lady_branwyn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lady_branwyn) wrote2009-03-06 09:23 pm
lady_branwyn) wrote2009-03-06 09:23 pm
Entry tags:
Hornblower Fic: Second to None (Part 3)
Characters: Bush and others
Warnings: none except fluff warning
Note: William Bush belongs to the Forester Estate.
******************
As he had guessed, he did not have long to wait. After a few moments, a man dressed in a peasant’s smock stumbled out of the inn. He was broad-bellied and short, and his face was hidden by the shapeless straw hat that was pulled low over his ears.
Bush rushed forward, the club raised in his hand, but the peasant must have heard his approach. With surprising speed for such a portly man, he dropped to his knees, shrieking, “No, Senor! Aiiieeee!” as the club swung harmlessly over his head. Cursing his wooden leg, Bush struggled not to overbalance. While he was still staggering about like a landsman on his first cruise, the peasant sprang to his feet and ran away.
“What the deuce is going on out there?” someone bellowed from the inn. The shadow of a broad-shouldered man appeared in the bright square of the open doorway. “Sancho, is that you?”
In the most unlikely place, Bush had found a fellow Englishman. He did not recognize the voice, but several boat crews had rowed up the Seine as part of the expedition. “Over here,” he called as loudly as he dared.
The man peered into the fog then descended the steps and hurried across the grass. Grey-haired and heavy-set, he wore a high-crowned hat and a somber, long-skirted coat.
“Get over here! They can see you from the door,” Bush said, gesturing frantically.
The man gave him a surprised glance then crouched beside him in the shelter of the backhouse.
“What ship are you with?” Bush whispered.
The man replied in a low voice, “I am not in the Navy, sir, though I was a surgeon with the 66th Foot. Dr. John Watson at your service.” Despite being hunched over, he managed a slight bow.
“What are you doing behind enemy lines?” Bush asked with a wary glance. There were British subjects, Irishmen and traitors, who served in the ranks of Bonaparte’s army.
Stroking his grey moustache, the surgeon said, “Do you have any idea where we are, sir?”
“A mile west of Caudebec.”
The surgeon shook his head. “Captain, what do you last remember before you awoke on the landing? For whatever it was that happened, you didn’t live to survive it.”
TBC
Warnings: none except fluff warning
Note: William Bush belongs to the Forester Estate.
******************
As he had guessed, he did not have long to wait. After a few moments, a man dressed in a peasant’s smock stumbled out of the inn. He was broad-bellied and short, and his face was hidden by the shapeless straw hat that was pulled low over his ears.
Bush rushed forward, the club raised in his hand, but the peasant must have heard his approach. With surprising speed for such a portly man, he dropped to his knees, shrieking, “No, Senor! Aiiieeee!” as the club swung harmlessly over his head. Cursing his wooden leg, Bush struggled not to overbalance. While he was still staggering about like a landsman on his first cruise, the peasant sprang to his feet and ran away.
“What the deuce is going on out there?” someone bellowed from the inn. The shadow of a broad-shouldered man appeared in the bright square of the open doorway. “Sancho, is that you?”
In the most unlikely place, Bush had found a fellow Englishman. He did not recognize the voice, but several boat crews had rowed up the Seine as part of the expedition. “Over here,” he called as loudly as he dared.
The man peered into the fog then descended the steps and hurried across the grass. Grey-haired and heavy-set, he wore a high-crowned hat and a somber, long-skirted coat.
“Get over here! They can see you from the door,” Bush said, gesturing frantically.
The man gave him a surprised glance then crouched beside him in the shelter of the backhouse.
“What ship are you with?” Bush whispered.
The man replied in a low voice, “I am not in the Navy, sir, though I was a surgeon with the 66th Foot. Dr. John Watson at your service.” Despite being hunched over, he managed a slight bow.
“What are you doing behind enemy lines?” Bush asked with a wary glance. There were British subjects, Irishmen and traitors, who served in the ranks of Bonaparte’s army.
Stroking his grey moustache, the surgeon said, “Do you have any idea where we are, sir?”
“A mile west of Caudebec.”
The surgeon shook his head. “Captain, what do you last remember before you awoke on the landing? For whatever it was that happened, you didn’t live to survive it.”
TBC