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Snippets from Hornblower stories that may or may not end up in finished ones. Some lengthy, some short. Most mature, in some way.
Pretend it's an AU where commodores read the Articles aloud:
Sunday brought with it tradition, and as he read the very Articles he’d heard almost every Sunday since he was a boy he was surprised to hear his voice falter over the words ‘unnatural and detestable sin’ described in the twenty-eighth article. He carried on as if nothing had happened, but that afternoon as he sat in his cabin the events of the morning would not leave him. For the first time in his life he doubted the Articles, doubted even the law, and the feeling disquieted him. He knew he ought to feel shame for what had passed between himself and Bush in France, and yet any shame that had lingered in the days following the first night had been eased away by Bush’s loving-kindness.
Caudebec:
“I was in the lead, sir, as I’m sure you’ve no doubt heard from Livingstone. We were just coming up to the powder barges, sir, the lights of Caudebec in sight, when my boat ran aground on some rock. Holed her nice and proper. We began to refloat her, but it took some time, seeing as we were under fire at the time. I ordered the other three boats ahead to attack the barges. I should have gone with them. I should have —” His entire body trembled and his face was wet with tears, eyes fixed on some unknown point. “I thought it was lightning. It was so bright. And then this… roar. Like the gates to Hell itself opened before me, sir. I must have turned my head and raised my arm, but I cannot recall — next thing I knew I was flung into the water, caught in this great wave, and when I surfaced I… I couldn’t breathe. My lungs wouldn’t work. It was so cold, sir. I beat my arms about in the water, trying to catch my breath, and my hand caught a piece of line. It was a painter, still attached to a bit of boat, enough to keep my head and shoulders above water, and I wrapped the line around my hand. I dared not move for fear I would drown.” Bush paled. “I cannot swim, you see.”
“What of your other men?” Hornblower asked.
“Dead,” Bush said miserably. “I was at the sternsheets. Those that were spared the blast fell into the water. I should have gone with them, sir. I should have died with them too.”
Hands:
“Congratulations, Captain Bush,” he said, grasping Bush’s hand, noting with pleasure it was as hard and rough as it once had been.
“Thank you, sir,” Bush said, struggling to not grin. His hand was warm in Hornblower’s, and Hornblower remembered with a blush how those strong fingers had felt inside him. But that had been Graçay, where there had been no laws to bind them — this was the Victory, where there was yardarm and rope aplenty to see them hanged. No. He would not remember Bush’s hands. He pulled his hand from Bush’s grasp and stepped away.
“I trust I will see you in Portsmouth, Mr Bush?”
“Of course, sir.” Hornblower would be under arrest there, under the watchful eye of Gambier until his court-martial, but a captain like Bush would be able to visit him. Captain. The image of Bush in the uniform of a captain entered his mind, and a swell of inestimable pride rose within him. There was no man half so deserving of command as Bush, no man half so capable. He was not brilliant by any stretch of the imagination, but he was shrewd and stolid, and Hornblower knew men would trust — perhaps even love — Bush as their captain.
They would certainly fear him.
And now for something completely different:
Do androids dream of electric ships?:
“Get that thing off my bridge,” Sawyer snapped, gesturing at H. “I hate the way it looks at me.” H’s face was impassable, his expression so artificial it was unsettlingly human. “And you there, boy.”
A young man, no more than eighteen, brought his arm up in a stiff salute. Will could see his hand was shaking. “S-Sir.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“W-Wellard, sir. Henry Wellard, Ensign.”
Sawyer snorted. “Remember well, boy, that we have no use aboard this ship for layabouts and wastrels, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sawyer’s face darkened. “Do you hear me?” he growled.
“Aye aye, sir,” said Wellard, that stiff, awkward phrase still in use by the Fleet. "You have no use aboard this ship for layabouts and wastrels."
Cards:
Freeman turned the cards over with practiced flare.
“On these cards are the past, sir, on these the future. Your past is complicated: I see money and gold. There is danger here too, and great adversity. A prison — ah, twice, it would seem, sir. A dark woman, and a fair one. A lengthy journey over sea, a long illness, and — oh, strange.”
“What is it?” asked Bush, unable to hide his curiosity.
Freeman tapped the last card: an ace of hearts, reversed. “It is love, sir, but conflicted love. A forbidden love, perhaps. A secret love, certainly — for neither the fair lady nor the dark one. Even the cards hold secrets, it would seem,” he said with a coy smile.
“Amazing,” said Hornblower drily. He refused to believe that the cards were capable of telling anything but nonsense. Forbidden love — he wanted to laugh. It had never been love that brought him to Bush; it had been the need for understanding, for companionship, for comfort.
“Amazing,” said Bush, his eyes shining. It was just like Bush to be taken in by a charlatan’s tricks. There was nothing that Freeman said that was outside the realm of insightful guesswork, but the look on Bush’s face told Hornblower he believed every word Freeman said.
“Now the future,” said Freeman, presenting the cards with a flourish. “The future is always more mysterious. I see a crown — a golden one. Ah, but I see your doubt, sir.” He rearranged the cards. “The cards speak plainly, sir. A crown is in your future.”
“Horatio the First, King of the Cannibals,” grumbled Hornblower, annoyed by Freeman’s prattle. The talk of love had agitated him, made him irritable, and he wanted nothing more for the night to end so that he could be alone to stew in his own thoughts.
Freeman continued, unable or unwilling to detect the displeasure on his commodore’s face. “Danger is here, sir — terrible danger.” He turned over the next card, and a furrow appeared in his brow. “Ah — I’m sorry sir.”
“What is it?” asked Hornblower, a little sharply. Freeman’s eyes were fixed on the cards before him.
“Despair, sir. Fear. An unhappy card. Let us turn the next cards; perhaps the future will change.” He turned it over: a three of diamonds. “Ah, better. Fulfilment, sir. A wish realised.” Hornblower nodded, unimpressed. “A crown, danger, despair, fulfilment. What else?” Freeman swept the cards together. “That is all I can read, sir,” he said, apologetically.
As if on cue, Howard pulled a large silver watch from his pocket and checked it. “If only Freeman could tell us the outcome of tomorrow, this evening might be prolonged a little bit. As it stands, sir, I have my orders to give.”
“Quite right,” Hornblower said, rising. The rest of the party rose to their feet. “Captain Bush, if I may have a word with you before you go?”
“Of course, sir,” said Bush, chronically incapable of refusing. The other gentlemen made their farewells and departed out into the cold evening, leaving Bush and Hornblower alone.
“Do you think he knows?” Hornblower asked, when the door was shut firmly.
“Freeman, sir? No.” Bush shook his head. “All the talk is of you and Lady Barbara, sir. They’re certain you’ll wed come spring.”
“Good,” said Hornblower, a little coldly. If it hurt Bush to hear Hornblower talk so coolly of wedding Barbara he wisely kept it to himself. “Sir, you could still marry her. If you are concerned about suspicion, the marriage of one of the Navy’s finest and the sister of the Duke of Wellington would certainly distract prying eyes.”
“I don’t want her, I want —” Hornblower pinched his nose and exhaled. “You must know this is torment for me.”
“I know,” Bush said. “Sir, I…” He stopped abruptly. “I had best wish you goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Bush,” Hornblower said.
“Goodnight, sir.”
Pretend it's an AU where commodores read the Articles aloud:
Sunday brought with it tradition, and as he read the very Articles he’d heard almost every Sunday since he was a boy he was surprised to hear his voice falter over the words ‘unnatural and detestable sin’ described in the twenty-eighth article. He carried on as if nothing had happened, but that afternoon as he sat in his cabin the events of the morning would not leave him. For the first time in his life he doubted the Articles, doubted even the law, and the feeling disquieted him. He knew he ought to feel shame for what had passed between himself and Bush in France, and yet any shame that had lingered in the days following the first night had been eased away by Bush’s loving-kindness.
Caudebec:
“I was in the lead, sir, as I’m sure you’ve no doubt heard from Livingstone. We were just coming up to the powder barges, sir, the lights of Caudebec in sight, when my boat ran aground on some rock. Holed her nice and proper. We began to refloat her, but it took some time, seeing as we were under fire at the time. I ordered the other three boats ahead to attack the barges. I should have gone with them. I should have —” His entire body trembled and his face was wet with tears, eyes fixed on some unknown point. “I thought it was lightning. It was so bright. And then this… roar. Like the gates to Hell itself opened before me, sir. I must have turned my head and raised my arm, but I cannot recall — next thing I knew I was flung into the water, caught in this great wave, and when I surfaced I… I couldn’t breathe. My lungs wouldn’t work. It was so cold, sir. I beat my arms about in the water, trying to catch my breath, and my hand caught a piece of line. It was a painter, still attached to a bit of boat, enough to keep my head and shoulders above water, and I wrapped the line around my hand. I dared not move for fear I would drown.” Bush paled. “I cannot swim, you see.”
“What of your other men?” Hornblower asked.
“Dead,” Bush said miserably. “I was at the sternsheets. Those that were spared the blast fell into the water. I should have gone with them, sir. I should have died with them too.”
Hands:
“Congratulations, Captain Bush,” he said, grasping Bush’s hand, noting with pleasure it was as hard and rough as it once had been.
“Thank you, sir,” Bush said, struggling to not grin. His hand was warm in Hornblower’s, and Hornblower remembered with a blush how those strong fingers had felt inside him. But that had been Graçay, where there had been no laws to bind them — this was the Victory, where there was yardarm and rope aplenty to see them hanged. No. He would not remember Bush’s hands. He pulled his hand from Bush’s grasp and stepped away.
“I trust I will see you in Portsmouth, Mr Bush?”
“Of course, sir.” Hornblower would be under arrest there, under the watchful eye of Gambier until his court-martial, but a captain like Bush would be able to visit him. Captain. The image of Bush in the uniform of a captain entered his mind, and a swell of inestimable pride rose within him. There was no man half so deserving of command as Bush, no man half so capable. He was not brilliant by any stretch of the imagination, but he was shrewd and stolid, and Hornblower knew men would trust — perhaps even love — Bush as their captain.
They would certainly fear him.
And now for something completely different:
Do androids dream of electric ships?:
“Get that thing off my bridge,” Sawyer snapped, gesturing at H. “I hate the way it looks at me.” H’s face was impassable, his expression so artificial it was unsettlingly human. “And you there, boy.”
A young man, no more than eighteen, brought his arm up in a stiff salute. Will could see his hand was shaking. “S-Sir.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“W-Wellard, sir. Henry Wellard, Ensign.”
Sawyer snorted. “Remember well, boy, that we have no use aboard this ship for layabouts and wastrels, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sawyer’s face darkened. “Do you hear me?” he growled.
“Aye aye, sir,” said Wellard, that stiff, awkward phrase still in use by the Fleet. "You have no use aboard this ship for layabouts and wastrels."
Cards:
Freeman turned the cards over with practiced flare.
“On these cards are the past, sir, on these the future. Your past is complicated: I see money and gold. There is danger here too, and great adversity. A prison — ah, twice, it would seem, sir. A dark woman, and a fair one. A lengthy journey over sea, a long illness, and — oh, strange.”
“What is it?” asked Bush, unable to hide his curiosity.
Freeman tapped the last card: an ace of hearts, reversed. “It is love, sir, but conflicted love. A forbidden love, perhaps. A secret love, certainly — for neither the fair lady nor the dark one. Even the cards hold secrets, it would seem,” he said with a coy smile.
“Amazing,” said Hornblower drily. He refused to believe that the cards were capable of telling anything but nonsense. Forbidden love — he wanted to laugh. It had never been love that brought him to Bush; it had been the need for understanding, for companionship, for comfort.
“Amazing,” said Bush, his eyes shining. It was just like Bush to be taken in by a charlatan’s tricks. There was nothing that Freeman said that was outside the realm of insightful guesswork, but the look on Bush’s face told Hornblower he believed every word Freeman said.
“Now the future,” said Freeman, presenting the cards with a flourish. “The future is always more mysterious. I see a crown — a golden one. Ah, but I see your doubt, sir.” He rearranged the cards. “The cards speak plainly, sir. A crown is in your future.”
“Horatio the First, King of the Cannibals,” grumbled Hornblower, annoyed by Freeman’s prattle. The talk of love had agitated him, made him irritable, and he wanted nothing more for the night to end so that he could be alone to stew in his own thoughts.
Freeman continued, unable or unwilling to detect the displeasure on his commodore’s face. “Danger is here, sir — terrible danger.” He turned over the next card, and a furrow appeared in his brow. “Ah — I’m sorry sir.”
“What is it?” asked Hornblower, a little sharply. Freeman’s eyes were fixed on the cards before him.
“Despair, sir. Fear. An unhappy card. Let us turn the next cards; perhaps the future will change.” He turned it over: a three of diamonds. “Ah, better. Fulfilment, sir. A wish realised.” Hornblower nodded, unimpressed. “A crown, danger, despair, fulfilment. What else?” Freeman swept the cards together. “That is all I can read, sir,” he said, apologetically.
As if on cue, Howard pulled a large silver watch from his pocket and checked it. “If only Freeman could tell us the outcome of tomorrow, this evening might be prolonged a little bit. As it stands, sir, I have my orders to give.”
“Quite right,” Hornblower said, rising. The rest of the party rose to their feet. “Captain Bush, if I may have a word with you before you go?”
“Of course, sir,” said Bush, chronically incapable of refusing. The other gentlemen made their farewells and departed out into the cold evening, leaving Bush and Hornblower alone.
“Do you think he knows?” Hornblower asked, when the door was shut firmly.
“Freeman, sir? No.” Bush shook his head. “All the talk is of you and Lady Barbara, sir. They’re certain you’ll wed come spring.”
“Good,” said Hornblower, a little coldly. If it hurt Bush to hear Hornblower talk so coolly of wedding Barbara he wisely kept it to himself. “Sir, you could still marry her. If you are concerned about suspicion, the marriage of one of the Navy’s finest and the sister of the Duke of Wellington would certainly distract prying eyes.”
“I don’t want her, I want —” Hornblower pinched his nose and exhaled. “You must know this is torment for me.”
“I know,” Bush said. “Sir, I…” He stopped abruptly. “I had best wish you goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Bush,” Hornblower said.
“Goodnight, sir.”