Hornblower Fic: Naval Discipline
Title: Naval Discipline
Author: Waldo
Fandom: Hornblower
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Word Count: 2636
Characters: Archie, Wellard, Horatio
Summary: "This wasn't naval discipline. This was lunacy. The boy had done *nothing* wrong"
Originally Posted: 1.01.2005
Naval discipline demanded that all hands witness punishments. Naval discipline demanded that all men remain silent except for the orders of the captain and the counting of the boatswain or his mate. Naval discipline demanded that all men remove their hats in deference to the man or men being punished. Naval disciplined demanded that even in cases where men had been reckless or irresponsible or negligent or sinful that they be treated as men. With respect.
Archie grit his teeth. This wasn't naval discipline. This was lunacy. The boy had done nothing wrong. He had in fact, prevented something from going very amiss. A torn topsail was no small problem. And even if he had done something wrong, this was no way to punish an officer. Even at only sixteen years old, Midshipman Wellard was an officer, and as such deserved to be flogged with a cat at the gratings if he had to be beaten at all.
From where he stood at the top of the stairs, Archie could see Wellard bent over the canon as Matthews caned him. Bent over and hit across the arse like an errant toddler. How humiliating. Bad enough he was being punished for a crime that didn't exist, but to add this humiliation was far beyond any kind of reason Archie could find.
Well, if naval discipline had been tossed overboard in so many ways already, what could one more breech of etiquette matter? He sighed and left the deck. It wasn't his watch and hands had not been called. He had no binding reason to be there. He wasn't any help standing at the rail adding to Wellard's shame by watching. He might, perhaps, be able to help in the aftermath.
Archie made his way to the midshipmen's berth and found an empty bucket and went below to the storage deck to get some clean water and a couple of towels. When he came back up he found Wellard's chest and pulled out a clean shirt and drawers for him. Hopefully a cool compress on his welts and clean change of clothes would have him feeling well enough before the other boys came down or he was called up. He hadn't made too many trips into the midshipmen's berth, but he had a vague recollection of Wellard's hammock being the second from the back wall. He reached up into the netting and untangled it, shook out the pillow wadded up in the canvas and hung the blanket over the ropes.
Surely Horatio *would* bring the boy back to his bunk afterwards. Archie stopped, several thoughts filling his head at once. If Sawyer wasn't beyond spanking a midshipman like a powder monkey, would he be far enough gone to actually do something similar to a Lieutenant? He fervently prayed that Sawyer had something else in mind for his friend. Not just to spare him the pain, but because there would be no way the men would ever respect a grown man, a commissioned Lieutenant, who was beaten so. It was bad enough that it was happening to Wellard. He hoped Wellard stood the beating as well as he had said he would. Crying out or, worse, fainting from the pain would only further serve to make him a target of Randall and the like.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Horatio's voice, pitched so low that Archie couldn't understand the words, but he recognized the voice, the tone. It was the one that Horatio had used when he'd first found him curled up on a cot in Cadiz, Spain waiting to die. Archie went over to see how things had gone.
"Horatio?"
"Archie? What are you doing down here?" Horatio's voice was low, almost conspiratorial. It made Archie nervous.
Archie moved to the other side of Wellard and took a position similar to Horatio's: helping the boy stay upright and keeping the weight off his legs as much as possible. Archie imagined that Wellard had made it away from the Captain's line of sight on his own power, but he knew from his own experience that once away from whatever savage had set their eyes on you, adrenaline and bravado ran out quickly and with it went the ability to ignore the pain you'd just been introduced to.
As they moved Wellard to his hammock, Archie looked at Horatio and said, "You seem no worse off. I suppose it's too much to hope that he’s come to his senses."
Horatio rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh. "I'm on thirty-six hours continuous watch."
"A day and a half? That's ridiculous! The point of having an officer on watch is to have someone with their wits about them looking out for enemy ships. How can you possibly be expected to -"
"Archie hush!" Horatio cut him off. "Mind what you say, before you draw his ire yourself. Now, can you…?" Horatio inclined his head towards where Wellard still stood between them, his eyes downcast. "I'm expected on deck."
"Of course." They shifted Wellard around so that Archie could take most of his weight and help him balance when Horatio stepped away.
In the dim lamplight, Archie took a good look at Wellard. The boy was clearly terrified, ashamed and in a great deal of pain all at once. And Archie knew exactly how he felt. He'd been there on more than one occasion himself aboard Justinian. The boy needed the strongest drink that could be found aboard the ship and several hours of blessed unconsciousness. "Are you strong enough to get yourself undressed?"
Wellard's voice shook as he pulled his head up with great effort, "S·Sir?"
Archie indicated the bucket of water at his feet. "We need to get some cold compresses on those welts; help take the swelling down and maybe take away a little of the sting." Archie craned his neck to look at Wellard's backside. "And the skin's been broken. You'll not want the blood to dry your clothes to the skin."
Wellard wavered for a moment at the idea of having to rip off the scabs if his clothes stuck to him. Archie steadied him. "Easy. Can you get yourself undressed? I'll go to the wardroom and get you some brandy while you get in bed."
"y-yes, sir," Wellard whispered. He took a deep breath before untangling himself from Archie and proving himself by unbuttoning his jacket with shaking hands.
"Good lad. Your blanket's up here, I'll be back in moment with some brandy and to help you with that cold compress." Archie squeezed his shoulder in reassurance before leaving.
~~*~~
When Archie returned, Wellard was standing near his hammock, dressed only in his shirt. He seemed to be deep in thought, as he leaned on the chains. Archie set the brandy on Wellard's seachest and then moved around to where the boy could see him. "Something wrong, Mr. Wellard?"
Wellard's eyes were firmly fastened to the floor as he mumbled an explanation.
"I can’t hear you," Archie said gently, reaching across the canvas to tip Wellard's chin up.
"I can't figure out how to get in without sitting down first," Wellard repeated.
Archie raised an eyebrow, fully comprehending the problem, but not having an immediate solution. Wellard was his height if not an inch or so taller and not much slighter. He doubted he could lift him without complicating things even more. He stood thinking for a second. "Ah, try this," Archie pushed the seachest over and then went to stand behind him. "Put your hand on my shoulder and step up onto your chest. Then you can kneel on your bunk and lie on your side."
As Wellard steadied himself against Archie, Archie could feel the heat coming off the boy in waves. He was so clearly humiliated at all that had happened, and now, not even able to do something simple like climb into his own bed… Archie helped take his weight as Wellard lowered himself onto his left side, looking clearly relieved to be off his feet.
Wellard hissed as the canvas collapsed around him, rubbing against his abused body. Archie brushed the boy's bangs out of his face. "Easy now. I'm going to get you that compress and then a drink, alright?"
Wellard nodded trying to make himself a little more comfortable. He reached up for his blanket, feeling cold and exposed. Archie grabbed it for him. "Here, I've got it." Wellard sank back against his pillow. Archie shook out the blanket and draped it over the whole hammock, trying to keep the rough wool off of Wellard's skin. When the boy seemed settled, Archie took two of the towels he'd procured and soaked them in the cold water. After wringing them out, he folded them in half and then pushed the blanket and the ends of Wellard's shirt aside. "This may sting a bit at first, but it should help."
Sure enough, Wellard arched his back, trying to get away from anything touching his broken, beaten skin. He didn't make a sound, and when Archie looked up after arranging the compresses and the blanket satisfactorily, he realized why.
Archie gently stroked Wellard's chin with his thumb. "You're going to bite clean through your lip if you keep that up." Archie smiled down at him as Wellard finally pulled his top teeth from his bottom lip and opened his eyes. Archie pushed Wellard's pig tail away from his face and stroked his shoulder a couple of times. "I have a better understanding of how you feel right now than you might think. I won't find you weak if you need to cry out. You did very well in front of the captain. You were brave and still and quiet. You did not break down in front of him, and you should be quite proud of yourself for that. I'm proud of you; it's not an easy thing to keep all that inside. Now here," Archie retrieved the bottle and the small pewter mug he'd brought in. This is brandy. It should help take the edge off enough for you to sleep for a bit."
Feeling exhausted and ill, Wellard clutched the mug tightly, but made no effort to drink. “Mr. Kennedy?” he whispered.
“Yes?” Archie answered.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong. Was I to let the sail tear? Would that have been the wiser course?”
Archie sighed and shifted. Any honest answer he had would be considered mutinous. He looked at Wellard’s flushed face. He couldn’t lie to this boy. He shifted again. “You acted for the best.” It was on the tip of his tongue to say that on any other ship he’d been on that Wellard’s actions would have been congratulated, but then he realized the untruth of as well. On Justinian many a Mid had learned to keep certain helpful or honest comments or observations to themselves. “On my last ship, the Indefatigable, the captain would have ordered an extra ration of rum for any man who saved the ship from such a mishap. I cannot say that I understand why Captain Sawyer saw you as being defiant.” He hoped it was answer enough.
“How am I to know? I could have just as easily been beaten for allowing it to happen. How am I to know how to answer him when he addresses me or when to give orders and when to hold my tongue?” Wellard did sip his brandy now, hoping to still his shaking hands without upsetting his already rebellious stomach.
Archie squeezed his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, but I do not know what will aggravate his temper. I do not understand why there are some who can do no wrong in his eyes and some who can do no right. But I can tell you that as much as I can, I will protect you from his illogical ire.”
Wellard shifted a little, noticing that the compresses were in fact reducing the pain. As was the support an officer he barely knew. “Thank you, sir,” he said at once. He sipped his brandy before adding, “But sir, I implore you, do nothing in my defense that will draw his attention. I will stand this for as long as need be, but I do not think I could sleep at night knowing that two officers were being punished for coming to my defense. One is bad enough.”
Archie nodded. “We will all do what we can to avoid the captain’s attention, I’d wager.”
A sudden wave of self-consciousness swept over Wellard. “Sir? I thank you very much for your assistance, but surely you have more important things to tend to.”
Archie shook his head. “Not really. Horatio’s on watch and I have no other pressing duties of the moment.”
Wellard finished his brandy, turning slightly green as it hit his stomach. He handed the mug back to Archie, wondering if that was what he was waiting for.
“Easy there, Mr. Wellard, I don’t think your body will thank you for needing to run for the head if you make yourself ill.” Archie set the mug on the floor and retrieved the last towel he’d brought up and wiped Wellard’s brow.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. If Captain Sawyer notices… Sir, I don’t think it’s beyond him to punish you just for being kind to me.”
Archie dipped the towel in the fresh water and patted Wellard’s temple and cheek with the cool cloth. “Mind your tongue. I take your point, but you don’t want anyone else overhearing you speak like that. As for ‘why’,” Archie sighed, “I used to be you. On my first ship, Justinian. And someone was kind to me when I needed it.”
Wellard looked up, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
“Next time we’re ashore and away from our current brand of madness, remind me and I’ll tell you the whole story.” Archie poured a couple sips of Brandy into Wellard’s mug and swallowed them. He knew that if he were to ever tell this young man the whole story of Simpson and the floating hell Justinian, he’d need a lot more alcohol than that. But he also knew that if anyone would understand, this young man would. Since his transfer to the Renown, Archie hadn’t had much time to think of Justinian or Cadiz or any of the other misfortunes he tended to be known for on his other ships and for a while he’d been grateful. Now he was back to the mercies of fate and the capricious will of a captain who seemed more and more to have lost his wits. What was the phrase he’d heard Horatio use when something seemed frighteningly familiar? Déjà vu?
He reached up to push Wellard’s bangs out of his face once again. “Get some rest. I’ll try and keep the other boys out of here for a while.” He wondered when he’d started thinking of the Mids as ‘boys’. He’d only just earned his full Lieutenantancy, and he’d only spent a year as an acting Lieutenant. Which meant that some eighteen months ago, he’d been one of those ‘boys’. He shook his head ruefully. The more things changed, he mused, the more they seemed to stay the same. Damnit.
Wellard nodded and shifted to sit up propped up on his elbow. He locked eyes with Archie and said sincerely, “Thank you, sir. Your support means a great deal to me.”
Archie smiled gently. “You may count on it all times, Mr. Wellard. Now get some rest before you’re due on duty.” Archie collected the extra towel, the mug and the brandy bottle, leaving the pail of water for the younger man, should he need it, and took his leave.
Author: Waldo
Fandom: Hornblower
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Word Count: 2636
Characters: Archie, Wellard, Horatio
Summary: "This wasn't naval discipline. This was lunacy. The boy had done *nothing* wrong"
Originally Posted: 1.01.2005
Naval discipline demanded that all hands witness punishments. Naval discipline demanded that all men remain silent except for the orders of the captain and the counting of the boatswain or his mate. Naval discipline demanded that all men remove their hats in deference to the man or men being punished. Naval disciplined demanded that even in cases where men had been reckless or irresponsible or negligent or sinful that they be treated as men. With respect.
Archie grit his teeth. This wasn't naval discipline. This was lunacy. The boy had done nothing wrong. He had in fact, prevented something from going very amiss. A torn topsail was no small problem. And even if he had done something wrong, this was no way to punish an officer. Even at only sixteen years old, Midshipman Wellard was an officer, and as such deserved to be flogged with a cat at the gratings if he had to be beaten at all.
From where he stood at the top of the stairs, Archie could see Wellard bent over the canon as Matthews caned him. Bent over and hit across the arse like an errant toddler. How humiliating. Bad enough he was being punished for a crime that didn't exist, but to add this humiliation was far beyond any kind of reason Archie could find.
Well, if naval discipline had been tossed overboard in so many ways already, what could one more breech of etiquette matter? He sighed and left the deck. It wasn't his watch and hands had not been called. He had no binding reason to be there. He wasn't any help standing at the rail adding to Wellard's shame by watching. He might, perhaps, be able to help in the aftermath.
Archie made his way to the midshipmen's berth and found an empty bucket and went below to the storage deck to get some clean water and a couple of towels. When he came back up he found Wellard's chest and pulled out a clean shirt and drawers for him. Hopefully a cool compress on his welts and clean change of clothes would have him feeling well enough before the other boys came down or he was called up. He hadn't made too many trips into the midshipmen's berth, but he had a vague recollection of Wellard's hammock being the second from the back wall. He reached up into the netting and untangled it, shook out the pillow wadded up in the canvas and hung the blanket over the ropes.
Surely Horatio *would* bring the boy back to his bunk afterwards. Archie stopped, several thoughts filling his head at once. If Sawyer wasn't beyond spanking a midshipman like a powder monkey, would he be far enough gone to actually do something similar to a Lieutenant? He fervently prayed that Sawyer had something else in mind for his friend. Not just to spare him the pain, but because there would be no way the men would ever respect a grown man, a commissioned Lieutenant, who was beaten so. It was bad enough that it was happening to Wellard. He hoped Wellard stood the beating as well as he had said he would. Crying out or, worse, fainting from the pain would only further serve to make him a target of Randall and the like.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Horatio's voice, pitched so low that Archie couldn't understand the words, but he recognized the voice, the tone. It was the one that Horatio had used when he'd first found him curled up on a cot in Cadiz, Spain waiting to die. Archie went over to see how things had gone.
"Horatio?"
"Archie? What are you doing down here?" Horatio's voice was low, almost conspiratorial. It made Archie nervous.
Archie moved to the other side of Wellard and took a position similar to Horatio's: helping the boy stay upright and keeping the weight off his legs as much as possible. Archie imagined that Wellard had made it away from the Captain's line of sight on his own power, but he knew from his own experience that once away from whatever savage had set their eyes on you, adrenaline and bravado ran out quickly and with it went the ability to ignore the pain you'd just been introduced to.
As they moved Wellard to his hammock, Archie looked at Horatio and said, "You seem no worse off. I suppose it's too much to hope that he’s come to his senses."
Horatio rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh. "I'm on thirty-six hours continuous watch."
"A day and a half? That's ridiculous! The point of having an officer on watch is to have someone with their wits about them looking out for enemy ships. How can you possibly be expected to -"
"Archie hush!" Horatio cut him off. "Mind what you say, before you draw his ire yourself. Now, can you…?" Horatio inclined his head towards where Wellard still stood between them, his eyes downcast. "I'm expected on deck."
"Of course." They shifted Wellard around so that Archie could take most of his weight and help him balance when Horatio stepped away.
In the dim lamplight, Archie took a good look at Wellard. The boy was clearly terrified, ashamed and in a great deal of pain all at once. And Archie knew exactly how he felt. He'd been there on more than one occasion himself aboard Justinian. The boy needed the strongest drink that could be found aboard the ship and several hours of blessed unconsciousness. "Are you strong enough to get yourself undressed?"
Wellard's voice shook as he pulled his head up with great effort, "S·Sir?"
Archie indicated the bucket of water at his feet. "We need to get some cold compresses on those welts; help take the swelling down and maybe take away a little of the sting." Archie craned his neck to look at Wellard's backside. "And the skin's been broken. You'll not want the blood to dry your clothes to the skin."
Wellard wavered for a moment at the idea of having to rip off the scabs if his clothes stuck to him. Archie steadied him. "Easy. Can you get yourself undressed? I'll go to the wardroom and get you some brandy while you get in bed."
"y-yes, sir," Wellard whispered. He took a deep breath before untangling himself from Archie and proving himself by unbuttoning his jacket with shaking hands.
"Good lad. Your blanket's up here, I'll be back in moment with some brandy and to help you with that cold compress." Archie squeezed his shoulder in reassurance before leaving.
~~*~~
When Archie returned, Wellard was standing near his hammock, dressed only in his shirt. He seemed to be deep in thought, as he leaned on the chains. Archie set the brandy on Wellard's seachest and then moved around to where the boy could see him. "Something wrong, Mr. Wellard?"
Wellard's eyes were firmly fastened to the floor as he mumbled an explanation.
"I can’t hear you," Archie said gently, reaching across the canvas to tip Wellard's chin up.
"I can't figure out how to get in without sitting down first," Wellard repeated.
Archie raised an eyebrow, fully comprehending the problem, but not having an immediate solution. Wellard was his height if not an inch or so taller and not much slighter. He doubted he could lift him without complicating things even more. He stood thinking for a second. "Ah, try this," Archie pushed the seachest over and then went to stand behind him. "Put your hand on my shoulder and step up onto your chest. Then you can kneel on your bunk and lie on your side."
As Wellard steadied himself against Archie, Archie could feel the heat coming off the boy in waves. He was so clearly humiliated at all that had happened, and now, not even able to do something simple like climb into his own bed… Archie helped take his weight as Wellard lowered himself onto his left side, looking clearly relieved to be off his feet.
Wellard hissed as the canvas collapsed around him, rubbing against his abused body. Archie brushed the boy's bangs out of his face. "Easy now. I'm going to get you that compress and then a drink, alright?"
Wellard nodded trying to make himself a little more comfortable. He reached up for his blanket, feeling cold and exposed. Archie grabbed it for him. "Here, I've got it." Wellard sank back against his pillow. Archie shook out the blanket and draped it over the whole hammock, trying to keep the rough wool off of Wellard's skin. When the boy seemed settled, Archie took two of the towels he'd procured and soaked them in the cold water. After wringing them out, he folded them in half and then pushed the blanket and the ends of Wellard's shirt aside. "This may sting a bit at first, but it should help."
Sure enough, Wellard arched his back, trying to get away from anything touching his broken, beaten skin. He didn't make a sound, and when Archie looked up after arranging the compresses and the blanket satisfactorily, he realized why.
Archie gently stroked Wellard's chin with his thumb. "You're going to bite clean through your lip if you keep that up." Archie smiled down at him as Wellard finally pulled his top teeth from his bottom lip and opened his eyes. Archie pushed Wellard's pig tail away from his face and stroked his shoulder a couple of times. "I have a better understanding of how you feel right now than you might think. I won't find you weak if you need to cry out. You did very well in front of the captain. You were brave and still and quiet. You did not break down in front of him, and you should be quite proud of yourself for that. I'm proud of you; it's not an easy thing to keep all that inside. Now here," Archie retrieved the bottle and the small pewter mug he'd brought in. This is brandy. It should help take the edge off enough for you to sleep for a bit."
Feeling exhausted and ill, Wellard clutched the mug tightly, but made no effort to drink. “Mr. Kennedy?” he whispered.
“Yes?” Archie answered.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong. Was I to let the sail tear? Would that have been the wiser course?”
Archie sighed and shifted. Any honest answer he had would be considered mutinous. He looked at Wellard’s flushed face. He couldn’t lie to this boy. He shifted again. “You acted for the best.” It was on the tip of his tongue to say that on any other ship he’d been on that Wellard’s actions would have been congratulated, but then he realized the untruth of as well. On Justinian many a Mid had learned to keep certain helpful or honest comments or observations to themselves. “On my last ship, the Indefatigable, the captain would have ordered an extra ration of rum for any man who saved the ship from such a mishap. I cannot say that I understand why Captain Sawyer saw you as being defiant.” He hoped it was answer enough.
“How am I to know? I could have just as easily been beaten for allowing it to happen. How am I to know how to answer him when he addresses me or when to give orders and when to hold my tongue?” Wellard did sip his brandy now, hoping to still his shaking hands without upsetting his already rebellious stomach.
Archie squeezed his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, but I do not know what will aggravate his temper. I do not understand why there are some who can do no wrong in his eyes and some who can do no right. But I can tell you that as much as I can, I will protect you from his illogical ire.”
Wellard shifted a little, noticing that the compresses were in fact reducing the pain. As was the support an officer he barely knew. “Thank you, sir,” he said at once. He sipped his brandy before adding, “But sir, I implore you, do nothing in my defense that will draw his attention. I will stand this for as long as need be, but I do not think I could sleep at night knowing that two officers were being punished for coming to my defense. One is bad enough.”
Archie nodded. “We will all do what we can to avoid the captain’s attention, I’d wager.”
A sudden wave of self-consciousness swept over Wellard. “Sir? I thank you very much for your assistance, but surely you have more important things to tend to.”
Archie shook his head. “Not really. Horatio’s on watch and I have no other pressing duties of the moment.”
Wellard finished his brandy, turning slightly green as it hit his stomach. He handed the mug back to Archie, wondering if that was what he was waiting for.
“Easy there, Mr. Wellard, I don’t think your body will thank you for needing to run for the head if you make yourself ill.” Archie set the mug on the floor and retrieved the last towel he’d brought up and wiped Wellard’s brow.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. If Captain Sawyer notices… Sir, I don’t think it’s beyond him to punish you just for being kind to me.”
Archie dipped the towel in the fresh water and patted Wellard’s temple and cheek with the cool cloth. “Mind your tongue. I take your point, but you don’t want anyone else overhearing you speak like that. As for ‘why’,” Archie sighed, “I used to be you. On my first ship, Justinian. And someone was kind to me when I needed it.”
Wellard looked up, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
“Next time we’re ashore and away from our current brand of madness, remind me and I’ll tell you the whole story.” Archie poured a couple sips of Brandy into Wellard’s mug and swallowed them. He knew that if he were to ever tell this young man the whole story of Simpson and the floating hell Justinian, he’d need a lot more alcohol than that. But he also knew that if anyone would understand, this young man would. Since his transfer to the Renown, Archie hadn’t had much time to think of Justinian or Cadiz or any of the other misfortunes he tended to be known for on his other ships and for a while he’d been grateful. Now he was back to the mercies of fate and the capricious will of a captain who seemed more and more to have lost his wits. What was the phrase he’d heard Horatio use when something seemed frighteningly familiar? Déjà vu?
He reached up to push Wellard’s bangs out of his face once again. “Get some rest. I’ll try and keep the other boys out of here for a while.” He wondered when he’d started thinking of the Mids as ‘boys’. He’d only just earned his full Lieutenantancy, and he’d only spent a year as an acting Lieutenant. Which meant that some eighteen months ago, he’d been one of those ‘boys’. He shook his head ruefully. The more things changed, he mused, the more they seemed to stay the same. Damnit.
Wellard nodded and shifted to sit up propped up on his elbow. He locked eyes with Archie and said sincerely, “Thank you, sir. Your support means a great deal to me.”
Archie smiled gently. “You may count on it all times, Mr. Wellard. Now get some rest before you’re due on duty.” Archie collected the extra towel, the mug and the brandy bottle, leaving the pail of water for the younger man, should he need it, and took his leave.