by Charley Hart
by Charley Hart
Disclaimer: The characters from the Horatio Hornblower
series do not belong to me, and no infringement of anyone's copyright is intended.
Rating: G
FEEDBACK to Charley
Horatio's Journal |
Archie's Journal |
| Bay of
Biscay … November God help me, I have sent Archie to his death. It was Jack's hand that cut the rope, but just as surely it was mine that rendered Archie unconscious and vulnerable. I tell myself I had no choice. But if I had not struck with such force ... What have I done? Clayton believed his fits were caused by something Jack did to him. He would never speak of it, and I could not bring myself to question him. But it was Jack's return that brought it on him again, that fateful night in the boat. And it was my hand that pulled Jack from the sea. There is within me a spark of hope that somehow, he has survived. I dreamt last night that I saw him in the boat, awakening from the cruel blow that duty impelled me to strike, and he called my name. At first confused, but then in panic -- louder and louder, until he was screaming. But I was not there. There was nothing, no one, there to comfort him, only miles of open sea. If he did awaken, what must he have thought? Sometimes it is more than I can bear, to think of his suffering. Perhaps the boat capsized, and he never knew what Jack had done. What I had done. I must go on, I must face each day as if nothing more has happened than that I lost a brother officer in action. We must be prepared for such things in the course of a career. And yet, in my heart, I know he was much more than that. How strange, to realize now that what I felt for him was more than friendship. I could never find a way to tell him. God knows what he would have thought of me. At times I don't know what to think of myself. I have never cared like that for another man. No, the truth is, never for anyone as much as I do for him. And now he is gone. A diabolical trick of fate that I cannot fathom. I found myself looking for him on deck today, every time there were footsteps, or a voice, behind me. Only to turn and see someone else. I have befriended Lieutenant Dawson. He is a decent enough chap, and he likes me. But it isn't the same. He is a true friend, and Archie was so much more. I did love him. I still do. *** Captain Pellew has given me charge of Archie's few possessions, as I was closer to him than the others. I do not believe there is much there that would be of interest to his family. He spoke of them so rarely. There was a book, and the manuscripts of several stage plays. And a small wooden box containing spare buttons ... and the seashell. I recognized it right away, as I had picked it up on the beach one day when we had leave from the Justinian. I thought it pretty, and unusual, and so I handed it to Archie to examine. I thought no more of it, presuming he had tossed it back on the sand. I suppose I will divide the buttons between Dawson and myself, as we will have use for them. The shell I have put in my pocket. I find myself reaching down at odd times during the day to touch it. Horatio put his journal aside and wept. *** Jack Simpson is dead, though I could not bring myself to fire the fatal shot. And had Captain Pellew not been at the ready, I, too, would be dead. Justice was served. But this revenge, such as it was, is cold comfort. I would gladly face down Jack Simpson daily if it would bring Archie back. June I will not say that there is no joy in my life. There are moments with the men when I can share an amusing story. And I am satisfied that I am performing my duties to the best of my abilities, a task greatly facilitated by Captain Pellew's kind words of encouragement. But though these things lift my spirits, it quickly fades away as evening comes and I prepare for sleep. Archie and I used to talk before going to bed, never about anything of great importance. But he brought a warmth to me than I cannot replace. And at night, I feel empty and alone. *** Off the coast of Spain, September *** I am to escort an extraordinary lady home, the Duchess of Wharfedale. Perhaps it is merely the influence of her presence, but I cannot shake the feeling that something momentous is about to happen. Horatio put his pen down and found himself smiling. He returned his private journal to its hiding place and prepared to take command of La Reve. |
Spain
… November Don Masseredo has allowed me paper and ink so that I may write to my family and let them know I am alive. He does not realize I died in my father’s eyes many years ago. I do not know the day, or how long I survived at sea before the Spanish ship found me. I cannot say I was rescued, rather, I was taken prisoner. I have been here three days, in a small cell with only a bed and a table. The food is worse than what we had on the Indefatigable after months at sea. I would be grateful for a weevil-infested biscuit and my rum ration. The water is better, however. I have tried to puzzle out how I came to be here. Horatio and I were in command of the jolly boat, ordered to cut out the Papillon. I can still remember how the moonlight lit up the Papillon like a ghost ship in the harbour. All was quiet. He was with us, through some horrible twist of fate, just a few yards away in another boat. Like a demon who pursues me, a demon from whom I can never escape. I was thinking of him, and not our mission. I was resolved to fear him no longer, for under Captain Pellew's command he would have little opportunity to bedevil me. And Horatio was with me. Horatio never feared him as I did. But I could not ease my mind, because he was so close. I could almost hear him breathing. I fancied I could hear him talking to me from the other boat. ...Jack's missed you ... That is the last thing I remember before waking with the sun burning my face, and a terrible pain in my head. At first I thought it was a bad dream, that I would wake in my bunk and all would be well. But I did not. Something must have gone wrong, something horrible. Did they hear us? Did they open fire and only I survived? But no, it can't have been that. I had no wounds, I saw no blood, there were no marks of attack on the boat. Then how? Why? And Horatio ... I cannot allow myself to think that he is dead. If he were here, even this prison cell would be bearable. But he is not. I am alone. I will likely die here. He will never know my feelings for him. I am convinced it is for the best, that divine providence has found this way of sparing me his despite. For despise me he would if he knew how I dreamed of him touching me. He will never know that I loved him. Archie tore the page into small pieces and scattered them on the floor of the cell. *** January? It is not strictly true to say that it was poorly planned. It was not planned at all. When I was let out for exercise, I ran. It was foolish, I had no chance. But something compelled me. The guards brought me down, and handled me roughly. I will not be allowed out until further notice. But there was no other punishment. *** June? I am so lonely. Don Masseredo's English is as good as my own, but I see him seldomly. My guards speak no English. I have learnt some Spanish from them, and could curse them roundly if I had the strength for such things. I will make another attempt to escape tomorrow. I have a weapon now, a spoon which the guard neglected to take away, sharpened to a point. I would wish that Horatio were here with me, but I cannot wish him in a place such as this. *** Sometime in the Fall of the year ... *** ? I cannot write any more. It serves no purpose, and it tires me. Odd, I dreamt of him last night. Horatio. Archie let the pen drop from his fingers. |
THE END