the attack, you will retreat immediately and return to the ship. Immediately, you understand?”
“Aye, aye sir.”
Pellew gazed at each of his officers in turn. Hart dropped his eyes to the table and flushed scarlet to the ears.
“The anchorage is too shallow for the ship to come in close enough to bring our guns to bear on the shore batteries, so your success will depend on stealth and surprise. Night actions are not to be inconsiderably engaged in, but in this instance the darkness will be your ally. Tonight is the longest night, so make the most of it, those few extra minutes of darkness could make the difference between success and failure. Do not let them go to waste gentlemen. Go in quietly and attack suddenly and together. Mr Kempthorne, you will board over the larboard quarter and cut the stern anchor cable. Mr Hart, board over the starboard bow and attend to the cables there. Mr Kennedy will board at the starboard quarter and proceed to the quarterdeck. The topmen will go aloft immediately on boarding to loose the sails. Speed is of the essence. Any questions gentlemen? No? Good. Then I wish you every success.”
Hornblower knew better than to question the captain’s orders in front of subordinate officers, so he waited until the others had departed, hanging back on the pretence of clarifying his own orders.
“Captain Pellew sir?”
“Yes Mr Hornblower?”
Hornblower cleared his throat. “Sir, may I request permission to join the boarding party?”
Pellew regarded him for a moment. “May I ask why Mr Hornblower? I have every confidence in the officers chosen to lead the attack. If you have concerns about their ability, then I would encourage you to speak out.”
“No, no! Not at all sir!” Hornblower could feel the colour rising in his cheeks, he knew in all conscience that he could give no justifiable reason for such a request. “It’s just...just...I would welcome the opportunity to join the attack.”
Pellew regarded him sharply. “Yes Mr Hornblower, I dare say you would, and I appreciate your enthusiasm and your concern, however I am quite sure that Acting Lieutenant Kennedy is perfectly capable of leading the boarding party, I trust you agree?”
There was no hint of anger in Pellew’s voice but Hornblower knew that to question his orders further would be folly of the highest order, to say nothing of a betrayal of the trust that the captain had placed in Archie. “Aye sir” he replied.
“However,” Pellew continued, his shrewd gaze softening a touch, “the success of this mission may yet depend on you Mr Hornblower.”
“Sir?”
“Your orders are to prepare for the attack. Handpick the crew of each boat, take only the best, those you would trust with your life. You may take four of the top men, and may I also recommend my coxswain and the crew of my barge? Leave nothing to chance Mr Hornblower, nothing.”
“Aye, aye sir.” Hornblower didn’t trust himself to look the captain in eye, so he saluted sharply, turned on his heel and left.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. The crew were in high spirits and the midshipmen positively exuberant. Though none of them begrudged Hart and Kempthorne the chance to prove their mettle, Hornblower knew that most of the larboard berth would be seething with envy that they had not been chosen to lead one of the boats.
Boarding pikes were taken down from the racks around the mast, wrapped in canvas and stowed in the bottom of the boats, along with grapnels and cable. The grindstone was brought up on deck and the seamen patiently lined up to sharpen boarding axes and cutlasses. The marine sergeant checked powder, shot and flints of the muskets and pistols and tied cloth around the locks to keep them dry. Oars were bound carefully in sailcloth and smeared with grease to prevent them rattling in the rowlocks. Meanwhile Kennedy and Hornblower picked the crew for each boat, assigned every man their orders, and sent them below to dress in whatever dark coloured clothes they could find, beg or borrow.
At last, at five bells first watch they were ready. The boats had been hoisted out and the men were assembled on deck. Archie had appeared shortly before, dressed in blue duck trousers, old hessian boots and an ancient undress jacket buttoned high at his throat. He went over their orders one final time and had a few quiet words of encouragement with Kempthorne and Hart. Meanwhile Hornblower personally checked that every man was sober and, despite Archie’s protestations, insisted on replacing one who he suspected of smelling of rum. Then the captain gave the order, the men scrambled silently over the side and dropped into the boats. Hornblower just had time to grasp Archie by the hand before he swung himself over the rail. “Mr Kennedy...” the words stuck in his throat and he found himself gripping Archie’s hand, unwilling to let go. Archie smiled back at him. “Mr Hornblower. Look after the ship till I get back won’t you?” He squeezed Hornblower’s hand once and was gone.
That had been three hours ago. An hour at least for the boats to pull in to the anchorage against a head wind, an hour to secure the ship, hopefully much less, another hour to get the brig underway and bring her out through the shoals of the passage. If the attack had been successful, the Fraternité should already be steering a course towards the Indefatigable. Hornblower strained his eyes towards the direction of the anchorage, even though he knew it was too dark to seeing anything from deck.
Then there it was, a tiny spark on the larboard quarter, right on the edge of his vision. He stopped, listened, unsure of what he had seen. A second flash, he was sure of it this time. He turned to alert the first lieutenant and found himself fact to face with the captain who had materialised on the quarterdeck.
“The shore batteries sir...”
“So I see Mr Hornblower,” the captain replied calmly. Bracegridle had joined them. “Let us hope our friends are well out of range of those guns.”
They remained at the larboard rail, watching the flash of the guns flickering in the darkness. Occasionally the faintest retort carried over the water. At last the flashes stopped but the three men remained motionless at the rail. Time dragged, Hornblower found himself hopping from foot to foot. He was desperate to start pacing again to release the pent up energy coiling inside him, but such a display of nerves would have been unseemly in front of the captain. Six bells sounded, seven, and still they waited. Hornblower found he was clenching his jaw so tightly that his neck was starting to ache. Then at last there was a cry from the masthead.
“Sail ahoy!”
“Where away?”
“Two points on the larboard quarter!”
“Fraternité?”
“Can’t see sir, but she’s coming up fast.”
Throwing decorum to the winds, Hornblower launched himself at the mizzen shrouds and scrambled to the masthead with a turn of speed that astonished the men aloft and the officers below. “There sir,” the lookout pointed to a paler patch of darkness. Hornblower fixed his night glass to his eye and focused all his will on the insubstantial smudge as it gradually thickened and resolved into a sail. Then a break in the clouds showed her clearly in the thin moonlight, the French brig was flying straight towards them with every shred of canvas spread.
Hornblower’s anxiety only increased as the brig came on through the night. He kept his glass trained on the approaching craft, desperately trying to pick out that one small, familiar figure in the darkness. His mouth was dry and his heart hammering wildly in his chest. As the brig drew nearer he could see her spanker boom was gone and her fore yard was hanging at a crazy angle but barring a few rents in her main topsail, she appeared to be in good shape. But still he could not make out the figures on the deck. At last, as the brig came about he finally saw him; Archie was standing abaft the helm with Kempthorne by his side. A wave of relief washed over Hornblower and he lurched against the mast as his knees almost went from beneath him.
“All right there sir?” the lookout turned to ask, but the lieutenant had already swung himself out of the top and was sliding down the backstay like a skylarking mid.
Officers and men alike were crowding along the larboard rail as Hornblower landed in an ungainly heap at the bottom of the mizzen backstay just as the brig came alongside. Kempthorne and Hart were first aboard, bloodied and dishevelled but glowing with pride. They were followed by the French captain and a young ensign, who were doing their best to maintain their dignity under the circumstances. The ensign was carrying one arm across this chest in a makeshift sling and Hornblower recognised the jacket draped across his thin shoulders as belonging to Archie. Next aboard came the seamen with the French prisoners, a disconsolate looking bunch, and lastly, Archie. His hat and jacket were gone, the front of his waistcoat was stained with blood and he was holding his neck cloth to a wound over his temple, but he came up the side beaming. He caught Hornblower’s gaze through the crowd of men, held it for a long moment before turning to the captain who was eyeing his men with obvious concern.
“Mr Kennedy, you are injured? Do you need treatment?”
Archie wiped distractedly at the blood that was still trickling down his cheek from the gash in his brow. “No sir, it’s nothing, just a scratch.”
Pellew peered at him closely before apparently satisfying himself that his junior lieutenant was not in immanent danger of expiring in front of him. “A successful cruise I see?”
“Aye Sir. Je vous présente Monsieur Decasse, capitaine de Fraternité. Monsieur Decasse, Captain Sir Edward Pellew.” The hair on the back of Hornblower’s neck prickled as Archie slipped into flawless French.
The French captain bowed stiffly. “Captain Pellew, it is a great honour to surrender my sword and my ship to such a great man.” He swept out his sword with great dignity and considerable ceremony, bowed again and presented it to the captain.
Pellew winced slightly at the extravagant gesture but he took the sword in the manner it was proffered, regarded it solemnly for a moment, before returning it to it’s owner. “The honour is all mine sir, I can assure you. As Acting Lieutenant Kennedy has already seen fit to leave you in possession of your sword, it is not for me to relieve you of it.”
The captain nodded his thanks, “Your men do you credit sir.”
“They do indeed captain, they are a credit to us all.”
Hornblower could feel his chest swelling and he had to blink furiously to dislodge whatever was making his eye water.
It was well into the morning watch by the time the brig had been secured, the prisoners sent below and the injured treated. Hornblower was poleaxed with exhaustion but he remained on deck until he was ordered below by the first lieutenant who informed him in no uncertain terms that until he got some sleep he was no good to man nor beast. Hornblower retreated indignantly to the sickbay, where he hoped to find Archie, but was sent packing in short order by the Indefatigable’s voluble German surgeon. Finding no sign of Archie, and not wishing to risk another broadside from the surgeon he retreated to Archie’s cabin to wait for him there.
When Archie finally returned to his cabin with his head wound cleaned and bandaged and his blood stained waistcoat bundled under his arm, he was surprised to find Hornblower asleep in his cot.
“Honestly,” he muttered, “what’s a man to do to get a berth around here?” He ran one finger lightly over Hornblower’s cheek, smoothing back the curls that had fallen over his brow. “Hey, Horatio, waken up.”
Horatio stirred and sighed, but didn’t waken. Archie leaned over him and kissed him on the cheek before whispering directly in his ear in an uncanny imitation of the captain “Lieutenant Hornblower, waken up!”
Hornblower woke instantly and sat up so suddenly he almost knocked Archie off his feet.
“Aye sir! Hmn? What?”
“It’s alright Horatio, it’s just me, no need to stand to attention.”
Horatio yawned and rubbed his eyes blearily. “Archie, thank god you’re back. You all right?
“Fine. Long night Horatio?”
“The longest.” Horatio yawned again and reached out to pull Archie closer to the cot.
“Well,” said Archie, stooping down to place another kiss on Horatio's forehead, “strictly speaking it’s not over yet.”
“What? It’s morning watch. What time is it?”
“Just after six bells. But the sun’s not up for another half hour so the night's not quite over. And remember what the captain said? Make the most of it, don’t let a moment go to waste...”
Hornblower would have replied but Archie’s lips were on his own, deft hands were working at his buttons and tugging at his shirt. He sighed gratefully, lay back, and resolved to follow orders.
~Notes~
The Indefatigable really did have a German surgeon called Niebuhr, from Reitzbuttel near Hamburg. At this stage we have no idea how he came to be on the ship but we hope to find out one day :)