Upon My Word by Lokei

Author’s Note: If there were really that many Irishmen in the Navy, is this all that surprising?  For the sake of dramatic effect and making sense of Pellew’s declaration, we are assuming quarantine to be slightly more porous than the Navy would probably prefer.

Disclaimer: Horatio Hornblower and his fellows are the creation of CSF, and I merely borrow them out of love and addiction.

= = = = =

Excerpted from the official report of Captain Horatio Hornblower, Hotspur, to Admiral Sir Edward Pellew, Channel Fleet

…I regret to inform the Admiralty that Captain Bracegirdle was also lost in the line of duty.  He perished in pursuit of valuable military intelligence when his boat was struck by an exploding projectile fired from shore.  His honorable service and devotion to duty will be sorely missed.

Hotspur sustained negligible damage during this encounter when a similar five-inch shell broke through the rigging to the deck.  Fortunately the projectile failed to explode.  Special commendations for their role in the action should go to Matthews, Boatswain, and Lieutenant Wm. Bush, as well as to the marines who perished with Captain Bracegirdle…

= = = = =

“Can’t wait ‘til we’re not under this bloody quarantine.  Wouldn’t’ve got off the ship ‘tall if the Lieutenant didn’t need rowin’ to shore.”  Styles muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like ‘bloody Boneys’ and took a long pull at his mug of ale.  He set it down on the tavern table with satisfaction.  “That’s better.”

Jackson leaned in over the scarred and battered wooden surface, finger tapping.  “You promised a good story, you did,” the gunner said.  “’Bout them fancy shells the Frogs were throwin,’ the light-up ones.  Seen one close, you said.”

“Did,” Styles grinned proudly.  “On the Hotspur, that’s where things happen.  Cap’n Hornblower, he’s the one to serve under—things happen.”

“Well, get along, then,” Jackson grumbled and Styles widened his eyes comically before continuing.

“Cap’n Bracegirdle and Cap’n Hornblower had gone ashore to see what them stinkin’ Frogs was up to—sneakin’ around real quiet-like.  Cap’n Hornblower, he came back right quick, and them Frogs none the wiser, but Cap’n Bracegirdle, he came scramblin’ down the cliff with the Frogs right on his tail.  He got away clean enough and Prowse had us sittin’ in close to shore to pick ‘em up, when up on the cliff we see the Frogs linin’ up these long narrow cannon—weren’t no ship’s cannon, neither.  They fired one off and—“ Styles slapped his massive hand explosively on the table in demonstration, “That was the end of Cap’n Bracegirdle.  Nothin’ but a bunch of bloody pieces in the water.  Right mess.”

Jackson gave a low whistle of appreciation.  “Then what?  Doesn’t sound like you saw it any too close to me.”

“Not done yet,” Styles took another long swig to refresh his throat.  “Them Frogs fired again, right at us this time, an’ it hit deck right up by the Cap’n, fizzin’ away like bloody fireworks.  Little thing, size o’ my hand.  Coulda finished us all.”  He paused dramatically while Jackson gaped obligingly.

“So the Cap’n, and I’ve known him since he was Midshipman Hornblower, mind, throws himself right on top of it, he does, quick as anythin.’  Gives it a right old smother and out it goes, harmless as a babe.  ‘Drop it over the side,’ he says, and that’s the end of it.  Wouldn’t hear another word about it.” 

Jackson shook his head.  “Strong stuff, Styles, strong stuff.”

Styles nodded sagely.  “Wouldn’t sail with nobody else.”

= = = = =

“Wouldn’t want to serve under anyone else,” Orrock insisted.  “Hotspur may be a small ship, but she’s a proper crew and no finer officers in the fleet.  I didn’t invent an errand to the Admiral to hear her insulted, mind you.”

“Your Captain Hornblower does sound like he’s got the luck of the devil,” Gallivan, midshipman of the _________, admitted grudgingly.

“Aye, but he’s the devil to serve, too, I hear,” his fellow Evans added with a grimace which was apparently his impersonation of a fierce Captain Hornblower.  “Frightful strict and snappish, I heard.”

“Not a bit of it,” Orrock protested loyally, thumping his cards down on the water-ringed mess table in case his words were not forceful enough.  “It’s only he’s so smart, he sees things before the rest of us do and then has to wait for us to catch him up.  It’d make me cross if I were him, but he’s not that bad.  No one gets a lashing unless he’s no other choice.”

“Soft, then, after all?”  Gallivan laughed.  “That it?”

“Now look here,” Orrock retorted, “the Captain can’t be a devil and be soft, you muttonhead.  And he isn’t either.  He’s the bravest man I’ve ever seen, and the coolest under fire.  Why, he put out an exploding shell with his bare hands!”

“Did not,” Gallivan interjected, clearly stung by the ‘muttonhead’ insult.  “He’d be in pieces all over the deck.”

“I was standing right there, Gallivan.  Saw it with my own eyes.  We’d just seen poor Captain Bracegirdle blown away by one of the foul things, and then there was this awful noise, like bees when you throw a rock at their nest, and this shell landed on the deck, still lit.”  Orrock scrubbed a hand at his face.  “Don’t mind telling you, I was frozen.  Just stared at this thing that could kill us all, like we’d just seen.  But not the Captain.  Off goes his cloak, and suddenly he’s down on the deck and it’s out before any of us could move.”

“I’ll be damned,” Evans said softly.  “He does have the luck of the devil.”

Orrock shook his head.  “That’s not even the last of it.  He wouldn’t even let us cheer—‘back to your station, Mr. Orrock,’ and ‘drop the damned thing overboard,’ and off to his cabin he went, normal as if he’d been picking cabbages instead of saving the lives of every jack aboard.  And that’s the truth.”

“Cool, Mr. Orrock, very cool,” Gallivan looked impressed despite himself. 

Orrock beamed.  “You see why I don’t envy you a jot, Billy?”

= = = = =

“Never thought I’d say it, but I envy you, Mr. Bush,” said Lieutenant Jasper of the Tonnant.  “While we’ve been stuck out on blockade watching empty ocean, you and your Captain Hornblower have gone and stolen all the fun.”

Bush chuckled, savoring the small freedom of a lieutenant who had escaped quarantine to restock his vessel and had an hour or two to spare.  “It’s my turn, Mr. Jasper.  You had your fun while I was home during the peace.  And I wouldn’t trade for your spot on this old tub any day.”

Jasper shrugged affably.  “Someone has to keep the men busy on a ship of the line.  I suppose if the job’s too big for you…”

“Mind your tongue, Jasper.  The crew of the Hotspur could out gun yours any day,” Bush assumed some of the convenient anger he had borrowed from Hornblower.  “Just ask the French.”

Jasper held up his hands in appeasement.  “So I’ve heard.  ‘Round the Fleet your Captain’s getting quite a reputation.  I heard one of the hands this morning say he’d roared at one of those exploding shells that did for Captain Bracegirdle, and it put itself out in a fright for having had the temerity to land on Captain Hornblower’s deck.  When I inquired, another one informed me that his friend was mistaken: Captain Hornblower had simply picked it up and spanked it like a babe before tossing it over the side.”

Bush was delighted.  “Is that so?”

“So what’s the truth of it, Mr. Bush?  Surely this is another superstitious sailor’s yarn.”

Bush smiled and took a slow sip of his ale. 

“I wouldn’t discount a word of it, Mr. Jasper.  Not a word.”

= = = = =

“Captain Hornblower?”  Pellew’s voice rang through the cabin as Hornblower turned to go.

“Sir?”

“You were very fortunate, the day Captain Bracegirdle was lost, that the shell did not explode aboard the Hotspur, were you not?”  There was a smile lurking somewhere under Pellew’s craggy countenance, and it was most disconcerting.

“You cannot hold me responsible for that, sir,” Hornblower replied, as coolly as any actor in Drury Lane, though he disclaimed any such profession.

“No indeed.”  The smile was fully evident now.  “May good fortune always go with you, Mr. Hornblower.”

Clearly sensing he had been rumbled, Hornblower in his copious intelligence beat a gracious retreat. 

 “Thank you, sir.”

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