Completely
drenched and chilled to the bone, Horatio had no time to dwell on his own
status. The good of the ship and his men demanded every bit of his attention
now. "Pull!" he shouted from his gut, willing the men to pull harder, work
faster. If they didn't get the snapped timber and rigging under control and the
sail pulled in they were surely done for. It seemed a simple enough action in
theory, but with the wind and rain of the almost sudden storm, and the waves
sloshing over the sides of the ship the task was formidable in reality.
"Come on
men! P--" he shouted again, just as the ship tipped. He lost his voice as well
as his footing on the slippery deck and scrambled to hold onto something to
keep from falling. He meant to hold onto the bulwarks or one of the cabin
walls. What he managed to grab onto this time, however, was Archie Kennedy. At
the same moment, a large wave came at them, slapping the side of the ship and
tumbling over onto the deck. But, with arms entangled and four legs instead of
two, both men managed to keep their balance and then straighten up.
There was
no time for a thank you-- that could come later when the storm and danger had
passed. Horatio shivered at the lovely thought of being below decks and in dry
clothes again. It was so rare to be completely dry on a ship, especially if one
took into account the light salt spray upon one's face as the ship moved
through even the most gentle of seas.
But right
now, the sea was far from gentle. "We've got to secure that section!" Archie
shouted to Horatio, even though Horatio was right beside him. "We're off
balance as it is!"
Horatio
could see that all too well. As though able to envision several moves into the
future, he could see the mast cracking under the weight and going down. Its
weight would pull the ship and, if the keep would not be able to compensate,
the whole thing would potentially capsize. Unless they could get what was
swinging loosely tied up.
With the
rain coming down over them in buckets, Horatio adjusted his hat and Archie
cleared his voice. Together they shouted at the top of their lungs, "Pull!"
The snapped
timber moved under their command at last. "Splice the Main Brace!" Horatio
called out. Ropes were used to lash it into place. The free rigging was bound
up with a preventer and the ship was given a moment to find its balance again
naturally. She did so within a minute's time, much to everyone's relief. The
sail was then tacked up properly and safely, out of the wind. "Anchor?!"
Horatio bellowed as he spun in place so his voice would travel towards the
stern of the ship.
"Tight!"
replied the man who'd been put on anchor watch at the stern, to be sure it was
holding the boat in place and not free or dragging.
Another
wave crashed into the side where they stood, and Horatio spat out the salty
water that had been washed into his mouth. "All right then, Heave-to!" he
shouted.
"Heave-to!"
Archie echoed just as loudly.
With the rudder
and sail balanced, preventing any forward movement of the ship, the wind would
hit squarely on the weather bow and the ship would hold its position to ride
out the rest of the storm. Horatio nodded at the condition of the vessel, then
headed straight to the captain's cabin.
Dripping
water as though he were a rain cloud, he stood just inside the cabin where
Captain Pellew stood brooding over a map and compass on his table. Captain
Pellew heard him and looked up. "Yes?"
"She's
lying to, Sir," Horatio said. "There was a bit of damage by the main topsail
but she'll hold well enough to weather the storm."
"Very good,"
the captain said, nodding, and looked back at his maps. He muttered
automatically, "Very good indeed."
It was
strange that Captain Pellew would stay below during something like this, no
matter how much confidence he had in his senior officers. Horatio had heard
tales of British Navy captains who would go mad with rage at any scratch of his
ship which happened out of his sight. But he also knew Captain Pellew and knew
that whatever had a hold of his mind must be of the utmost importance. "Are you
quite finished with your report, then?" He asked this without looking up, and
Horatio also knew better than to press him on the matter.
Horatio
shivered and cleared his throat. "Yes, Sir." He was dismissed at once.
Horatio did
not mind heading back on deck, even with the wind and the rain. The storm was
still terrible. But the thunder was low and the lightening was far off. The Indy
would make it through safely, without a doubt. Feeling drenched and shivery now
was almost like a badge of honor. And even though Archie suggested he go below
and dry off, Horatio insisted on staying put a little while longer, somehow
feeling bound to the watch to make up for the captain's absence.
*
Encountering
an island so soon after a storm was cause for celebration, especially one upon
which needed resources seemed abundant. The captain, therefore, had at once
dropped anchor and called upon his officers.
"Meanwhile,
Lieutenant Hornblower, you will take a crew to shore to replenish our fresh
water supply."
"Yes, Sir,"
Horatio said, nodding and tipping his hat towards the captain.
The
manpower was meager, but not much skill was required when it came to rowing to
shore, filling up barrels, and rowing back. Horatio took three men in his
rowboat, including Matthews and Styles, and as many barrels. Faced with the
decision of staying on the ship and supervising ship repairs and going to land
to stretch his legs, Archie had chosen the latter. His rowboat had three more
men and three more barrels. With any luck, they'd be done within the span of an
hour, two at the most.
Horatio
stood atop a small sand dune, watching the men tying the boats up and then
unloading the empty barrels and supplies. Beyond that, from his vantage point,
he could see the Indefatigable anchored in the deep water, waiting patiently
for them to return. He'd climbed up there to signal the ship that they had
arrived and been met with no opposition. In fact, there seemed to be no signs
life on the island at all, apart from a trees and birds. Just a stretch of sand
and, hopefully, a stream somewhere inland.
Horatio
shivered, despite the bright sun, as a cold breeze came at him from the ocean. After
being soaked to the skins all night and having very little time to sleep today,
he had not really felt proper yet. He had almost voiced this when Captain
Pellew ordered him to lead the team to the island, but there was no time for
complaints in Her Majesty's Navy and a mental state of chilly and damp and an
actual one of slightly fatigued were not enough to make him decline an order. So
here he was, ready to do his duty.
Archie
watched the men as well, but from the ground. Then he made his way up the dune,
feet sinking into the deep sand which made it difficult. He quickened his pace
and finally made it up. "A word, Horatio?" Archie requested, face shining and
golden as the sun caught it. He squinted but tried to keep eye contact with
Horatio.
Horatio
paused a moment. Then, deciding the men did not need supervision in order to
move empty barrels from a rowboat to the ground, he nodded. "Yes, all right." They
walked over a little, clearly out of hearing range of the men. "What is it,
Archie?"
"Well..."
Archie started. His voice faded away as he stalled hesitantly. After a moment
during which his face was full of doubt, Archie apparently decided to just come
right out with it. "You've looked a bit under the weather since the storm,"
said he. "You aren't feverish, are you? Because, if you are, I would be happy
to lead the party inland and let you hang back to rest a bit. This is a
deserted island, Horatio. There's no need to push yourself if you are ill."
The
accusation made him take a step back, out of reach should Archie become too
forward and check his skin for heat. Archie looked as though he really needed
assurance on the matter, but Horatio had no intention of letting that pass. "Of
course I am not ill," Horatio insisted. "I am here, am I not?"
Archie
looked confused. "What has that to do with it?"
"As an
officer, I would never endanger my men or a mission by allowing myself to work
when my health is compromised," Horatio replied.
From his
many experiences with Horatio, Archie knew as much. And it was good indeed to
hear Horatio felt well, even if he looked pale and tired. But, then, who among
them did not? Archie clapped Horatio on the back in appreciation of the answer.
Though, as they headed back, Archie could not help but smile with a, "But you would tell me if you were ill, right,
Horatio?"
Horatio
gave him a friendly shove which sent Archie forward a few steps in the sand,
laughing. The two started down the sandy slope slowly, but picked up speed as
the pull of gravity took over. By the time they reached the bottom, they were
sprinting in the soft, deep sand. They walked it out as they headed back to the
men, still laughing a little under their heavy breaths.
"All right
here?" Horatio asked, surveying the expedition which seemed ready to move out.
They brought with them only three of the six barrels, meaning to come back for
a second trip with the water source was located. Carrying empty barrels was
easy, with them strapped to backs or overhead. So the men all nodded in
agreement and Horatio and Archie led them on.
There was
surely a stream somewhere on the island. From the water, they could see the
groups of trees in the center, and trees could not exist without fresh water. So
they headed towards the trees, at one moment they were trudging up sand dunes
and the next they were navigating through thick vegetation.
Horatio
heard the rush of water before he saw it, and directed them east a bit. Ten
minutes later they found not a stream but a small river snaking its way through
the dense forest. The banks were slippery and, from the look of the white
rapids. One wrong step was all it would take to lose both man and barrel. There
must surely be safer places to fill barrels of water. So they followed it
downstream, keeping track of their bearings so they could find their way back
to the anchored ship more easily than walking around the coast of the island,
which might be impossible in any case because of tides.
After two
quarters of an hour, they found a spot where the river widened and the waves
were slower. "This looks like as good a spot as any, Men," Horatio said,
gesturing. "Fill 'em up."
"Aye-aye
Sir," said Matthews as he and the others dropped the barrels and began to fill
them up. By lying a barrel down in the waterway, only about a third of it could
be filled. So they would have to fill barrels partially and then transfer water
from one to the other until barrels were full. They could use canteens to top
them off. Then they would lug the heavy things out and nail the tops down into
place.
The
progress was slow but steady, though Horatio grew increasingly uncomfortable as
he stood and watched. It gave him time to survey the area, which did not seem
as good a spot as he'd originally thought. The foliage was less dense here and
the banks of the river large and difficult to secure. Just beyond the far bank
was a large hill at least twice as high as the sand dunes earlier but covered
in tall trees and rocks. There was no knowing what lay on its other side.
Horatio was all for believing this was a deserted island, but he didn't like to
make unfounded assumptions, especially when the safety of his party was at
stake.
Instead of
just standing about or sitting and resting as some of the men were while taking
turns at the task, Horatio took to pacing up and down, feeling nervous
fluttering in his chest, the likes of which he did not wish to admit to the others.
"I think I will go check that out," Horatio announced finally, nodding towards
the hill.
"Are you
mad?" Archie asked quietly, beyond the hearing of the men. "The stream water's
freezing. And that isn't a simple climb, Horatio."
"I know,"
Horatio said, nodding. "But I would feel better for it in the end." He looked
hopefully back at Archie. "Would you like to come with?"
Archie
laughed at the absurdity of it but threw up his hands and decided to play
along. "Lead the way."
The river was,
just as Archie had warned, shockingly cold. It came up past their boots, quite
up to their knees in fact. Flashing
back to the severely waterlogged adventures of the previous night, Horatio was
halfway regretting the journey when only halfway across. By the time he was all
of the way across, he was wet, cold, and shivering. His teeth chattered and
extremities shook as he trekked up the hill. The climb did as much to warm him
as the passage of time did, and he was only wet and somewhat chilly when he
reached the top of the hill.
From a
brief glance around from the top, Horatio presumed this was the highest spot on
the island. The high vantage point granted them with a view of nearly the
entire North coastline of the island, once you looked around the trees. But the
coastline itself was not what Horatio noticed first, and certainly not what
Archie noticed once they were there. The two officers took one look and then
dropped down to their knees and then their bellies. They slid back against the
ground until they hit the slope they'd climbed up on, using the hill itself as
a shield.
The hills
must have acted as a barrier to the sound as well as the sight. "That's half
the French Navy right there!" Archie whispered, his eyes wide with worry.
Horatio
nodded. He should have known. He should have checked the area to be sure it was
secure first. How could he have missed so many frogs? Speaking quickly. "Due to
their close docking and the brief look of what they were carrying on and off
the ships, this must be where they stockpile supplies and reserves."
"Do you
think they spotted us?" They had only been up and visible for a few moments, at
best. But atop a high hill, with uniforms that certainly stood out against the
green and brown of trees and shrubbery.
There was a
far off sound of a gun firing and Horatio caught a shout or two carried over on
the wind. "Yes," he said seriously. "I believe they did."
Together
they scrambled quickly back down the hill and across the river. They knew it
would take some time for the French troops to get to them, but that would
certainly happen before they could get back to the ship with the water, or back
to the ship even without the water for that matter.
Still, they
really should try to salvage the task and get a few barrels. He'd spent the
whole trip down the hill weighing the possibility of getting the much-needed
water back to the ship. Much as he hated the idea of returning with the job
undone, the safety of the men was more important and he could not work out how
to achieve both.
And, most
important, was the fact that at least eight ships of the French fleet lay on
the opposite side of the island from the spot where the Indefatigable sat
anchored and waiting. It seemed highly improbable for the Indy to be missed for
long by ships coming and going for supplies. As tough as the Indy was, she
would surely not withstand bombardment from a half dozen or more French
frigates all at once, especially if forced into shallow waters.
Horatio was
shivering twice as much when crossing the river the second time around, but
things were perfectly clear to him. However, at the moment, he was more
concerned with what needed to be done than his footing. The sole of his boot
slipped against a wet stone and threw his balance out completely. He went down,
face first. With his hands thrown forward to break his fall, he nonetheless
ended up completely drenched to the bone again.
Archie
helped pick him up, and Horatio scrambled to regain his footing and get to the
riverside. He hugged his arms over his chest as he shook with shivers. And he
clenched his teeth as he silently berated himself for the fall. This was the
absolute last thing he needed at the moment. "W-we need to be g-going n-now,"
he said as soon as he was back on land and able to pull himself together. "S-French
supply stores... at least f-five hundred soldiers--"
"A
thousand, more like," Archie said.
Horatio
nodded in agreement. "They'll b-be on us in minutes."
"The
water?" asked Styles, gesturing at the three filled barrels.
"We'll have
to leave it," Archie declared, shooting Horatio a look. Horatio nodded and
shuddered, feeling cold from head to toe. However, he was sure a good run would
warm him right up.
"I fear we
m-m-must alert the Indy, if... we can," Horatio said, just as another shot was
heard. Horatio glanced back, seeing a small party on the top of the hill
already. They were still out of range, but would be closing in fast now and the
French had not only a familiarity with the geography but also the high ground
right now.
Everyone
seemed to be of one mind as they scrambled back into the forest straight in the
direction of their rowboats, but knowing they had no hope of reaching the boats
before the French reached them. Pistols were being drawn and loaded as needed
as they ran, but they fired few shots among them. They could not risk wasting
the ammunition in case it came down to a closer battle. Nor could they risk
expending unnecessary energy.
So they
moved along as swiftly as they could in the dense forest which felt more like a
jungle. Foliage whipped them as they ran, leaves hitting their faces, light
branches lashing their sides. The terrain made their retreat much more
difficult than Horatio would have liked. It slowed down their pursuers as well,
but not as much as Horatio's men had a path partially broken in by the time the
French soldiers made their ways through. So when the bullets started getting
dangerously close, Horatio started getting very worried.
Pausing a
moment, he turned and fired a pistol back towards the enemy. But, as he did so,
the last few members of his party were in his line of sight. Johnson, Styles
and Matthews had all been behind him as they were running. And, when Horatio
turned to take down one of the French soldiers, he saw one of his go down as
well.
"Styles!"
he shouted, fighting against Johnson to get past the man and back to where
Styles lay. But he was going in the wrong direction and they'd all be dead if
they wasted any time. And Matthews was already collecting Styles who was still
able to open his eyes and sort of move his feet enough to stumble forward.
Horatio
knew it was only a matter of time now before the French would be right on top
of them. And then they'd be captured or killed for knowing the location of a
supply station. He had to think of something and he had to think of it now.
He wheeled
back around, studying the forest for a brief moment. He needed somewhere for
them to hide, and spotted a dense grove of bushes not too far off that might do
the trick well enough. They were large enough for all eight of them to fit
behind and not be seen unless the soldiers came around on the other side. Now
the only question was how to take cover there.
There
wasn't anything Horatio could see that they could use for a distraction and
they did not have any means of setting up an explosion with a smoke cloud to
cover their direction of escape. They would have to settle with good old
firepower and hope the rather evenly matched numbers came out on their side because
of skill and maybe a bit of luck. Horatio was not altogether at ease with the
idea, as he could only see two possible outcomes from this and neither got them
back to the ship. But it was the only thing he could think of to give them a
chance.
"Find cover!"
he ordered, quickly ducking behind a tree. The firefight which followed was lengthy
but effective. After the pursuit, the French were impatient and made mistakes,
and were picked off one by one. But that did not mean the bullets missed
Horatio and his men entirely.
When it was
all over, Horatio ordered several men behind the bushes he'd spotted. The rest
of them, Horatio included, moved the bodies of the French soldiers away from
where they'd fallen, so they would not be immediately spotted when more passed
by.
"We should
be all right for a little while," Horatio said, once they were all safe and
hidden. Then he looked around and his eyes fell almost immediately on Styles. The
man was lying on his back, bleeding quite badly from his leg. It did not look
good, but Horatio had seen the good doctor aboard the Indy fix worse without
amputation assuming they weren't engaged and he wasn't rushed. "You'll be all
right, Man," he said, trying to sound sure of that himself.
Styles
nodded. "M'certain I will, Sir," he said, wincing at the energy it took for him
to speak. "You've gotten us outa worse before."
At the
moment, Horatio wasn't too sure about that, but he nodded reassuringly. Truth
was, he had not worked out how they were to proceed from this point onward. He
did not like thinking only a few steps ahead for this very reason. What he
needed was time to formulate a proper plan.
Their
ultimate goal, of course, would be to get back to the ship. Preferably no worse
off than they were now. He took a quick inventory. Eight men altogether. Styles
injured so that he was unable to walk, obviously. But Handle seemed to have hit
something during the skirmish. His shirt at the shoulder was torn open,
revealing a minor abrasion. In addition, a large portion of the flesh there was
already a sickening yellow and brown color, indicating the presence of a bad
bruise and, therefore, an inability to use a pistol properly with that arm. Every
man jack of them looked a bit tired and winded, and Horatio felt it, too.
But now
that they were safe, at least for the time being, Horatio had a few moments to
consider his own situation. Thoughts of Styles' condition were at the forefront
of his mind, followed by the rest of the group. He felt sick to his stomach and
quite angry at himself for what he had let transpire. But a stinging pain in
his side convinced him to take just a few moments for himself, not that he
deserved it. Horatio rose, fighting against the urge to wince. "I shall return
in a moment," he informed the whole group. He was not a step away and already
he felt guilty.
As he
turned, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced back to see Archie there,
looking concerned. "You cannot fight them yourself," he said. "It will only be
worse if they see you or follow you. This hiding place will last a while."
Horatio
nodded. "Yes, I agree." The pain continued, and Horatio worried about what
might happen if he were to stand there talking further. Surely Archie and the
others would notice him double over or pass out. "I am only going to relieve
myself, Archie." That was not a complete fabrication.
Archie's
cheeks suddenly flushed. Living on a ship in tight quarters was not the place
for modesty. With only a few heads on board, men were used to doing their business
in front of others. It was one thing to do it, however, and quite another to
speak of it out loud. "Ah, all right," Archie said, nodding. "Of course. Have
at it but be safe. Do not stray."
Horatio
promised he would be watch out for danger. He headed out of the grove and
around the bluff. Once he was out of sight, with his fingers trembling, he
pulled back his waistcoat and pulled up his shirt. There was a gash upon his
side, bleeding freely and deeply. Hastily, Horatio took out his pocket square
and refolded it to cover the length of the wound. He pressed it to the area.
The cloth was thick and the injury not too deep. It looked as though the bullet
had just grazed him. Lucky, indeed, if one considered being injured in the
first place lucky.
Still, it
certainly could have been worse. He felt ill again as the image of Styles' pale
face came to mind. The man had been counting on him, depending on him. And he
had failed to protect them. They all depended on him now, and he could not let
them down. If that meant enduring a small injury, so be it. He could stand this
form of punishment. He wanted to get back to the ship, naturally, but, more
importantly, wanted to get the men back to the ship.
As he
headed back to the group, he decided it was best not to let anyone else know
about his injury. He did not want to complicate matters and complaining had no
place aboard a ship or off on a mission. He glanced down at it, satisfied that
it could be hidden for long enough... just as soon as he could determine how long
long enough would be.
"All
right," Horatio whispered, dropping carefully to his knees in the brush and
dirt behind the bushes. He looked over his shoulder but dropped the volume of
his voice just in case. "Here's how I see it. It will take them time before
they realize their people are not coming back. We can make a mad dash for the
beach and the boats."
"Dash bein'
a bit difficult to under the circumstances, Sir?" Matthews asked, his eyes
darting towards Styles. "Or--"
"Right," Horatio
said, looking at Styles. He would absolutely not leave Styles behind, and it
would take time to carry him. They were on the defensive now-- be captured or
flee. Horatio did not like either option, and one glance at Styles told him he
was running out of time. Worst yet was the fact that they could not count on
reinforcements. For all Horatio knew, the ship had already been captured or
sunk. "Change of plans. And change of outfits."
"Horatio..."
Archie said, shaking his head.
It wasn't
as though they hadn't tried this sort of maneuver before a half dozen times.
But trying it on this sort of scale, in these circumstances, was something
else. "Mason," Horatio whispered, pointing to one of the men. "You come with
me. Everyone else, start taking off your clothes.
"Goodness,
Horatio," Archie said with a chuckle as he began unbuttoning his shirt. "All
you had to do was ask."
Horatio
chuckled as well, then led Mason out to where they'd left the bodies. There
were uniforms for them all, thankfully, and they all changed quickly, then
Horatio and Matthews helped Styles on with his.
When it
came to the pants, Styles gave a grunt and gritted his teeth. "I am sorry," Horatio said, not at all
apologizing for the uncomfortable movements concerning the change. It also gave
him a chance to inspect the wound more closely, without drawing attention to
the action. It looked far worse than his own, but he should pull through fine
assuming infection did not set in.
"You'll get
us back to the ship, aye?" Styles asked weakly. "I'd hate to die in this bloody
uniform." He lifted his hand and, though he wore no hat, gave Hornblower a
salute like the one given after their first battle together and the death of
Davy Williams.
Feeling
overwhelmed with guilt, Horatio nonetheless smiled for Styles' sake. Then he
took a deep breath and nodded resolutely. "I will get us back," he promised. "Just
thank your stars they're not Spaniards." He knew the men trusted him, whether
it was his fault for leading them into this or not, and he was determined not
to lose it.
He very
much would have liked to have taken Styles on his back, himself. But he knew he
could not manage it, with his own wound as it was, his reasoning won out. He
had Johnson and Matthews take him between them. For their new clothes and for
the injured among them, they managed to make their way straight towards the
French port. Straight into the lion's den, dressed up as lions.
Once again
they found the stream. But instead of crossing, to Horatio's great relief, they
followed it along its banks in the direction they had not before been. There
was a close call once as they spotted a few other French soldiers through the
trees. But Horatio said something aloud in French, as though talking to a
companion, and the soldiers did not come their way.
If he had
stopped to think about it then, as he had thought about it later, he might have
realized how good it was that he had taken them along that course of action. The
party of soldiers they missed were heading straight for the spot in the stream
where Horatio and men had left the barrels. Naturally, the soldiers would then
find the path taken to that spot from the boats, which would lead to almost
certain confrontation and capture. They had been lucky to avoid that this time
around.
There would
likely be a half-dozen more encounters before the hour was through, and Horatio
only hoped that they were all so easily dealt with. The stream went shallow and
slender, meandering towards the coast, and they with it. Horatio had seen, from
his brief look at the Frenchmen's base, that the larger ships stuck to the
middle. Scooners flanked those on both sides, and then smaller boats were here
and there. It was one of those Horatio planned to commandeer. By his
calculations and the direction of the wind, rowing around the small island
would be faster than walking or even running on foot across it.
They
followed the rocky coast until it became sandy and smooth. As their pace was
mandated by Styles, it only made sense he and those helping him along should go
first until they got closer to the danger and firepower might be required.
By this
time, Horatio was moving slowly, himself. He brought up the rear more than not,
and Archie did not fail to notice this. He hung back for a word wearing an
expression of worry. And then something more crossed his face.
"Horatio?"
Archie asked, looking suspicious and confused. "What is that?" He craned his
neck, trying to get a better view of Horatio's side.
Horatio
tried to look clueless and calm as he followed Archie's gaze, but the sight
shocked him into giving away the fact that he knew precisely what was there.
There was a dark patch upon the grey and brown French outfit. It was hardly
noticeable, however, and Horatio considered claiming it was a trick of the
light or holding his arm over it to cover it and dismissing the whole thing.
But Archie
had already reached out and was pawing at Horatio's clothes, stripping them
away to reveal the wound. Archie's jaw dropped. "Horatio!" he exclaimed in a
whisper, so the others would not hear. "This looks awful. You've got to--"
Horatio
shook his head, adamant about his position. "Archie, I cannot. I owe it to the
men to get us out of this mess. And I will not rest until that man," and he
pointed towards Styles, "is back on board the ship and being seen to by the
doctor."
"And then you will have the doctor
see to you?" Archie pressed him.
Horatio nodded,
if only to appease the man. As they hurried to catch up with the others,
Horatio held his hand to the spot, through the clothes. Applying pressure there
took off some of the edge, dulling the sharp pain there he felt every time he
breathed or took a step.
They slowed
considerably as they approached, then came to a dead stop. Observation had to
be quick, and their actions had to be quicker. But they spotted an abandoned
boat, with a sail down and oars on board for certain. She was tied up to a dock
not fifty paces from them. But there were French soldiers not twenty paces
beyond it. If the soldiers even got a hint that something was amiss, they would
be able to reach Hornblower and the men before Hornblower and company could
reach the boat.
Therefore,
it was imperative not to give them any reason to suspect. He just hoped the
true owners of the boat were not nearby. Luckily, with so many ships coming and
going, no one could recognize anyone else by sight. As the majority of the
people were past the curve of the island where a section was cut away and
hidden by a jagged section of rock jutting out again, which was where it seemed
the supplies were kept safe, the odds were slightly in favor of the boat's true
owners not noticing until it was too late.
Horatio
instructed the men to have their pistols at the ready, though not in hand as
such, but he very much hoped there was no cause to use them. With the pain in
his side increasing, walking was beginning to get difficult. Rowing, sitting
down, he thought he might be able to manage. But he doubted he could hold his
own if it came to an all-out fight.
Everyone,
including Archie, understood the basics of the plan, of course. Steal a boat.
Row it to the other side of the island. Rejoin the Indy. Warn the captain. Make
a hasty escape. And it seemed simple enough, to be sure. But in the back of his
mind, Horatio had accounted for the worst of all possibilities, as well. It was
not being killed or even captured by the French. The worst, as he saw it, would
be to think they were making a getaway only to find they'd been followed. To
lead the French ships straight to the Indefatigable, unwarned and certainly
unprepared, was something Horatio dreaded to fathom.
The
greatest benefit of having all possible, hideous eventualities playing out in
his head was that it distracted him somewhat from his wound.
As he saw it,
if they drew suspicion and attracted followers, those followers would be
noticed if they stuck close. The French would naturally think likewise and hang
back, predicting Horatio's course would be to follow the shoreline around the
island. Then the boat, with whatever reinforcements it brought, would strike
and sink them and the Indy as well. Horatio could not blame the French for
that, as a boat heading from the docks in that direction would look awfully
suspicious. So the only reasonable alternative, as Horatio saw it, would be to
sail straight out, away from the island, as though going to rejoin a French
ship lying off the coast in deeper water. Not only would it detract attention
but, if someone were following them, it would make the followers known and come
down to a one-on-one fight- the sort of fight the English nearly always won out
in. However, if it came to blows and Horatio's party were killed or captured,
the Indy's position would not be immediately revealed, and that was something.
Horatio considered rowing out to an actual French ship, capturing it, and
sailing it casually around the island. But they had so little at their disposal
and if anyone on the island or a nearby ship saw the scuffle, they would be
outnumbered and outclassed greatly, even if they won out on board.
With this
in mind, when they reached the boat they'd been eyeing, Horatio took up the
rear to steer, and directed them straight away from the island. Too busy
rowing, and trying to make it look casual, no one said anything about it. A
group of frogs passed by the bank just as they were leaving, and Horatio saw a
smaller group look in their direction. He smiled pleasantly and tipped his
awful and stolen hat to both parties. Neither group seemed interested in taking
a boat and coming after them.
Horatio
waited until they were a safe distance away to explain, in part, his reasoning.
He promised they would correct their course as soon as it was safe to do so,
his thoughts still fixed on Styles' condition. The man was sitting on the
bottom of the boat, head ducked down so he wouldn't be seen. His face was pale
and he was bleeding through the makeshift bandage.
When
Horatio and men were far enough out that the men on the island turned to blurs
and the blurs turned to just one large mound of rock in the ocean, they changed
direction and made for the Indy.
Horatio
felt the desire to slump over and collect himself, with a sigh of relief. But
he sat straight and resolute, not giving into anything and not counting his
victories before they were realized. He would never forgive himself if he
dropped his guard now and it lead to their detriment. Still, a smile crossed
his face and he relaxed slightly when he saw the familiar sails and ship
waiting to take them in.
They shed
their coats and hats so as not to be spotted and shot at; the last thing that
was needed was canon fire to draw the frogs' attention. Horatio went to take
out his white handkerchief to raise it atop the mast, but remembered he was
already using it. Archie took his own out for that purpose, and their approach
was a safe one. Though the crew did seem surprised at the manner and direction
of the party's arrival.
Horatio
made sure the others went on board first, which was easy to dictate given his
position in the small boat. Archie took care to help Horatio up the ropes and
onto the deck, sticking by him as the Captain approached them. "Take Styles
straight down," Horatio instructed, though that instruction was obvious.
Despite the
intense pain and the heat rising through him, Horatio stood strait and tall as
the Captain squared off in front of him. "Mister Hornblower?"
"Before I
report on our considerable failures, Sir, I must first explain that on the
other side of this very island lies a store of French supplies. It is heavily
utilized and just as heavily guarded though hidden well by the geography. Currently
there are eight vessels there, easily, though likely more."
Horatio
paused, not needing to advise a retreat. The captain was already making such
orders to pull in the anchor and go back the way they had come.
Continuing,
"I take full responsibility for the failure of the mission and the losses of
the two boats and six barrels."
Captain
Pellew smirked at this briefly. "I do believe this bit of intelligence was
worth a rowboat and a few empty barrels. The Navy has, of late, noticed the
increased presence of French ships in these waters. The presumption was that
they had set up a stronghold nearby, but now we discover it is merely a point
for collecting food."
"There may
still be something elsewhere," Horatio said. "We can only attest to the food
and supply stores."
"That is
enough," the captain said with a nod. "Excellent work, Mister Hornblower,
Mister Kennedy. I commend you once again on your quick thinking which has saved
many lives."
"Yes Sir,"
said Horatio, feeling his legs wobble. Though he appreciated the compliment, he
was not the least bit vain and replied with a single, "Thank you, Sir." His
composure was faltering, his stature fading, his shoulders sagging. Everything
went dark, and he felt hands reach out to grab him by the shirt, but did could
not guess whose and did not care for all that.
*
Horatio
Hornblower woke in his hammock. The box, sized to him, was stiff and wooden but
familiar. Though padded this time with additional blankets, it was much more
comfortable than usual.
"Well, it
looks like he's himself again. Finally."
Horatio
looked over to see Archie one hammock over. The man had a tankard in hand, from
which he took a gulp. When he lowered it, Horatio could see a smile on the
man's face, which put him at ease. "Styles?" Horatio asked at once, surprised
at how weak his voice sounded.
"He is
fine," Archie said. "He'll be out of commission for a few more days, and might
be limping for a week or two, but he is fine for all that. In the end, he came
out of it better than you did, I think it is safe to say."
Horatio almost
did not want to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him.
"You've
been feverish for three days now. It broke just a few hours ago, in fact. Before
then, you were raving like a madman. We had to bring you down here so you would
not disturb the other patients." It sounded worse, probably, than it had really
been. And Archie's smile gave that away.
Horatio put
his hand to his forehead. He felt well enough. A bit tired, perhaps, but glad
he had won out over the fever. "What was I saying?"
"Oh, going
on and on about Boney or barking out ship's orders. It must have been one Hell
of a fight." He turned a little, looking at Horatio more closely. "You are
remarkable, Horatio. Even injured, ill, and unconscious your mind is on your
work."
Joining
Archie in laughter, Horatio pulled one of the blankets up and hugged it to his
chest. The words had a bit of truth to them, however. He had been awake only
minutes, and he was already thinking about the next mission and the next
battle. If not for the pain still shooting through his side and the fatigue
weighting his body down, he might have climbed out and found his place back on
deck. For now, though, he would let himself rest and enjoy being warm and dry
for a change.