by Chris

It was while on the plague ship confinement on the Caroline that
Horatio Hornblower had a certain event of his past on the Justinian come
strongly to mind. Even with the demands of his command of the ship, and
the efforts to try to keep the morale up and the men busy, he could not
help but think on mortality; in general, and his own in particular.

    His brain had been churning on thoughts of death and things associated
with it. He remembered all the dead he had seen, all the deaths he had
witnessed, and the funerals he had attended. It was this last
remembrance that lead to visions of all the bodies that had been cast
over the sides, sewn up in hammocks with lead balls at the feet of the
corpses. He had always considered it appropriate in a rational, cold
way: each man was shrouded in the bed he had slept in - not only did it
save material, but it kept other men from worrying about the effects of
sleeping in the cloths of a man who had just died.

    The word shrouds lingered in his consciousness, especially as he only
had to tip his head back to see shrouds of another sort that also preyed
on his intellect. He had never forgotten the trick that Styles had
played on him on the Justinian, sending him up the rigging in search of
Lt. Eccleston. His gut still clenched thinking of climbing the ropes,
and spasmed when remembering how one snapped under his foot, letting his
leg dangle in the air while he clung with all his might. The look in
Simpson's eyes as he casually climbed down past Horatio after having
nonchalantly swung himself off the platform and elegantly down onto the
rigging still had the power to make Horatio cringe, months later and
even with Simpson dead. Fortunately, a seaman had taken pity on him and
had clambered up to talk the young Midshipman down the ropes.

    With the threat of the plague lingering over him, Horatio just had to
know why that shipmate had risked the wrath of Simpson and the
resentment and teasing of his fellow sailors to help the stranded
Mid'man. He found the man leaning over the open hatch looking down at
the cattle.

    "Sir?" with knuckles to the forehead.

    "I've always meant to ask you this. Do you remember, on the Justinian,
when you helped me down the rigging? We were still in Spithead, and
Styles had sent me up them as a joke."

    "Ah, yes, sir, I recall."

    "Why? Why did you help me?"

    The sailor cleared his throat. "Well, sir, it were like this, see. I
was looking up at you hung there like a limpet, and I thought to myself
- go on up there and see if those legs are as long as they look! And I
thought on how I'd get to touch your legs as I guided you down, see.
But when I got up there, you looked so pale and distraught, I couldn't
do as I had planned. Instead, I just sort of talked you down, sir. And
that was that."

    Horatio eyed the sailor in disbelief. "Ahem. Ah, yes, Matthews, thank
you. That will be all."

THE END

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