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2013-03-11
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Despatches from the Weevil...

Summary:

It is CS Forester canon that Edward Pellew takes a keen interest in Hornblower's later career, and was in the habit of sending him well trained servants and stewards, giving a good impression of an maiden aunt who's worried about her nephew's wellbeing.

These tend to be good looking, and they tend to come to sticky ends - not dead as such, but exiled to America or held to ransom by Pirates. Often they take the first opportunity to escape life with Capt. H - one swims to freedom in Gibraltar, another marries the very first 17 year old female with two legs that comes along.

Intrigued, I decided to learn more, and bugged the Dining Cabin on HMS Tonnant. Not so much a "fly on the wall" as a "weevil in the breadbasket" This is his report, signalled to a shore battery by firefly semaphore:

Work Text:

April 1810, HMS Tonnant, Channel Blockade.

Admiral Pellew, reading a casualty notice in the Naval Chronicle, over breakfast with his companion, Capt. Kennedy.

"Damn me, Archie, if Hornblower hasn't broken another one!"

"Well, that proves it, the man can't keep a servant intact for a month at a time... Could you pass the marmalade, Edward? "

"I could send him Smith. Smith darns a lovely pair of socks, and has the mouth of an angel..."

"...and you have your elbow in the butter again, my dear... thank you. It's no good sending Smith. It's a waste of a perfectly good fuck. Poor Doughty used to write in despair at least once a week. The fifth best top in the British Navy, and Horatio only wanted to know if he could make a good cup of coffee..."

"Now, I know who the first and second are, but who...?"

"John Carter, fore-top-man on the Old Reliant, and Cochrane, when he's sober.. but don't interrupt. Doughty did everything he could to complete his mission short of stripping to his bare hide with 'ahoy there, Cap'n, bend over, and grab yer ankles!' painted on his chest!"

"What about Nancarrow. Nancarrow can be *very* persuasive..."

"Look, just last year we had Horatio kidnapped by Napoleon, for an orgy in the Ardennes as a Birthday Treat - organised at great expense under an international flag of truce, and the fool escaped. Dear old Bush tried to keep him on track - silly darling old thing shot his own foot off to slow the bastard down - but no, that daft goat Hornblower can't see a sexual opportunity if it bites him on the bum. And I should know. By the way, how is your arse this morning?"

"Glowing! I hope you didn't sprain your wrist, but I did so want to try out that new Moroccan switch. And you have such a masterful hand ..."

"My pleasure, sir, anything to oblige a senior officer. Now, are those kippers I see on the side board!?"