Hornblower Fic: The Model of an Officer
Rating: G
Characters: OC, William Bush
Disclaimer: It all belongs to the Forester Estate.
Note: Mr. Midshipman Abbott has a few lines in one of the books (I can't remember which one). He sounds like a bit of a screw-up, so I have rehabilitated him for this fic. [And changed the year of his birth.]
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Mr. Midshipman Abbott had never imagined such horrors could exist. Nothing had prepared him for this hell, not even a childhood of Baptist sermons. The deck was scoured by an iron hail, while the wounded screamed like the damned and the air reeked of brimstone. Yet somehow he stumbled his way through the battle. After days and months of drill, he scarcely needed to think as he shouted to his men to roll back the gun, load, aim, fire and roll back again.
And that was not the end, for then they had to board the shattered privateer and fight the enemy hand-to-hand. Despite Captain Leland’s protests, the commodore went with them, swinging over the rail and landing on the deck with a shout. A burly officer followed closely behind him, saving him from harm more than once. Oddly, the commodore seemed to ignore him. Mr. Abbott did not know this man, but he wore a captain’s epaulettes and he was no Admiralty idler. When the midshipman was beset by two pirates and driven back against the rail, the captain strode forward and cut them down. Over their mangled bodies, he gave Mr. Abbott a startling grin. He was not an elderly man, yet his frock coat had an old-fashioned look, with overly wide facings and cuffs. He grasped the midshipman by the shoulder and gave him a little shake; then he nodded and hurried after the commodore.
After the battle, Mr. Abbott worked until he thought he must fall asleep on his feet. The decks had to be cleared of wreckage, and the spars and rigging repaired. Only later did he think to find the unknown officer to thank him for the rescue.
“What other captain?” the fourth lieutenant asked sharply. “Captain Leland is the only one onboard, and he stayed with the ship.”
Mr. Abbott had already learned the danger of arguing with his superiors, so he chose his words with care. “He had two epaulettes, sir, though I may have been mistaken.”
The third lieutenant looked up from his grog. “And his coat was not cut to the current regulation, was it?”
“No, sir. It wasn’t,” Mr. Abbott replied reluctantly. He wondered if it was considered an act of rank insubordination to criticize the cut of an officer’s frock coat.
Elbows on the table, the third lieutenant leaned forward. “Ah. I believe you have seen the renowned Captain Bush. A tall fellow with dark hair and the shoulders of a bull?”
Mr. Abbott nodded. “Could I meet him, sir? I am greatly in his debt.”
The third lieutenant shook his head with a sad smile. “The late renowned Captain Bush. He was killed at Le Havre, but being a stubborn son of a gun, he has not let his death interfere with his duties. The very model of an officer.”
“The Navy could use more like him.” The fourth lieutenant laughed then glanced uneasily around the shadowy wardroom.
“Don’t look so alarmed, Mr. Abbott. You are not the first to see him, not by a long shot,” the third lieutenant said. “Just as when he still lived, he follows the commodore into every danger. Five years dead, and William Bush is still watching over his shipmate.”
Characters: OC, William Bush
Disclaimer: It all belongs to the Forester Estate.
Note: Mr. Midshipman Abbott has a few lines in one of the books (I can't remember which one). He sounds like a bit of a screw-up, so I have rehabilitated him for this fic. [And changed the year of his birth.]
******************************
Mr. Midshipman Abbott had never imagined such horrors could exist. Nothing had prepared him for this hell, not even a childhood of Baptist sermons. The deck was scoured by an iron hail, while the wounded screamed like the damned and the air reeked of brimstone. Yet somehow he stumbled his way through the battle. After days and months of drill, he scarcely needed to think as he shouted to his men to roll back the gun, load, aim, fire and roll back again.
And that was not the end, for then they had to board the shattered privateer and fight the enemy hand-to-hand. Despite Captain Leland’s protests, the commodore went with them, swinging over the rail and landing on the deck with a shout. A burly officer followed closely behind him, saving him from harm more than once. Oddly, the commodore seemed to ignore him. Mr. Abbott did not know this man, but he wore a captain’s epaulettes and he was no Admiralty idler. When the midshipman was beset by two pirates and driven back against the rail, the captain strode forward and cut them down. Over their mangled bodies, he gave Mr. Abbott a startling grin. He was not an elderly man, yet his frock coat had an old-fashioned look, with overly wide facings and cuffs. He grasped the midshipman by the shoulder and gave him a little shake; then he nodded and hurried after the commodore.
After the battle, Mr. Abbott worked until he thought he must fall asleep on his feet. The decks had to be cleared of wreckage, and the spars and rigging repaired. Only later did he think to find the unknown officer to thank him for the rescue.
“What other captain?” the fourth lieutenant asked sharply. “Captain Leland is the only one onboard, and he stayed with the ship.”
Mr. Abbott had already learned the danger of arguing with his superiors, so he chose his words with care. “He had two epaulettes, sir, though I may have been mistaken.”
The third lieutenant looked up from his grog. “And his coat was not cut to the current regulation, was it?”
“No, sir. It wasn’t,” Mr. Abbott replied reluctantly. He wondered if it was considered an act of rank insubordination to criticize the cut of an officer’s frock coat.
Elbows on the table, the third lieutenant leaned forward. “Ah. I believe you have seen the renowned Captain Bush. A tall fellow with dark hair and the shoulders of a bull?”
Mr. Abbott nodded. “Could I meet him, sir? I am greatly in his debt.”
The third lieutenant shook his head with a sad smile. “The late renowned Captain Bush. He was killed at Le Havre, but being a stubborn son of a gun, he has not let his death interfere with his duties. The very model of an officer.”
“The Navy could use more like him.” The fourth lieutenant laughed then glanced uneasily around the shadowy wardroom.
“Don’t look so alarmed, Mr. Abbott. You are not the first to see him, not by a long shot,” the third lieutenant said. “Just as when he still lived, he follows the commodore into every danger. Five years dead, and William Bush is still watching over his shipmate.”