Kiss of Life (2/2)
Apr. 3rd, 2011 12:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anteros_lmcTitle: Kiss of Life (2/2)
Author: Anteros
Characters: Horatio Hornblower / Archie Kennedy, Captain Pellew
Rating: PG
Words: 2223
Notes: Many of the details here are taken from the information![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nodbear and I have turned up about Sir Edward Pellew and the historical crew of the Indefatigable. Other details are taken from elsewhere.
~IV~
The frigate’s young gentlemen were assembled in the gunroom in a state of high expectation. They had been informed that they would make way the following day but their station was still unknown.
Kennedy had been despatched to the quarterdeck to wheedle whatever information he could from Lieutenant Bracegirdle. He returned looking dejected and slumped into a seat at the end of the table.
“No luck Kennedy?” Cleveland enquired.
“No luck gentlemen, no luck at all.” Archie paused for effect. “I’m afraid it’s the Channel Fleet for us.”
“Yes!” Cleveland punched the air in triumph.
“Inshore squadron.”
“Fuck.” Cleveland slammed his fist down on the table making Hornblower jump. He was completely bewildered that the longed for station had been greeted with such short lived jubilation.
“What does that mean?” Hornblower asked cautiously.
“Blockade duty.” Heather sighed.
Hornblower looked to Kennedy expecting him to contradict Hether, something he could reliably be expected to do.
“I’m afraid so Mr Hornblower, inshore squadron does indeed mean blockade duty. Close blockade of Brest Roads to be precise. Their Lords High Commissioners of the Admiralty, in their infinite wisdom, have seen fit to command this fine frigate to sit out the war counting bloody fishing boats.”
~V~
Blockade duty did indeed prove to be every bit as tedious as Kennedy had predicted and considerably colder too. After two months of counting the same masts of the same forty three ships anchored in Brest Roads day in day out even the most patient of the midshipmen were at the end of their tethers. Captain Pellew exercised the men with regular gunnery and sail drill to prevent idleness and boredom turning to frustration and discontent. Much to Archie’s delight the captain also permitted frequent entertainments and theatricals to be organised to alleviate the tedium, but even the novelty of these events paled eventually. Rumour had it that the captain himself was showing signs of frustration with the endless weeks of inactivity, though he continued to share the freezing tedium with his midshipmen by joining their watch at the masthead on an almost daily basis.
To add to their woes the fleet's victualing ships were frequently delayed by the endless Channel gales and when they did eventually reach the inshore squadron they invariably lacked the supplies the ships required. After the second victualing convoy in a row had failed to deliver sufficient fresh victuals Hornblower was horrified to see the spectre of scurvy stalking the lower decks. In his naiveté he had believed the disease to be the curse of year long voyages to far flung foreign stations. Never in his worst nightmares had he expected to see men spitting their teeth out on the deck so close to England and within sight of land. Lack of fresh water only exacerbated their miseries. The fleet's water lighters were a remarkable innovation but one that still required perfecting. Their tanks leaked, the water spoiled and by the time the main Channel fleet’s ships of the line had been supplied there was barely enough to fill the butts and casks of the inshore frigates. When appeals to the Commander in Chief and the Victualing Board fell on deaf ears Captain Pellew took his complaint directly to the Admiralty, despatching terse missives demanding fresh provisions, lemon juice, sugar and water.
When his pleas to the Admiralty fell on deaf ears, Pellew did what he could to procure, from his own pocket it was said, additional provisions from the numerous fishing boats and chasse-marées that plied the Breton coast. The supply of drinking water he also took into his own hands. Almost every bay and cove around the rocky coast had a small fresh water stream running into it and there were enough secluded spots where the frigate could put her boats ashore to refill the ship’s water casks. Replenishing the frigate's water supply became the charge of the midshipmen who looked forward to leading the shore parties as a welcome break from the dreary routine of blockade duty.
~VI~
The cove was situated on a remote western peninsula of Camaret Bay; a small beach bounded north and south by rocky cliffs, to the east beyond the dunes the land rose more gently. A narrow stream cut a channel through the tussocky grass of the dunes before dissipating into a fan of silver rivulets on the white sand.
The bay shelved sharply allowing the frigate to stand close in to put her boats ashore. Mr Kennedy took the jolly boat with a party of seamen to fill the water casks, while Mr Hornblower and Corporal Robinson led a detachment of Marines in the gig to investigate the remains of an old signal tower on the cliff top north of the bay where signs of activity had been observed of late.
Kennedy had been somewhat disgruntled that his junior messmate had been ordered to undertake the potentially hazardous reconnaissance duty, but there was no rancour only concern.
“Watch your step there Hornblower!” Kennedy called after the lanky figure leading the Marines up the precipitous sheep track that wound up from the beach to the cliff top. Hornblower raised a hand in acknowledgement and continued to climb. The Indefatigable stood off shore, close hauled in the light southerly breeze.
By late afternoon most of the water casks had been filled and loaded onto the boat. The wind had backed to the west and risen considerably, forcing the frigate to stand further out to sea, off the lee shore. Kennedy was overseeing the loading of the final casks, standing waist deep in the surf holding the stern to steady the boat as it bucked and tossed in the breakers. The seamen were dawdling down the beach grumbling about the long heavy pull back to the ship against a head wind and a rising sea.
Kennedy saw the splash just short of the bow moments before he heard the shot. The Marines came scattering down the narrow track, Hornblower slipping and stumbling after them, yelling as he ran.
“Into the boat Mr Kennedy! They've mounted a gun up there. Cast off!”
A second and third shot fell, closer this time. Hornblower and the marines had gained the beach and were scrambling into the gig. From far out to sea a distant retort sounded as the frigate answered the battery's fire. Two ratings were struggling with the oars of the laden jolly boat as Kennedy, almost swamped by the waves held firm to the gunwale. “Come on! Run! Leave the cask!” he shouted to the ratings racing down the beach.
The shot hit the jolly boat square astern just as a huge wave crashed over her. Boat and casks splintered into staves. Kennedy just had time to utter a ferocious oath as the impact threw him off his feet and tumbled him into the surf. He came up spluttering and saw Hornblower hauling the seamen men into the gig. Just as he struck out for the remaining boat a second breaker crashed over him and something hit against the back of his head. The waves closed over him and with odd detached surprise he felt the sand go from beneath his feet as the undertow pulled him out over the shelf of the beach. He could feel himself sinking, the beach shelving steeply away beneath him; but he could still see the sunlight filtering down through the waves, silver blue and beautiful. “I must be drowning.” The thought flitted through his mind but was of little concern. Everything was quiet and blue and peaceful. He wondered vaguely if Captain Pellew would be angry at Horatio for loosing the boat. He hoped not. There was no fear, no panic, just a strange drowsy contentment. The dancing silver blue light receded and dimmed.
Fear and pain returned in a hellish rush of noise and confusion. Rough hands were tearing him from the peaceful oblivion of the sea’s blue embrace, hauling him over the gunwale and throwing him into the boat. For a moment all he was aware of was the cold and the din. The wind howling, voices yelling and an almighty deafening crash as the Indefatigable, having tacked impossibly close in to the treacherous lee shore, discharged her full broadside, obliterating the cliff top battery.
~VII~
Kennedy opened his eyes and found himself looking straight up at a slate grey sky. All he was aware of was the fierce burning pain in his nose and throat and the crushing weight in his chest smothering his breath. He opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to breathe but the stubborn weight didn’t budge. He could feel the panic starting to rise.
A figure loomed over him, gazing down with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. The captain. Why was he looking down at him like that? The weight on his chest was growing heavier, the burning in his throat unendurable. He opened his mouth a second time frantically gasping for air.
A second face swam into view, much closer, bending right over him, huge dark eyes and a curtain of wet curls dripping low over his face. Horatio. He tried to speak his name but the words complied no more than the air. The panic was a living thing now, beating madly against the weight in his chest. Dark spots edged with luminescence were floating before his eyes. He opened his mouth a third time and that was when Horatio kissed him. A long hard crushing kiss that breathed air into his lungs, lifting the weight and driving back the panic. Horatio pulled away, then something hit him hard below the chest and he vomited onto the deck. The floating spots started to merge and join, coalescing into darkness. The last thing he saw before the blackness closed around him was the face of Captain Pellew staring down at him in open mouthed astonishment.
~VIII~
“Christ my head hurts.”
Kennedy was sitting on a cot in the cockpit, a blanket round his shoulders, clutching a mug of the captain’s best brandy. Dr Hepplewhite had left to report to Captain Pellew, instructing his charge to remain in the sick bay for the remainder of the night. Kennedy was still shivering slightly but appeared to be in good spirits. Hornblower was seated opposite looking considerably the worse for wear. He was deathly pale, had a livid welt on his forehead and his right hand was swathed in bandages.
“What the hell happened?” Kennedy was gingerly fingering the back of his head.
“It all happened so fast Archie, one minute you were there holding the boat steady and the next you were gone…” Hornblower was gazing at the deck blinking furiously, “…boat and all. I think some of the debris from the boat must have hit you. You went down, it seemed like an age.” He looked up and swallowed. “You came up floating, face down, I thought…I just had to get you back into the boat…”
Archie leaned forward the pressed the brandy into Horatio’s hands.
“Really? I don’t recall. All I remember is being under the water and my feet going from beneath me. I could see the light through the water. It was strange, I didn’t feel afraid…..”
Horatio sniffed loudly, his hands were shaking visibly and several drops of brandy sloshed onto the deck.
“I’m sorry Horatio, are you all right? You look like you’ve been in the wars. What happened to your hand?”
“What this?” Horatio glanced down at his bandaged hand as if noticing it for the first time. “It’s nothing, just a splinter, it’s fine.”
“And this?” Archie ran his fingers very gently over the angry cut on Horatio’s forehead and was surprised to receive a wan smile.
“Oh. That was you.”
“Me?”
“When I hauled you into the boat your boot caught me in the head. You’re no minnow you know.” Horatio was smiling more broadly, some of the colour had returned to his cheeks and his eyes were brighter.
“Is that so Mr Hornblower? Well if you ask me you deserved it. You did try to kiss me after all.” Archie’s smirk rather spoilt his air of affronted indignation.
“My profuse apologies Mr Kennedy but I’ll have you know I was delivering the kiss of life.”
“The what? Really Horatio, are you sure you didn’t receive a knock to the head too?”
“Indeed not! Resuscitation by mouth. My father learned the technique from an eminent Scottish physician at the Royal Humane Society, a doctor Hunter, I believe.”
“A likely story!” Archie snorted. Relief at their narrow escape was making him bold and the captain’s brandy had loosed his tongue. “You know if you really want to kiss me, you only have to ask. Although next time, I beg you, not in front of the captain.”
Shaken as he was Horatio was not to be out done. “Well Mr Kennedy, if that is all the thanks I receive you should be grateful my father did not propose the colonial method of resuscitation.”
“And whatever might that be Mr Hornblower?”
“Tobacco smoke,” replied Horatio primly. “Administered to the patient's arse.”
“Jesus!” spluttered Archie, expelling a quantity of brandy through his nose, his eyes streaming. “I can think of a better use for tobacco than that!”
“Indeed Mr Kennedy. And I can think of a better use for your…”
~Notes~
Osler, E., (1854), The Life of Admiral VIscount Exmouth, Geo. Routledge and Co, London
Trubuhovich, R.V., (2006) , "History of mouth-to-mouth rescue breathing. Part 2: the 18th century.", Department of Critical Care Medicine, Auckland City Hospital, Auckland, New Zealand. http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16749887
History of CPR, UKDivers.net, http://www.ukdivers.net/history/cpr.htm
Sorry, was that TMI? ;)
Author: Anteros
Characters: Horatio Hornblower / Archie Kennedy, Captain Pellew
Rating: PG
Words: 2223
Notes: Many of the details here are taken from the information
nodbear and I have turned up about Sir Edward Pellew and the historical crew of the Indefatigable. Other details are taken from elsewhere. ~IV~
The frigate’s young gentlemen were assembled in the gunroom in a state of high expectation. They had been informed that they would make way the following day but their station was still unknown.
Kennedy had been despatched to the quarterdeck to wheedle whatever information he could from Lieutenant Bracegirdle. He returned looking dejected and slumped into a seat at the end of the table.
“No luck Kennedy?” Cleveland enquired.
“No luck gentlemen, no luck at all.” Archie paused for effect. “I’m afraid it’s the Channel Fleet for us.”
“Yes!” Cleveland punched the air in triumph.
“Inshore squadron.”
“Fuck.” Cleveland slammed his fist down on the table making Hornblower jump. He was completely bewildered that the longed for station had been greeted with such short lived jubilation.
“What does that mean?” Hornblower asked cautiously.
“Blockade duty.” Heather sighed.
Hornblower looked to Kennedy expecting him to contradict Hether, something he could reliably be expected to do.
“I’m afraid so Mr Hornblower, inshore squadron does indeed mean blockade duty. Close blockade of Brest Roads to be precise. Their Lords High Commissioners of the Admiralty, in their infinite wisdom, have seen fit to command this fine frigate to sit out the war counting bloody fishing boats.”
~V~
Blockade duty did indeed prove to be every bit as tedious as Kennedy had predicted and considerably colder too. After two months of counting the same masts of the same forty three ships anchored in Brest Roads day in day out even the most patient of the midshipmen were at the end of their tethers. Captain Pellew exercised the men with regular gunnery and sail drill to prevent idleness and boredom turning to frustration and discontent. Much to Archie’s delight the captain also permitted frequent entertainments and theatricals to be organised to alleviate the tedium, but even the novelty of these events paled eventually. Rumour had it that the captain himself was showing signs of frustration with the endless weeks of inactivity, though he continued to share the freezing tedium with his midshipmen by joining their watch at the masthead on an almost daily basis.
To add to their woes the fleet's victualing ships were frequently delayed by the endless Channel gales and when they did eventually reach the inshore squadron they invariably lacked the supplies the ships required. After the second victualing convoy in a row had failed to deliver sufficient fresh victuals Hornblower was horrified to see the spectre of scurvy stalking the lower decks. In his naiveté he had believed the disease to be the curse of year long voyages to far flung foreign stations. Never in his worst nightmares had he expected to see men spitting their teeth out on the deck so close to England and within sight of land. Lack of fresh water only exacerbated their miseries. The fleet's water lighters were a remarkable innovation but one that still required perfecting. Their tanks leaked, the water spoiled and by the time the main Channel fleet’s ships of the line had been supplied there was barely enough to fill the butts and casks of the inshore frigates. When appeals to the Commander in Chief and the Victualing Board fell on deaf ears Captain Pellew took his complaint directly to the Admiralty, despatching terse missives demanding fresh provisions, lemon juice, sugar and water.
When his pleas to the Admiralty fell on deaf ears, Pellew did what he could to procure, from his own pocket it was said, additional provisions from the numerous fishing boats and chasse-marées that plied the Breton coast. The supply of drinking water he also took into his own hands. Almost every bay and cove around the rocky coast had a small fresh water stream running into it and there were enough secluded spots where the frigate could put her boats ashore to refill the ship’s water casks. Replenishing the frigate's water supply became the charge of the midshipmen who looked forward to leading the shore parties as a welcome break from the dreary routine of blockade duty.
~VI~
The cove was situated on a remote western peninsula of Camaret Bay; a small beach bounded north and south by rocky cliffs, to the east beyond the dunes the land rose more gently. A narrow stream cut a channel through the tussocky grass of the dunes before dissipating into a fan of silver rivulets on the white sand.
The bay shelved sharply allowing the frigate to stand close in to put her boats ashore. Mr Kennedy took the jolly boat with a party of seamen to fill the water casks, while Mr Hornblower and Corporal Robinson led a detachment of Marines in the gig to investigate the remains of an old signal tower on the cliff top north of the bay where signs of activity had been observed of late.
Kennedy had been somewhat disgruntled that his junior messmate had been ordered to undertake the potentially hazardous reconnaissance duty, but there was no rancour only concern.
“Watch your step there Hornblower!” Kennedy called after the lanky figure leading the Marines up the precipitous sheep track that wound up from the beach to the cliff top. Hornblower raised a hand in acknowledgement and continued to climb. The Indefatigable stood off shore, close hauled in the light southerly breeze.
By late afternoon most of the water casks had been filled and loaded onto the boat. The wind had backed to the west and risen considerably, forcing the frigate to stand further out to sea, off the lee shore. Kennedy was overseeing the loading of the final casks, standing waist deep in the surf holding the stern to steady the boat as it bucked and tossed in the breakers. The seamen were dawdling down the beach grumbling about the long heavy pull back to the ship against a head wind and a rising sea.
Kennedy saw the splash just short of the bow moments before he heard the shot. The Marines came scattering down the narrow track, Hornblower slipping and stumbling after them, yelling as he ran.
“Into the boat Mr Kennedy! They've mounted a gun up there. Cast off!”
A second and third shot fell, closer this time. Hornblower and the marines had gained the beach and were scrambling into the gig. From far out to sea a distant retort sounded as the frigate answered the battery's fire. Two ratings were struggling with the oars of the laden jolly boat as Kennedy, almost swamped by the waves held firm to the gunwale. “Come on! Run! Leave the cask!” he shouted to the ratings racing down the beach.
The shot hit the jolly boat square astern just as a huge wave crashed over her. Boat and casks splintered into staves. Kennedy just had time to utter a ferocious oath as the impact threw him off his feet and tumbled him into the surf. He came up spluttering and saw Hornblower hauling the seamen men into the gig. Just as he struck out for the remaining boat a second breaker crashed over him and something hit against the back of his head. The waves closed over him and with odd detached surprise he felt the sand go from beneath his feet as the undertow pulled him out over the shelf of the beach. He could feel himself sinking, the beach shelving steeply away beneath him; but he could still see the sunlight filtering down through the waves, silver blue and beautiful. “I must be drowning.” The thought flitted through his mind but was of little concern. Everything was quiet and blue and peaceful. He wondered vaguely if Captain Pellew would be angry at Horatio for loosing the boat. He hoped not. There was no fear, no panic, just a strange drowsy contentment. The dancing silver blue light receded and dimmed.
Fear and pain returned in a hellish rush of noise and confusion. Rough hands were tearing him from the peaceful oblivion of the sea’s blue embrace, hauling him over the gunwale and throwing him into the boat. For a moment all he was aware of was the cold and the din. The wind howling, voices yelling and an almighty deafening crash as the Indefatigable, having tacked impossibly close in to the treacherous lee shore, discharged her full broadside, obliterating the cliff top battery.
~VII~
Kennedy opened his eyes and found himself looking straight up at a slate grey sky. All he was aware of was the fierce burning pain in his nose and throat and the crushing weight in his chest smothering his breath. He opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to breathe but the stubborn weight didn’t budge. He could feel the panic starting to rise.
A figure loomed over him, gazing down with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. The captain. Why was he looking down at him like that? The weight on his chest was growing heavier, the burning in his throat unendurable. He opened his mouth a second time frantically gasping for air.
A second face swam into view, much closer, bending right over him, huge dark eyes and a curtain of wet curls dripping low over his face. Horatio. He tried to speak his name but the words complied no more than the air. The panic was a living thing now, beating madly against the weight in his chest. Dark spots edged with luminescence were floating before his eyes. He opened his mouth a third time and that was when Horatio kissed him. A long hard crushing kiss that breathed air into his lungs, lifting the weight and driving back the panic. Horatio pulled away, then something hit him hard below the chest and he vomited onto the deck. The floating spots started to merge and join, coalescing into darkness. The last thing he saw before the blackness closed around him was the face of Captain Pellew staring down at him in open mouthed astonishment.
~VIII~
“Christ my head hurts.”
Kennedy was sitting on a cot in the cockpit, a blanket round his shoulders, clutching a mug of the captain’s best brandy. Dr Hepplewhite had left to report to Captain Pellew, instructing his charge to remain in the sick bay for the remainder of the night. Kennedy was still shivering slightly but appeared to be in good spirits. Hornblower was seated opposite looking considerably the worse for wear. He was deathly pale, had a livid welt on his forehead and his right hand was swathed in bandages.
“What the hell happened?” Kennedy was gingerly fingering the back of his head.
“It all happened so fast Archie, one minute you were there holding the boat steady and the next you were gone…” Hornblower was gazing at the deck blinking furiously, “…boat and all. I think some of the debris from the boat must have hit you. You went down, it seemed like an age.” He looked up and swallowed. “You came up floating, face down, I thought…I just had to get you back into the boat…”
Archie leaned forward the pressed the brandy into Horatio’s hands.
“Really? I don’t recall. All I remember is being under the water and my feet going from beneath me. I could see the light through the water. It was strange, I didn’t feel afraid…..”
Horatio sniffed loudly, his hands were shaking visibly and several drops of brandy sloshed onto the deck.
“I’m sorry Horatio, are you all right? You look like you’ve been in the wars. What happened to your hand?”
“What this?” Horatio glanced down at his bandaged hand as if noticing it for the first time. “It’s nothing, just a splinter, it’s fine.”
“And this?” Archie ran his fingers very gently over the angry cut on Horatio’s forehead and was surprised to receive a wan smile.
“Oh. That was you.”
“Me?”
“When I hauled you into the boat your boot caught me in the head. You’re no minnow you know.” Horatio was smiling more broadly, some of the colour had returned to his cheeks and his eyes were brighter.
“Is that so Mr Hornblower? Well if you ask me you deserved it. You did try to kiss me after all.” Archie’s smirk rather spoilt his air of affronted indignation.
“My profuse apologies Mr Kennedy but I’ll have you know I was delivering the kiss of life.”
“The what? Really Horatio, are you sure you didn’t receive a knock to the head too?”
“Indeed not! Resuscitation by mouth. My father learned the technique from an eminent Scottish physician at the Royal Humane Society, a doctor Hunter, I believe.”
“A likely story!” Archie snorted. Relief at their narrow escape was making him bold and the captain’s brandy had loosed his tongue. “You know if you really want to kiss me, you only have to ask. Although next time, I beg you, not in front of the captain.”
Shaken as he was Horatio was not to be out done. “Well Mr Kennedy, if that is all the thanks I receive you should be grateful my father did not propose the colonial method of resuscitation.”
“And whatever might that be Mr Hornblower?”
“Tobacco smoke,” replied Horatio primly. “Administered to the patient's arse.”
“Jesus!” spluttered Archie, expelling a quantity of brandy through his nose, his eyes streaming. “I can think of a better use for tobacco than that!”
“Indeed Mr Kennedy. And I can think of a better use for your…”
~Notes~
Osler, E., (1854), The Life of Admiral VIscount Exmouth, Geo. Routledge and Co, London
Knowing how much depended on his vigilance, Sir Edward had watched Brest with the most anxious attention. The wind blew generally from the eastward, at times so strong, that the line-of-battle-ships would be under a close-reefed maintop-sail and reefed foresail; and the weather was intensely cold: yet he went every morning to the mast-head, where he would remain making his observations for a considerable part of the day, one of the older midshipmen being usually with him. “Well I remember,” writes one of his officers, “that on being one day relieved to go down to my dinner, I was obliged to have some of the main-top-men to help me down the rigging, I was so benumbed with the intense cold: yet the captain was there six or seven hours at a time, without complaining, or taking any refreshment.”
Trubuhovich, R.V., (2006) , "History of mouth-to-mouth rescue breathing. Part 2: the 18th century.", Department of Critical Care Medicine, Auckland City Hospital, Auckland, New Zealand. http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16749887
The first humane society was founded in Amsterdam in 1767 and initially promoted expired air ventilation (EAV) by the mouth-to-mouth method. Other humane societies were soon established throughout Europe, especially in maritime cities with frequent drownings. The founding of London's humane society in 1774, initially known as "The Institute," was followed by earnest efforts to promote mouth-to-mouth EAV in England, and soon after in Scotland, but not until the 1780s in North America. Disenchantment with the mouth-to-mouth method as less desirable (for various reasons) led to decline in its general use. In 1782, what later became The Royal Humane Society in London changed its expressed preference for artificial ventilation by mouth-to-mouth to manual artificial ventilation using inflating bellows, although mouth-to-mouth was a method of resuscitation which could be attempted by any rescuer. The need to apply artificial ventilation immediately was not really recognised before John Hunter's recommendation to London's Humane Society in 1776.
History of CPR, UKDivers.net, http://www.ukdivers.net/history/cpr.htm
In the 1700's a new method of resuscitation was used. This "new" procedure involved blowing tobacco smoke into the victim's rectum. According to the literature, smoke was first blown into an animal bladder, then into the victim's rectum. It was used successfully by North American Indians and American colonists an introduced in England in 1767. This practice was abandoned in 1811 after research by Benjamin Brodie when he demonstrated that four ounces of tobacco would kill a dog and one ounce would kill a cat.
Sorry, was that TMI? ;)
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no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 12:20 am (UTC)I love it when they are cozy and lively and silly and young.
I think I saw a picture once of the tobacco method in use. The man was hanging upside down by his feet. This would at least serve to drain the water out of him somewhat, while they fussed around with the smoke and what not...
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 12:36 am (UTC)This is intended to fit in with the sequence I've already written, particularly Glorious and Friend and Foe. All of them are listed more or less in order on my fic archive page. I'm not as orgnaised as you are though and can't help jumping around all over the place when I write!
I think I saw a picture once of the tobacco method in use.
I wouldn't fancy Horatio's chances if he tried to do that to Archie! ;)
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 12:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 01:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 01:20 am (UTC)Loved the seamless historical interweaving as usual.
Thanks for the pleasure.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 01:07 pm (UTC)Hope you're enjoying your overseas tour!
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 05:56 am (UTC)Dave
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 07:45 am (UTC)And again the feeling that the old (in relative terms,) Captains must have gone gray with worry over these boys.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 09:00 am (UTC)Just so,ma'am - not least when you have not only the admiralty but their mothers to answer to - I believe I am supposed to say *points to icon* {Nodbear, is that right?) and fifteen or sixteeen of them at any one time means a lot of grey in the space of one year I have to tell you = 1797 can be said to have been a pivotal year in that sense.
I was in my day given to pulling the odd middy from the merciless waves - but I never...well ! Mr Hornblower and Mr Kennedy never cease to amaze me, and the end result is all to the good and even apparently gets me down from the masthead finally in that fiction that Madam Nodbear has been so dilatory about!
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 01:22 pm (UTC)Always honoured that you grace the pages of this humble journal. Indeed no one knows better the responsibilities of a "father afloat" than your good self. I feel sure that young Mr Hornblower was inspired by your own courageous example even if his methods appeared a little, shall we say, unorthodox!
I remain as always your fondest, etc. etc.
Madam A
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 01:18 pm (UTC)You really got the drowning right I think.
Ahem. I have to confess that is written from experience. Sea canoeing accident at the age of 14. I still vividly remember the sunlight filtering through the water and the way it felt so peaceful. Sadly Horatio wasn't there to give me the kiss of life, but like Archie I was none the worse for wear afterwards.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 01:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 09:02 am (UTC)great stuff!
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 01:24 pm (UTC)Love the way Fleet is pointing at George as it if to say "It was him wot dun it!" Caught filching the captain's port perhaps? ;)
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 06:28 pm (UTC)Loved the mixture of the actual and historical with the fictional of course
and as for Horatio he is such fun when he dares to be lewd - possibly riding high on havign achieved the coup that few achieve of stunning Edward Pellew into silence, however temporarily...
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 09:42 pm (UTC)Definitely a caning offence!
Horatio is being far too smart by half here. I suspect it won't last. I'm sure Archie will get the better of him sooner or later. Ahem.... ;)
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 09:53 pm (UTC)in the Donnian sense at least...
meanwhile I am right in medias res with my companion pwp-let
posting soon I hope.
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Date: 2011-04-03 10:09 pm (UTC)*snigger* You really shouldn't encourage me y'know....
am right in medias res with my companion pwp-let
posting soon I hope.
HUZZAH! Oops sorry, shall type quietly so as not to disturb you ;)
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Date: 2011-04-03 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 02:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 04:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 05:37 pm (UTC)Basil Hall tells a tragic tale of being sent to the mast head as a middy for being off deck when the Admiral was coming aboard. He was enjoying lounging lazily in the top and looking forward to dinner of a roast goose that had been brought to him as a gift from a friend on another ship. However:
Poor middy!
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Date: 2011-04-03 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-04 09:44 pm (UTC)Loved Archie stating fighting dirty was the only way to fight in part 1, it's something equally true of Horatio too and must be why they get on so well!
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Date: 2011-04-05 10:16 am (UTC)You are evil! ;P And anyway it's not their first kiss. They've already had their first kiss. That's when Horatio smacked him ;) This is their second kiss. Maybe it'll be third time lucky...
Loved Archie stating fighting dirty was the only way to fight
It's that pragmatism again. Archie knows what you have to do to survive.