Twenty-Six Bells: [Action] Forward-dated to December 20th
[Archie spends the first half of the day moving new furniture-stool and chairs, mostly-to the Britannia. Something about getting stuck in your own ship and having to burn the furniture for warmth in the galley stove makes one run out of furniture. While he’s in the store, he finds an item that delights him-a wooden box with Horatio’s name engraved on a brass plate on the lid. He’ll happily take that home, yes.
It’s less than a week till Christmas, so he’s going to clear the snow off the front porch of house 36 and sit outside to try to make a wreath out of hemlock and holly sprigs. It is not going well. He’s unaware of the mistletoe overhead.
In regards to his find in the store, curiosity will get the better of him before Horatio returns home. What is in that box?
He finds out. It’s not pretty.]
[Inside, he finds letters. Only a handful, in unsealed envelopes. Knowing better, he plucks out the first one and unfolds it anyway.]
Wednesday, 10th February, 1802
Archie,
This is nothing short of insanity, I am quite sure of it. I can only imagine what you would say, were you here at my side and I was writing to some other man. Though, I confess, I should not find this so necessary were you here. I do not know what possesses me to do as I am and write thus to you. It is not delusion-- I know that I shall never receive an answer. Indeed, I know I shall never send this letter. I know only too well that you are buried in Kingston, your reputation destroyed for my sake.
I have taken your "gift," as you so called it. I have told no one the extent of what you did. The Chronicle, thankfully, has been so kind as not to mention your name. You should be lauded as a hero, my dear friend, but I would rather see your name missing than be dragged through the mud for a crime you did not commit.
God help me, Archie. There are days-- a great many of them-- where I think I shall no longer be able to bear your loss.
What would you say, my friend, if you knew of my promotion? I write to you now as Commander Horatio Hornblower of His Majesty's Retribution. She is an eighteen-gunner, one of the Spanish ships we took in Samana Bay. She is a miserable ship, and I cannot think of one thing to credit her with. Perhaps I am ungrateful. After all, she is mine to command. I should be pleased. But she was bought with blood. The only purpose I can see to giving her to me is that the Admiralty wanted me away from Kingston as quickly as was possible, did not dare give command of a ship to Buckland, and knew how poor an idea it would be to make us shipmates once again. I cannot find much fault with my lieutenant, though you would have made a far better one, especially for me.
I did find myself, just yesterday, shouting a command. To you. Thank Heaven for small mercies, as there is another "Kennedy" on board now. A rating, but he was near enough to think the command was for him. I think I confused the man a bit, but he obeyed, and the matter has not been questioned. I caught myself, also, talking to you the same evening, when I was sitting quite alone in my cabin. No one else heard me, by God's grace. I cannot imagine the crew would take well to knowing that their captain speaks to a dead man as if he were still living. I think that is why I decided to write to you today. To relieve some of the things in my mind, things I want to say to you, yet know I never can.
I've nothing left, Archie.
I don't know what to do any longer.
I am alone. I am completely alone.
My father is gravely ill. In all likelihood, by the time I am able to make port in England again, he will be dead. If not, then by the time I can return home. He wrote to me, lest I not be able to attend to him in his final hour. Words of praise and pride. He wrote before the court martial. Before any news of what had transpired on the Renown had reached England. What will he think of me now? Does he know? Or will the Lord take him home before he learns of the accusations? For if he learns what I was accused of, he will ask me whether there is any truth to them. I know I cannot lie to him, just as I could not lie to you.
Mr. Bush was sent to the Renown again, and I feel that loss gravely. Matthews and Styles are part of my crew, and I am glad for them, but they cannot ease my mind the way you can, my dear friend.
Your loss I feel most keenly, and I fear I always shall. I have had no greater friend in all my life, never trusted anyone the way I knew I could trust you. I cannot think to put all my thoughts about you to paper. That would take a hundred years. But know that there will never be a day when I do not think of you, do not miss you. I am sure, as you would tell me, that the raw wound will mend, and I hope it will hurt less over time. But please do not think it will ever cease to ache. I will feel the loss of you until the day I die.
I don't know whether these letters will help or whether every one will cut into what little progress I may make with moving on. This one has left me with a keen reminder of how dear you were to me, yet I also feel somehow more at ease. I know you shall never know of this, but I think I have no choice. For my own sake, I will write to you. I will confide in you. I am forever your most affectionate friend,
Horatio
[When Horatio does come home, he'll find Archie sitting motionless on the couch, swollen eyes still misted, the letter lying forgotten in his hands.]
It’s less than a week till Christmas, so he’s going to clear the snow off the front porch of house 36 and sit outside to try to make a wreath out of hemlock and holly sprigs. It is not going well. He’s unaware of the mistletoe overhead.
In regards to his find in the store, curiosity will get the better of him before Horatio returns home. What is in that box?
He finds out. It’s not pretty.]
[Inside, he finds letters. Only a handful, in unsealed envelopes. Knowing better, he plucks out the first one and unfolds it anyway.]
Wednesday, 10th February, 1802
Archie,
This is nothing short of insanity, I am quite sure of it. I can only imagine what you would say, were you here at my side and I was writing to some other man. Though, I confess, I should not find this so necessary were you here. I do not know what possesses me to do as I am and write thus to you. It is not delusion-- I know that I shall never receive an answer. Indeed, I know I shall never send this letter. I know only too well that you are buried in Kingston, your reputation destroyed for my sake.
I have taken your "gift," as you so called it. I have told no one the extent of what you did. The Chronicle, thankfully, has been so kind as not to mention your name. You should be lauded as a hero, my dear friend, but I would rather see your name missing than be dragged through the mud for a crime you did not commit.
God help me, Archie. There are days-- a great many of them-- where I think I shall no longer be able to bear your loss.
What would you say, my friend, if you knew of my promotion? I write to you now as Commander Horatio Hornblower of His Majesty's Retribution. She is an eighteen-gunner, one of the Spanish ships we took in Samana Bay. She is a miserable ship, and I cannot think of one thing to credit her with. Perhaps I am ungrateful. After all, she is mine to command. I should be pleased. But she was bought with blood. The only purpose I can see to giving her to me is that the Admiralty wanted me away from Kingston as quickly as was possible, did not dare give command of a ship to Buckland, and knew how poor an idea it would be to make us shipmates once again. I cannot find much fault with my lieutenant, though you would have made a far better one, especially for me.
I did find myself, just yesterday, shouting a command. To you. Thank Heaven for small mercies, as there is another "Kennedy" on board now. A rating, but he was near enough to think the command was for him. I think I confused the man a bit, but he obeyed, and the matter has not been questioned. I caught myself, also, talking to you the same evening, when I was sitting quite alone in my cabin. No one else heard me, by God's grace. I cannot imagine the crew would take well to knowing that their captain speaks to a dead man as if he were still living. I think that is why I decided to write to you today. To relieve some of the things in my mind, things I want to say to you, yet know I never can.
I've nothing left, Archie.
I don't know what to do any longer.
I am alone. I am completely alone.
My father is gravely ill. In all likelihood, by the time I am able to make port in England again, he will be dead. If not, then by the time I can return home. He wrote to me, lest I not be able to attend to him in his final hour. Words of praise and pride. He wrote before the court martial. Before any news of what had transpired on the Renown had reached England. What will he think of me now? Does he know? Or will the Lord take him home before he learns of the accusations? For if he learns what I was accused of, he will ask me whether there is any truth to them. I know I cannot lie to him, just as I could not lie to you.
Mr. Bush was sent to the Renown again, and I feel that loss gravely. Matthews and Styles are part of my crew, and I am glad for them, but they cannot ease my mind the way you can, my dear friend.
Your loss I feel most keenly, and I fear I always shall. I have had no greater friend in all my life, never trusted anyone the way I knew I could trust you. I cannot think to put all my thoughts about you to paper. That would take a hundred years. But know that there will never be a day when I do not think of you, do not miss you. I am sure, as you would tell me, that the raw wound will mend, and I hope it will hurt less over time. But please do not think it will ever cease to ache. I will feel the loss of you until the day I die.
I don't know whether these letters will help or whether every one will cut into what little progress I may make with moving on. This one has left me with a keen reminder of how dear you were to me, yet I also feel somehow more at ease. I know you shall never know of this, but I think I have no choice. For my own sake, I will write to you. I will confide in you. I am forever your most affectionate friend,
Horatio
[When Horatio does come home, he'll find Archie sitting motionless on the couch, swollen eyes still misted, the letter lying forgotten in his hands.]