The Fortunate Few
Title: The Fortunate Few
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: G
Notes: This was inspired by nodbear's "The Day Before" challenge fic To be an Indefatigable. This time it's written from Horatio and Archie's perspective.
Horatio was kneeling in the corner of the midshipman’s berth, his belongings, or what remained of them, laid out in neat piles around him. He had already packed and unpacked his sea chest at least a dozen times but he was still missing several items of linen, one pair of sheets, numerous stockings and small items, and at least one book.
Justinian had been a hive of activity for the last week as officers and men prepared for their transfer to other ships of the fleet. The contingent for the Arethusa had left the previous day and those for the Indefatigable were to leave the following morning. Those unfortunate enough to be left behind made little attempt to conceal their disappointment that they would not be joining the elite of the frigate squadrons, and several fights had already broken out below decks as debts were called in and old scores settled. The midshipman’s berth was in uproar as the young gentlemen scrambled to assemble their belongings, though few were overly scrupulous about whose belongings ended up in their dunnage. Hornblower’s patience was fraying and the fact that he now appeared to have two shirts fewer than when he had first packed his sea chest that very morning only increased his irritation. And to cap it all, Archie had not stopped talking for the last three days.
With excitement rising to fever pitch, Hether and Cleveland had done their best to maintain their habitual veneer of cynical disinterest but even they had failed to conceal their joy at the impending transfer to the Indefatigable. Indeed Cleveland had almost come to blows with one of the Arethusas over the comparative sailing qualities of their new berths. Archie had made no attempt to hide his delight and had kept up a running commentary on the Indefatigable, the Western Squadron, the relative merits of being stationed at Falmouth as opposed Portsmouth, the likely course of the war, the strength of the French fleet, and of course the achievements of the famous Captain Sir Edward Pellew. He was now seated on his sea chest opposite Hornblower, heaps of books, dirty linen and crumpled paper scattered around his feet, and he was still talking.
“Have you actually seen her?”
“Who?” The question did nothing to distract Hornblower from his dunnage.
“The Indy of course!” Archie persisted, “She’s a real plum. She was originally a sixty four of course but they’ve cut her down to a fifth rate. She’s still got her own guns though, and carronades on her upperworks, that’s a broadside weight of almost five hundred pounds. Five hundred pounds Horatio! There’s not another frigate can touch her. I’ll wager with Pellew in command, she could even take on a ship of the line.”
“No, I haven’t seen her.” Hornblower replied for what felt like the hundredth time. “Have you seen my copy of Norrie though? I’m sure I had it last week.”
“Norrie? Think Hether borrowed it.”
“Hether? What did he want with it? Hasn’t he got his own copy?”
“Don’t know,” Archie shrugged, “think he borrowed it to prop up the gammy leg on the gunroom table.”
Hornblower rolled his eyes in despair.
Despite bowing to Captain Keene’s command that his duty now lay with Captain Pellew, Hornblower could not share Archie's unbridled joy at their immanent transfer to the Indefatigable. Throughout the chaos and excitement he was painfully aware of the absence of Henry Clayton. Clayton, whose blood was on his hands and without whom, he would quite likely be dead. Clayton, who had always wanted to serve on a frigate. And not just any frigate, but a frigate assigned to a detached cruising squadron commanded by none other than Captain Sir Edward Pellew. Hornblower had done nothing to deserve such an honour. If he deserved anything it was to be dismissed the service in disgrace, not handed such a gilded opportunity on a plate. But despite his overwhelming sense of shame and guilt, Hornblower could not extinguish a faint glimmer of pride and hope. Try as he might to smother it with remorse, it would not be dimmed, but grew steadily, making his heart beat faster as the day of their transfer approached.
Archie, apparently oblivious to his shipmate’s inner torment, was still talking.
“…she was trouble at first, rolling terribly and pitching her top masts over the side before she even made it down the channel. Under masted.” Archie paused for effect and nodded authoritatively. “Of course, Pellew took her right back and demanded that the dockyard replace her original masts, when they wouldn’t listen he took it right to the First Lord. Got his way in the end. He usually does. She got her masts back and now they say that she swims so sweetly that Pellew can make her do anything but talk.”
“Archie, how in heavens name do you know all this?” Hornblower interrupted, finally able to get a word in edgewise.
“Nicholson told me, he’s mate on the Anson, she’s another razee, same squadron. Terrible sea boat, not a patch on the Indy.”
Hornblower prided himself on not listening to scuttlebutt, but was continually astonished by Archie’s apparent ability to know anything and everything that was going on anywhere in the fleet. Outwardly though, he refused to be impressed.
“And I don’t suppose you also know where my shirts have gone do you?”
“Shirts? How can you think of shirts at a time like this Horatio!” Archie exclaimed indignantly, but he slid of his sea chest on to the floor beside Hornblower and rummaged through his own belongings, eventually holding up a crumbled rag that may or may not have been a shirt. “Is this yours?”
Hornblower regarded the garment with disdain. “Well if it was, it’s not much use to me now is it?” The seams had come away at the collar, the sleeve was ripped and there was a large ink stain on the cuff.
“Hmm, you’re right, sorry Horatio can’t have you pitching up in front of Pellew looking like a quill driver that’s fallen on hard times. Hang on.” Archie reached into his chest and extracted a second shirt, not entirely clean, but in considerably better trim than the previous one, and of a cut and cloth that were quite beyond Hornblower’s means. “Here,” he said, tossing the garment over to his friend, “take this until I can get you a new one.”
Mention of meeting Captain Pellew finally distracted Horatio from his linen. He knew of Pellew by reputation, every man in the fleet did of course, the man was famous as a skillful seaman, an energetic and partisan fighting captain, and increasingly, as an influential patron of young gentlemen.
“So what do you know about Captain Pellew Archie?” Horatio asked, giving up any pretence of disinterest.
“Pellew? He’s a Cornishman I think. Red Ned they used to call him. Of course he’s Captain Sir Edward Pellew now.”
“He has titles and estates then?”
“Well he has now, since he took the Cleopatre, but he pretty much came in through the hawse hole. Father was a packet captain I believe.
“Really?” Somehow Hornblower had not imagined such a distinguished man to have come from such lowly stock. Not that Hornblower himself had any pretensions to gentility or nobility.
“Apparently so,” Archie continued, “and some are none to keen to forget it. He’s been a bit too successful for some of their Lordships tastes. Good on him I say, he’s earned it. He’s not a man to be crossed or trifled with though. Got a hell of a temper on him by all accounts and he runs a tight ship.
“So he’s a taut fist then?” Hornblower appreciated the necessity of naval discipline as much, if not more so, than the next man, but he had a visceral horror of the cat and he knew he would never be able to respect any captain that asserted his authority by flogging.
Archie laughed. “A taut hand you mean. No, I don’t think so, at least not more so than needs be. He doesn’t rule his ships with the lash if that’s what you mean, but he doesn’t suffer fools or troublemakers either. I wouldn’t fancy your chances if you got on the wrong side of Ned Pellew. You’ll have to watch your step Horatio!”
“Me? Why me?” Hornblower looked aghast.
“Well as far as causing trouble goes, I think you’ll find that duelling is right up there.” Archie observed wryly. “I expect Captain Pellew will be having words with you Mr Hornblower.”
Hornblower paled visibly. “The duel? You think he’ll have heard about that?”
“Of course he’ll have heard Horatio. Half the fleet knows already, you should know by now how word spreads. And besides,” Archie continued, “They say that nothing escapes Pellew’s beady eye.”
The thought of being on the receiving end of a dressing down from Captain Sir Edward Pellew, was more than Hornblower could contemplate. His promising commission would be over before they even left Spithead. Suddenly all his bright dreams of honour and glory were withering in the bud. “What do you think he’ll do?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.
“Tear several strip off you I should expect!” Archie replied brightly, before realising that his friend was genuinely horrified by the prospect. “I wouldn’t worry too much though,” he added, placing a consoling hand on Hornblower’s knee, “A man like that, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s fought a few duels in his own time. Just keep your nose clean and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know Archie. It still doesn’t seem right, I don’t deserve this, not after Clayton...Perhaps I should speak to Captain Keene again...”
“Are you mad Horatio?” Archie was on his feet now, pacing the deck, oblivious to the piles of belongings he was scattering asunder. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime! Half the fleet would give their right arm for a berth on the Indefatigable, and the other half would sell their grandmothers. Do you know what this means Horatio?” He stopped suddenly and crouched in front of Horatio, seizing him by the shoulders. Archie’s grip was so firm, and he looked so determined, that for one minute Horatio thought he was going to shake the living day lights out of him. “Do you really know what this means?” Archie continued, his eyes blazing with a fierce bright light. “It’s not just the chance of action, of showing the frogs a thing or two, it’s not even about promotion and prize money, ‘such outward things dwell not in my desire’, it’s to be part of something Horatio, something honourable, something worth dying for.” He stopped suddenly and released his grip on Hornblower's shoulders, his cheeks colouring. “Listen to me,” he said sheepishly, “you must think me a half-witted fool.”
“No! No, not at all Archie.” His friend’s outburst had jolted Hornblower out of his dark mood and rekindled that smouldering spark of pride and hope.
“You think we will see action then Archie?” He asked quietly.
“Undoubtedly.”
“We will have to fight. We may die.” It was not a question, just a simple statement of fact, but Hornblower found he could not bring himself to look his friend in the face, instead he focused his attention on his hands twisting the linen shirt in his lap.
“Well, if we are to fight then who better to fight than the French? And if we are to die, then at least we can take a few of them with us. Besides,” Archie give a thin tight smile, “I would rather die on the Indefatigable than rotting in this stinking hulk.”
“Are you afraid Archie?” Hornblower forced himself to lift his gaze to meet Archie’s. The eyes that met his own were calm and blue, bright and unclouded as a spring morning.
“Afraid Horatio? No, not any more.”
Author: Anteros
Characters: Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: G
Notes: This was inspired by nodbear's "The Day Before" challenge fic To be an Indefatigable. This time it's written from Horatio and Archie's perspective.
Horatio was kneeling in the corner of the midshipman’s berth, his belongings, or what remained of them, laid out in neat piles around him. He had already packed and unpacked his sea chest at least a dozen times but he was still missing several items of linen, one pair of sheets, numerous stockings and small items, and at least one book.
Justinian had been a hive of activity for the last week as officers and men prepared for their transfer to other ships of the fleet. The contingent for the Arethusa had left the previous day and those for the Indefatigable were to leave the following morning. Those unfortunate enough to be left behind made little attempt to conceal their disappointment that they would not be joining the elite of the frigate squadrons, and several fights had already broken out below decks as debts were called in and old scores settled. The midshipman’s berth was in uproar as the young gentlemen scrambled to assemble their belongings, though few were overly scrupulous about whose belongings ended up in their dunnage. Hornblower’s patience was fraying and the fact that he now appeared to have two shirts fewer than when he had first packed his sea chest that very morning only increased his irritation. And to cap it all, Archie had not stopped talking for the last three days.
With excitement rising to fever pitch, Hether and Cleveland had done their best to maintain their habitual veneer of cynical disinterest but even they had failed to conceal their joy at the impending transfer to the Indefatigable. Indeed Cleveland had almost come to blows with one of the Arethusas over the comparative sailing qualities of their new berths. Archie had made no attempt to hide his delight and had kept up a running commentary on the Indefatigable, the Western Squadron, the relative merits of being stationed at Falmouth as opposed Portsmouth, the likely course of the war, the strength of the French fleet, and of course the achievements of the famous Captain Sir Edward Pellew. He was now seated on his sea chest opposite Hornblower, heaps of books, dirty linen and crumpled paper scattered around his feet, and he was still talking.
“Have you actually seen her?”
“Who?” The question did nothing to distract Hornblower from his dunnage.
“The Indy of course!” Archie persisted, “She’s a real plum. She was originally a sixty four of course but they’ve cut her down to a fifth rate. She’s still got her own guns though, and carronades on her upperworks, that’s a broadside weight of almost five hundred pounds. Five hundred pounds Horatio! There’s not another frigate can touch her. I’ll wager with Pellew in command, she could even take on a ship of the line.”
“No, I haven’t seen her.” Hornblower replied for what felt like the hundredth time. “Have you seen my copy of Norrie though? I’m sure I had it last week.”
“Norrie? Think Hether borrowed it.”
“Hether? What did he want with it? Hasn’t he got his own copy?”
“Don’t know,” Archie shrugged, “think he borrowed it to prop up the gammy leg on the gunroom table.”
Hornblower rolled his eyes in despair.
Despite bowing to Captain Keene’s command that his duty now lay with Captain Pellew, Hornblower could not share Archie's unbridled joy at their immanent transfer to the Indefatigable. Throughout the chaos and excitement he was painfully aware of the absence of Henry Clayton. Clayton, whose blood was on his hands and without whom, he would quite likely be dead. Clayton, who had always wanted to serve on a frigate. And not just any frigate, but a frigate assigned to a detached cruising squadron commanded by none other than Captain Sir Edward Pellew. Hornblower had done nothing to deserve such an honour. If he deserved anything it was to be dismissed the service in disgrace, not handed such a gilded opportunity on a plate. But despite his overwhelming sense of shame and guilt, Hornblower could not extinguish a faint glimmer of pride and hope. Try as he might to smother it with remorse, it would not be dimmed, but grew steadily, making his heart beat faster as the day of their transfer approached.
Archie, apparently oblivious to his shipmate’s inner torment, was still talking.
“…she was trouble at first, rolling terribly and pitching her top masts over the side before she even made it down the channel. Under masted.” Archie paused for effect and nodded authoritatively. “Of course, Pellew took her right back and demanded that the dockyard replace her original masts, when they wouldn’t listen he took it right to the First Lord. Got his way in the end. He usually does. She got her masts back and now they say that she swims so sweetly that Pellew can make her do anything but talk.”
“Archie, how in heavens name do you know all this?” Hornblower interrupted, finally able to get a word in edgewise.
“Nicholson told me, he’s mate on the Anson, she’s another razee, same squadron. Terrible sea boat, not a patch on the Indy.”
Hornblower prided himself on not listening to scuttlebutt, but was continually astonished by Archie’s apparent ability to know anything and everything that was going on anywhere in the fleet. Outwardly though, he refused to be impressed.
“And I don’t suppose you also know where my shirts have gone do you?”
“Shirts? How can you think of shirts at a time like this Horatio!” Archie exclaimed indignantly, but he slid of his sea chest on to the floor beside Hornblower and rummaged through his own belongings, eventually holding up a crumbled rag that may or may not have been a shirt. “Is this yours?”
Hornblower regarded the garment with disdain. “Well if it was, it’s not much use to me now is it?” The seams had come away at the collar, the sleeve was ripped and there was a large ink stain on the cuff.
“Hmm, you’re right, sorry Horatio can’t have you pitching up in front of Pellew looking like a quill driver that’s fallen on hard times. Hang on.” Archie reached into his chest and extracted a second shirt, not entirely clean, but in considerably better trim than the previous one, and of a cut and cloth that were quite beyond Hornblower’s means. “Here,” he said, tossing the garment over to his friend, “take this until I can get you a new one.”
Mention of meeting Captain Pellew finally distracted Horatio from his linen. He knew of Pellew by reputation, every man in the fleet did of course, the man was famous as a skillful seaman, an energetic and partisan fighting captain, and increasingly, as an influential patron of young gentlemen.
“So what do you know about Captain Pellew Archie?” Horatio asked, giving up any pretence of disinterest.
“Pellew? He’s a Cornishman I think. Red Ned they used to call him. Of course he’s Captain Sir Edward Pellew now.”
“He has titles and estates then?”
“Well he has now, since he took the Cleopatre, but he pretty much came in through the hawse hole. Father was a packet captain I believe.
“Really?” Somehow Hornblower had not imagined such a distinguished man to have come from such lowly stock. Not that Hornblower himself had any pretensions to gentility or nobility.
“Apparently so,” Archie continued, “and some are none to keen to forget it. He’s been a bit too successful for some of their Lordships tastes. Good on him I say, he’s earned it. He’s not a man to be crossed or trifled with though. Got a hell of a temper on him by all accounts and he runs a tight ship.
“So he’s a taut fist then?” Hornblower appreciated the necessity of naval discipline as much, if not more so, than the next man, but he had a visceral horror of the cat and he knew he would never be able to respect any captain that asserted his authority by flogging.
Archie laughed. “A taut hand you mean. No, I don’t think so, at least not more so than needs be. He doesn’t rule his ships with the lash if that’s what you mean, but he doesn’t suffer fools or troublemakers either. I wouldn’t fancy your chances if you got on the wrong side of Ned Pellew. You’ll have to watch your step Horatio!”
“Me? Why me?” Hornblower looked aghast.
“Well as far as causing trouble goes, I think you’ll find that duelling is right up there.” Archie observed wryly. “I expect Captain Pellew will be having words with you Mr Hornblower.”
Hornblower paled visibly. “The duel? You think he’ll have heard about that?”
“Of course he’ll have heard Horatio. Half the fleet knows already, you should know by now how word spreads. And besides,” Archie continued, “They say that nothing escapes Pellew’s beady eye.”
The thought of being on the receiving end of a dressing down from Captain Sir Edward Pellew, was more than Hornblower could contemplate. His promising commission would be over before they even left Spithead. Suddenly all his bright dreams of honour and glory were withering in the bud. “What do you think he’ll do?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.
“Tear several strip off you I should expect!” Archie replied brightly, before realising that his friend was genuinely horrified by the prospect. “I wouldn’t worry too much though,” he added, placing a consoling hand on Hornblower’s knee, “A man like that, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s fought a few duels in his own time. Just keep your nose clean and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know Archie. It still doesn’t seem right, I don’t deserve this, not after Clayton...Perhaps I should speak to Captain Keene again...”
“Are you mad Horatio?” Archie was on his feet now, pacing the deck, oblivious to the piles of belongings he was scattering asunder. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime! Half the fleet would give their right arm for a berth on the Indefatigable, and the other half would sell their grandmothers. Do you know what this means Horatio?” He stopped suddenly and crouched in front of Horatio, seizing him by the shoulders. Archie’s grip was so firm, and he looked so determined, that for one minute Horatio thought he was going to shake the living day lights out of him. “Do you really know what this means?” Archie continued, his eyes blazing with a fierce bright light. “It’s not just the chance of action, of showing the frogs a thing or two, it’s not even about promotion and prize money, ‘such outward things dwell not in my desire’, it’s to be part of something Horatio, something honourable, something worth dying for.” He stopped suddenly and released his grip on Hornblower's shoulders, his cheeks colouring. “Listen to me,” he said sheepishly, “you must think me a half-witted fool.”
“No! No, not at all Archie.” His friend’s outburst had jolted Hornblower out of his dark mood and rekindled that smouldering spark of pride and hope.
“You think we will see action then Archie?” He asked quietly.
“Undoubtedly.”
“We will have to fight. We may die.” It was not a question, just a simple statement of fact, but Hornblower found he could not bring himself to look his friend in the face, instead he focused his attention on his hands twisting the linen shirt in his lap.
“Well, if we are to fight then who better to fight than the French? And if we are to die, then at least we can take a few of them with us. Besides,” Archie give a thin tight smile, “I would rather die on the Indefatigable than rotting in this stinking hulk.”
“Are you afraid Archie?” Hornblower forced himself to lift his gaze to meet Archie’s. The eyes that met his own were calm and blue, bright and unclouded as a spring morning.
“Afraid Horatio? No, not any more.”