All There Is To Tell (2/2)
Oct. 4th, 2011 05:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anteros_lmcTitle: All There Is To Tell (2/2)
Author: Anteros
Characters: Kennedy, Hornblower
Rating: PG-13
Notes: POW fic. How Archie got from the Gironde to El Ferrol.
Horatio jolted upright with a start, woken by some long dormant instinct. As a midshipman on Justinian he had always struggled to rise for the watch bell but at the same time he found that the slightest sound from Archie would waken him instantly. The nightmare had just taken hold and Horatio was up and on the bunk in a flash, shaking Archie gently and calling his name. At first he shrank from his touch; his breathing was shallow and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, clearly visible in the moonlight filtering through the bars of the cell. The rain had finally stopped leaving a bright clear night.
"Hush Archie, it's all right," Horatio reached out a reassuring hand but Archie knocked it away sharply and moving faster than Horatio would have believed possible, scrambled up until he was sitting crouched in the corner, back to the wall, eyes wide and unseeing with fear.
"Non! Recevez tes mains sur moi." His voice was cracked and hoarse.
Horatio hurriedly stepped back off the bunk, holding his hands up where Archie could see them. "It’s all right Archie, it’s just me, Horatio. There’s no one else here. It was a dream, just a dream."
Some of the tension seemed to ebb away from Archie as he gathered his scattered wits and took in the familiar stone walls of the cell. He dropped his head and released a long ragged breath. "No Horatio, it wasn’t just a dream."
This is your fault, a silent accusatory voice whispered in Horatio's ear. It's all your fault. You struck the blow…. Horatio ignored the familiar condemnation and focused his attention on Archie. Slowly and cautiously reaching out towards him, he placed one hand against his forehead.
"I think you have a fever Archie, lie down, you need to keep warm. Shall I…?” he gestured towards the bunk, still keeping his distance. “Do you want me to…? Just to lie..."
Archie shrugged non-committaly, but he settled down on his back leaving enough space for Horatio to climb onto the bunk beside him. They lay silently side by side, Horatio made no attempt to touch him or to hold him but he was close enough to feel the beat of Archie's heart slowing and steadying. After a time he propped himself up on one elbow and cautiously placed a hand on Archie’s shoulder, smoothing down the worn linen of his shirt.
"Tell me, Archie. Please." The question had tormented him for years.
"Tell you what?" Archie turned his head to look up at him.
"Tell me what happened, tell me where they took you, how you got here.”
“What purpose would it serve?” Archie curled his lip into a bitter sneer. “Am I to dredge it all up simply to satisfy your curiosity?”
“No, no, Archie! All these years I've wondered...I was so afraid to think what might have happened to you." That was only half of it. He made no mention of how he had tortured himself night after night after night, with the dreadful knowledge that he himself had struck the blow that had knocked Archie down and left him to his fate.
He swallowed hard, "I…I feared you were dead."
“Your fear would have been a blessing Horatio.” The sneer slid away, leaving Archie looking sad and weary. He lay perfectly still for what seemed like an age, gazing unseeing into the dim moonlight and then, unexpectedly, the words began to flow, haltingly at first and then in a low monotone quite unlike the light bright voice that had flittered through Horatio’s dreams for the last two years.
"They put me ashore further down the estuary from Blaye, not sure where. They took me to a cachot, put me in a cell and left me there. I had nothing, just the clothes I was standing in, they’d taken my pistol and my watch when they found me in the boat. I think I was sick, they beat me when they found me, I don't remember much about the first few days. Then the gens d'armes came, they said I was a spy and started asking me questions. Day after day, more and more questions. I couldn't answer them. I could barely remember how I'd got there. I had a fever and my head..."
Archie lifted his hand to his temple, a simple unconscious gesture that made Horatio's chest constrict with pain and guilt.
"The last thing I recalled was standing on the deck of the Indy, after that nothing, until I came to in the boat. Then I remembered the orders for the cutting out, but I couldn’t remember what had happened.”
Archie frowned and bit his lip, still struggling to piece together the events of that fateful night so long before.
“I had no idea if you'd taken the ship and got clean away, or if you'd all been captured or killed, if I was the only one left. I kept wondering if you were dead, I couldn't stop thinking on it Horatio."
The monotone started to hitch and break.
"I don't know how long they held me there, asking the same questions, over and over, but they gave up at last. They said that if I wouldn't talk for them, I would be made to talk in Paris, and then they would shoot me as a spy. So they shackled my wrists and started marching me north with a group of convicts and deserters. That first march was the worst Horatio. They gave me no allowance, I had no money for food and I was too sick to eat anyway. I was barefoot, I'd lost my boots somewhere along the line, don't even remember where, and my feet were a wreck. When I couldn't go any further I prayed they'd just shoot me by the road side but they put me in a cart and chained me there.”
“Then somewhere along the way we fell in with the crew of an English brig that had run aground off the Ile de Ré. There was a lieutenant, Galston his name was, a couple of mids and a party of seamen. They were being taken to Brest to wait for a cartel. The mids shared their food with me and one of them got me a pair of boots from God knows where. The guards were none too happy, they told them I was a criminal and was being taken to execution. Then one day the captain of the gens d'armes said that since I was nothing better than a common convict there was no need to send me to Paris, I could be shot just as well at Brest. I really thought they'd do it Horatio but I didn't want to die, not then, I wanted to get back to the Indy. So one day I saw my chance and just ran for it. We were passing through a wood, one of the guards’ horses had gone lame and when they stopped I just ran. I thought if I could get far enough into the trees the horses wouldn't be able to follow me but I tripped and fell, my hands were still shackled and I couldn't get up fast enough. They caught me easily. The captain was raging when they brought me back, he said I'd broken parole.”
"And had you? Had you given your parole?" The question was out of Horatio's mouth before he could stop himself. Even voicing it sounded like an accusation. He felt Archie stiffen at his side. He remained silent for a moment, when he spoke again his voice was clipped and brittle.
"No. I had not given my parole. They said I was a criminal, not a gentlemen, and criminals were not deemed worthy of parole. And besides I was in chains, you can not parole a man in chains Horatio."
Horatio couldn't prevent a sigh of relief escaping. To be falsely accused of spying was one thing, but there was no honourable reprieve from being branded a parole breaker.
"But...."
"But what Archie?" Horatio found he was holding his breath again.
"It transpired that Lieutenant Galston had spoken for all the British seamen, myself included. So yes, I broke parole, though I swear I did not know it. He was furious when they hauled me back. He said I’d betrayed his word of honour, that I'd betrayed my King and country, that I was a disgrace to the service and my ship. He swore that when he was exchanged he would notify the Transport Board and Captain Pellew of my conduct, have me stripped of my rank and dishonourably dismissed from the service. I told him in no uncertain terms that he had no right to give my parole while I was chained like a beast but such niceties appeared to be lost on the honourable Lieutenant Galston. He ordered his men not to fraternise with me or to share their rations, said that anyone who did would be flogged. Some of them disobeyed him though, there was no love lost between the lieutenant and his men. A couple of the seamen slipped me some scraps from time to time but it was barely enough to survive...”
“Eventually we passed through Quimper and Galston and the mids stopped there to wait their exchange. I was marched on to Brest with the men. I don't remember much about the last part of the journey, I was senseless by the time we reached Brest so they took me to the hospital. When I came to, I thought I was dreaming. There was a woman washing me and she was weeping. The hospital had been a convent before the war you know Horatio, but the nuns refused to leave, they stayed and looked after the sick. They were so kind, I never thought to find such kindness."
“I didn't stay there long though, as soon as I was well enough they sent me to the prison at Pontanezan. My God Horatio, if the hospital had been heaven that place was hell. There were almost a thousand men there, crammed into one huge room three hundred feet long but only thirty wide. We were kept in close confinement and only allowed out for an hour a day. It was the height of summer by then. Can you image how foul the air was? The men were dropping like flies and the victuals didn't help. The meat was no better than carrion and the bread was infested. I'd never seen so many men dying of scurvy and gaol fever. Day after day, more and more of them dropping. I just kept my head down and did my best to survive."
Horatio waited for Archie to continue but he remained silent.
"So what happened?" he prompted quietly. "How did you survive? How did you get from Brest to Ferrol?"
Archie closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Please Archie, please tell me..." I need to know he wanted to say but he stopped himself. “There is nothing you could say that would make me think any less of you Archie. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Nothing?” Archie laughed bitterly. “When you have nothing left that’s when you learn about shame.”
Something in Archie’s tone chilled Horatio to the marrow, but he had to know. He had to hear it from Archie’s own mouth.
“There....there was an agent...." He stopped and ran his tongue nervously over his lip before continuing. “He came from Quimper where the officers were paroled. Boyle, he'd been the clerk of a 74 that was wrecked on the Penmarks. He came every few weeks to distribute the men’s allowances and take names for the cartels. I spoke to him, explained that I was a midshipman and asked him to request that I be transferred to Quimper with the other officers.”
“He said he'd heard about me from Lieutenant Galston, that he'd heard I was a parole breaker and most likely a traitor and a spy. He said Lieutenant Galston was due to be exchanged the following week and was adamant that he would inform the Transport Board of my dishonourable conduct.”
“I swore I had known nothing of the lieutenant giving my parole, I even showed him the scars on my wrist to prove that I had been held in chains for weeks.”
“He said he believed me, that Lieutenant Glaston had always been a precipitous sort and that he would speak to him before he left. He also promised to cash a bill for me and return the following week.”
“And did he return?” Horatio’s hand was still smoothing repetitively, nervously over Archie’s shoulder. Archie shook his head.
“No. It was another month before I saw him again, he said that he had been unable to cash my bill and that Galston had been transferred before he could plead my case. But he said there was a cartel due to sail within a fortnight and that he had a list of all those to be exchanged. Naturally I asked him to get my name on the list and he said he would see what he could do for me. I didn’t expect to see him again so soon but he was back two days later. He said he was sorry, that he had tried, but that all the places on the cartel were taken. I pleaded with him to get my name on the list, I promised to pay him a substantial sum of money once I was back in England. But he said that with my reputation my word was worth nothing and, unless I could pay him there and then, there was nothing he could do for me. So...” Archie’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “I paid.”
Horatio was perplexed. “But Archie, didn’t you say you had no money?”
Archie didn’t answer, he was lying perfectly still, barely breathing, staring straight up at the ceiling of the cell.
“Where did you get the money?” Horatio’s logic persisted. “Did the agent accept a bill?”
“Don’t you see Horatio? There are other ways to pay.”
Every word was carefully and precisely enunciated in that clear clipped tone that struck Horatio like ice. It took another moment for the true import of the simple statement to penetrate. He had tried to imagine the hardships that Archie had had to endure, but he had never before considered what he might have been forced sacrifice in order to survive. A wave of horror and nausea swept over him and it was only with the greatest effort that he stopped the bile rising in his throat. He seized Archie’s hand and gripped it like a lifeline. Archie startled at his touch and turned fathomless blue eyes on him, clouded with horrors Horatio realised he had never imagined, even in the depths of his most fearful nightmares.
“Go on.” It took all his strength to control his voice and force out the two words.
Archie sighed wearily and continued.
“The following week the men were shipped out of Pontanezan to the cartel. My name was not on the list. It was months before I saw Boyle again. He said he was sorry he had not been able to help but that he would still do what he could for me. He had heard that I was to be sent to Quimper at last, but for trial and execution. He said I must escape, that he knew a way, but that it would cost. I didn’t trust him, but he was my only hope so I let him take what he wanted. What else could I do?”
Whether question was directed at Horatio or Archie himself, Horatio could not tell. Archie kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, carefully avoiding his gaze.
“The next day Boyle came with two sets of clothes, a guard’s uniform and civilian dress. He said that if my nerve held I could walk out of prison at the changing for the guard. And that's what I did, I disguised myself as a guard and I walked straight out of the sally port of the prison and right through the town. Once I was clear of the town I just ran, I kept waiting to hear the signal gun, I was sure the guard would be turned out and that Boyle would give me away.”
“I made straight for the coast. I thought I could pick up a fishing boat, I knew the fishermen had to leave their boats and spend the nights on shore. The coast was swarming with customs officers and douaniers but I waited for the dark of the moon, slipped down to the beach and swam out to the nearest boat. But I didn’t have the strength to step her mast and get her underway alone to I had so swim back to shore before dawn broke. I tried further down the coast a few nights later but all boats had been pulled up beyond high water. I waited night after night for high tide to lift a boat off but the flow never reached them. I was so close Horatio. I saw a British man of war standing off shore one day. I sat hidden in the dunes and watched her until the light faded. I wondered if she was the Indy. I wondered if you were there on board, still alive.” Archie lowered his gaze from the ceiling and his fingers tightened in Horatio’s hand. “I wondered if you ever thought of me.”
“Archie,” Horatio’s voice sounded thick and hoarse to his own ears, “I don’t know if it was the Indy you saw, but you were never far from our thoughts. Not a day or night passed….”
The faintest ghost of a smile flickered across Archie’s lips. “I used to dream about you then.” He sighed and turned his gaze back to the ceiling.
“I gave up, turned my back on the coast and went east. I thought if I could cross the Rhine and then head south I might get away from Trieste. Ha!” Archie laughed grimly, “downhill to Trieste, that’s what the prisoners used to call it.”
Horatio was mentally calculating the miles, Gironde to Quimper, over 300 miles perhaps, Quimper to the Rhine, surely 600 at least, and God only knew how he had got from the Rhine to the western most tip of Spain, surely that must be over a thousand miles if it was one. The distances seemed impossible, but if Archie had proved anything it was that he had a habit of confounding the impossible.
“I made it to the river near Hagenau but I couldn't get across, all the bridges and crossings were guarded and I had no papers or money to pay my way. So I found a spot far from the town and tried to steal a boat but the night watch man caught me. He took me to the nearest village but there was no gaol or cachot, so they locked my in a barn and took away my clothes.”
“My God Archie, had these people no humanity?” Horatio was horrified by this final simple ignominy. To his surprise Archie laughed, a strange soft sound.
“No Horatio they had no cells or chains. It was the dead of winter, feet of snow on the ground, the simplest way to stop a man from running is to take his clothes.”
“And did it? Stop you I mean?”
Archie hesitated. “Yes, for a while. I was so tired of running and it wasn't so bad there. They gave me a blanket and there was plenty of fresh straw. Before long they brought my clothes back, washed and mended. Some of the people there were very kind to me Horatio. I let them think I was a conscript, a deserter. They'd all lost sons, brothers, husbands. I thought if I could win their trust the might let me go, but then the gens d'armes came.”
“I told them I was the mate of an American vessel that had foundered in the Baltic, I nearly had them believing me until the captain came. He took one look at me and said ‘Non, il est un marin anglais. Il est un mauvais sujet.’ And that was it, they chained me to some Corsican deserters they were transporting and we started marching again. I never knew where we were going after that, we just kept moving south and east. If there was no gaol or cachot we were locked in a barn or a yard, even a shambles once.” Archie wrinkled his nose as though he could still smell the blood and filth.
“And once, once we stopped at a chateaux. It had been sacked long since, the roof was half gone and even the floorboards had been carried away. But there were still the remains of old tapestries on the walls. It was freezing and there was no wood to burn so we pulled them down and wrapped ourselves in them to sleep. I never thought to spend the night wrapped in Ganymede’s arms Horatio.” Archie glanced up at Horatio and in the dim light he saw a bright spark glimmering for a moment in the clouded blue depths of his eyes. But spark was snuffed out as quickly as it had kindled.
“The man I was chained to had typhoid fever, suette milliaire they call it, he could barely walk and there were no carts. Every time he stumbled and fell I went down with him and they beat us both until he got up again. He died soon enough though, the typhoid killed him one night soon after. They'd locked us in a tiny cachot in some God forsaken town south of Lyons. There were twelve of us in a cell eight feet square. There was barely room for us to breath. He died the first night but they just left him there for all the next day and night. I was still chained to him.” Archie’s voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Have you ever seen a man die of typhoid Horatio? It's terrible, the fear and the stench...and they just left us there...”
“On the second day they let us out to bury him and clean away the filth. The ground was frozen so hard it took us all day to scratch a grave for him.”
“And then we moved on again. Always moving, didn't seem to matter where, one place to the next. I started running again, whenever there was a correspondence, whenever they unlocked the chains, any chance and I just ran for it. I didn't even know why I was running, there was nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to go back to.”
The words twisted like knife in Horatio's gut. For Archie to have sunk to such depths of despair, to have thought himself so lost and forgotten was beyond enduring.
“I suppose I thought if I kept running they would shoot me and put and end to it all. I just wanted it to stop Horatio, do you see? But it didn't work, even when they did take a shot at me it was just a graze.” Archie sighed grimly. “I couldn't even die and I didn't have the courage put an end to it myself. We just kept going, on and on, marching and marching, never stopping for more than a few days. Then eventually we reached Ferrol. It was a relief at first to stay in one place for a time. The others all shipped out eventually, I don't know why they left me here, I suppose they didn't know what else to do with me. It wasn’t so bad at first, there were clean bunks, enough food, I didn’t have to walk further than the yard out there. Some English sailors even came through once, but they all left.”
Archie sighed wearily, his mouth twisting into a lopsided grimace.
“You know the rest Horatio. I tried to escape. I had to. The first time they beat me, the second time they put me in the pit. And that’s it. Now you know it all. There’s nothing left to tell.”
Horatio knew it was a lie, knew he had barely scratched the surface of two long years of suffering and terror but he remained silent, unable to trust his tongue not to reveal the awful pain tearing through him. For endless nights he had lain awake in the dark of the midshipmen’s berth, staring into a hopeless abyss of blame and guilt, cursing himself for pulling Simpson from the sea, cursing himself for his naiveté, for striking that blow, for leaving Archie to drift helplessly away to death or worse. And now he knew it had been worse, worse than any fear he had dredged up from the darkest nightmares of the middle watch.
And after all that, after all that, he had brought him back. He had dragged Archie back to prison to satisfy is own arrogant pride and selfish vanity.
“Why?” he choked out the word, “why did you come back here?”
“Why?” Archie turned to look at him, his gaze unexpectedly calm and clear, and there it was again, that same bright brief spark glimmering in the clouded blue. “I don’t rightly know. I didn’t really think about it. Maybe I hoped that if … I don’t know Horatio, maybe I just hoped.”
After that there were no more words. Horatio lay down beside Archie, slid his long arm around his waist and they lay in silence until sleep came with the dawn.
Notes
Almost all the incidents Archie relates, include being chained by the neck to a saddle bow, the treatment of deserters, the nuns at Brest hospital, the corrupt agent, walking out of the prison disguised as a guard, the boats on the beach, “downhill to Trieste”, the removal of prisoners clothes to stop them running, the Corsican deserters, and the tapestry bedding, are taken from the contemporary accounts of British naval prisoners of war Boys, Ellison, Hewson, Jackson, James and O’Brien.
Archie’s description of Pontanezan is taken almost word for word from evidence submitted to a Parliamentary Report on the Treatment of Prisoners of War in 1797. When the Amazon frigate was wrecked off Audierne Bay following the engagement between the Indefatigable, the Amazon and the Droits de L’Homme, her commissioned officers were taken to Quimper and her warrant officers to Pontanezan. The warrant officers, along with the masters and passengers of various merchant vessels were held in considerably better conditions that the common seamen. They were held in a separate hall, had access to a large prison yard and were sometimes allowed to visit Brest accompanied by guards. In addition so the seamen’s rations they also received “1½ lbs good Fresh Beef, 2lbs of good White Bread and a bottle of Good Claret daily.”
Author: Anteros
Characters: Kennedy, Hornblower
Rating: PG-13
Notes: POW fic. How Archie got from the Gironde to El Ferrol.
Horatio jolted upright with a start, woken by some long dormant instinct. As a midshipman on Justinian he had always struggled to rise for the watch bell but at the same time he found that the slightest sound from Archie would waken him instantly. The nightmare had just taken hold and Horatio was up and on the bunk in a flash, shaking Archie gently and calling his name. At first he shrank from his touch; his breathing was shallow and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, clearly visible in the moonlight filtering through the bars of the cell. The rain had finally stopped leaving a bright clear night.
"Hush Archie, it's all right," Horatio reached out a reassuring hand but Archie knocked it away sharply and moving faster than Horatio would have believed possible, scrambled up until he was sitting crouched in the corner, back to the wall, eyes wide and unseeing with fear.
"Non! Recevez tes mains sur moi." His voice was cracked and hoarse.
Horatio hurriedly stepped back off the bunk, holding his hands up where Archie could see them. "It’s all right Archie, it’s just me, Horatio. There’s no one else here. It was a dream, just a dream."
Some of the tension seemed to ebb away from Archie as he gathered his scattered wits and took in the familiar stone walls of the cell. He dropped his head and released a long ragged breath. "No Horatio, it wasn’t just a dream."
This is your fault, a silent accusatory voice whispered in Horatio's ear. It's all your fault. You struck the blow…. Horatio ignored the familiar condemnation and focused his attention on Archie. Slowly and cautiously reaching out towards him, he placed one hand against his forehead.
"I think you have a fever Archie, lie down, you need to keep warm. Shall I…?” he gestured towards the bunk, still keeping his distance. “Do you want me to…? Just to lie..."
Archie shrugged non-committaly, but he settled down on his back leaving enough space for Horatio to climb onto the bunk beside him. They lay silently side by side, Horatio made no attempt to touch him or to hold him but he was close enough to feel the beat of Archie's heart slowing and steadying. After a time he propped himself up on one elbow and cautiously placed a hand on Archie’s shoulder, smoothing down the worn linen of his shirt.
"Tell me, Archie. Please." The question had tormented him for years.
"Tell you what?" Archie turned his head to look up at him.
"Tell me what happened, tell me where they took you, how you got here.”
“What purpose would it serve?” Archie curled his lip into a bitter sneer. “Am I to dredge it all up simply to satisfy your curiosity?”
“No, no, Archie! All these years I've wondered...I was so afraid to think what might have happened to you." That was only half of it. He made no mention of how he had tortured himself night after night after night, with the dreadful knowledge that he himself had struck the blow that had knocked Archie down and left him to his fate.
He swallowed hard, "I…I feared you were dead."
“Your fear would have been a blessing Horatio.” The sneer slid away, leaving Archie looking sad and weary. He lay perfectly still for what seemed like an age, gazing unseeing into the dim moonlight and then, unexpectedly, the words began to flow, haltingly at first and then in a low monotone quite unlike the light bright voice that had flittered through Horatio’s dreams for the last two years.
"They put me ashore further down the estuary from Blaye, not sure where. They took me to a cachot, put me in a cell and left me there. I had nothing, just the clothes I was standing in, they’d taken my pistol and my watch when they found me in the boat. I think I was sick, they beat me when they found me, I don't remember much about the first few days. Then the gens d'armes came, they said I was a spy and started asking me questions. Day after day, more and more questions. I couldn't answer them. I could barely remember how I'd got there. I had a fever and my head..."
Archie lifted his hand to his temple, a simple unconscious gesture that made Horatio's chest constrict with pain and guilt.
"The last thing I recalled was standing on the deck of the Indy, after that nothing, until I came to in the boat. Then I remembered the orders for the cutting out, but I couldn’t remember what had happened.”
Archie frowned and bit his lip, still struggling to piece together the events of that fateful night so long before.
“I had no idea if you'd taken the ship and got clean away, or if you'd all been captured or killed, if I was the only one left. I kept wondering if you were dead, I couldn't stop thinking on it Horatio."
The monotone started to hitch and break.
"I don't know how long they held me there, asking the same questions, over and over, but they gave up at last. They said that if I wouldn't talk for them, I would be made to talk in Paris, and then they would shoot me as a spy. So they shackled my wrists and started marching me north with a group of convicts and deserters. That first march was the worst Horatio. They gave me no allowance, I had no money for food and I was too sick to eat anyway. I was barefoot, I'd lost my boots somewhere along the line, don't even remember where, and my feet were a wreck. When I couldn't go any further I prayed they'd just shoot me by the road side but they put me in a cart and chained me there.”
“Then somewhere along the way we fell in with the crew of an English brig that had run aground off the Ile de Ré. There was a lieutenant, Galston his name was, a couple of mids and a party of seamen. They were being taken to Brest to wait for a cartel. The mids shared their food with me and one of them got me a pair of boots from God knows where. The guards were none too happy, they told them I was a criminal and was being taken to execution. Then one day the captain of the gens d'armes said that since I was nothing better than a common convict there was no need to send me to Paris, I could be shot just as well at Brest. I really thought they'd do it Horatio but I didn't want to die, not then, I wanted to get back to the Indy. So one day I saw my chance and just ran for it. We were passing through a wood, one of the guards’ horses had gone lame and when they stopped I just ran. I thought if I could get far enough into the trees the horses wouldn't be able to follow me but I tripped and fell, my hands were still shackled and I couldn't get up fast enough. They caught me easily. The captain was raging when they brought me back, he said I'd broken parole.”
"And had you? Had you given your parole?" The question was out of Horatio's mouth before he could stop himself. Even voicing it sounded like an accusation. He felt Archie stiffen at his side. He remained silent for a moment, when he spoke again his voice was clipped and brittle.
"No. I had not given my parole. They said I was a criminal, not a gentlemen, and criminals were not deemed worthy of parole. And besides I was in chains, you can not parole a man in chains Horatio."
Horatio couldn't prevent a sigh of relief escaping. To be falsely accused of spying was one thing, but there was no honourable reprieve from being branded a parole breaker.
"But...."
"But what Archie?" Horatio found he was holding his breath again.
"It transpired that Lieutenant Galston had spoken for all the British seamen, myself included. So yes, I broke parole, though I swear I did not know it. He was furious when they hauled me back. He said I’d betrayed his word of honour, that I'd betrayed my King and country, that I was a disgrace to the service and my ship. He swore that when he was exchanged he would notify the Transport Board and Captain Pellew of my conduct, have me stripped of my rank and dishonourably dismissed from the service. I told him in no uncertain terms that he had no right to give my parole while I was chained like a beast but such niceties appeared to be lost on the honourable Lieutenant Galston. He ordered his men not to fraternise with me or to share their rations, said that anyone who did would be flogged. Some of them disobeyed him though, there was no love lost between the lieutenant and his men. A couple of the seamen slipped me some scraps from time to time but it was barely enough to survive...”
“Eventually we passed through Quimper and Galston and the mids stopped there to wait their exchange. I was marched on to Brest with the men. I don't remember much about the last part of the journey, I was senseless by the time we reached Brest so they took me to the hospital. When I came to, I thought I was dreaming. There was a woman washing me and she was weeping. The hospital had been a convent before the war you know Horatio, but the nuns refused to leave, they stayed and looked after the sick. They were so kind, I never thought to find such kindness."
“I didn't stay there long though, as soon as I was well enough they sent me to the prison at Pontanezan. My God Horatio, if the hospital had been heaven that place was hell. There were almost a thousand men there, crammed into one huge room three hundred feet long but only thirty wide. We were kept in close confinement and only allowed out for an hour a day. It was the height of summer by then. Can you image how foul the air was? The men were dropping like flies and the victuals didn't help. The meat was no better than carrion and the bread was infested. I'd never seen so many men dying of scurvy and gaol fever. Day after day, more and more of them dropping. I just kept my head down and did my best to survive."
Horatio waited for Archie to continue but he remained silent.
"So what happened?" he prompted quietly. "How did you survive? How did you get from Brest to Ferrol?"
Archie closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Please Archie, please tell me..." I need to know he wanted to say but he stopped himself. “There is nothing you could say that would make me think any less of you Archie. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Nothing?” Archie laughed bitterly. “When you have nothing left that’s when you learn about shame.”
Something in Archie’s tone chilled Horatio to the marrow, but he had to know. He had to hear it from Archie’s own mouth.
“There....there was an agent...." He stopped and ran his tongue nervously over his lip before continuing. “He came from Quimper where the officers were paroled. Boyle, he'd been the clerk of a 74 that was wrecked on the Penmarks. He came every few weeks to distribute the men’s allowances and take names for the cartels. I spoke to him, explained that I was a midshipman and asked him to request that I be transferred to Quimper with the other officers.”
“He said he'd heard about me from Lieutenant Galston, that he'd heard I was a parole breaker and most likely a traitor and a spy. He said Lieutenant Galston was due to be exchanged the following week and was adamant that he would inform the Transport Board of my dishonourable conduct.”
“I swore I had known nothing of the lieutenant giving my parole, I even showed him the scars on my wrist to prove that I had been held in chains for weeks.”
“He said he believed me, that Lieutenant Glaston had always been a precipitous sort and that he would speak to him before he left. He also promised to cash a bill for me and return the following week.”
“And did he return?” Horatio’s hand was still smoothing repetitively, nervously over Archie’s shoulder. Archie shook his head.
“No. It was another month before I saw him again, he said that he had been unable to cash my bill and that Galston had been transferred before he could plead my case. But he said there was a cartel due to sail within a fortnight and that he had a list of all those to be exchanged. Naturally I asked him to get my name on the list and he said he would see what he could do for me. I didn’t expect to see him again so soon but he was back two days later. He said he was sorry, that he had tried, but that all the places on the cartel were taken. I pleaded with him to get my name on the list, I promised to pay him a substantial sum of money once I was back in England. But he said that with my reputation my word was worth nothing and, unless I could pay him there and then, there was nothing he could do for me. So...” Archie’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “I paid.”
Horatio was perplexed. “But Archie, didn’t you say you had no money?”
Archie didn’t answer, he was lying perfectly still, barely breathing, staring straight up at the ceiling of the cell.
“Where did you get the money?” Horatio’s logic persisted. “Did the agent accept a bill?”
“Don’t you see Horatio? There are other ways to pay.”
Every word was carefully and precisely enunciated in that clear clipped tone that struck Horatio like ice. It took another moment for the true import of the simple statement to penetrate. He had tried to imagine the hardships that Archie had had to endure, but he had never before considered what he might have been forced sacrifice in order to survive. A wave of horror and nausea swept over him and it was only with the greatest effort that he stopped the bile rising in his throat. He seized Archie’s hand and gripped it like a lifeline. Archie startled at his touch and turned fathomless blue eyes on him, clouded with horrors Horatio realised he had never imagined, even in the depths of his most fearful nightmares.
“Go on.” It took all his strength to control his voice and force out the two words.
Archie sighed wearily and continued.
“The following week the men were shipped out of Pontanezan to the cartel. My name was not on the list. It was months before I saw Boyle again. He said he was sorry he had not been able to help but that he would still do what he could for me. He had heard that I was to be sent to Quimper at last, but for trial and execution. He said I must escape, that he knew a way, but that it would cost. I didn’t trust him, but he was my only hope so I let him take what he wanted. What else could I do?”
Whether question was directed at Horatio or Archie himself, Horatio could not tell. Archie kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, carefully avoiding his gaze.
“The next day Boyle came with two sets of clothes, a guard’s uniform and civilian dress. He said that if my nerve held I could walk out of prison at the changing for the guard. And that's what I did, I disguised myself as a guard and I walked straight out of the sally port of the prison and right through the town. Once I was clear of the town I just ran, I kept waiting to hear the signal gun, I was sure the guard would be turned out and that Boyle would give me away.”
“I made straight for the coast. I thought I could pick up a fishing boat, I knew the fishermen had to leave their boats and spend the nights on shore. The coast was swarming with customs officers and douaniers but I waited for the dark of the moon, slipped down to the beach and swam out to the nearest boat. But I didn’t have the strength to step her mast and get her underway alone to I had so swim back to shore before dawn broke. I tried further down the coast a few nights later but all boats had been pulled up beyond high water. I waited night after night for high tide to lift a boat off but the flow never reached them. I was so close Horatio. I saw a British man of war standing off shore one day. I sat hidden in the dunes and watched her until the light faded. I wondered if she was the Indy. I wondered if you were there on board, still alive.” Archie lowered his gaze from the ceiling and his fingers tightened in Horatio’s hand. “I wondered if you ever thought of me.”
“Archie,” Horatio’s voice sounded thick and hoarse to his own ears, “I don’t know if it was the Indy you saw, but you were never far from our thoughts. Not a day or night passed….”
The faintest ghost of a smile flickered across Archie’s lips. “I used to dream about you then.” He sighed and turned his gaze back to the ceiling.
“I gave up, turned my back on the coast and went east. I thought if I could cross the Rhine and then head south I might get away from Trieste. Ha!” Archie laughed grimly, “downhill to Trieste, that’s what the prisoners used to call it.”
Horatio was mentally calculating the miles, Gironde to Quimper, over 300 miles perhaps, Quimper to the Rhine, surely 600 at least, and God only knew how he had got from the Rhine to the western most tip of Spain, surely that must be over a thousand miles if it was one. The distances seemed impossible, but if Archie had proved anything it was that he had a habit of confounding the impossible.
“I made it to the river near Hagenau but I couldn't get across, all the bridges and crossings were guarded and I had no papers or money to pay my way. So I found a spot far from the town and tried to steal a boat but the night watch man caught me. He took me to the nearest village but there was no gaol or cachot, so they locked my in a barn and took away my clothes.”
“My God Archie, had these people no humanity?” Horatio was horrified by this final simple ignominy. To his surprise Archie laughed, a strange soft sound.
“No Horatio they had no cells or chains. It was the dead of winter, feet of snow on the ground, the simplest way to stop a man from running is to take his clothes.”
“And did it? Stop you I mean?”
Archie hesitated. “Yes, for a while. I was so tired of running and it wasn't so bad there. They gave me a blanket and there was plenty of fresh straw. Before long they brought my clothes back, washed and mended. Some of the people there were very kind to me Horatio. I let them think I was a conscript, a deserter. They'd all lost sons, brothers, husbands. I thought if I could win their trust the might let me go, but then the gens d'armes came.”
“I told them I was the mate of an American vessel that had foundered in the Baltic, I nearly had them believing me until the captain came. He took one look at me and said ‘Non, il est un marin anglais. Il est un mauvais sujet.’ And that was it, they chained me to some Corsican deserters they were transporting and we started marching again. I never knew where we were going after that, we just kept moving south and east. If there was no gaol or cachot we were locked in a barn or a yard, even a shambles once.” Archie wrinkled his nose as though he could still smell the blood and filth.
“And once, once we stopped at a chateaux. It had been sacked long since, the roof was half gone and even the floorboards had been carried away. But there were still the remains of old tapestries on the walls. It was freezing and there was no wood to burn so we pulled them down and wrapped ourselves in them to sleep. I never thought to spend the night wrapped in Ganymede’s arms Horatio.” Archie glanced up at Horatio and in the dim light he saw a bright spark glimmering for a moment in the clouded blue depths of his eyes. But spark was snuffed out as quickly as it had kindled.
“The man I was chained to had typhoid fever, suette milliaire they call it, he could barely walk and there were no carts. Every time he stumbled and fell I went down with him and they beat us both until he got up again. He died soon enough though, the typhoid killed him one night soon after. They'd locked us in a tiny cachot in some God forsaken town south of Lyons. There were twelve of us in a cell eight feet square. There was barely room for us to breath. He died the first night but they just left him there for all the next day and night. I was still chained to him.” Archie’s voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Have you ever seen a man die of typhoid Horatio? It's terrible, the fear and the stench...and they just left us there...”
“On the second day they let us out to bury him and clean away the filth. The ground was frozen so hard it took us all day to scratch a grave for him.”
“And then we moved on again. Always moving, didn't seem to matter where, one place to the next. I started running again, whenever there was a correspondence, whenever they unlocked the chains, any chance and I just ran for it. I didn't even know why I was running, there was nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to go back to.”
The words twisted like knife in Horatio's gut. For Archie to have sunk to such depths of despair, to have thought himself so lost and forgotten was beyond enduring.
“I suppose I thought if I kept running they would shoot me and put and end to it all. I just wanted it to stop Horatio, do you see? But it didn't work, even when they did take a shot at me it was just a graze.” Archie sighed grimly. “I couldn't even die and I didn't have the courage put an end to it myself. We just kept going, on and on, marching and marching, never stopping for more than a few days. Then eventually we reached Ferrol. It was a relief at first to stay in one place for a time. The others all shipped out eventually, I don't know why they left me here, I suppose they didn't know what else to do with me. It wasn’t so bad at first, there were clean bunks, enough food, I didn’t have to walk further than the yard out there. Some English sailors even came through once, but they all left.”
Archie sighed wearily, his mouth twisting into a lopsided grimace.
“You know the rest Horatio. I tried to escape. I had to. The first time they beat me, the second time they put me in the pit. And that’s it. Now you know it all. There’s nothing left to tell.”
Horatio knew it was a lie, knew he had barely scratched the surface of two long years of suffering and terror but he remained silent, unable to trust his tongue not to reveal the awful pain tearing through him. For endless nights he had lain awake in the dark of the midshipmen’s berth, staring into a hopeless abyss of blame and guilt, cursing himself for pulling Simpson from the sea, cursing himself for his naiveté, for striking that blow, for leaving Archie to drift helplessly away to death or worse. And now he knew it had been worse, worse than any fear he had dredged up from the darkest nightmares of the middle watch.
And after all that, after all that, he had brought him back. He had dragged Archie back to prison to satisfy is own arrogant pride and selfish vanity.
“Why?” he choked out the word, “why did you come back here?”
“Why?” Archie turned to look at him, his gaze unexpectedly calm and clear, and there it was again, that same bright brief spark glimmering in the clouded blue. “I don’t rightly know. I didn’t really think about it. Maybe I hoped that if … I don’t know Horatio, maybe I just hoped.”
After that there were no more words. Horatio lay down beside Archie, slid his long arm around his waist and they lay in silence until sleep came with the dawn.
Notes
Almost all the incidents Archie relates, include being chained by the neck to a saddle bow, the treatment of deserters, the nuns at Brest hospital, the corrupt agent, walking out of the prison disguised as a guard, the boats on the beach, “downhill to Trieste”, the removal of prisoners clothes to stop them running, the Corsican deserters, and the tapestry bedding, are taken from the contemporary accounts of British naval prisoners of war Boys, Ellison, Hewson, Jackson, James and O’Brien.
Archie’s description of Pontanezan is taken almost word for word from evidence submitted to a Parliamentary Report on the Treatment of Prisoners of War in 1797. When the Amazon frigate was wrecked off Audierne Bay following the engagement between the Indefatigable, the Amazon and the Droits de L’Homme, her commissioned officers were taken to Quimper and her warrant officers to Pontanezan. The warrant officers, along with the masters and passengers of various merchant vessels were held in considerably better conditions that the common seamen. They were held in a separate hall, had access to a large prison yard and were sometimes allowed to visit Brest accompanied by guards. In addition so the seamen’s rations they also received “1½ lbs good Fresh Beef, 2lbs of good White Bread and a bottle of Good Claret daily.”
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no subject
Date: 2011-10-04 08:25 pm (UTC)This is so real and so heartbreaking, I feel so sorry for them both. You have made it all clear: Horatio's puppyish belief in honor, Archie's stubborn streak, the repeated insults to Archie's sense of who he is, Horatio's caustic self-blame.
I am going to have to read it again to think about your word-art. The first time through I did not notice your writing. I just came to the end with a thump, and realized I am sitting at my desk. Maybe it is because these things really happened, maybe it is because Archie feels more real to me than many people walking Brooklyn, but I lost myself reading this.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-04 08:49 pm (UTC)I have just read this too fast also and must come back to it over the next few days.
Thank you very much indeed,though. I Am so glad this has now been written.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-04 10:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-04 09:56 pm (UTC)the repeated insults to Archie's sense of who he is, Horatio's caustic self-blame.
Yes. And that's what hangs between them at this point in time.
I just came to the end with a thump, and realized I am sitting at my desk.
Archie's story ends rather abruptly. Somehow it felt like he got tired of talking when he reached Ferrol. Or maybe he didn't want to rake over such grim recent events.
maybe it is because Archie feels more real to me than many people walking Brooklyn
I know exactly what you mean.
Thank you for all your encouragement btw, I probably wouldn't have taken this so far otherwise.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-29 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-29 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-04 09:29 pm (UTC)There was an impressive amount of French in this for someone who only knows 'Bonjour'. :P
Once more your historical research adds a rich layer to the story.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-04 10:00 pm (UTC)So speaks the real historian ;) But yes, definitely. Real historical people are terrible swines, especially when there is a war on.
There was an impressive amount of French in this for someone who only knows 'Bonjour'.
Google translate innit?
Once more your historical research adds a rich layer to the story.
Historical research or blatant plagiarism. You decide ;P
no subject
Date: 2011-10-04 11:16 pm (UTC)Still, compassion spreads outward, right? Archie's story, and the real men behind it-- has made me a better person I think.
There was a sign up that said 'POW, we give what we got.' It could just have been bad grammar, but maybe it was a threat!
no subject
Date: 2011-10-05 07:53 am (UTC)Yes. I think you're right. For a fictional guy from a long ago war, Archie certainly seems to make an impact doesn't he? He's certainly given me a lot to think about.
I caught the end of a tv programme the other night about the Scottish Army Regiments, their history, and their future. The final scenes were of the National War Memorial which stands on the pinacle of the rock which Edinburgh castle is built on. Among the long list of battles around the altar were Valenciennes and Verdun. These were WW2 battles of course but inevitably it made me think back to earlier wars and those young men.
I finally got a copy yesterday of Edward Fraser's Napoleon the Gaoler published in 1914. I think this is one of the earlier overviews of the experiences of POWs and I believe Lewis based his research heavily on Fraser. I don't know if there will be anything new in it but if I come across anything of interest I'll let you know.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-05 02:15 pm (UTC)I love the way you wrote their words. They were so quiet, so restrained and halting. No falling apart, no big scene, just the shame, the regret, and the meager comfort.
It is sad and strange how prisoner accounts don't seem to differ much from war to war. People who want to be jailers have a terrible sameness. And there often seems an improbable amount of walking. Have you found the same?
If i have encouraged your writing-- the delight has been mine.
And I would be mortified if JB and IG ever knew what I have written about Horatio and Archie. But I wish they could know of all the learning and thinking and serious writing that they have brought about with their hard work. (At least in my case, it began with them.)
no subject
Date: 2011-10-05 08:30 pm (UTC)I'm glad you thought the dialogue worked. I was trying very hard to write words that I could actually imagine them speaking. I think I was also very influenced by the restrained and strangely dignified narratives of prisoners like Boys, O'Brien and Hewson. They never fell apart either.
It is sad and strange how prisoner accounts don't seem to differ much from war to war.
Definitely. The suffering of prisoners of war seems to be terribly timeless.
And there often seems an improbable amount of walking. Have you found the same?
The distances these guys walked are astonishing aren't they? I loved Archie's quiet comment in one of your own fics that he had walked enough to last a lifetime. I don't know if you remember, but Lewis commented that although the conditions in British prison hulks were as bad, if not worse, than in the French depots, one thing that French prisoners did not suffer were the horrendous forced marches, as all the British prisons were right on the coast, and there just aren't the same sheer distances to travel.
And I would be mortified if JB and IG ever knew what I have written about Horatio and Archie. But I wish they could know of all the learning and thinking and serious writing that they have brought about
Oh yes. All credit to JB & IG. I knew absolutely nothing about this period until I saw The Duel, and the rest, as they say, is history ;)
no subject
Date: 2011-10-07 07:50 am (UTC)Firstly - once again marvellous dialogue and interweaving of history and fiction.
Kudos to Horatio for persevering and to Archie for allowing himself to tell his story. In my line of work I've dealt with quite a few old soldiers. Those who really have been in the thick of things rarely want to talk about it, at least not spontaneously or with any sort of self aggrandisement or bravado. It's the ones who were on the periphery, never wounded, never actually experienced battle madness, hand to hand killing,or the agonies of being a prisoner, who seem to cling to their identity from that time.
The first lot often suppress things and it comes out as mental illness or substance addiction to dull the pain and memories.
Excellent missing scene fic. Love also the restraint in development of intimacy between the guys.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-07 10:26 pm (UTC)Those who really have been in the thick of things rarely want to talk about it, at least not spontaneously or with any sort of self aggrandisement or bravado.
That's a perfect description of the contemporary POW accounts that inspired this. They are written with such incredible dignity and restraint, and as you said, no hint of self -aggrandisment or bravado. Though you do occasionally find touches of self deprecating and rather macabre sense of humour showing through.
The first lot often suppress things and it comes out as mental illness or substance addiction to dull the pain and memories.
I think that's why Archie's reaction in The Frogs and The Lobsters is so gut wrenching. He's clearly still struggling badly.
I'm glad you thought this worked. I thought Archie should have a chance to tell his tale, and despite his occasional self absorption, I think Horatio is a good listener.