A Keen Sense of Reality

This is my first Hornblower fanfic! My head is absolutely swimming with ideas for more stories, some of which I have already begun to write; but I felt that since Mr. Wellard doesn't get a lot of attention, I wanted to write something from his point of view. So here it is!

(And yes, I do realize that the timing and events in this little story aren't exactly identical to those in HH2: The Mutiny; but that was on purpose. )

Captain Sawyer looked askance at me, and I felt my stomach tie itself into a tighter cold, quivering knot of fear; but my expression remained a mask of indifference, as always.

"I can see it in your eyes," he growled, turning to me suddenly. "You are… you are not a true man, are you, boy? You are not one of my true men…"

I kept my gaze respectfully downward, hoping this would dissuade him from bothering with me any longer—and purposely concealing the growing resentment I knew was obvious in my eyes. For once, it worked; Captain Sawyer walked away, rambling on about "true men" under his breath. For the hundredth time since our voyage had begun less than a fortnight before, I felt some serious misgivings as to my safety on a ship that was governed by that man.

But now that he was gone, I breathed a sigh of relief and crossed my hands behind my back, mimicking Lieutenant Hornblower's habitual pose of aplomb. Accidentally, my fingers slightly brushed the back of my pants, causing my wounds from the cruel beating I'd been given the day before to scream out in protest. Something of a wince must have crossed my features, for at that moment, Lieutenant Kennedy—who I'd forgotten was standing nearby—walked over to me.

"Mr. Wellard, please test these hourglasses against each other." He ordered. Then, in a lower voice, he advised, "Concentrate on the task at hand. It will help keep your mind off the pain." I nodded. He walked away, back to what he was doing.

I tried to heed his advice; but as the sand steadily ran through the hourglasses, I found it harder and harder to remain standing. I felt dizzy, and my eyes were playing tricks on me and I had to constantly squint or blink to see things clearly. I could feel myself swaying back and forth…

In my mind, I could hear the voice of Captain Sawyer, censoriously speaking to and of me, condemning me to more beating.

Suddenly I felt myself back on my stomach, tied to the cannon, feeling the heavy hand of my tormenter cracking down lash after lash on my backside. I felt my head jerk back with every blow received from the man I had always looked up to as a hero; and the physical pain from the unjust punishment soon filled my mind once more.

Though my vision was blurry, my eyes were telling me that I was standing in front of two hourglasses, watching the sand fall steadily down… but my mind and body were back on the rack, hearing the strokes counted as they pounded into my flesh one after the other after the other…

Suddenly my feet felt weightless, and I had the sensation of falling into a soft bed. The pain receded into a thing of the past. Darkness welcomed my weary eyes and becalmed my fear and tangled nerves. The ground seemed to absorb my weight as gladly and easily as I gave it up; and that was all.

Someone was gently prodding my shoulder, urgently whispering to me. What were they saying? I wondered… and why were they whispering? Why didn't they just yell and order, as everyone else did? Maybe then, I would find the strength to hear and obey them…

"Wake up, Mr. Wellard! Wake up!" Archie glanced around, nervously making sure that no one else had seen what had just happened. He prodded the boy's shoulder once more, then, when the boy moaned and blinked confusedly, he hauled him to his feet. Young Jack Wellard's head sagged for a second, then he managed to summon the strength to plant his feet firmly on the floor and stand on his own, with a little assistance from his superior officer.

By the time I realized what had happened, I was in a standing position, being supported by Lieutenant Kennedy, who was looking more upset than I had ever seen him. And, for once, he was speechless.

"Thank you, sir," I said; but to my embarrassment, my voice came out sounding rather weak.

I leaned against the wall, still a bit dizzy. Then I glanced around the rest of the deck; but, other than Matthews and Styles, no one else had seen me faint. That was a relief. I was sure that neither they nor Lieutenant Kennedy would report the event to the captain. Speaking of Lieutenant Kennedy, he was still standing in front of me, eyeing me with a concerned frown.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. Although my head was still buzzing and throbbing, and my vision was still a little blurry, I was relieved to hear that my voice sounded completely normal. But the voice alone didn't convince him.

"Well, you're a pretty good liar, but just not that good at acting." Lieutenant Kennedy smiled slightly, good-naturedly; but his smile didn't reach his somber blue eyes. "Let me rephrase my question: you're not going to tumble over again, are you?"

"No, sir; I hope not, sir."

"Then we shall both be hoping."

"Thank you, sir." I said again. Then, mustering up the courage: "I am greatly indebted to you, for your kindness. I know what would have happened, had it been anyone else…"

"Not at all; I was just testing my strength against your weight," Lieutenant Kennedy replied glibly, "and it seems to me that you should be eating more." After uttering this last reply, he smiled reassuringly again, nodded slightly, and walked away. I stood still, staring down once more at the hourglasses, thinking of what had just happened.

How could Lieutenant Kennedy have known that I'd lost my appetite lately, ever since my stomach had knotted itself in fear because of the mad Captain's aversion to me—unless he once experienced the same thing? And look how well-off he was now; "only" fourth lieutenant, to be sure, but still very far above being the captain's whipping boy.

At that moment, I noticed something about Lieutenant Kennedy that had not been obvious to me before: he possessed a necessary virtue that our famous captain obviously lacked: a keen sensitivity to reality. And, unlike the captain, this man was using his wits to help, rather than torture, me. For the first time in a while, I felt my mask of indifference begin to melt into a tiny smile.

Out of nowhere, a fresh breeze blew over the deck, stirring the smothering sun's heat. The change in temperature helped my dizziness to finally subside. Gradually, the clenched fear in the pit of my stomach relaxed a bit.

I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air, and noticed I was hungry. I welcomed the sensation, for it helped get my mind off the pain that still laced my body from head to toe; and between my hunger and the task of checking the hourglasses, everything went well for the rest of the time I was on duty that day.

It must have been a miracle.

Well, what do you think? I would be most honored if I received some helpful reviews.  And thanks for reading!